warm us up
pairing: mark/jaebum
rating: g
word count: 5.4k~
summary: amidst college, making time for his friends and taking care of his nephew youngjae, mark technically shouldn't have the time for someone like im jaebum. technically.
a/n: sort of inspired by mark's relationship with his nieces? yes yes.
Somewhere in what he thinks are the most exhausting two hours of his life, Mark Tuan wonders if all the nuclear power plants in the world could be commercially outcompeted by an army of five-year-old boys on hamster wheels hooked up to generators.
The banged-up old football from Mark’s high school days he’d brought over for the party hits the wire netting across the court from where he is, and he slumps, hands on his knees, barely enough breath in his lungs to join in the ecstatic laughter from the group of boys, Youngjae’s friends from the daycare, if he remembers correctly. It’s difficult enough playing a 1v10 game of football in the dusty old concrete square of space outside the apartment where Youngjae lives, with a bunch of little boys armed with a seemingly never-ending supply of energy, not to mention when everywhere’s become a goalpost, and for the fifth time that day Mark wonders why he’s doing this when he’d known this would happen.
It’d been impossible to decline Youngjae’s request then, however, not when he knows how rare it is they get the chance to get out and have fun like this. Besides, he reasons, how could he have said no to his precious nephew on the boy’s special day?
“Hyung! Mark-hyung!” It’s Bambam, one of Youngjae’s closer friends, the three-year-old with the bright doe eyes and oversized clothes (passed down from his older brothers, no doubt) that he keeps trying not to trip over. “Mark-hyung, get up!”
“Mark-hyung is tired,” Mark chuckles breathily, running a hand over his forehead to realise he’s perspiring, even in the cool mid-morning spring air. “Give me a second, Bam.”
Bambam seems overly elated that Mark-hyung remembers his name, feet doing an excited quickstep, before he remembers belatedly that his shoes are two sizes too big, and he unbalances sideways, landing with a thump on his side.
A couple of years ago, Mark would’ve rushed to the side of any kid that’d so much as stumbled, hovering nervously, hands jittery and inexperienced, but over the time Youngjae’s been under his care he’s learned that little boys, firstly, run on nuclear power, and secondly, are made of rubber. This is proven as Bambam doesn’t so much as cry out at the impact, instead quickly rolling onto his front to get up and dust his palms on his pants before one of the other boys (Hanbin, probably) can run over to kick dirt onto him.
Mark knows these boys were brought up to be invincible on the outside, that they’ve been bounced off so many floors and fists and words that they’ve known nothing but to drag themselves up and move on, and the thought’s been ground into the back of his mind so often it barely even makes him sad anymore.
(He clings on to the vestiges of that pain, though, to remind him that this isn’t normal, none of this is what they deserve and what they should be getting.)
He’s barely stood up, calf muscles crying out in protest at the exertion, when he realises his pocket’s buzzing insistently, the sound of the stupid tinny noise Jinyoung had set as his ringtone barely audible over the sound of the boys shouting over their most recent goal (the score was currently 82 - 0, or something to that effect), and he quickly takes his phone out, letting out a rough sigh of relief.
“Yes, Jinyoung?”
“We’re almost there, hyung, sorry we got held up, I was hungry, okay-…”
“No worries, man, I just almost died here,” Mark mutters. “How long more? I’ll go in and get the boys cleaned up.”
The ball hits the brick wall about an inch from Mark’s face, and he turns to look sternly at the offending kid, only to see Youngjae pushing one of the boys, Junhwe, or something, scolding him in a trill of dialect that’s barely understandable, even by Mark. The other boy seems to get it, though, scoffing and taking a few steps back, throwing his hands up in surrender.
There’s a fond smile on Mark’s face as he tunes back in to the steady stream of excuses Jinyoung has to give, only to hear a we’ll be there in twenty, just give the kids more food or something, and he sighs.
“Okay, sure.”
“Hey, don’t be mad,” he can literally see Jinyoung pouting, now, trying to milk his (honestly pretty gross) aegyo for all it’s worth. “Trust me, this one’s worth it. Besides, you wouldn’t want Jae to see you all grumpy on his birthday, right?”
“Just get over here,” Mark rolls his eyes though he knows Jinyoung can’t see it. “And text Jackson to say Youngjae’s waiting for him, too.”
“Ew, Jackson? Who invited him,” Jinyoung sneers, and Mark’s tempted to roll his eyes again.
“Don’t be disappointed when he doesn’t show up,” he mutters, grinning slightly at the explosion of why would I want to see that douchebag and I’ll be glad if he doesn’t show up, like ever. By the time he’s turned his attention back to the boys, though, a few of them have stolen the football and are kicking it around some distance away, while Youngjae gazes hopefully over at him, waiting for news on the really super big surprise for the best little boy in the world Jinyoung had promised him this morning, and Mark cups his hands around his mouth.
“Let’s get back in the building, guys, Jinyoung-hyung’s going to be back with the surprise soon!”
*
It’s only when half the boys have washed up and are scuttling excitedly around in the cramped living room that Mark starts to get worried- Jinyoung had said something about inviting a mascot for Youngjae’s birthday party, and all of a sudden all Mark can think of is some washed-up college kid in a half-assed green dinosaur costume that’s falling apart at the seams, and the disappointed look on Youngjae’s face when he sees it.
He’s got half a mind to call Jinyoung and ask if this is really a good idea when he feels an insistent prodding at his thighs, and snaps back into reality to see Youngjae clambering eagerly onto the couch beside him. He’s getting a bit too big to sit on Mark’s lap properly but the twenty-one year old lets him try anyway, chuckling when Youngjae almost unbalances onto the arm of the couch.
“Hyung, hyung,” Youngjae’s saying, once he’s comfortably seated, and Mark’s only half paying attention, more focused on what Yunhyung’s doing involving the telephone over by the mantelpiece and if he’s going to break anything. “Hyung, is my mom coming later?”
Mark blinks, dragging his focus back to Youngjae’s expectant face, before smiling. “’Course she is, Jae. She’s rushing straight over after work, and after she gets your cake, of course.”
“I’m really getting a cake this year?” Youngjae looks disproportionately happy at the notion of getting a cake on his birthday, and Mark feels that familiar twinge of sadness at the thought. “A real one? Like, in a circle? With the white cream and chocolate and the candles?”
“Yeah, of course,” Mark smoothens a hand down the back of the boy’s head, grinning. “You’re five, Jae, you’re a man now. Of course you have to get a proper cake.”
Youngjae literally leaps off Mark’s lap, speeding over to Yugyeom, who’s trying to discreetly take another chicken nugget from the plate on the kitchen table, colliding into him with the regular force of a five year old (approximately equivalent to being hit by a water balloon going at 80km/h) before starting to chatter excitedly, and Mark lets out an infinitesimal sigh.
He’s brought back to his original worries, however, at the sound of the main gate opening behind the door, and the boys who hear it freeze, almost, all with eyes glued to the door, especially Youngjae, who scoots out into the living room for a better look. Mark’s wincing, almost, all prepared for some pathetic, skinny, rabbit thing to burst from behind the door, throwing sweets and stepping on the kids by accident, getting up to do damage control if necessary.
It becomes apparent, in about three seconds, that damage control is, in fact, necessary, because the door opens by a crack, and there’s a collective gasp through the room, a couple of kids stumbling as the boys from behind press forward for a better look. Then-…
“It’s Captain America!”
And the boys surge forward in a tidal wave of tiny bodies, as the door opens fully to reveal what could very possibly be Captain America, because Mark feels like the breath’s been forcefully knocked out of his lungs at the sight of him.
Damn.
The kids are jumping up and down, tugging excitedly at his shield and suit, asking him a billion questions, when all Mark can think about is is this a Men’s Health model or a mascot and his jawline could freaking slice fruit, and then finally, of course, Jesus, is that six pack real.
But nothing beats the last revelation that hits him like a particularly nasty storm wave.
He is going to cost a bomb.
All it takes is one look at the material of the costume, clearly tailored to fit the curves of his muscles and abdomen almost perfectly, the complete lack of any awkward silence or gestures on the part of the mascot, to see that this guy’s received training, that he’s probably part of some company that charges an arm and a leg to send people like these to rich kids’ birthday parties and functions, and Mark almost panics. Almost.
Because the look in Youngjae’s eyes as “Captain America” identifies him and swoops him off the ground amidst the cheering and clamouring of the other boys, this mix of utter adoration and shock at seeing the man in the comic-book photocopies he’s pasted all over his side of the room (the only one in this house) he shares with his mother, the real-life, full body version of the plastic figurines with the missing arms and faded paint he blu-tacks to the bedside table, makes Mark realise that in that very moment he would give up almost anything to see that look in the boy’s eyes again.
“Do you guys know who I am?” and whoa, Mark’s brought back down to the cold hard reality that is this guy’s voice, a mix of warmth and earth and solid security, and he wonders what else this guy has under that gorgeous exterior.
The response is immediate, a deafening cheer of Captain America and you’re my favourite one in the Avengers and can I hold your shield, and Mark’s tempted to laugh as the man literally wades through the bubbling sea of excited boys, still holding Youngjae, who’s still looking like all his dreams have come true at once. He immediately gets up, circling around the table to let him sit, and immediately the boys form this reverent circle around him, eyes shining.
Mark glances back at the abandoned doorway as the guy starts to talk to see Jinyoung leaning against the frame, watching the events unfold with a satisfied kind of smile on his face, and quietly walks over to join him.
“Okay, you got me, this was a good one,” Mark whispers, watching the guy lead the boys on into some tale of his adventures with the Avengers and their death-defying expedition as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. “I’ll bite,” he sighs. “How much was he?”
“You don’t ask the price of a gift,” Jinyoung pretends to simper, hissing when Mark steps on his foot without a second’s hesitation. “Ow, fine, okay, Jaebum-hyung owed me a couple of favours back from high school, so I decided to call them in, alright?”
“You know him?” Mark tries not to sound too surprised (or too interested).
“Yeah, he got this job about half a year back, when he decided he didn’t want all his working out at the gym to go to waste,” Jinyoung rolls his eyes, still smarting about the jab. “He’s with the amusement park on the other side of town, the rich side.”
“He works for the amusement park?” Mark’s not bothering to hide his shock now. He would’ve cost more than the rent on this house.
“Yeah, why?” Jinyoung’s sniggering a little, at the sight of Bambam raising his hand, to very seriously ask Jaebum what being in the ice was like for all those years, to which Jaebum replied, equally seriously, that it was very cold, and unadvised for them to try.
“Just, he’s got better things to do with his time, doesn’t he…?” Mark trails off, both men completely fascinated by the adorable exchange that’s happening in the living room.
“Really cold?” Another boy, one of the skinner ones with glasses, looks like he’s trying to imagine how cold it could be. “How cold is really cold?”
“He means like winter cold,” Jiwon, one of the older boys, informs him. “Like when you’re walking home from school in like, a storm.”
“Yeah,” Jaebum nods importantly, and Mark tries not to laugh. “That’s why you all should be in your houses where there’s a heater, so it’s warm.”
“What’s a heater?” Hanbin asks loudly, then and Mark immediately stops laughing.
“It’s a thing that gives heat, you dummy,” Junhwe snarks.
“Yeah, heaters keep you warm,” Jaebum continues, and Mark winces, because it hits him that Jaebum’s only ever been attending to the insanely rich crowd that actually have the money to visit amusement parks all the time, all of whom probably use heaters all the time.
“Ohhh, he means a blanket!” Bambam says quickly, looking at Jaebum for confirmation.
“No, I read about it before!” Donghyuk, the glasses boy, is piping up again. “It’s a big rectangle thing, and they put it on the floor or in the wall-…”
“Like a floor mat?” Jinhwan’s frowning so hard his eyes are disappearing. “Wait, you can’t put floor mats into walls-…”
“You guys don’t use heaters?” Jaebum asks, a little uncertainly, and Mark almost speaks up, almost, internally chastising Jinyoung for not having briefed this guy sufficiently, but then Jaebum starts talking again and Mark holds his tongue.
“Do you know what our heaters are like?” he asks in a low tone, and the boys are immediately enraptured once more. “Okay, you guys can’t tell anyone this, or I’ll get into a lot of trouble with SHIELD, okay?”
After a bout of anxious nodding, Jaebum lets the silence hold for a moment, like he’s about to tell the world’s biggest secret for the very first time.
“Dragons.”
There’s another collective gasp, and some frowning. “No, dragons are big!”
“We have the baby ones,” Jaebum says solemnly. “After the mommy dragons lay the eggs, they can’t take care of all of them very well so we help to raise some of them, and in return they breathe little fires to keep us warm. After they’ve grown up a little, we give them back to the mommy dragons so they can go free.”
“You take care of baby dragons?” Youngjae sounds like his respect and adoration for Jaebum has just gone exponentially up, eyes wide with wonder, and the admiring silence barely holds for a moment before another question is raised.
“What if they bite you?”
“Can we have a baby dragon?”
“Do you fly on them?”
“What about the papa dragons?” Yugyeom asks quietly, then, and Mark stiffens, just as Hanbin hits the younger boy on the back of the head.
“You stupid, of course the papa dragons don’t want the baby dragons once they’re born, or they die when it happens,” he says, like he’s just made a very logical deduction. “Just like humans.”
Jaebum goes quiet, then, suddenly, as the rest of the kids chime in their agreement, nodding like it’s the most sensible explanation in the world, including Youngjae, and Mark watches him, breath held in his chest, suddenly wondering if he should intervene. But then-…
“Actually, for dragons, it’s a little different,” Jaebum speaks up, and the kids look up questioningly. “You know how you hear about dragons having lots and lots of gold?” his tone has this manner of capturing all the simplicity and wonder in the air, like he’s got the map to every child’s thought processes etched into the back of his throat, and for a moment Mark’s every bit as enraptured as the children. “So while the mommy dragon waits for the baby dragons to grow up, the papa dragon has to get all the gold he can. And when he has enough gold, he can’t leave it alone, or other dragons will steal it, right?” he waits until all the boys have nodded before continuing. “So he has to lie on the gold and sleep there, until the mommy and baby dragon can join him again.”
There’s a moment of silence as that idea sinks in, slowly, absorbed by the ten curious little minds in the living room.
“So he’s just protecting all their gold?” Jinhwan doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
“The mommy dragon and baby dragons can just go and get their own gold,” Hanbin declares. “They don’t need whatever gold the daddy dragon has.”
“I think it’s nice,” Bambam pipes up, then, a wistful sort of look on his face, and Mark’s heart twinges painfully.
“The papa dragon doesn’t want to go, then, he just has to,” Donghyuk says, half like he’s explaining it to himself. “‘Cause otherwise their gold will get stolen, right?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Jaebum nods, and the little boy beams.
Mark doesn’t even feel the prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes, until he hears the muffled sound of someone blowing their nose further out in the stairwell of the apartment, and rolls his eyes as he glances over his shoulder to see Jinyoung hunched by the stairs, catching his eye and glaring fiercely over to mouth that he’s not crying.
Jaebum launches into another tale, then, about one time they’d helped return a mommy and baby dragon to the papa dragon when they’d gotten lost on Earth, and Mark rests his back against the doorframe, watching with a lidded, absent sort of half-smile.
part II
rating: g
word count: 5.4k~
summary: amidst college, making time for his friends and taking care of his nephew youngjae, mark technically shouldn't have the time for someone like im jaebum. technically.
a/n: sort of inspired by mark's relationship with his nieces? yes yes.
Somewhere in what he thinks are the most exhausting two hours of his life, Mark Tuan wonders if all the nuclear power plants in the world could be commercially outcompeted by an army of five-year-old boys on hamster wheels hooked up to generators.
The banged-up old football from Mark’s high school days he’d brought over for the party hits the wire netting across the court from where he is, and he slumps, hands on his knees, barely enough breath in his lungs to join in the ecstatic laughter from the group of boys, Youngjae’s friends from the daycare, if he remembers correctly. It’s difficult enough playing a 1v10 game of football in the dusty old concrete square of space outside the apartment where Youngjae lives, with a bunch of little boys armed with a seemingly never-ending supply of energy, not to mention when everywhere’s become a goalpost, and for the fifth time that day Mark wonders why he’s doing this when he’d known this would happen.
It’d been impossible to decline Youngjae’s request then, however, not when he knows how rare it is they get the chance to get out and have fun like this. Besides, he reasons, how could he have said no to his precious nephew on the boy’s special day?
“Hyung! Mark-hyung!” It’s Bambam, one of Youngjae’s closer friends, the three-year-old with the bright doe eyes and oversized clothes (passed down from his older brothers, no doubt) that he keeps trying not to trip over. “Mark-hyung, get up!”
“Mark-hyung is tired,” Mark chuckles breathily, running a hand over his forehead to realise he’s perspiring, even in the cool mid-morning spring air. “Give me a second, Bam.”
Bambam seems overly elated that Mark-hyung remembers his name, feet doing an excited quickstep, before he remembers belatedly that his shoes are two sizes too big, and he unbalances sideways, landing with a thump on his side.
A couple of years ago, Mark would’ve rushed to the side of any kid that’d so much as stumbled, hovering nervously, hands jittery and inexperienced, but over the time Youngjae’s been under his care he’s learned that little boys, firstly, run on nuclear power, and secondly, are made of rubber. This is proven as Bambam doesn’t so much as cry out at the impact, instead quickly rolling onto his front to get up and dust his palms on his pants before one of the other boys (Hanbin, probably) can run over to kick dirt onto him.
Mark knows these boys were brought up to be invincible on the outside, that they’ve been bounced off so many floors and fists and words that they’ve known nothing but to drag themselves up and move on, and the thought’s been ground into the back of his mind so often it barely even makes him sad anymore.
(He clings on to the vestiges of that pain, though, to remind him that this isn’t normal, none of this is what they deserve and what they should be getting.)
He’s barely stood up, calf muscles crying out in protest at the exertion, when he realises his pocket’s buzzing insistently, the sound of the stupid tinny noise Jinyoung had set as his ringtone barely audible over the sound of the boys shouting over their most recent goal (the score was currently 82 - 0, or something to that effect), and he quickly takes his phone out, letting out a rough sigh of relief.
“Yes, Jinyoung?”
“We’re almost there, hyung, sorry we got held up, I was hungry, okay-…”
“No worries, man, I just almost died here,” Mark mutters. “How long more? I’ll go in and get the boys cleaned up.”
The ball hits the brick wall about an inch from Mark’s face, and he turns to look sternly at the offending kid, only to see Youngjae pushing one of the boys, Junhwe, or something, scolding him in a trill of dialect that’s barely understandable, even by Mark. The other boy seems to get it, though, scoffing and taking a few steps back, throwing his hands up in surrender.
There’s a fond smile on Mark’s face as he tunes back in to the steady stream of excuses Jinyoung has to give, only to hear a we’ll be there in twenty, just give the kids more food or something, and he sighs.
“Okay, sure.”
“Hey, don’t be mad,” he can literally see Jinyoung pouting, now, trying to milk his (honestly pretty gross) aegyo for all it’s worth. “Trust me, this one’s worth it. Besides, you wouldn’t want Jae to see you all grumpy on his birthday, right?”
“Just get over here,” Mark rolls his eyes though he knows Jinyoung can’t see it. “And text Jackson to say Youngjae’s waiting for him, too.”
“Ew, Jackson? Who invited him,” Jinyoung sneers, and Mark’s tempted to roll his eyes again.
“Don’t be disappointed when he doesn’t show up,” he mutters, grinning slightly at the explosion of why would I want to see that douchebag and I’ll be glad if he doesn’t show up, like ever. By the time he’s turned his attention back to the boys, though, a few of them have stolen the football and are kicking it around some distance away, while Youngjae gazes hopefully over at him, waiting for news on the really super big surprise for the best little boy in the world Jinyoung had promised him this morning, and Mark cups his hands around his mouth.
“Let’s get back in the building, guys, Jinyoung-hyung’s going to be back with the surprise soon!”
*
It’s only when half the boys have washed up and are scuttling excitedly around in the cramped living room that Mark starts to get worried- Jinyoung had said something about inviting a mascot for Youngjae’s birthday party, and all of a sudden all Mark can think of is some washed-up college kid in a half-assed green dinosaur costume that’s falling apart at the seams, and the disappointed look on Youngjae’s face when he sees it.
He’s got half a mind to call Jinyoung and ask if this is really a good idea when he feels an insistent prodding at his thighs, and snaps back into reality to see Youngjae clambering eagerly onto the couch beside him. He’s getting a bit too big to sit on Mark’s lap properly but the twenty-one year old lets him try anyway, chuckling when Youngjae almost unbalances onto the arm of the couch.
“Hyung, hyung,” Youngjae’s saying, once he’s comfortably seated, and Mark’s only half paying attention, more focused on what Yunhyung’s doing involving the telephone over by the mantelpiece and if he’s going to break anything. “Hyung, is my mom coming later?”
Mark blinks, dragging his focus back to Youngjae’s expectant face, before smiling. “’Course she is, Jae. She’s rushing straight over after work, and after she gets your cake, of course.”
“I’m really getting a cake this year?” Youngjae looks disproportionately happy at the notion of getting a cake on his birthday, and Mark feels that familiar twinge of sadness at the thought. “A real one? Like, in a circle? With the white cream and chocolate and the candles?”
“Yeah, of course,” Mark smoothens a hand down the back of the boy’s head, grinning. “You’re five, Jae, you’re a man now. Of course you have to get a proper cake.”
Youngjae literally leaps off Mark’s lap, speeding over to Yugyeom, who’s trying to discreetly take another chicken nugget from the plate on the kitchen table, colliding into him with the regular force of a five year old (approximately equivalent to being hit by a water balloon going at 80km/h) before starting to chatter excitedly, and Mark lets out an infinitesimal sigh.
He’s brought back to his original worries, however, at the sound of the main gate opening behind the door, and the boys who hear it freeze, almost, all with eyes glued to the door, especially Youngjae, who scoots out into the living room for a better look. Mark’s wincing, almost, all prepared for some pathetic, skinny, rabbit thing to burst from behind the door, throwing sweets and stepping on the kids by accident, getting up to do damage control if necessary.
It becomes apparent, in about three seconds, that damage control is, in fact, necessary, because the door opens by a crack, and there’s a collective gasp through the room, a couple of kids stumbling as the boys from behind press forward for a better look. Then-…
“It’s Captain America!”
And the boys surge forward in a tidal wave of tiny bodies, as the door opens fully to reveal what could very possibly be Captain America, because Mark feels like the breath’s been forcefully knocked out of his lungs at the sight of him.
Damn.
The kids are jumping up and down, tugging excitedly at his shield and suit, asking him a billion questions, when all Mark can think about is is this a Men’s Health model or a mascot and his jawline could freaking slice fruit, and then finally, of course, Jesus, is that six pack real.
But nothing beats the last revelation that hits him like a particularly nasty storm wave.
He is going to cost a bomb.
All it takes is one look at the material of the costume, clearly tailored to fit the curves of his muscles and abdomen almost perfectly, the complete lack of any awkward silence or gestures on the part of the mascot, to see that this guy’s received training, that he’s probably part of some company that charges an arm and a leg to send people like these to rich kids’ birthday parties and functions, and Mark almost panics. Almost.
Because the look in Youngjae’s eyes as “Captain America” identifies him and swoops him off the ground amidst the cheering and clamouring of the other boys, this mix of utter adoration and shock at seeing the man in the comic-book photocopies he’s pasted all over his side of the room (the only one in this house) he shares with his mother, the real-life, full body version of the plastic figurines with the missing arms and faded paint he blu-tacks to the bedside table, makes Mark realise that in that very moment he would give up almost anything to see that look in the boy’s eyes again.
“Do you guys know who I am?” and whoa, Mark’s brought back down to the cold hard reality that is this guy’s voice, a mix of warmth and earth and solid security, and he wonders what else this guy has under that gorgeous exterior.
The response is immediate, a deafening cheer of Captain America and you’re my favourite one in the Avengers and can I hold your shield, and Mark’s tempted to laugh as the man literally wades through the bubbling sea of excited boys, still holding Youngjae, who’s still looking like all his dreams have come true at once. He immediately gets up, circling around the table to let him sit, and immediately the boys form this reverent circle around him, eyes shining.
Mark glances back at the abandoned doorway as the guy starts to talk to see Jinyoung leaning against the frame, watching the events unfold with a satisfied kind of smile on his face, and quietly walks over to join him.
“Okay, you got me, this was a good one,” Mark whispers, watching the guy lead the boys on into some tale of his adventures with the Avengers and their death-defying expedition as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. “I’ll bite,” he sighs. “How much was he?”
“You don’t ask the price of a gift,” Jinyoung pretends to simper, hissing when Mark steps on his foot without a second’s hesitation. “Ow, fine, okay, Jaebum-hyung owed me a couple of favours back from high school, so I decided to call them in, alright?”
“You know him?” Mark tries not to sound too surprised (or too interested).
“Yeah, he got this job about half a year back, when he decided he didn’t want all his working out at the gym to go to waste,” Jinyoung rolls his eyes, still smarting about the jab. “He’s with the amusement park on the other side of town, the rich side.”
“He works for the amusement park?” Mark’s not bothering to hide his shock now. He would’ve cost more than the rent on this house.
“Yeah, why?” Jinyoung’s sniggering a little, at the sight of Bambam raising his hand, to very seriously ask Jaebum what being in the ice was like for all those years, to which Jaebum replied, equally seriously, that it was very cold, and unadvised for them to try.
“Just, he’s got better things to do with his time, doesn’t he…?” Mark trails off, both men completely fascinated by the adorable exchange that’s happening in the living room.
“Really cold?” Another boy, one of the skinner ones with glasses, looks like he’s trying to imagine how cold it could be. “How cold is really cold?”
“He means like winter cold,” Jiwon, one of the older boys, informs him. “Like when you’re walking home from school in like, a storm.”
“Yeah,” Jaebum nods importantly, and Mark tries not to laugh. “That’s why you all should be in your houses where there’s a heater, so it’s warm.”
“What’s a heater?” Hanbin asks loudly, then and Mark immediately stops laughing.
“It’s a thing that gives heat, you dummy,” Junhwe snarks.
“Yeah, heaters keep you warm,” Jaebum continues, and Mark winces, because it hits him that Jaebum’s only ever been attending to the insanely rich crowd that actually have the money to visit amusement parks all the time, all of whom probably use heaters all the time.
“Ohhh, he means a blanket!” Bambam says quickly, looking at Jaebum for confirmation.
“No, I read about it before!” Donghyuk, the glasses boy, is piping up again. “It’s a big rectangle thing, and they put it on the floor or in the wall-…”
“Like a floor mat?” Jinhwan’s frowning so hard his eyes are disappearing. “Wait, you can’t put floor mats into walls-…”
“You guys don’t use heaters?” Jaebum asks, a little uncertainly, and Mark almost speaks up, almost, internally chastising Jinyoung for not having briefed this guy sufficiently, but then Jaebum starts talking again and Mark holds his tongue.
“Do you know what our heaters are like?” he asks in a low tone, and the boys are immediately enraptured once more. “Okay, you guys can’t tell anyone this, or I’ll get into a lot of trouble with SHIELD, okay?”
After a bout of anxious nodding, Jaebum lets the silence hold for a moment, like he’s about to tell the world’s biggest secret for the very first time.
“Dragons.”
There’s another collective gasp, and some frowning. “No, dragons are big!”
“We have the baby ones,” Jaebum says solemnly. “After the mommy dragons lay the eggs, they can’t take care of all of them very well so we help to raise some of them, and in return they breathe little fires to keep us warm. After they’ve grown up a little, we give them back to the mommy dragons so they can go free.”
“You take care of baby dragons?” Youngjae sounds like his respect and adoration for Jaebum has just gone exponentially up, eyes wide with wonder, and the admiring silence barely holds for a moment before another question is raised.
“What if they bite you?”
“Can we have a baby dragon?”
“Do you fly on them?”
“What about the papa dragons?” Yugyeom asks quietly, then, and Mark stiffens, just as Hanbin hits the younger boy on the back of the head.
“You stupid, of course the papa dragons don’t want the baby dragons once they’re born, or they die when it happens,” he says, like he’s just made a very logical deduction. “Just like humans.”
Jaebum goes quiet, then, suddenly, as the rest of the kids chime in their agreement, nodding like it’s the most sensible explanation in the world, including Youngjae, and Mark watches him, breath held in his chest, suddenly wondering if he should intervene. But then-…
“Actually, for dragons, it’s a little different,” Jaebum speaks up, and the kids look up questioningly. “You know how you hear about dragons having lots and lots of gold?” his tone has this manner of capturing all the simplicity and wonder in the air, like he’s got the map to every child’s thought processes etched into the back of his throat, and for a moment Mark’s every bit as enraptured as the children. “So while the mommy dragon waits for the baby dragons to grow up, the papa dragon has to get all the gold he can. And when he has enough gold, he can’t leave it alone, or other dragons will steal it, right?” he waits until all the boys have nodded before continuing. “So he has to lie on the gold and sleep there, until the mommy and baby dragon can join him again.”
There’s a moment of silence as that idea sinks in, slowly, absorbed by the ten curious little minds in the living room.
“So he’s just protecting all their gold?” Jinhwan doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
“The mommy dragon and baby dragons can just go and get their own gold,” Hanbin declares. “They don’t need whatever gold the daddy dragon has.”
“I think it’s nice,” Bambam pipes up, then, a wistful sort of look on his face, and Mark’s heart twinges painfully.
“The papa dragon doesn’t want to go, then, he just has to,” Donghyuk says, half like he’s explaining it to himself. “‘Cause otherwise their gold will get stolen, right?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Jaebum nods, and the little boy beams.
Mark doesn’t even feel the prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes, until he hears the muffled sound of someone blowing their nose further out in the stairwell of the apartment, and rolls his eyes as he glances over his shoulder to see Jinyoung hunched by the stairs, catching his eye and glaring fiercely over to mouth that he’s not crying.
Jaebum launches into another tale, then, about one time they’d helped return a mommy and baby dragon to the papa dragon when they’d gotten lost on Earth, and Mark rests his back against the doorframe, watching with a lidded, absent sort of half-smile.
part II