The relationship between Lee Minha and Min Sanghan had deteriorated beyond repair. Whenever they exchanged words, it almost always ended in an argument. Even the most trivial conversations crackled with tension, making the atmosphere so oppressive that it left Min Yugeon feeling utterly suffocated.
Sometimes, just clashing with Lee Minha was enough to make Min Sanghan storm into Yugeon’s room in the middle of the night, barking at him to read some book he’d given him instead of sleeping. Jolted awake, Min Yugeon sat at his desk with a pounding heart, forced to obey. This was always followed by round two—Lee Minha snapping at Min Sanghan for disturbing a sleeping child. As their sharp voices tore at his ears, Min Yugeon blinked back tears, quietly reading with glassy eyes.
Min Yugeon’s daily life soon revolved around avoiding conflict: staying up and studying whenever Min Sanghan was home, or spending the daytime quietly alone in his room, careful not to bother his mother. She had grown more withdrawn than cheerful lately, and he didn’t want to add to her burden. He even hoped that if he behaved himself, maybe his parents might get along a little better.
But that hope was meaningless. The endless cycle of grown-up conflict showed no signs of stopping. Though he’d once secretly wished to spend more time with his mostly absent father, Min Yugeon had come to dread the idea of the whole family being in the same house.
Then, on one particularly stifling day when home felt more like a dark tunnel than a place of comfort, Seo Suho’s family paid a visit. Seo Suho, who had grown quite a bit taller, stood at the door with his usual impassive expression, gazing silently at Min Yugeon. And for the first time in a long while, a bright smile spread across Yugeon’s face.
But not long after, back in his room, Min Yugeon broke down sobbing in front of Seo Suho.
“Huuuuhhh!”
“……”
Seo Suho’s small hand gently patted the back of Yugeon’s hand. That warm gesture only made the tears flow harder. Muffled sobs spilled out, jumbled and incoherent, unable to form proper sentences. Anyone else might have found it confusing or even annoying, but Seo Suho stayed right there, comforting him without a word.
When Yugeon’s face was a mess of tears and snot, Seo Suho wiped it all away with care. Then, in his calm voice, he suggested something—why not tell all of this to his father, just as he had now?
Min Yugeon, blinking through wet lashes, stared blankly at him.
What Suho said made sense. Min Sanghan had been taking his frustration out on him all along. But… telling that to his father? The man who didn’t seem to love him much, who felt not just distant but downright scary? The idea had never even crossed his mind. Uncertainty clouded his face as he hesitated.
“It’s not hard.”
But when he looked into Seo Suho’s dark eyes, something shifted. Maybe it was the reassuring warmth of his hand wiping away the last of Yugeon’s tears, or the serious way he encouraged him. Whatever it was, for some reason, it made Yugeon feel like he could actually do it.
He gave a small nod, saying he’d try. And just like that, a weight lifted. Letting out all the crying he’d bottled up, venting every bit of pain in front of his parents—that alone had already started to ease the tight knot in his chest.
Not long after, Seo Suho gave him a gift in return for the cube from last time. It filled Yugeon with pure joy. It was a spaceship assembly set—the one his father had refused to buy for him unless certain conditions were met. Hugging it tight, Yugeon grinned from ear to ear. It felt like Seo Suho knew exactly what he wanted, and that was both touching and a little mystifying.
Building blocks brought him joy. The satisfying snap of each piece fitting into place, the rush of completing the project—those feelings were beyond words. But the best part lately was that focusing on the assembly left no room for gloomy thoughts.
Seo Suho didn’t seem particularly interested in the blocks himself. He just sat and quietly watched Min Yugeon’s busy hands. Occasionally, he would toss out a blunt compliment: “You’re good at that.” And just like that, Yugeon’s shoulders would straighten with pride. After hearing that once, he kept sneaking glances at Suho while he worked. Every time, Suho would respond with a nod or another quiet bit of praise. His expressions were subtle, but everything he did was incredibly kind. An unassuming but endlessly warm friend.
***
Lee Minha fell ill. Her body, which had always been prone to minor ailments, had been stable for a while—until a sudden, severe fever struck.
Panicked, Min Yugeon darted around the house. He soaked a clean towel in water, laid it over her burning forehead, gave her medicine, and stayed by her side. As she gently touched the dripping towel, a faint smile appeared on her lips.
“Yugeon-ah.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
Was it the fever breaking down her emotional defenses? Out of nowhere, Lee Minha offered an apology, her face tinged with sorrow. Min Yugeon blinked, puzzled.
“What for?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like I haven’t protected you the way I should have.”
After every fight with Min Sanghan, Lee Minha would often apologize to her son. Lately, whenever her husband got upset because of her, he would deliberately take it out on the boy. She hated herself for not holding back her words, knowing her own behavior only made things harder for Yugeon. Guilt would well up out of nowhere, choking her.
“Mom.”
Of all the apologies he’d ever heard, this one sounded the most fragile—delicate, soaked in emotion. Min Yugeon gripped her hand tightly and smiled gently, as if to say everything was okay.
Lee Minha swallowed the lump in her throat and stroked his cheek, murmuring thanks. She looked at her son’s face—the one that resembled hers—and held it in her gaze for a long time before finally succumbing to sleep, unable to resist the pull of exhaustion any longer.
Min Yugeon sat quietly in his chair, recalling the phone conversation his mother had with Seo Suho’s mother just before falling asleep. Today was supposed to be the day Suho came over. Yugeon had planned to show him how much progress he’d made on the spaceship model, and had even set aside some toys for them to play with. But given the circumstances, the visit had to be canceled. The disappointment weighed heavily on him.
He had spent the entire day devotedly caring for Lee Minha, staying beside her and even napping together. But despite the exhaustion, he couldn’t fall asleep, even as the night stretched into the early hours. Lying on his side in bed, he gazed at the still-incomplete spaceship model.
Then his father’s voice thundered from outside the room.
Min Yugeon’s eyes went wide as he shot upright. When he stepped into the living room, it was the same scene as always—his parents in another standoff. Lee Minha held her head in her hands, clearly dizzy, while Min Sanghan stood with arms crossed, glaring at her with that usual look that said, Say what you want, I’m not listening.
Yugeon’s instincts kicked in. He ran forward and threw his arms wide in front of his mother. Min Sanghan, finally shifting his gaze from Lee Minha to Yugeon, scowled.
“Yugeon, what do you think you’re—”
“Mom is sick. She has a fever, and she’s been coughing a lot.”
“……”
“Can’t you two just not fight today?”
His voice trembled, but his words were clear, and he stared directly into Min Sanghan’s eyes. On his young face was a resolve far beyond his years.
Lee Minha sucked in a breath. That her child had been forced to say such words—her heart clenched with guilt and shame. She covered her mouth, overwhelmed by the wave of nausea and self-loathing. Min Sanghan, in contrast, looked stunned, almost scoffing.
“Who taught you to butt into adult conversations, huh? Is that what your mother’s been teaching you?”
Even as his father’s voice rose to a deafening pitch, Min Yugeon didn’t flinch.
“That’s not an answer.”
“…Hah! You little—!”
“I’m…”
Yugeon swallowed dryly and forced himself to speak.
“I’m not your punching bag.”
“……!”
“So stop yelling all the time.”
Min Sanghan froze, taken aback by the child’s unprecedented defiance.
The very words Seo Suho had once said—spoken now from the mouth of his own son—struck him speechless. Because it was true. After every fight with Lee Minha, he had redirected his leftover anger toward the boy. He couldn’t deny that he had treated Yugeon exactly like that—like a target for venting.
Behind Yugeon, Lee Minha’s eyes welled up. Trembling, she bent down and pulled his small frame into her arms.
He was a child who had always smiled, who had never once talked back. Especially to Min Sanghan—he had never initiated even the most mundane conversation. And now here he was, voice shaking, confronting his father for the very first time. It broke her heart to witness it. That the first thing he ever asked from his father was this… Lee Minha clutched her son tighter and glared at Min Sanghan with fierce, accusing eyes—daring him to feel ashamed.
Min Sanghan stood stiffly, watching the boy huddled in his mother’s embrace. Yugeon didn’t avert his gaze for a second. He looked straight back, unwavering.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Min Sanghan’s expression twisted stubbornly as he clamped his mouth shut. Then, without a word, he turned and walked off to his room. He didn’t explode in anger, but he didn’t apologize either. He simply cut off the conversation.
And in that moment, Min Yugeon understood the kind of man his father was.
His wide eyes slowly clouded with disappointment.
