Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves."
—Thomas Merton

The smell hits him first. Charred sugar and something sour—eggs, maybe?

Jiwoo blinked his eyes open. His blanket had twisted during the night, caught around his knees. It was still dark out, maybe 6 a.m., and the storm clouds outside hadn’t moved since yesterday.

A muffled curse echoed from the kitchen. Followed by a bang.

Jiwoo sighed, then smiled softly into the pillow.
“…Kayden.”

He rolled out of bed, feet padding softly on the wooden floor. The apartment was quiet except for the occasional crackle of thunder in the distance and the low growl of a man desperately trying not to burn a frying pan.

“Do not touch that—!” Kartein’s voice snapped from the living room. “That is not a spatula. That is a defibrillator paddle.”

Jiwoo rounded the corner to see Kayden holding a scorched piece of toast with kitchen tongs and a sheepish look. The table was set with exactly three plates, three cups, and a wobbly vase that held one limp flower.

It was, objectively, a disaster. And it was perfect.

“Morning,” Jiwoo said, rubbing one eye.

Kayden jumped. “You weren’t supposed to wake up yet!”

“I smelled death,” Jiwoo said lightly. “It was either you or the pancakes.”

Kartein, standing beside the fridge with her arms crossed and a mug of black coffee, didn’t so much as blink. “I warned him. I warned him ten times.”

Kayden gave a huff. “This was supposed to be a surprise. I got up early and everything!”

“You made the toaster short-circuit,” Kartein deadpanned.

“I fixed it with lightning!”

“That is not how toasters work.”

Jiwoo watched them bicker with a kind of quiet detachment. His chest ached in a way he didn’t fully understand—like something soft that had been left out in the rain. He sat down slowly at the table, folding his legs beneath him.

Kayden turned and dropped a new attempt at a pancake onto Jiwoo’s plate with a grin far too proud for something still partially raw. “There. Protein. Sugar. Fluff. I’m the best.”

“You’re the worst,” Jiwoo mumbled, but he reached for the syrup anyway.

“Hey!” Kayden mock-glared. “What did we say about bad-mouthing your only guardian?”

“You’re not my guardian.”

“Legally? No. But emotionally? Look at me.” Kayden puffed his chest. “Dad material.”

Kartein muttered something suspiciously close to “God help us” before taking a seat beside Jiwoo and placing a hand on his wrist.

“You look pale,” she said, softer now. “Any headaches? Dizzy spells?”

Jiwoo shook his head. “Just tired.”

“You’re always tired,” she said, but her voice was gentler than before. “You didn’t eat dinner last night.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

Kayden’s fork clinked too hard against the table.

The silence stretched. Jiwoo suddenly felt too big and too small all at once, shoulders curling inward.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Really.”

No one believed him. But neither pushed.

Kartein placed two vitamin capsules beside his plate. Kayden reached over and ruffled his hair, rough but careful. Jiwoo leaned into it without thinking, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

For a moment, it felt like safety.

Even if no one said it aloud.

That night, Jiwoo sat on the couch with Kayden’s arm around his shoulder and Kartein at his feet reading a medical journal. The TV flickered low light into the room. Outside, thunder grumbled again, but it didn’t feel quite so loud.

Kayden handed Jiwoo a warm cup of something too sweet. Kartein handed him a blanket. Neither looked at him too long. Neither said the words out loud.

But Jiwoo knew what they meant.

You’re not alone anymore.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes we need someone to simply be there. Not to fix anything, but to let us feel we are supported and not alone.”
— Brené Brown

It started with rain tapping on the windows. Then thunder followed.

Jiwoo was already in bed, lights out, blanket up to his chin. But his eyes were wide open, tracking every flicker that lit the ceiling. One second… two… three—*

The thunder cracked directly above the building. The glass shuddered in the windowpane.

Jiwoo’s fingers tightened around the blanket.

He wasn’t a kid. He didn’t believe thunder would reach through the wall and pull him under. He didn’t. But fear didn’t care what he believed. It still settled, cold and patient, at the base of his spine.

From the hallway, he could hear Kayden pacing. His steps were slow—measured, even, for a man who preferred crashing through life at top speed. Jiwoo knew he was checking the apartment's electric field. Again.

Kartein’s voice floated from the kitchen: “Everything’s stable. Sit down before you start frying things.”

“Just making sure,” came Kayden’s grumble.

Another flash. Another roll of thunder that sounded like it cracked the sky wide open.

Jiwoo flinched. Not visibly—he was good at hiding that now. But his body still curled tighter under the sheets.

He didn’t cry. Not anymore.

The door creaked open ten minutes later. Jiwoo kept his eyes closed.

Kayden didn’t say anything. His footfalls were heavy but careful. After a moment, the blanket shifted. Jiwoo peeked up in time to see Kayden flop unceremoniously onto the beanbag chair in the corner of Jiwoo’s room with a sigh loud enough to be a declaration.

Jiwoo blinked. “...Why are you in here?”

Kayden folded his arms. “What, I can’t hang out with my kid anymore?”

“I’m not—”

“You flinched during the thunder.”

Jiwoo’s mouth opened, then closed again. “...No, I didn’t.”

“Liar,” Kayden said lightly, like he was commenting on the weather. “Kartein’s making tea. Thought you might want some company.”

“I’m fine.”

Another lightning strike.

Kayden didn’t answer. He leaned back in the beanbag, one leg bent and one arm resting lazily over the side like a lion pretending not to be watching the room’s tiniest mouse.

After a long silence, Jiwoo spoke again. “I don’t like the noise. It’s... loud. That’s all.”

Kayden hummed. “Loud things can still be safe. You know I’m loud, and you’re not scared of me.”

Jiwoo hesitated.

Kayden opened one eye. “You’re not scared of me, right?”

"...No."

Kayden relaxed again, but the silence shifted, like something tighter had entered the room. Jiwoo stared at his hands. They were still trembling, just a little. He curled them under the blanket again.

Kayden didn’t miss it. His voice came quiet this time. “Storms used to scare me, too. When I was little. Real little.”

Jiwoo blinked.

“I’d run to the basement and hide. One time I even bit someone who tried to pull me out.”

That startled a tiny breath of a laugh out of Jiwoo. “You bit someone?”

“Hard,” Kayden said with a smirk. “Nearly broke the skin.”

Jiwoo didn’t respond. But he uncurled slightly. A minute passed.

Then: “You don’t seem scared of anything now.”

“I’m still scared of taxes.”

“…What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Jiwoo finally rolled to his side to face him. The storm was still out there, lightning clawing at the sky, thunder trailing behind. But it wasn’t clawing at him anymore.

Kayden reached out, slow, then let his hand settle on Jiwoo’s ankle under the blanket. No pressure. Just… contact.

“You’re safe,” he said. “You’re not alone. And the thunder can’t get in.”

There was a soft knock, and Kartein entered with a mug of tea that smelled like ginger and warmth. She didn’t speak. She just set it on the nightstand and brushed Jiwoo’s bangs off his forehead before retreating again.

Kayden stayed.

Eventually, Jiwoo’s breathing evened out. The thunder didn’t stop, but it no longer felt as loud.

When he drifted off, it was to the sound of Kayden snoring lightly from the beanbag, and the faintest warmth still clinging to the place where Kartein’s hand had been.