Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was raining…..of course it was raining.

Chan pulled his jacket tighter, one hand holding an umbrella that was fighting for its life against the wind, the other clutching a grocery bag threatening to rip. He’d just finished a late-night recording session, brain fried and stomach grumbling, when he saw it.
A tiny figure sitting on the curb outside his building, soaked through.

Chan blinked. Maybe it was a trick of the streetlight, or maybe sleep deprivation was finally catching up to him, but no, when he took a step closer, the figure flinched. A kid, shivering, hugging his knees to his chest.

“Hey,” Chan said softly, crouching down so he wouldn’t tower over him. “You okay there, little man?”

The kid looked up, blinking through the rain. Big brown eyes, cheeks blotchy from crying. He couldn’t have been older than six.

“I…-I lost my house,” he hiccuped.

Chan’s heart cracked. “You lost your house?”

The boy nodded. “Mama went to the shop and didn’t come back. I waited. Then the rain came.”
Chan swallowed hard..

“Okay….okay. Let’s get you somewhere dry, yeah?” He held out his hand. The boy hesitated for half a second before grabbing it, tiny fingers curling around Chan’s like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

“..’m Han,” the boy mumbled.

“Hi, Han. I’m Chan,” he said, smiling as reassuringly as he could. “Guess we rhyme, huh?”

A watery giggle. Mission accomplished.
Back in Chan’s apartment, Han sat bundled up in one of his oversized hoodies, sleeves swallowing his hands. The boy’s head barely poked out from the collar, and Chan tried not to melt entirely.

“You hungry?” Chan asked, setting a bowl of instant ramen in front of him.

Han nodded, eyes wide as he watched the steam curl up. “It smells nice.”

“’Cause it is nice,” Chan said, grinning. “Careful, it’s hot.”

They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds the clink of chopsticks and the occasional slurp. Han’s eyelids began to droop halfway through, exhaustion winning over hunger.

“C’mere,” Chan said softly, scooping him up before he could protest. The boy was feather-light, all bones and warmth and trust he hadn’t earned yet.
Chan set him down on the couch, tucking a blanket around him. Han stirred, mumbling something in his sleep.

“Don’t go,” he whispered tiny hand reaching out grabbing Chan
Chan froze. His throat tightened.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, brushing damp hair off the boy’s forehead.

For a long moment, he just stood there, watching the rise and fall of tiny breaths. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
He’d figure it out in the morning, call someone, find out where the kid belonged. But right now, as the storm raged outside and Han slept curled up in his hoodie, it felt like the world had dropped something fragile and precious into his hands.
And for once, Chan didn’t want to let go.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered weakly through Chan’s curtains, painting the living room in pale gold. Han was still asleep, curled up like a kitten on the couch, clutching the edge of the blanket in both hands.

Chan sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, laptop open and his coffee had gone cold a long time ago. The search history read like a list of panic:

“What to do if you find a lost child.”

“How long before you call the police.”

“Emergency child services number Seoul.”

He’d made the call an hour ago. They’d said someone would come by soon to talk to him and the boy. It was the responsible thing to do, he knew that.

Still, looking at Han now Chan’s chest tightened.

“Morning,” came a small, sleepy voice.

Han blinked awake, hair sticking up in every direction. The hoodie was half falling off one shoulder, sleeves still swallowing his arms.

“Hey, sunshine,” Chan said gently. “You sleep okay?”

Han nodded, rubbing his eyes. “You didn’t go away.”

Chan’s heart twisted. “Told you I wouldn’t.”

Breakfast was a clumsy affair, Han insisted on helping, though his idea of ‘helping' mostly meant stirring pancake batter with exaggerated concentration and leaving a flour explosion in his wake. Chan laughed so hard his cheeks hurt.

When the knock came, it startled them both.

Chan wiped his hands on a towel, shot Han a reassuring smile, and opened the door.

A woman stood there with a clipboard and kind eyes. “Mr. Bang? I’m from Child Protective Services. We got your call.”

Chan nodded, suddenly aware of how small his apartment was and how chaotic it looked. “Yeah- uh, come in.”

The woman smiled at Han. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

Han shrank back behind Chan’s leg. “Han,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Chan said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “She just wants to make sure you’re safe.”

The woman knelt down. “That’s a lovely name. Do you know where your mom is?”

Han bit his lip, eyes glossy. “She went to the shop and didn’t come back.”

The woman’s smile faltered. “I see. Thank you for telling me.”

The next half hour was a blur of questions, where Chan found him, what time, whether Han remembered his address, phone number, anything. The answer to most was no.

Finally, the woman stood. “We’ll do our best to locate his family, but until then, he’ll need to come with us.”

Han’s head snapped up. “No!”

Chan froze.

Han ran forward, tiny arms wrapping around Chan’s leg, his voice trembling. “Don’t make me go! I’ll be good! Please, don’t make me!”

“Hey, hey, Han,” Chan said, kneeling to his level. “It’s okay bud, she’s just trying to help.”

But Han only clung tighter, tears soaking into Chan’s jeans. “I don’t want to leave you!”

Something in Chan cracked then.

He looked up at the woman, throat tight. “Is there… is there a way he can stay? Just until you find his mom?”

She hesitated, sympathy flickering in her eyes. “It’s not a typical procedure, but… if you’re willing to file for temporary custody, it’s possible. You’d have to go through some checks.”

“I’ll do it,” Chan said without thinking.

“Chan…” she started, but he shook his head.

“I’ll do it.”

That night, after the woman left with a folder full of forms and promises to return, Han was back on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket, holding a stuffed bear Chan had dug out from his storage boxes.

“Do I have to go?” Han asked quietly.

Chan sat beside him, smoothing his hair back. “Not right now, no. You’re staying here for now, okay?”

Han blinked up at him. “With you?”

Chan smiled, soft and certain. “With me.”

The boy’s hand found his small fingers curling tight. “Okay.”

Chan looked down at their joined hands and exhaled.

He’d only meant to help a lost kid for one night. But somewhere between the rain and the pancakes and the way Han said his name like it was safe, he knew he wasn’t just helping anymore.

He was keeping him.

Chapter Text

The apartment smelled faintly of pancakes and leftover coffee. Rain streaked the windows, turning the city outside into a blur of grey. Chan sat at the kitchen table, papers spread out in a messy semi-circle around him. Forms, questionnaires, checklists, everything social services required for temporary fostering.

Han sat on the floor, cross-legged, scribbling on a notebook with crayons. He wasn’t supposed to be ‘helping,’ but he looked far too serious to argue with.

“Do you want to colour while I work?” Chan asked, trying to make the forms less intimidating.

“I’m making a family tree,” Han said, without looking up. “You’re in it.”

Chan froze for a heartbeat. “Am I?”

“Yeah. You go here,” Han said, pointing to the top corner with a solemn expression. “And I go right here. Mom… she’s missing.”
Chan swallowed hard. The lump in his throat made writing his name on the forms suddenly feel monumental. He reached over and ruffled Han’s damp hair.

“You’re a big help,” he said softly.

Filling out the paperwork was slow, meticulous, and somehow nerve-wracking. Every question about his lifestyle, finances, apartment, and emotional readiness reminded Chan that he was taking on a huge responsibility. One glance at Han curled up on the couch with the stuffed bear, and every anxiety melted away.
Finally, after an hour, Chan signed the last form. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling like he’d just climbed a mountain.

“We did it,” he murmured.

Han, who had been watching him carefully, crawled onto the chair beside him and pressed his small hand over Chan’s. “We did it together.”

Chan’s chest tightened. “Yeah… together.”

That night, Chan made two bowls of ramen, and Han insisted they eat on the living room floor with blankets around them like a picnic. They laughed when noodles flopped onto the floor, when Han tried to steal more than his fair share of egg, and when Chan made a dramatic show of tasting the soup and pretending it was too spicy for him.
Afterword, Han climbed onto Chan’s lap, tired but content, and hugged him around the neck.

“You’re my Appa now, right?” he asked, voice small.

Chan held him a little tighter, feeling the weight of those words settle in his chest. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m your Appa.”
Han smiled sleepily and rested his head on Chan’s shoulder. “I like that,” he said.

Chan looked down at the boy, hair damp and cheeks flushed, and felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the ramen. He thought about the first night, about the rain and the fear and the uncertainty. And he realised something: family wasn’t about papers, or rules, or even blood. It was about trust. About being there. About little hands that cling to you, and big hearts that follow you home.

Chan kissed the top of Han’s head. “We’re a family now,” he said softly.
Han mumbled in agreement, already drifting off to sleep.

And for the first time in a long time, Chan felt like he had a home too...

Chapter Text

The first weeks after the paperwork are… chaotic.

Chan thinks he’s prepared. He’s stocked the fridge, folded tiny pajamas into drawers, bought extra socks, and even set up a blanket fort of sorts on the couch for Han’s first night. He’s read every article on parenting and foster care that he can find. He’s ready, at least, he thinks he is.

But readiness doesn’t cover the sheer, relentless energy of a six-year-old.

Han treats the apartment like a jungle gym. He climbs the couch, jumps off the coffee table, and turns the hallway into a racetrack. He spills cereal almost daily, leaves sticky fingerprints on the windows, and refuses to eat anything green with the stubborn conviction of a tiny lawyer.

And yet, every laugh, every tantrum, every breathless “Appa, look!” reminds Chan why he said yes.

Mornings are their favorite.

Han pops awake like a spring, hair a wild halo, shouting, “Appa! Appa! Breakfast!” before Chan can even open his eyes.

Chan stumbles out of bed, hair sticking up, squinting at the clock. “It’s Saturday, Han…”

“Pancakes don’t know days!” Han announces, already dragging out the step stool.

So Chan makes pancakes. Or at least he tries to. Han sneaks spoonfuls of batter when he thinks Chan isn’t looking, leaving streaks of flour across the counter and his own cheeks. The kitchen ends up a disaster zone, but they’re laughing by the time they sit down to eat.

Evenings are quieter.

They curl up on the couch with a book, Han tucked under Chan’s arm, his head warm against Chan’s chest. Sometimes Chan strums the guitar instead, low and soft, and Han hums along off-key. The sound fills the apartment, something small and imperfect, but whole.

It’s not always easy. Some nights, after Han’s asleep, Chan sits at the kitchen table surrounded by bills, half-finished school forms, and a creeping sense of doubt. He worries if he’s doing enough. If Han misses his mom.

One rainy afternoon, Chan finds Han sitting on the windowsill, knees pulled to his chest, eyes following the raindrops as they slide down the glass.
“Watching the rain again?” Chan asks, taking a seat beside him.

Han nods. “It’s cozy. I like it when it rains.” He pauses, his voice smaller when he adds, “I like being here with you.”

Chan blinks, caught off guard. “You… like being here?”

Han gives a shy little smile and leans his head against Chan’s shoulder. “Yeah. You’re my Appa now. I like it.”

Warmth floods Chan’s chest, thick and heavy, almost too much to hold. He wraps an arm around Han and squeezes. “I like it too,” he says quietly. “I like it a lot.”

They sit there for a long time, listening to the rain patter against the glass, the rhythm steady and comforting.

Weeks turn into months.

Han learns to tie his shoes, to ride his bike in the park, to count to a hundred without skipping numbers. Chan runs beside him when he rides, heart pounding, until Han shouts, “Appa! I’m doing it!” and pedals off, wobbly but triumphant.

When school starts, Chan walks him there every morning, holding Han’s small hand while his backpack bounces behind him. Han tells him about his new friends, his favorite crayons, and his teacher’s funny laugh.

Chan learns how to make perfect chocolate chip pancakes without burning them, and how to answer the same “Why?” question twenty times, and how to tell when Han’s quiet means tired and not sad.

Their apartment fills with drawings taped to the fridge, with tiny socks under the couch, with laughter that never seems to end. It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s unpredictable, but it’s theirs.

Sometimes, after Han falls asleep, Chan stands in the doorway of his room, just watching. Han’s face is soft in the glow of his nightlight, his small hand curled around his stuffed bear.

There was a time when this apartment was silent. When Chan came home to nothing but his own footsteps and the hum of the refrigerator.

Now, it’s alive. Full of noise, love, and all the small, ordinary miracles that make up a life together.

This isn’t just Chan’s home anymore.

It’s theirs.

Chapter Text

The moving truck was barely parked before Han bolted out of the front door, arms flailing, laughter echoing down the quiet suburban street.

“Han! Wait!” Chan called, lugging a box that felt twice his weight. “We have to unpack, not redecorate the street!”

Han didn’t stop. He was already sprinting toward the small garden in the yard of their new home, his yellow raincoat flapping behind him like a superhero’s cape. Chan dropped the box with a groan, straightened up, and wiped sweat off his forehead, a chuckle escaping despite his exhaustion.

A bigger apartment had seemed like a dream a year ago. Now, with Han bouncing from room to room, narrating every discovery and the mountain of boxes waiting to be unpacked, it looked more like… well, a hurricane had moved in.

Still, Chan couldn’t bring himself to complain. Each squeal of delight, each muffled crash, reminded him why he’d worked so hard for this to give Han a real home, a place that felt theirs.

It wasn’t long before the phone rang, changing everything again.

“Mr. Bang?” The caseworker’s voice was warm but brisk, the kind that carried both professionalism and compassion. “We have a child who could use a foster home. His name is Seo Changbin. He’s eight. Would you be willing to meet him?”

Chan froze mid-box. Eight. Just two years older than Han. Close enough to fight, close enough to be brothers if things went right. But the weight of that responsibility pressed down heavy on his chest.

He glanced at Han, who had just tripped over a stack of bubble wrap and landed in a fit of giggles.

“Uh… yeah,” Chan said, a smile tugging at his lips despite his nerves. “Yeah, we can do that.”

|

Changbin arrived three days later.

He was quiet, his backpack clutched to his chest, eyes darting around the room like a wary little animal assessing unfamiliar territory. His shoes squeaked faintly on the hardwood floor.

Han, on the other hand, wasted no time. “Hi! I’m Han! This is my Appa! Do you like dinosaurs?”

Changbin blinked at the sudden burst of energy, lips twitching before the smallest smile broke through. “I- I like T-Rexes.”

“YES!” Han whooped. “Me too! I have a big one upstairs that ROARS! Wanna see?”

Before Chan could intervene, Han had already grabbed Changbin’s hand and was halfway up the stairs, chattering about prehistoric reptiles and secret forts.

Chan stood there, hands on his hips, his chest tight with something between relief and pride. He’d been worried of course he had. Adding a second child to their home meant changing everything again: routines, space, energy. But seeing Han’s eagerness to welcome Changbin, seeing Changbin’s shy smile begin to bloom… it felt right.

Over the next few weeks, their little apartment began to feel less like a house and more like a home again, bigger, louder, messier, and somehow warmer.

Breakfast became a full-scale operation: cereal bowls toppled, pancakes flipped midair, eggs vanishing faster than Chan could cook them. Han liked his toast burnt ‘because it crunches better,’ while Changbin preferred his with strawberry jam and no butter.

Homework time was twice as long and twice as noisy, often devolving into debates over who got which pencil or who solved the math problem first. But sometimes, Chan would catch glimpses of something gentler Han leaning over to whisper hints, or Changbin carefully explaining an answer while Han nodded earnestly.

Bedtime was its own production. Han demanded two storybooks, Changbin one, and Chan had to referee the nightly argument about who got to pick the “goodnight” song.

Some nights, both boys ended up asleep halfway through his off-key singing, their hands tangled together under the covers.

And in between the chaos, Chan found peace in the quiet moments like Changbin’s tentative laughter the first time they made cookies together, or Han’s little hand slipping into his as they crossed the street.

Sometimes, late at night, Chan would stand in the kitchen surrounded by the remnants of another long day crayons on the counter, half-eaten sandwiches on plates, toy cars abandoned mid-race and feel an ache in his chest.

One rainy evening, thunder rumbling softly outside, Chan tucked both boys into bed. Han’s hair was still damp from his bath, sticking up in tufts, while Changbin had wrapped himself tightly in the blanket like a cocoon.

The stuffed animals were all arranged just so one tucked under each arm, two more at their feet.

“Appa?” Han murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Are we gonna stay here forever?”

Chan smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Han’s forehead. “Yeah, buddy. This is home now.”

Changbin stirred beside him, eyes half-open. “Even me?” he asked softly.

Chan’s throat tightened. He leaned down and kissed both their foreheads. “Especially you.”

He stood at the door for a long moment after the lights were out, watching the slow rise and fall of two small chests under the same blanket.

“You guys…” he whispered, voice barely audible over the rain. “We’re a family now.”

Han murmured, “Yeah, Appa,” already half-asleep.

Changbin mumbled, “Yeah,” and rolled closer to his brother.

Chan exhaled, the sound caught between a sigh and a laugh. Two little boys. Two hearts depending on him. It was exhausting. Unpredictable. Sometimes terrifying.

But it was also everything he’d ever wanted. Perfect, in its own messy, beautiful way.

Chapter Text

This is not a chapter but to say please go reread the past chapters now that the real chapter 2 is posted I forgot it was a draft and completely skipped over it but here's a funny incorrect quote that I feel like goes with this story