@sdjinae

he’d written down her work address on a piece of paper in case of the mild chance he might lose it and never have to face reality.

reality being that white elephant in the room that won’t stop stomping its fucking feet and bulldozing everything in its path, or better known to doojoon himself, showing back up at her literal doorstep over half a decade since the birth of his own child.

he’d been scared shitless at the news. could you blame a guy just trying to get by with his band, finds out he’s gotten one of his groupies pregnant? the news leaves a pretty girl in tears at the end of the night as her co-parent to be cracks his neck and tells her he can’t be a dad. he was nineteen. he hadn’t even done his military service — how was he supposed to raise a child?

six years of pretending jinae and hyejoo didn’t even exist, six years of refusing to admit he’d brought a human being into the world, six years of letting that human being choose to not know you, six years of those blips in time when you can remember her face intuitively but begin to forget the details that you see blended with your own when you look at your daughter that you haven’t seen in six years.

he’s got two iced americanos in a to-go box in one hand, paper in the other. doojoon has chosen by far the most mundane summer morning to decide to make his reappearance, because of course nothing needs to be convenient for anyone but himself. 

he steps inside with slight unexpected hesitation that registers as stumbling over his own feet while coming inside. it was a tuesday and the shop had only been open for twenty minutes, leaving the store void of any customers that would be subject to the inevitable emotional and mental car crash that was to come.

science claims sounds can trigger certain memories in a human brain; he already knows jinae is nearby just from the familiar sound of her voice humming lightly from somewhere in close proximity. it takes him back to those times before his shows when he’d have her over, watching her from his doorframe as jinae would occupy his bedroom with her clothes to wear for the show sprawled across his unmade bed and her makeup taking priority over his vanity. 

“do you always do your makeup this pretty, or do you do it extra special when i’m around?” he finds his way to her, leans over her shoulder to wrap two arms gently across her clavicle before giving her a few light pecks to the most sensitive corners of her neck. he’s met with a red face and embarrassed laugh.

“i do my makeup like this for myself, because of you.”