Chapter 5: The Science Museum Outing
The Sunday morning air was crisp, carrying the faint promise of approaching autumn. Donghae stood by his window, waiting. He saw the car first, then Hyukjae getting out. He wasn’t leaning against it today. He was standing straight, hands in his pockets, looking up at the building. Searching for Donghae’s window.
Their eyes met. Donghae waved, a little foolishly, and Hyukjae’s posture relaxed. He lifted a hand in return.
By the time Donghae got downstairs, Jisung was already bouncing on the balls of his feet beside the passenger door.
“Mr. Lee! Appa got the tickets already, and I mapped the best route to the earthquake machine!”
“The simulator,” Hyukjae corrected, his voice fond. His eyes, though, were on Donghae. He looked him over, a slow, appreciative sweep that made Donghae’s skin warm. “You look nice.”
“So do you.” Hyukjae did. The casual sweater and dark jeans suited him, softening his sharp lines without diminishing his presence.
The drive was a soundtrack of Jisung’s enthusiastic narration from the backseat. He explained the tectonic plate exhibit in detail, his voice rising and falling with excitement. Hyukjae drove, interjecting with the occasional “Is that so?” or “Remember to breathe, Jisung-ah.” His gaze kept flicking to Donghae in the passenger seat, a silent conversation in the pauses.
The museum was a cathedral of light and sound. The main hall soared, dominated by a massive, suspended skeleton of a prehistoric whale. The air hummed with the low frequency of interactive displays and the layered chatter of families. The light was cool and blue, cutting through a slight, clean scent of ozone from the electrical exhibits.
Jisung immediately latched onto Donghae’s hand. “This way!”
He pulled them through the crowd, a small, determined force of nature. Hyukjae followed, a step behind, his presence a steady anchor.
The earthquake simulator was a platform surrounded by a railing, mimicking a furnished living room. A line of people waited, giggling nervously.
“We have to stand in the middle for the full effect,” Jisung instructed, his face solemn with expertise.
When it was their turn, they stepped onto the slightly padded floor. Jisung positioned himself between them, grabbing his father’s hand and, without hesitation, reaching for Donghae’s. The mechanism gave a warning shudder. A deep, grinding rumble filled the space, and the floor began to pitch.
It wasn’t violent, but it was unnervingly realistic. The bookshelves on the display rattled, a painting tilted. Donghae stumbled sideways, directly into Hyukjae’s solid side. Hyukjae’s arm came around him instantly, bracing them both. Jisung laughed, a bright, unadulterated sound of joy as he wobbled.
“It’s a 7.2!” he yelled over the noise.
Donghae looked up. Hyukjae wasn’t looking at the shaking room. He was looking down at Donghae, his arm firm around his waist, his dark eyes calm amidst the artificial chaos. The world shook, but here, against him, it felt steady. Safe.
The tremor subsided. The lights normalized. Hyukjae’s arm loosened but didn’t fully drop, his hand resting for a moment on the small of Donghae’s back before falling away.
“That was awesome!” Jisung declared, dragging them toward the exit. “Did you feel it in your knees?”
“I felt it everywhere,” Donghae laughed, his heart still beating a funny rhythm. From the quake, or the arm around him, he wasn’t sure.
They moved through the galleries. Jisung was a whirlwind, dashing from a plasma ball that made his hair stand up to a giant piano floor mat. Donghae played a clumsy duet with him, stepping on the oversized keys to produce tinny notes. Hyukjae watched from the sidelines, a soft smile playing on his lips. He took out his phone and took a picture. Donghae, caught mid-laugh, didn’t mind.
Lunch was in the bustling museum café. They found a small table by a window overlooking the sculpture garden. Jisung, after inhaling his cheese sandwich, grew quiet. He was studying Donghae with a thoughtful expression.
“Appa said you liked the almond thing,” Jisung stated.
“I do. Very much.”
“Do you like Pachycephalosaurus?”
Hyukjae closed his eyes, a faint, embarrassed smile on his face. “Here we go.”
Donghae leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “I know they have very thick skulls. For head-butting.”
Jisung’s eyes widened. “Right! But not for fighting predators. Probably for fighting each other. For dominance or mates.” He said the last words with the clinical detachment of a documentary narrator. Then he added, softly, “My mom bought me that book. Before.”
The air at the table shifted. Hyukjae went very still, his gaze fixed on his son’s face. This was new territory, uncharted and raw.
Donghae didn’t flinch. He kept his voice gentle, matching Jisung’s tone. “It must be a very special book, then.”
Jisung nodded, looking down at his crumpled napkin. “She doesn’t call a lot. She lives far away. But the book is good.”
“The best kind of book,” Donghae agreed.
Jisung looked up, his resilience returning like the sun from behind a cloud. “You can have it. If you want. I’m into marine reptiles now.”
“Jisung, you don’t have to—” Hyukjae started.
“I want to,” Jisung said, with finality. Then he squirmed in his seat. “Can I go look at the gift shop? Just to look. I have my allowance.”
Hyukjae fished out a few bills. “Just look. We’ll be here.”
Jisung scampered off, a boy on a mission.
The silence he left was different from before. It was charged with the echo of his words. Hyukjae stared out the window, his jaw tight. The quiet sadness he carried seemed closer to the surface, palpable in the line of his shoulders.
Under the small, Formica-topped table, Donghae slowly reached out. He found Hyukjae’s hand, resting on his thigh. He threaded their fingers together.
Hyukjae’s breath hitched. He looked down at their joined hands, then back at Donghae. The intensity in his eyes was almost overwhelming.
“Thank you,” Hyukjae said, his voice low and rough. “For not… for just listening. For being here.” He squeezed Donghae’s fingers. “For being you.”
The simplicity of the statement unspooled something in Donghae’s chest. It wasn’t grand. It was real. He squeezed back, letting the warmth of his scent, content and sweet, wrap around them in the noisy café.
“He’s an amazing kid, Hyukjae.”
“He is.” Hyukjae brought their clasped hands up, just for a moment, resting them on the table edge before letting go as Jisung came barreling back, empty-handed but glowing.
“They had a glow-in-the-dark moonscape! But it was too much. I’m saving for the meteorite fragment.”
The afternoon softened. They wandered the planetarium hall, necks craned at the projected stars. In the deep blue gloom, Jisung stood between them, his small hand finding Donghae’s again. Hyukjae’s shoulder brushed Donghae’s, a constant, warm pressure.
As they walked back to the car in the long afternoon shadows, Jisung, swinging between them, looked up at Donghae.
“You should come for dinner next week. Appa makes good jjajangmyeon, but he always puts too many cucumbers in mine. You can tell him to stop.”
Hyukjae made a strangled sound. “I do not.”
“You do. Mr. Lee, you’ll come, right?”
Donghae looked over Jisung’s head at Hyukjae. The alpha’s face was a mixture of resignation and pure, undisguised hope. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
“I’d love to,” Donghae said. “And I’ll mediate the cucumber dispute.”
Jisung cheered.
In the car, with Jisung finally drowsy in the back, lulled by the motion, the quiet felt earned. Comfortable. At a red light, Hyukjae reached across the console. He didn’t take Donghae’s hand. He just let his fingertips rest on the back of Donghae’s wrist, a point of contact, a silent echo of everything that had passed between them that day. The light turned green. He withdrew his touch to shift gears.
But the phantom warmth remained, a beacon on Donghae’s skin all the way home.