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nagisadelune · 1 year

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Headcanon: Luke as Your Tutor (Part 1)

(Definitely not edited)

Time for another headcanon! As much as I want to imagine this one in the real universe for Tears of Themis, this one is going to need to be its own little AU, so here we go!

For the timeline, imagine that you are in high school with Luke and Rosa. Let's just set the age to around 16, and assume that Luke hasn't left yet.

⭐⭐⭐

"UGH!" The loud crash of your head on the table surprises Luke and Rosa who stare at you. With finals coming up, you know that studying is your first priority, but nothing seems to be sticking in your head. Even with the water and snacks in the library, you still can't seem to understand the topics on your notebook. Rosa peers over you to take a glimpse at what you were reviewing this time.

"Physics?" she questions, noticing the various force diagrams scribbled in the lines of your notebook. You can only sigh as you nod your head a little. For some reason, you know how to do the questions in theory, but you keep getting the wrong answers because you misunderstand what the question asks for.

After lifting your head up from the desk, you begin explaining how you feel, "It's like I know how to do the questions and apply what I need, but the question asks for something different than what I expect." Understanding your frustrations, Rosa just pets your back to show her sympathy. While she tries to comfort you, Luke grabs the notebook and textbook from you to read the question.

"Yeah, I understand what you mean," Luke cuts in. "Sadly, the only way to fully understand what the questions want is by doing them over and over to practice." You sigh, knowing that he's right. Suddenly, you remember what you might've written in your notebook and carefully pull back your notebook from his grasp, trying to hide your red face.

For awhile now, you've taken interest in Luke: he is always such a sweet guy towards you and goes out of his way to make sure you're safe. Maybe it's because you're best friends with Rosa, but you find him to be extremely caring towards you. However, that's where it gets complicated; you and Rosa are always together since she takes you under her wing as her junior, and it's hard to differentiate his feelings towards you and Rosa.

Either way, you like him to the point that writing his name in the corner of the paper helps you calm down and focus on your thoughts while working on homework or a test. Because of this, you forget that his name is written in the corner of a couple pages in the midst of your frustration; the only thing you can do is hope that he doesn't notice it.

To hide your red face, you prop your elbow on the table and hold your temples with your thumb and middle finger. Hopefully, this seems natural to the two people who are worriedly looking at you. You start getting ready to attempt another question from the textbook when you hear Luke speak up from in front of you.

"We can tutor you if you want," he quietly offers. You look up from your paper to see Rosa nodding happily.

"Yeah, I think that it must have to do with the wording of the questions since I know a lot of people who didn't understand it until someone explained it," Rosa explains with a smile on her face. "Trust me, I was one of those people before Luke explained it to me last year." I glance at him and notice his ears turning red from her compliment.

"I'll be back," Luke awkwardly coughs out before quickly escaping the room. While he leaves, his cheeks are already starting to turn red. Your heart sinks thinking that he might actually like Rosa, but you hide it to avoid any conflicts. You watch his figure become smaller before eventually turning back to Rosa who has a mysterious smile growing on her face.

"My beloved junior, you have someone you like, don't you?" she playfully asks, lightly pushing your shoulder.

Immediately, you start panicking, "M-me? No. No way. No one I like. I don't like anyone. I mean who would I-"

"Y/N, your face is so red now," Rosa cut me off. "As your senior, you know you don't have to lie to me." You immediately want to hide since she read you so easily. You can only nod slightly and not make any eye contact before you feel a hand softly pat your head. "No need to be shy. It's normal to have someone you like," she comforts you in a soft tone.

"Was I too obvious?" you mumble, trying to hide your face from her. You were definitely not expecting Rose to notice your little crush towards her friend.

"Not at all," she responds. "In fact, I think I'm the only one who would know." A small weight seemed to come off of your chest when she explains the situation. "So what do you like about Luke?" Rosa suddenly asks. In an instant, you feel your heart beating out of your chest and the blood rising into your cheeks. Before you can even stutter out an answer, Rosa looks at you shocked and questions almost too loudly, "You like him that much!?"

"Rosa, please don't expose me that much!" you exclaim before covering her mouth and looking around the library. Luckily, there aren't many students in the library since today is Friday, but you prepare yourself for making apologies to the other students there. You also don't know if Luke is nearby, and you hope that you never have to find out his reaction to what she just said.

"Sorry, sorry," Rosa starts apologizing in a hushed tone, pulling your hands down from her mouth. "Why didn't you ever tell me that you liked him though?" You can only look down at your twiddling fingers as you try to form an answer.

"I felt like he liked you, and I didn't want to make anything awkward between the three of us," you murmur, picking at the dirt underneath your nails. "I don't want to ruin any relationships with you guys because I'm pretty happy where we are as a group." You have to stop yourself short to make sure you weren't rambling to your busy senior, but when she doesn't respond, you look up to see her soft smile.

"You wouldn't have ruined anything no matter what. Even if he liked me or you, you're allowed to have your feelings," Rosa softly speaks in an attempt to calm your nerves. "Plus, do you really think I would resent you or something for liking my childhood best friend?" You could only shrug to her question as you contemplate what would have happened in a different universe.

"Do you think he even likes me in any way? Even as a friend is fine," you ask her, embarrassed to be asking such a question. You can hear Rosa stifle a small laugh before she tries to respond to you.

"I think he at least doesn't mind being near you," Rosa answers after calming herself. "If he really couldn't stand you, why would he be here with all three of us?" You automatically think of an answer, but you keep it to yourself knowing that Rosa could easily refute your statement in an instant. Slowly, you shake your head no, and Rosa squeezes your hands. "Trust me when I say this: just be yourself around Luke. Either way, he will care about you," she whispers to encourage you. You can only nod before you hear Luke hurrying back.

"Are you guys okay?" he asks concerned, looking between you two. He seems to be sweating a little bit while carrying a plastic bag. His hair sticks a little to his forehead as he tries to wipe the sweat away, and you have to mentally tell yourself to stop staring before it becomes too obvious.

"We're okay," Rosa answers on our behalf. "Our little junior was just getting stressed about that physics final she has coming up, but I should be able to help her." She makes a little lie up to cover for your confession to her. Seemingly understanding the situation, Luke nods before setting the bag down on the table.

"Well maybe it was a good thing that I ran down to the convenience store for some snacks," Luke sighs in relief, revealing the various chips and candy he bought from the nearby store.

"Senior, why so many snacks though?" you question, picking up a packet of gummy bears. You raise your eyes to meet his, but you freeze as his eyes are deeply looking into yours. For a moment, time stops, and you can only hear your heartbeat and barely feel your breaths.

"Our favorite junior deserves some snacks for working so hard," his clear voice rings in your ears as it seems like you two are in your own world. His soft smile seems to radiate the warmth of sunlight, and your body warms from the inside. You clear your throat before looking back at the candy packet in your hand.

"Thank you," your shy voice thanks him, your eyes not able to meet his anymore. You can barely hear him respond back before you open the packet and try to distract yourself from what just happened. Snacking on one gummy, you focus your eyes on the notebook in front of you. However, your mind can't seem to focus on your work, distracted by a certain someone in front of you. While your hand instinctively reaches for the corner of the page, you have to stop yourself because it would be way too awkward to explain what you are writing.

As if on time, Rose suddenly stands up from the desk and starts freaking out, "I totally forgot I have to get back home and help Granny down the street with dinner!" Luke and I look at her shocked; she's never late to help Granny with dinner. "I have to run back right now. Luke, can you tutor and walk Y/N home when you guys are done studying?" Rosa quickly asks as she stuffs her thin jacket and study materials into her backpack. You help her gather her items to speed up the process.

"Yes, don't worry about us," Luke reassures her. "Just get going before Granny gets too worried about you." You see her barely nod as she slings her backpack over her shoulder and leaves the library. Watching her diminishing figure disappearing down the stairs, you can only sigh at the timing.

"I've never seen Rosa run like that or be late," you comment out loud, noticing her uncharacteristic behavior.

"You're right about that," Luke agrees as he peers behind himself for a second before setting his eyes back on you. When you look back at him, you feel frozen seeing him watch you. In the panic, you don't realize it, but she just set you up with Luke. When you realize it, you feel your heart racing and your mind wandering. The vibration from your phone pulls you away as you look at the text message from Rosa: "Good luck."

⭐⭐⭐

Okay, so this is way longer than I thought. I'm going to be making this a two-part headcanon, so you can enjoy the amount of fluff and not-angst this story has. Either way, I hope you liked it! See you in the next one!

Next: Luke as Your Tutor (Part 2)

#tears of themis #tears of themis luke #luke pearce #tears of themis x y/n #prose #luke fluff #tot luke #xia yan #tot xia yan #luke x you #fanfiction #fanfic #luke headcanons

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inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

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For You: 4 O’Clock

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All This Time

"Honestly, Yesung," I smile as we wrap up at the studio, "I'm gonna miss this. I can't believe this is our first time singing together!"

"It does seem long overdue, huh?" Yesung grins, sitting back in his chair. "We can always do this again, Lei. I'm happy to see you back in the studio after all this time!"

"You know," I sigh, "I think I am too."

I hadn't planned to return to S.M. as an artist, but I never quite ruled out the possibility. I guess I find comfort in open endings. When I first went on leave, I started working toward degrees in a variety of foreign languages— the ones I learned as an idol— intending to return to the agency as a translator.

Then, Yesung sent me a demo of the perfect duet and asked me to sing it with him. Being the perfect husband, Taemin encouraged me to do it. "One song doesn't commit you to a career," he said, so now I am here: reimagining my dream of being an artist.

The days of nonstop touring and practicing from sunrise to sunset have passed; my priorities are different now. Here in the shade with Yesung, where the light is gentle, I am comfortable. I am not ready to take the next big step.

"You're glowing, Lei; you were meant to share your voice." Yesung beams at me.

I want to tell him that I am only reflecting the light he and so many others have shone on me, but I don't get the chance. In his next breath, he asks, "How's our little miracle doing, by the way? Do you think he's expecting tomorrow's surprise party?"

As fond wrinkles form around Yesung's eyes, my heart swells and overfills with adoration. I shake my head. "No. Obviously, Mom can keep a secret. With time, Taemin has gotten better at holding his tongue. With Lucas, Donghae, and Heechul running around the house, though, it's amazing that the cat is still in the bag. I try not to question miracles."

"That seems wise," Yesung hums. "Best to enjoy secrecy while it lasts; they still have a full—" he glances down at his watch— "almost a full 24-hours to spoil the surprise!"

We laugh. Then, a joyful sort of pout— yes, I realize that is some kind of an oxymoron— pulls at my lips. I run a hand through my hair after releasing it from its ponytail. "Can you believe that Tue is turning five?"

"No!" Yesung's hair falls into his eyes when he shakes his head. "Just like I can't believe that you actually came around calling your son Tue after all those times you scolded Kim and Lucas for using that name!"

"Having two Lucases around gets confusing." I justify my change of heart, shrugging. "Plus, my boy is unique enough to justify that kind of name!"

Yesung repeats, "Unique," agreeing with a subtle nod. "He reminds me a lot of you, especially now that he's reaching that age you were when we first met."

It's strange— thinking about how much time has passed— thinking about how some things never change— realizing that some images repeat and replay.

"Really?"

Tilting my head, I study my lock screen picture. Lucas took it just last night; he immortalized the moment that Tue sat between me and Taemin at the piano in the den, and I don't know if I have thanked him enough. I squint at the photo as if that will help me see similarities between myself and my son; it doesn't help.

"I think Tue is a carbon copy of Taemin in appearance and personality," I admit through laughter. "These days, he loves to watch music videos. He can replicate any choreography— and I mean any choreography— after seeing it just once. I've never seen anything like it!"

Should the agency find out, I sometimes think and spark worry in my gut, they will set their sights on him.

There it is— the reason why I am so reluctant to return to the stage as an idol: fear of drawing attention to Tue. It was difficult enough when he was born and everybody felt entitled to see him when he was too little to decide whether he wanted to exist under strangers' stares.

What worries me most, I think, is the fact that I don't know when he will be old enough to make that decision. Five is definitely too young— Taemin and I agree about that, so we take great precautions to protect his privacy. Nobody who knows Tue posts pictures of him on social media; whenever he leaves the house, he wears a mask like we do; as Mom considers early retirement (and therefore takes on fewer group clients), her job has become primarily threatening paparazzi who consider releasing rare photographs of him.

I have never cared whether people think I'm overprotective. I know too well of the pressures that come with living in the public eye, and I will defend my son from them for as long as I can. Tue is a star, and I know it's just a matter of time until he tries to follow in the footsteps of everybody he loves. I only comfort myself with the thought that it's not happening yet; it's not happening today; it probably won't happen tomorrow.

"I've seen something like that!" Yesung's boast drags me out of my train of thought. "I don't know if you can still do this— I don't understand child prodigies all that well— but when you were a kid, you could play any song on the piano right after hearing it for the first time. Donghae said teaching you to read sheet music was like pulling teeth because you played everything by ear."

Knowing that reading sheet music is still not my strong suit, I redden at Yesung's recollection. "Tue can do that too!" I want to brag. "He's the most talented person I've ever known, and he is barely five years old. He's the most gifted person I know, and that's saying something, given how many gifted people I've loved."

Yesung nudges my ribs. "Why else do you think Henry was so obsessed with you? You both spoke the same piano language!"

"You know," I say, "Henry asked about interviewing Tue for his program about child prodigies."

"Oh yeah?" Although he knows me well enough to predict the answer, Yesung asks, "What did you say?"

"I said that he's welcome to see Tue and play music with him any time," I answer Yesung just as carefully as I answered Henry. "You know that there's nobody I could trust more than you guys— Super Junior— to lead Tue into the entertainment industry, but—"

I squirm, and my stomach knots. "You know how I am. You know that the thought of sharing Tue— no— not the thought of sharing his talent and his sparkling smile and his sweet voice and his kindness— that's not the problem. I know that the world needs more people like my son. I just—"

After all this time, my voice still trembles when I think about how cruel strangers are to good people. "I just wonder how well the world treats people like him. I wonder how much the world deserves people like him."

Yesung rises from his seat to embrace me. His chin rests on the top of my chair. "I don't think anybody understands that anxiety better than your Mom."

And it happens again: my love for Mom grows. My beautiful Mom. My kind Mom. My Mom who stood in the wings, my Mom who stood comfortably in my shadow. I always thought she was naturally aware of when to hold on and when to let go, but maybe balance was challenging to her too.

Hearing Yesung describe our shared fear makes me imagine that I have grown to resemble Mom. Tears fill my eyes. I am always sensitive; especially about Mom, and especially around Tue's birthday.

Before the first tear can fall, he is running to me, crawling into my lap, and holding my face in his hands that are so small, so soft— uncalloused and young. "What's wrong, Mommy?"

Because the tears evaporate so quickly, I almost believe that they never existed. For a moment, when I cup Tue's rosy cheeks and give him my truest smile, I believe that I have never cried in my entire life. "I was just thinking about how much I missed my beautiful boy! It's all better now that you're here!"

Tue giggles when I push his dark curly hair out of his face and kiss his forehead. He's especially cute these days because he likes his hair long; he likes for the ends to tickle his dimpled chin.

"I missed you too! I asked Daddy to bring me to see you and Uncle Lucas and—" his eyes— the feature that most closely resembles Taemin's because they contain all of the universe's stars— widen in time with the growth of his smile. "Great Uncle Yesung!"

Tue transforms into a reincarnation of my childhood self when he abandons all thought in admiration of Yesung. He leaps out of my lap and runs into Yesung's laughing embrace.

It's beautiful— thinking about how much time has passed— thinking about how some things never change— realizing that some images repeat and replay.

I consider that on my walk to the doorway, where Taemin stands, watching the scene with a smile. His fingers trace absentmindedly at the ribbon on his wrist that hasn't faded with the passage of time. The color hasn't faded since he restored it on that night by the lake.

"I'm sorry if we interrupted your work," Taemin says softly when he catches me staring. "I told Tue not to just run into the studio, but you know how he gets when he's excited: just a teeny tiny bit disobedient. Or a teeny tiny bit forgetful."

After teasing, "I wonder who he gets that from," and earning a chuckle in response, I assure Taemin, "You didn't interrupt anything. Yesung and I are done with the song. We just got to talking."

Maybe Taemin noticed the tears before Tue carried them away, or maybe he hears that longtime blend of anxiety and craving for peace that almost always reveals itself in my voice through our conversations. His brow furrows as he wraps an arm around my waist. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah," I answer immediately because I always want to talk about everything with Taemin. I told him once that I would grow to trust him with everything, and I have; for better or for worse, I hold nothing back. Watching Tue throw his head back laughing as Yesung tickles his ribs just below his armpits, right where he knows he's most ticklish, I condition, "Later though. Smiles and laughter for now, please."

Taemin doesn't press the issue. In the beginning, he was always in such a rush, determined to force intimate conversation, no matter my discomfort. Now, he must realize that there is nothing I will keep from him forever. Now, he must understand that everything will come to light when we lie together under the moon. He no longer races to the rising of the moon or the rising of the sun; he lives in every moment. I admire him for that.

Taemin smiles and winks at me before fixing his sight on Tue. "Hey little dude," Taemin says during the brief break in Tue's laughter, "Mommy is done for the day, and she wants to hang out with us! What do you wanna do?"

Tue runs to us from Yesung's side. He reaches for Taemin, knowing well that his father will waste no time in lifting him onto his shoulders.

"Alright." Taemin squats so Tue can climb on easily and so he doesn't hit his head on the doorframe. It's funny to watch Taemin, who was once spoiled rotten, who is still a bit rotten at the core, literally bending to the will of a small child. "What's the plan, kiddo?"

Tue wastes no time pretending to think about his dream activity. Although he sees his namesake almost every day, he declares, "I wanna see Uncle Lucas!"

Trusting that I still memorize my best friend's schedules, Taemin glances at me. Luckily enough, I still know where Lucas is at all times. Some people jokingly call it twin-telepathy, but it's only through my nagging reminders that Lucas ever gets where he needs to be.

"He's downstairs teaching a dance class with Mark." I look down at my phone again; I couldn't hide my smile at the picture even if I tried. "It should be wrapping up soon, so—"

Taemin cheers, "Off we go!" and runs toward the elevator. Tue squeals all the way down the hall, and I wish more than anything that I had been ready to record this moment.

Before following my boys, I linger in the studio to tell Yesung, "Bye! Thank you for everything!"

"See you tomorrow!" Yesung waves both hands. "You're welcome for everything! Never forget that I'm proud of you!"

I smile because it is impossible to forget what Yesung has told me since we met.

. . .

Although Taemin, Tue, and I stand quietly at the back of the room, Lucas notices us immediately.

"Hey!" His booming clap disrupts the class, and all eyes fall on us. "There's my mini-me!"

It doesn't matter that Tue is identical to Taemin (apart from the wavy hair he inherited from me); Lucas has called him "mini-me" since the day he was born. That's just a consequence of naming my baby after my best friend. It's a consequence I can live with.

It doesn't matter that Tue sees Lucas almost every day; they always greet each other with wide smiles and open arms as if they have been separated for lifetimes. That's just a result of the bond they share.

Sometimes, I think that Tue was born not just to fill my every void and fade every scar. He was born to be the best friend Lucas always deserved. He was born to teach Taemin that he is much more than an idol. He makes us better just by existing. I have never loved anyone so much— with my entire heart, my entire soul, with every part of me that has ever existed and will ever exist.

I run a hand through Tue's hair before Taemin passes him to Lucas. This transition of our most beloved person into the arms of another dear friend occurs without the arguments that gave me headaches at the start. We have accepted it by now: Lucas is Tue's favorite person on the planet.

I don't care much to challenge that title since it means so much to Lucas and since I know from experience that the role of the mother is special on its own. I don't know much from experience about the role of the father except that its absence painful in more ways than words can describe; I don't know much except its absence leaves a void that most will try to fill with anything; I don't know much except Taemin is doing a good job, and I tell him so every day.

Now, I tell him by reaching for his hand and lacing our fingers together. This— holding his hand— has always been my favorite act of affection. It's crazy to think that, once upon a time, I would have hesitated— I would have refused— I would have denied the desire to reach for him outside of our hotel room and our home.

Sometimes, like now, Taemin looks stunned when I touch him. He flinches as if my touch is frozen or scalding or electric, but then he smiles and melts into me a little more. Every time I think we're done melting into each other, when I think that we already blended to create the perfect human being, we take another step together.

"Hey!" Tue leans over Lucas's shoulder to look him in the eyes. "It's big-me!"

"Sh," I instruct quietly, bringing a finger to my puckered lips. "They're practicing, baby. We're guests, so we have to be quiet."

Generally, Tue is a well-mannered boy. He just forgets proper etiquette when excited, and nobody excites him quite like Lucas. Turning slightly pink in the face, Tue nods and brings a finger to his puckered lips too.

Moments of correction are always short-lived because Tue takes instruction well. I wink at him, and he winks back. The thing is— Tue has inherited Mom's lack of facial coordination, so he blinks both eyes.

The sight makes Taemin laugh. When I was a kid, I would have wanted to cry if someone (especially someone as beautiful as Taemin) laughed at me. Tue's lips don't tremble in preparation for tears, though; his lips curl into a gap-toothed smile. Oh, there's another thing my baby gets from me: a gappy smile! It looks much cuter on him; I almost hope he never corrects it with braces.

Because Taemin laughed, Tue laughs. He always copies his father.

Raising my eyebrows, I give Lucas a look that clearly means, "Aren't you supposed to help Mark with this class?"

Lucas understands. Maybe his understanding is the result of (fake) twin-telepathy or— more likely— it is the result of having known each other for eternities. Securing his hold around Tue, Lucas softly sings, "Priorities change, Lei."

Because I completely restructured my life for Tue— and that's much more significant than ditching the last five minutes of a dance practice— I can't argue with Lucas. I can only nod.

At the front of the room, Mark announces, "Alright guys, we're done for the day! Great work!"

I hope that he hasn't ended practice early because we have caused an interruption, but it's hard to stay worried when Mark's trainees break into excited chatter. The atmosphere in this room is unlike anything I experienced as a trainee. People like Mark, people like Lucas— they have changed this place. They have brought light into the rooms, and I— I think I want to help them.

Then, I look at Tue, and I know that I don't want him to spend his days sitting alone by the vending machine. I don't want him to spend his days sitting in the corner while I teach trainees. In no way do I resent my childhood; I just want to protect Tue from the loneliness that darkened too many days.

Life is about finding balance, I think. Balance between Lei the idol and Lei the human. Balance between Lei the fearful and Lei the brave. Balance between Lei the skeptic and Lei the romantic. Balance between Lei the individual and Lei the wife. Balance between Lei the idol and Lei the mother. Balance between Lei of the past and Lei of now. Some of these, I have mastered. Some of these were easier to achieve than others. Some of these are a daily struggle. Some of these remain a mystery.

I'm trying, though; that's enough for me now. I am proud of who I am now. I am proud of who I will be tomorrow.

I wave to Mark, thinking that he has always had the best influence on others. Smiling, Mark waves back, calling "Happy Early Birthday, Lucas Tue!" (and receiving a chipper, "Thank you, Mr. Mark Lee!" in response) before I follow my family into the hall, led by Taemin's hand, with the sea of trainees.

We sit at the table by the vending machine. It's much smaller now than it is in my memories. Maybe that's because I've grown so much; maybe that's because my family fills it with energy so bright that I don't notice the empty seats.

Sitting in Lucas's lap, Tue asks, "Did you know tomorrow is my birthday?"

Lucas gasps, "Tomorrow is your birthday?"

Taemin laughs at how Tue's face contorts in utter bewilderment. His lips part, his brow furrows, and his skin is painted a flustered pink as he whines, "I don't know! Is it?"

Because everyone has been so quiet in discussing birthday preparations around Tue, he must not realize the date. "Tomorrow is May 29," I tell him, "so you're gonna turn five years old!" I wiggle five fingers toward his face; he laughs when I tap his nose with one of my fingertips, throwing his head back against Lucas's chest.

"What?!" Lucas cries; Tue laughs harder at the overreaction before Lucas even prods at his ticklish ribs. "Five?! That's crazy, man! That's older than me!"

Tue sputters, "No— no it's not! You're way— way— way older than five!"

"I am not!" Lucas argues, dropping his jaw to feign offense. "You know who is way older than five, though?"

As if sharing the same brain cell, Lucas and Tue settle their sights on Taemin, who, tightening his grip on my hand, drops his jaw, taking genuine offense. “I am not! I’m the biggest baby at this table!”

When Taemin crosses his arms over his chest and pouts his pretty lips, nobody thinks to argue. Lucas and Tue snort, failing to contain their laughter at Taemin’s expense. I so badly want to laugh with them, but I want more to kiss Taemin, so I peck at his lips.

At the kiss, Lucas and Tue do not squeal in disgust like most little boys would; they squeal in utter delight.

. . .

It’s hard to find an alone moment with Mom in our full house, but I find one after Taemin and I tuck Tue into bed. Mom is setting up Finding Nemo decorations around the pool. We chose that theme for Tue's party since it's his favorite movie.

Even wearing her pajamas with her hair tied up in a messy bun, Mom looks beautiful among the moon and stars. "What's going on, Lei?" She drapes a cloth over a fold-out table. "You're wearing your pensive face."

I try to laugh at myself by saying, "I'm always wearing my pensive face."

Because I have yet to tell Taemin about my conversation with Yesung, my worries are a tangled knot at the forefront of my mind. It's a messy business, untangling the knot, and it's always easier with Taemin's help.

Tracing my finger along Nemo's little lucky fin on the table cloth, I prod at the knot on my own. "I'm just wondering how you knew when to hold me close and when to let me stand in the spotlight."

Mom stills to meet my eyes. "I know I wasn't perfect," she prefaces. When I try to disagree, she interrupts. "I'm human, Lei. I did the best I could, but I know I could have been better. Anyone can see through hindsight, in any situation, that they could have been better. They should have been better."

Mom has this way of speaking that nobody can replicate. She acknowledges faults and shortcomings through a lens that is never degrading, never belittling. She looks at the past in such a light that does not inspire regret but instead inspires a better tomorrow.

I admire Mom for that. I want to be like her. After all this time, I have not grown out of aspiring to be like Mom.

"When I think about how you used to sit alone at that table by the vending machine before Lucas walked into your world; when I think about how you used to cling to the wall in the corner of every room; when I think about how I used to hear you crying in your room at night when you thought I was asleep— when you thought your radio was loud enough to drown out your tears with SHINee's voices—"

Mom's voice wavers, and her gaze crashes onto the table. Now that I see her so affected by past pains even in the happiest stage of life to date, I understand: it was never easy for Mom. She just carried the burden where I couldn't see it.

"I always wondered if I was doing the right thing. I wondered if the spotlight found you because you walked into it or because I nudged you toward it. When you became a trainee and Donghae told me that Sehun said people were being cruel to you—" Mom bristles— "you don't know how much I wanted to pull you out of the agency. You don't know how badly I wanted to take you and hide you someplace where nobody could hurt you. But��"

Mom laughs— genuinely laughs— when I wrap my arms around her, thinking, knowing that a place without pain does not exist (at least not on earth). It's enough that she wanted to take me there, I think. It's enough that she wanted that place to exist for me.

She asks, "Do you know that part in Finding Nemo where Dory tells Marlin, 'Well, you can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him'?"

I nod. Even though Tue often falls asleep in my lap by that part of the movie, I know it well.

"Quickly— maybe instantly— I realized that you are too special not to share with the world." Mom cups my face with both hands. She kind of pinches my cheeks because they are still full; they still make me look very much like a child. "This world would be a sadder, duller place without your light shining in it. I decided that if anyone out there tries to dampen your light— well—"

Mom smiles, so I smile too.

"I would work a million times harder to keep it burning."

. . .

When I tell Taemin about my conversation with Yesung in the studio and my conversation with Mom under the moon, he says, "That's all very beautiful, baby. It almost makes me want to cry. But I still think Tue is way too young to be an idol."

I have almost drifted to sleep with my head on Taemin's chest because the steady beat of his heart has always been one of my greatest comforters. I lift my head to narrow my eyes at him. "How did you gather from any of that that I want our son to be an idol?"

Taemin squints, trying to make out my features in the dark. "I don't know! It just seemed like you were coming to terms with letting him wander into the spotlight, and I thought maybe it was my turn to be the voice of reason!"

Even without the slightest aid offered by the pale moonlight, I would see the smirk curling his lips. "The last time I was the voice of reason was during our first New Year when you dropped your dress—"

"Let it go, Taemin!" I chastise, wondering how and why I let his sentence get that far before rolling my eyes. "That happened how many years ago?"

"I don't know. Time is all relative anyway." Taemin probably feels like some kind of genius or the mysterious picture of a soulmate he was at the beginning. "It happened how ever many years ago, and it's still one of my favorite memories! It never fails to make me smile."

I shake my head and lay on my back beside him. "We're way off track. Anyway, I completely agree: Tue is too young to be an idol. The agency wouldn't even let him audition until he turns ten. Even then, I'm not going to suggest that he audition. I'm not going to actively nudge him anywhere near that path."

Moments pass in silence. Taemin rolls onto this side to trace patterns on my stomach. In addition to calming me, this gentle affection helps him organize his thoughts.

"I think we should cross that bridge when we come to it," he says, as usual. "Obviously, I want to support him in anything he wants to do. I won't really know how to help him if he wants to be a doctor or a lawyer, but— well— think of how much we can guide him if he wants to follow in our footsteps."

Taemin makes a good point. Having two idol parents might make Tue a target for bullies— I know that having a manager for a mother made me one— but cruel people will justify their actions with any excuse. What makes Tue stand out could double as a strength; I know having my particular mother made me stronger. Similarly, Tue could turn to me and Taemin and Mom and Lucas and his entire network of well-wishing idols for advice, and we would all be equipped by our experiences to help him in some way.

"I'm so glad I have you." I roll onto my side so that my face is level with Taemin's and I can clearly see the night sky reflected in his eyes. "You embody that perfect balance between listening and advising. You always have. I love you so much for that. I always have."

He smiles, and my heart flutters. "I'm glad I have you too. Thank you for trusting me and listening to my advice. I love you so much for that. I always will."

Taemin creates the perfect atmosphere for honesty. With a glance, he encourages me to carry my darkest thoughts into the light. It feels like he is carrying them with me; they are less heavy this way. That's why I admit, suddenly on the verge of tears, "I'm afraid that I haven't made my love for Tue clear enough."

I have rarely cried since taking a break from being Lei the idol. My outburst must send Taemin back in time to the very start when I first cried to him under the moon's watch— to the night when the moon became ours. Back then, he was so careful. He resisted the destined desire to touch me, to embrace me, because he didn't want to frighten me. Now, he moves instantly, instinctively, to hold me.

His lips meet mine for a second. After just a second, he tries to part, but I need him. I need him, and that hasn't scared me in so many moons. I need him, and I bring him back down to me and hold him here until we have kissed most of my worries away.

We always keep a few worries because Taemin says they keep us safe. He thinks my talent for spotting danger is, in moderation, one of our greatest strengths. I'm good at seeing a storm cloud from a million miles away; Taemin is good at making a hurricane feel like an overdue summer drizzle. That's why we are the greatest team to ever exist.

"Tue knows you love him," Taemin assures me in a whisper against my lips. "Anyone who knows you— anyone who knows us knows that we weren't really breathing until Tue took his first breath."

That's not to say that life wasn't worth living before Tue existed. Just like my life was as happy as it could have been before Lucas, and it was happier once he laughed and painted the world anew; just like my life was as happy as it could have been before Taemin, and it was happier once he handed me the moon; my life was as happy as it could have been before Tue, and it was happier once he breathed.

Tue's breath gave me every beautiful wonder I never knew existed— the heavenly traces on earth that nobody can see with the naked eye until they have seen and felt and loved their child.

"Does the world know?" My mouth hurts from frowning. "These past five years— have we done the right thing by keeping Tue off of social media? The agency issued the briefest statement about him, like, a week after he was born, and I don't even know if they mentioned his name. Mom deletes all leaked traces of him from the internet. Any time interviewers are bold enough to ask you about him, the agency pressures the network to cut the clip."

They do all of these things at our request.

Taemin wipes the tears spilling from my eyes as I wonder, "When Tue gets older, what will he think about the fact that his parents said nothing about him where the world could hear?"

"Hopefully he'll understand that his parents loved him enough to protect him until he was old enough to protect himself," Taemin answers in a tone that does not belittle my fears in his effort to quell them. "It's not like you've been active on social media at all these past five years, Lei. If Tue ever asks, and I doubt he will, we can explain that you spent all of your time with him while I—"

Taemin's voice falters.

One of his biggest insecurities— maybe you could call it a regret— is that while I walked away from my career the moment I felt Tue's life, he hadn't deviated much from the course he had been on most of his life. I never pressured Taemin to make a career shift in any direction; at every opportunity, I expressed my belief that there is no right or wrong move when finding the balance between family life and work. Needs vary, and I believe that people can adapt to almost any situation.

Taemin's pace has changed somewhat over time. Early morning practices with Jongin became scarce after Tue was born; now, they are almost obsolete. He says that he likes to be home for breakfast and early morning cartoons.

He isn't as excited about promoting abroad when Tue and I can't tag along. As you can probably imagine, some trips cannot function as family vacations. He swears that video calls before bed are not enough to fill the void in his day when we aren't there.

He doesn't look forward to awards ceremonies like he once did. We agreed that Tue shouldn't attend events where strangers' cameras abound. He says that even if we did attend, he would be expected to sit with his group, not with us.

The studio isn't his second home anymore. Whenever he has to stay later than expected, he comes home with a million apologies, a bouquet of roses for me, and a new toy for Tue. At this point, Tue has an entire colony of plush Nemos on his bed; he sleeps cuddling every single one. It doesn't matter how often I tell him that he has nothing to apologize for; he apologizes and apologizes and I know he will apologize again.

I know that he feels torn between his roles as Taemin the idol, Taemin the husband, and Taemin the father. I just don't know how to help him. He made so little time for Taemin the human being that, sometime during the first week of May, he had some kind of emotional breakdown at the studio that compelled SHINee to delay the release of their new album.

Deciding that he didn't want anybody to blame Taemin for the postponement, Jinki offered to take the heat. He told Mom, "Issue a statement claiming that I'm suffering from a gluteal strain after an impromptu breakdancing battle!"

Jinki's Rationale for the Gluteal Strain Story:

"The key is to tell a lie so outrageous that nobody can doubt it! Nobody will question a story about a literal pain in the butt!"

Anyway, that's why Taemin and I have swapped roles lately. He is taking his first break from being an idol to spend time with Tue. While they watch movies and play the piano and work through those online pre-school activities, I am dipping my toes back into the world of recording. I don't know yet what I will do in terms of a career, but I know that Taemin will return to the stage revitalized. He is remarkably resilient, born to shine.

Knowing I can't alter Taemin's self-perception, I card my fingers through his hair and praise him anyway. "Taemin, Tue learns so much about hard work, passion, and dedication from you. He truly admires you in the purest way. He doesn't see the distinction between his father and his idol because you fulfill those responsibilities so well—so much better than I ever could— so much better than I was willing to try."

I kiss the crown of Taemin's head as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. "We're so proud of you. Don't forget that."

"Thank you," Taemin mumbles against my skin. "I haven't forgotten. I just— I'm so proud of you for being Tue's mom, but I'm sorry if I pressured you to walk away from your dreams to carry my weight here—"

"Taemin." I nudge him until he looks down at me with wide apologetic eyes. "You didn't pressure me into anything. You didn't pressure me into anything at all."

He looks unconvinced, judging by his pout, so I explain, "I have so many dreams! To be a genuine artist, to be a loving daughter, to be a reliable friend, to be a comforting wife, to be an inspiring Mom."

I wrap my arms around Taemin's waist and hug him closer. "I heard once that growing up is a process of letting your dreams die one by one, but I disagree. Every day that I'm with you, I discover a new dream I don't think I have to choose one over all the others. I just have to find balance. And we'll find it together; that's what we always do."

Finally, Taemin smiles. I smile. We can breathe again.

He lays against me, and our chests rise and fall together. We melt a little more, and I— I can't tell where he ends and I begin. I can't remember a time when we were separate beings. I don't ever want to remember.

"Do you want me to go on Instagram live to say that my wife and son are everything to me? Or should I air footage of one of Tue's baby albums? Or should I post videos and pictures from life with you these past five years? Or should I read our story where anyone can hear?"

Between each question, Taemin has kissed me. His lips hover over mine as he begs, "Tell me what to do, Lei. Tell me how to make your dreams come true, and I'll do it. I'll do anything."

He doesn't understand that I am already living my dream. I don't know how to make him understand.

"Just kiss me again," I instruct softly. Sweetly, Taemin complies. "And let's think about something special we can do to love our son on his birthday."

When Taemin and I tiptoe into his room early the next morning, we expect to find Tue fast asleep, snoring into his pillow while clutching a Nemo plushie. Instead, we find him lying with his belly against the floor, kicking his bare feet int he air while doodling on a piece of paper.

While Taemin sits before Tue, I sit beside him and ask, "Can I see your drawing, baby?"

Tue has never denied me access to his art before. I love seeing the smile that curls his lips whenever I express interest in his creativity. "Yep!" His enthusiastic nod sends his unruly morning curls flopping. "But I'm not just drawing something, Mommy."

Taemin's brow furrows as he tries to decipher Tue's handwriting. He is at a disadvantage because a.) from where he sits, Tue's letters are upside down, b.) the note is written entirely in English, which still isn't Taemin's strong suit, and c.) Tue has chosen to write with the palest yellow crayon in his arsenal.

Sweetly, Taemin asks, "What is it?" Leaning forward, he sets his elbows on the hardwood floor and props his chin in his hands.

Tue delights in the opportunity to explain anything from why he thinks the sky is blue to why he thinks roses are the prettiest flowers to why Finding Nemo is the best movie ever. His face lights up at Taemin's question.

"It's a letter to Mr. Mark Lee!" Tracing his little fingers along his letters, Tue reads, "Thanks for saying 'Happy Birthday' yesterday. I forgot my birthday. You didn't. You make me very happy!"

Tue turns the paper so Taemin can read it. "And look! I drew me here and Mr. Mark Lee here, and we have big smiles and party hats!"

When Tue gives Taemin his gappy smile, I can't contain myself. While Taemin takes the paper from Tue's hand, my heart explodes as I pull Tue onto my lap. Holding him around the waist, I pepper his forehead, cheeks, nose, and chin with kisses; he giggles all the while.

"You're the sweetest boy in the whole world, Tue!" I boast, and he beams at the praise. "Who taught you how to write 'Thank You' notes?"

"I dunno!" He shrugs his shoulders. "Probably you or Daddy. You and Daddy teach me everything!"

I raise my eyebrows, giving Taemin this look that means, "I told you so. He knows that you're a great father. I told you so!"

Taemin probably doesn't notice. He smiles at Tue as he returns the paper to his baby soft hand. "You're going to give this to Mr. Mark Lee the next time you see him, right? I bet getting a letter like this would make him very happy."

At that suggestion, Tue's face burns crimson. In many ways, he is one of the most confident, outgoing people I have ever known; in others, he is even more bashful than I have ever been. In five years of knowing him, I have yet to figure out how he manages that degree of duality. Considering that Tue is forever charming — whether bold or shy — I am inclined to believe duality is another quality he inherited from Taemin.

As he leans into me and hides his face in my shirt, Tue entrusts his paper to my hand. "Can you give that to Mr. Mark Lee, Mommy? I want to make him very happy, but I can't give it to him! I just can't!

Maybe I should gently nudge Tue out of his comfort zone, especially since there is nothing to fear about approaching Mark. Maybe I should take this chance to teach him that self-expression is nothing to be embarrassed about. I can't do it, though. As precious as he looks with rose-colored cheeks, I can't darken my baby's blush.

"I'll give it to him," I promise, urging him to lift his head to meet my bright smile. "He'll love it! Now go to Daddy, alright? He's gonna help you get dressed."

Looking down at his pajamas donning Nemo's face, of course, Tue pouts. He crosses his arms. He really looks and sounds like Taemin when he whines, "I don't wanna get dressed!"

"Well, you have to," Taemin says as he scoops Tue into his arms. Carrying him to the closet, Taemin responds to Tue's whines, "If you don't get dressed, I can't take you to your surprise!"

As I walk to the door, I hear Tue squeal, "Surprise?" Taemin laughs at his reaction. Tue's squeal and Taemin's laugh are the reasons why I smile when I walk downstairs to tell everybody that the birthday boy is on his way.

. . .

I push the curtains aside and from my side of the kitchen window, I watch Donghae carrying Tue on his shoulders in the pool. Following Mom's instruction to "Behave! At least around the baby!" Heechul stands beside them, donning a smile for Lucas's camera.

The sight is especially comforting considering how annoying Donghae and Heechul were at the beginning. Apparently, when nobody was listening, Heechul told Tue, "Call me Grandpa, and call him—" he pointed a finger at Donghae— "Grandpa 2."

Tue was too young and too sweet to understand that Heechul was up to his old shenanigans of competing with Donghae, so he followed the instruction faithfully, much to Donghae's dismay.

"Don't worry," Tue said to Donghae's frown, flashing him a big toothy smile. "I'm a 2 too!"

I wish I or Mom or Lucas— since he has appointed himself the family photographer— had recorded the smile Tue sculped onto Donghae's face. I would love to carry a picture of it with me so I could show it to you and everybody I meet, saying, "This is my son's mark on the world, and it's the most beautiful mark anybody has ever made. He is five years old, and he has never hurt a living creature. He is five years old, and he makes smiles wherever he goes."

My mental images of Tue's gappy smile and those he leaves in his wake are among my most prized possessions. I am admiring them when Mark walks in through the back door, carrying an empty bowl.

His eyes widen as if he has interrupted something. He beelines to the refrigerator, muttering, "Your mom said there's more watermelon in the fridge."

Glancing down at the platter of snacks I have assembled, I frown at the utter lack of watermelon. "I should have known that we would need more watermelon with you and Tue eating at the same place at the same time."

Mark laughs, dropping the empty bowl into the sink. "Well, what can I say?" He grabs the bowl of sliced watermelon Mom prepared last night and tosses a slice into his mouth. "Little man and I have good taste!"

"Speaking of little man—" I smile at Mark's nickname for Tue as I close the refrigerator door and point to a pinned paper— "he wrote this for you."

After setting the bowl onto the counter, Mark takes the page into his hand. He doesn't have to squint to make out the letters. "He's writing 'Thank You' letters? To me? At five years old?"

I can't help but smile at Mark's awestruck expression. "You made his day, and I guess he wanted you to know."

Mark's slack-jawed expression transforms into a radiant smile. "Can I keep this?"

"It's for you," I repeat, nodding, "so I think you're supposed to keep it. See the little faces at the bottom?" Mark nods, so I explain, "The artist says the big one is you and the little one is his latest self-portrait."

Mark smiles at the paper once more before folding it into his pocket. As we grab our snacks, we walk together to the back door. We stop once Mark asks, "Before we go back outside, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah." There's something petrifying about Mark's quiet voice, so I hope my smile will encourage him to speak up. "What's up?"

"You know how I'm working with the trainees?" When I nod, Mark continues, "As far as I'm concerned they're all set talent-wise. I only really work with them on dancing and rapping— Taeil is the vocal instructor."

Based on what I saw in the final five minutes of dance practice yesterday, I agree. It seems that the trainees get better with each generation. "They seem like they will make excellent artists one day."

"They will!" Mark beams, seeming as proud of his trainee's progress as he is of his own achievements. "I've been thinking about how else I can help them grow, and I think maybe we should spend time talking about, like, emotional wellbeing."

"That sounds like a good idea." I, for one, could have benefited from learning about that as a trainee.

"I'm glad you think so," Mark says slowly, "because I kind of want you to help me with those conversations."

My jaw drops. "Me?" By no means have I ever considered myself an expert on emotional wellbeing. "Why?"

Mark's head goes aslant; he looks at me as if challenging me to look at myself. "When I think of strength, I think about how you carried yourself in training when those girls were mean to you. I think about how you stayed best friends even when people watched you and whispered. I think about how you didn't fall apart when the media used to speculate about the idol who never debuted. I think about how you held your head high when people criticized you for dating, then marrying, then having a baby with Taemin. But mostly— " Mark smiles — "I think about how you changed your whole life for Lucas Tue. I can't think of anyone better to teach the trainees that as much as we love music, as much as we love being idols, there is a lot more to life than the spotlight."

I blink, wondering how, when, and why Mark became so well-spoken. My gaze falls onto the snack platter in my hands. "I— I don't know how to teach anybody that."

Mark sighs, dejected, and I compulsively admit, "But I want to learn. I would love to learn, Mark."

Before Mark can reply, Tue runs in through the open back door, asking, "Mommy, where—"

His voice falls flat as his eyes widen at the sight of Mark. "Mr. Mark Lee," Tue stutters, "I— I—"

Before Mark can reply, Tue runs back outside.

Mark looks at me, raising his eyebrows. "What did I do?"

Making my way out the door and into the summer sun, I explain, "He's being bashful because of that letter. He gets into shy moods from time to time."

"Oh, okay." As we set our snacks onto the table, Mark asks, "Wait, did I hear you right? Did you mean that you would help me with the trainees?"

From their sunchairs nearest to the snack table, Lucas and Taemin look up. Tue has concealed his flustered face against Taemin's chest, and he doesn't perk up at the sound of Mark's voice; he retreats further into Taemin's embrace.

Taemin meets my eyes. Although he is reluctant to pressure me with vocal encouragement, he offers a gentle smile that seems to whisper, "Go for it. You can do anything."

Lucas, true to who he has always been and always will be, is much louder about his support. He lowers his sunglasses. "Wait, you're gonna help me and Mark with the trainees? As in, we're having a mini ot8 SuperM reunion?"

Mark glances at me with apologetic eyes as he pops another slice of watermelon into his mouth. Once upon a time, I think I would have glared at anyone for putting me on the spot like that. Depending on who it was, I might have even scolded them. I can't bring myself to scold Mark, though; I can't bring myself to glare at him, and I don't want to try.

"I'll help," I decide easily, "in any way I can."

I guess I don't want to disappoint Mark's perception of me; I want to live up to it. I guess I want to believe Yesung— that I am meant to share my voice. I guess I want to believe Mom— that I can make the world a happier, brighter place with my light shining in it. I guess I want to be to the trainees who Mark is to them, who Mom has always been to me: someone who works a million times harder than the light dampeners to keep their light burning.

Tue lifts his head from Taemin's chest to cheer, "You can do it, Mommy! You're the best helper!"

As I sit by his side, Taemin raises his eyebrows, giving me a look that means, "I told you so. He knows you perfectly. I told you so."

"Thank you, baby," I wink at Tue. I whisper in his ear, "Mr. Mark Lee loves your letter, by the way."

Tue smiles and lays his head back on Taemin's chest. When he closes his eyes, he looks exhausted. I think he falls asleep in an instant.

Lucas follows Mark to the pool, I think, for fear of waking Tue with his booming voice. Thus, Taemin and I are alone with our son again, even at the bustling party hosted in his honor.

Taemin asks, "Are you happy today?" in a voice so quiet that I think he's whispering sweet nothing to our sleeping boy until his eyes rise to meet mine. "I remember you said, once upon a time, 'Life doesn't always go as planned, and I think that's okay as long as you like where you end up.' And I'm wondering again if you like where you ended up— if you like where you're going next."

My heart always flips when Taemin quotes our story. "I recall saying, 'Anywhere with you is where I want to end up.'" I reach for Taemin's hand— the one closest to me, the one that isn't secured around Tue. "I still feel that way, Anywhere with you is where I want to go next."

Taemin flashes a sparkling smile before puckering his lips, wordlessly daring me to kiss him. Because I am no coward, I accept the dare before he can even blink. And just when I think that this moment is too beautiful to pass, I hear it.

The snapping of Lucas's camera capturing us in a photograph.

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