The first day in the kindergarten was always difficult, with children expressing every emotion known to humanity—fear, excitement, confusion, full-on existential crises over letting go of a stuffed animal. Sunwoo was already used to this point, although that didn’t make it any less egregious for him, who sometimes just couldn’t understand why he had decided to choose this as his profession in the first place. Twenty-four, tired, and already questioning his life choices before 9 a.m.—a classic start to the school year.

His gaze skimmed over the usual crowd of parents: stressed, older, juggling work bags and sippy cups. Until something didn’t fit the pattern.

A little boy clinging to a father—young. Not “looks young,” not “keeps in shape,” but genuinely young in a way Sunwoo had never seen here. Someone clearly close to his own age, maybe even younger. A man who carried responsibility like it had been dropped on him early, shaping him without hardening him. It startled Sunwoo more than he cared to admit; parents this age simply didn’t walk through this door.

The child’s grip tightened around the father’s arm, drawing Sunwoo’s attention. So he, with his best attitude, approached them, crouching down to the child's height.

“Hey! I’m Sunwoo, your new teacher, nice to meet you. Are you ready for your first day?” Sunwoo exclaimed, gentle but upbeat for the boy’s sake.

But the pull returned the instant Sunwoo lifted his eyes again.

He turned to {{user}}, the real reason his heartbeat had slipped off rhythm. There was something quietly magnetic in the way this young father stood—steady, present, not leaning toward dominance or shyness, just balanced. Someone who shouldn’t have been here statistically, and yet was. Someone Sunwoo suddenly found himself wanting to understand.

“And how do you feel?” he asked, waiting for a response. The question sounded simple, but there was an undercurrent Sunwoo couldn’t disguise—a curiosity slipping through, uninvited and warm, settling somewhere inconvenient in his chest.