Diary Entry

This is a rough layout of the house so the story will make some sense of what the layout is.

Y/n wasn’t supposed to be in the attic. That was Jessica’s domain. Or, more accurately, the place where things disappeared forever.

Every time he asked where something went, she always answered the same way. “Probably in the attic.”

And every single time he went looking for it, he’d come back down two hours later covered in dust, holding something completely unrelated while forgetting what he originally went up there for.

Once, he went up there looking for Christmas decorations and came back down with an old waffle maker, three baby blankets, and a skateboard he didn’t even know they owned.

Jessica had stared at him from the kitchen table. “Where are the decorations?”

“I found memories instead.” He stood in front of her with his hands full. 🧍‍♂️

She just stood there looking at him then put her head down with a hand on her head. “You’re useless.”

“You married me willingly.”

“I was emotionally compromised.”

Today wasn’t much different. Except this time, he was up there because their six-year-old son had become convinced there was treasure hidden somewhere in the house after watching The Goonies for the first time.

“Dad,” Minho had whispered very seriously over breakfast, “their house was old and had treasure in it. If there was treasure in their house then we should have some too.”

Y/n looked up from his coffee. “This house isn’t that old, you know. It was built in 2018.” He pointed his spoon at his son. “And that’s not even the plot of the–  actually, no. I am not going to argue with a child before 9 a.m.”

Minho narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “That sounds like something a person hiding treasure would say.”

Jessica nearly choked on her tea trying not to laugh.

Across the table, four-year-old Seulgi gasped dramatically. “We’re rich?”

“We are not rich,” Y/n said immediately.

Minho ignored him entirely. “Please, Dad, go look for treasure.”

Y/n slowly turned his head toward his son. “No.”

“Dad,” Minho whined louder.

“No, I will not be going into the attic.”

“Why?”

“Because your mother has turned it into a death trap.”

From the kitchen counter, Jessica looked offended. “It’s organized.”

“You labeled one box ‘miscellaneous emotions.’”

“I know exactly what was inside it.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

Minho climbed onto his knees on the chair, eyes wide with determination. “Dad.”

“No.”

“I will fake cry and call for Mum and say that you yelled at me.”

The room went silent. Jessica lowered her tea slowly.

Y/n stared at his son in disbelief. “You wouldn’t.”

Minho blinked innocently. “I learned from Seulgi.”

Seulgi proudly raised both hands. “I’m very good at crying.”

“That’s not something to be proud of,” Y/n muttered.

Minho crossed his arms. “So are you going treasure hunting or not?”

Y/n leaned back in his chair slowly. Across from him, Jessica was very clearly trying not to laugh. “Are you seriously enjoying this?” he asked her.

“A little.”

“Your children are threatening me.”

“Our children,” she corrected.

“No, Minho became entirely yours the moment he started blackmailing me.”

Minho gasped. “It’s not blackmail.”

“It is literally blackmail.”

“It's a negotiation.”

Jessica snorted into her tea. Traitor.

Y/n looked between his children. Minho sat there with the confidence of a tiny mafia boss. Seulgi was now stuffing blueberries into her mouth while whispering, “Treasure,” to herself repeatedly.

He sighed deeply. The kind of sigh that came from a man who knew he’d already lost this argument five minutes ago. “Fine.” Both kids gasped excitedly.

“But,” Y/n pointed a finger immediately, “if I get murdered by falling boxes, I’m haunting everyone in this house.”