Midafternoon

The afternoon sun sat high and lazy over Seoul as I steered the car through the usual traffic toward SM Entertainment. The A/C hummed steadily, and the radio played something soft in the background that neither of us was really listening to. In the rearview mirror I could see Woojin already busy with his toys, legs swinging in his booster seat like he had places to be.

“Appa, look. The car is a rocket now,” he announced, holding up a blue plastic spaceship and making exaggerated whooshing sounds. “Vroom. Boom. We go to space and get Mama.”

I smiled. “We’re not going to space, buddy. We’re going to Mama’s practice room. She’s working with Aunties today.”

“Aunties!” He perked up immediately. “Auntie Wendy gives me candy. Auntie Joy spins me. Auntie Seulgi is quiet but she draws. Auntie Yeri is loud like me.”

“That’s… pretty accurate,” I said, laughing under my breath. At three years old Woojin had already catalogued the entire Red Velvet lineup with the confidence of a tiny HR manager. He wasn’t shy around any of them. Never had been. The second he could walk he treated the practice rooms and waiting areas like his personal playground, and the members had spoiled him rotten from day one.

I glanced at the insulated bags sitting carefully on the passenger seat. Two of them, packed tight. Earlier that morning Woojin had “helped” me cook. Helped meaning he stood on the step stool next to the counter, stirring the soup with a wooden spoon that was almost as tall as he was, and declaring every five seconds that he was a chef. We made kimchi jjigae the way Irene liked it—extra soft tofu, not too spicy—and a big container of japchae with plenty of vegetables. There were also rice balls shaped like clumsy little bears because Woojin insisted the food needed “faces so Mama will smile more.” I had quietly fixed the worst of the shapes when he wasn’t looking.

“Appa, is the food still warm?” he asked suddenly, leaning forward as far as the seatbelt allowed.

“It should be. We packed it good.”

“Mama is hungry. She always gets hungry when she dances a lot. Like when she was big with me in her tummy and she woke you up for meat.”

I snorted. “You remember that story?”

“Mama tells it every time. She says you were sleepy and grumpy but still went. Because you love us.” He said it matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. Then he returned to his rocket, crashing it into a stuffed dinosaur with dramatic sound effects.

The rest of the drive passed in that comfortable half-chaos of a toddler’s running commentary. He pointed out every bus, every dog, every cloud that looked like “a potato with legs.” By the time I pulled into the underground parking at the company building, he was already unbuckling himself with the focused determination of someone who believed seatbelts were merely suggestions.

“Woojin. Wait for Appa.”

“I’m waiting,” he said, already half out of the seat.

I got out, circled around, and lifted him down. He immediately grabbed the smaller bag of food— the one with the rice balls—and declared he would carry it himself. The bigger bag and the drink carrier stayed with me. We walked through the familiar corridors, past security who just waved us through with smiles. Everyone here knew the quiet guy married to Irene and the little tornado who came with him.

When we reached the practice room floor I could already hear music leaking under the door. The members were running through something upbeat. I knocked once, then pushed the door open carefully.

Four heads turned. Wendy was the first to light up.

“Woojin-ah!”

He dropped the bag (thankfully it was soft) and ran straight at her. Wendy scooped him up with a practiced ease that came from years of being the designated auntie-lifter. Seulgi paused the music. Joy and Yeri both came over, talking over each other.

“Look how big you got again—”

“Did you bring food? Please say you brought food—”

“Irene, your men are here—”

Irene had been standing near the mirror, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing an oversized black shirt and leggings, face a little flushed from practice. The second she saw us her whole expression softened in that way that still got me every time. She wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and walked over, already reaching for Woojin even though he was currently attached to Wendy like a koala.

“My two favorite boys,” she said, voice warm. She kissed Woojin’s cheek first, then leaned in and kissed me quickly on the lips, not caring that the others were watching. “You came early.”

“Traffic was kind today. And someone refused to wait until evening.” I nodded toward our son, who was now trying to climb from Wendy to Irene mid-air.

“I wanted to give Mama the bear rice,” Woojin explained solemnly. “Appa made the soup. I made the bears. Mostly.”

Irene’s eyes went soft. “You did? Let me see.”

I set the bags on the small table in the corner while the members crowded around. Yeri immediately claimed one of the rice balls and took a huge bite.

“These are cute. A little… abstract. But cute.”

“Woojin shaped them,” I said.

Joy grinned. “That explains the one that looks like it survived an explosion.”

Seulgi opened the jjigae container and the smell filled the room. Wendy made a quiet, happy noise. Irene just stood there holding Woojin on her hip, watching all of them with that quiet pride she got whenever our little family spilled into her work life.

“You two cooked all this?” she asked me, shifting Woojin higher.

“Team effort. He stirred. I did the actual cooking. He supervised very loudly.”

Woojin nodded. “I said ‘more salt’ and Appa said ‘no.’ Then I said ‘okay’ and ate a carrot.”

The members laughed. Irene leaned her head against my shoulder for a second, still holding our son. “Thank you. Both of you. I was going to just eat a protein bar again.”

“Absolutely not,” Wendy said, already handing out disposable bowls. “Your husband brought real food. We are eating like civilized people.”

We ended up sitting on the practice room floor in a loose circle, containers open, chopsticks and spoons passed around. Woojin sat between Irene and me, legs crossed, carefully feeding her pieces of japchae like it was his job. Every time she opened her mouth he cheered quietly.

“Mama is strong now,” he told the room. “Because of the food. And because Appa loves her.”

Yeri nearly choked on her rice. “This kid is going to be dangerous when he gets older.”

Irene just smiled and kissed the top of his head. “He’s already dangerous. He knows exactly how to get what he wants.”

I watched them while eating slowly. Irene still moved a little carefully sometimes—three years after giving birth and her body still carried small reminders—but she looked happy. Content. The kind of tired that came from doing work she loved and then coming home to us. The members teased her gently about how domestic she had become, how she now talked about preschool applications and preferred detergent brands with the same seriousness she once reserved for choreography notes. She took it all with that soft laugh of hers and occasional pointed looks in my direction when they got too close to the truth.

At one point Woojin decided the practice mirrors needed to be “cleaned” with his hands, leaving small sticky prints. Seulgi gently redirected him by offering to draw dinosaurs on a spare notebook page. Joy challenged him to a spinning contest and immediately regretted it when he somehow spun longer than her. Wendy kept sneaking him extra rice balls when Irene wasn’t looking. Yeri taught him a new hand gesture that I was fairly certain was not age-appropriate, then pretended innocence when Irene raised an eyebrow.

I mostly stayed quiet, refilling bowls, wiping Woojin’s mouth, answering the occasional question about work or how the new apartment was treating us. Every now and then Irene’s hand would find mine under the table of food containers and squeeze once. Just a small, private thing.

After the food was mostly gone and the energy in the room had settled into that comfortable post-meal haze, Irene stood and stretched. “I still have another hour of practice. You two don’t have to stay the whole time.”

Woojin looked up from the dinosaur drawing. “We stay. Appa said we can watch Mama be cool.”

“I said we could watch for a little while,” I corrected.

“A little while is forever,” he replied with the logic of a three-year-old.

Irene laughed and ruffled his hair. “Okay. But you have to sit on the side and not try to join the dance this time. Last time you almost took out Yeri’s ankle.”

“That was an accident,” Woojin said proudly.