While the internet continued its enthusiastic process of imploding on itself, on a busy street in Gangnam, two figures stood out from the crowd.
One of them tall, striking, the kind of person that made passersby do a quiet double-take before continuing on with their day — as if their eyes needed a moment to confirm that yes, that person was real and not a rendering.
Beside him, a young man who was quite literally incapable of standing still. Buzzing. Vibrating at a frequency slightly above what the human eye could comfortably track. Adorably, endearingly, completely all over the place.
"August." Salazar's voice was soft. Patient. The particular brand of patient that is built through consistent, prolonged exposure to exactly this kind of energy. "Please. Stop jittering. You are making me dizzy." A beat. "Why are you even nervous? You're meeting your parents."
"I dunno," August said, coming to a stop and settling beside his manager with the energy of a puppy that had briefly decided to sit. "I'm just — I'm really excited to see them again. And I don't know if I'm overthinking it, but I just..." He trailed off, searching for the words. "I just want them to be proud of me, y'know?"
"August," Salazar said, with quiet, genuine certainty. "I'm sure they are already proud of you. And everything you've accomplished."
August's face did something complicated.
"I haven't done shit yet though," he said.
A pause.
"...Who taught you that word?" Salazar asked.
"What word?" August blinked.
"The curse word," Salazar said carefully. "The one you just used."
"Huh?" August's brow furrowed. Genuinely, completely lost. The gears turned. And then —
The golden retriever smile appeared. Bright. Sunny. Entirely too pleased with itself.
"Oh! Shit? Is that what you're talking about?"
"Stop saying that—" Salazar's hand came down on August's shoulder in a light, chastising tap.
"OW—" August rubbed his shoulder with the dramatically wounded expression of someone who had been genuinely, deeply wronged. "Why?! Everyone says it!"
"Who is everyone?"
"Everyone!" August insisted, with the unshakeable conviction of someone who had conducted thorough field research. Then, with slightly more accuracy — "Well... maybe not Isaac-hyung or Bobby-hyung. I've literally never heard either of them swear. Like, ever. But everyone else!"
Salazar filed this information away immediately. Isaac. Bobby. More time with Isaac and Bobby. Starting immediately.
"Regardless," Salazar said, with the composed authority of a man recalibrating his approach, "stop saying that word."
"But WHY—"
"It's a bad word."
August stared at him.
Then, with the energy of someone who had just discovered the concept of rebellion and found it extremely agreeable —
"Well," he said, and actually stomped his foot, like a child of approximately six years old who had been told they couldn't have dessert, "tough shit. I'm gonna keep saying it. Hmph."
"Why you little—"
"Oh!"
The exclamation came before Salazar could finish his sentence — August's entire body language shifting in an instant, the argument evaporating, the rebellion forgotten, replaced by something so much bigger and brighter that it lit up his whole face at once.
The people they had been waiting for had finally arrived.
****
"엄마! 아빠!""Eomma! Appa!"
The moment August's eyes landed on them, he was already moving — launching himself forward with the completely unrestrained, full-bodied joy of someone whose heart had just recognized exactly who it had been missing.
"해준아!""Haejun-ah!"
Both parents stepped forward with open arms and bright, brilliant smiles, catching their son as he crashed into them like a wave finding the shore — the most natural thing in the world, the most inevitable.
(And yes — for those who may have momentarily forgotten — August's real name is Haejun. Kim Haejun. A name spoken now with the particular warmth that only the people who gave it to you can manage.)
"많이 보고 싶었어요!""I missed you both so much!"
His arms tightened around them as he said it, like he was making absolutely sure they were real.
"우리도 많이 보고 싶었어, 아들!""We missed you just as much, son!"
Both parents said it at the same time — overlapping, harmonizing, the way two people do when they have spent enough years together that their hearts have synchronized without trying.
They stayed like that for a long, unhurried moment. No one counting the seconds. No one needing to.
When they finally, reluctantly, untangled themselves — cheeks warm, eyes bright — August's parents noticed the tall figure standing a respectful distance away, watching with a quiet, warm smile.
They turned to Salazar. And without hesitation, with the depth and sincerity that only a parent's gratitude can carry, they bowed — both of them, together — and said, carefully, in English that was held together by pure love and sheer determination:
"Thank you... For taking... Good care of... our — our son."
Every word deliberate. Every word meant.
"어머니, 아버지, 고개를 들어주세요.""Ma'am, sir, please — raise your heads."
Salazar's voice was soft. Genuinely, quietly warm. He looked at them both with the expression of someone who meant every word he was about to say.
"해준이의 매니저로 일하는 건 정말 즐거운 일이에요. 두 분께서는 정말 훌륭한 아들을 키우셨습니다.""Being August's manager has been nothing but pure joy. You have both raised a truly wonderful son."
August's parents exchanged a look — the small, private smile of two people sharing something only they fully understand.
"그렇게 생각해 주셔서 감사해요.""Thank you for thinking so kindly of him."
Then, with the practical, loving honesty that only parents can deliver without it stinging:
"하지만 저희 아들, 아직 배울 게 정말 많답니다. 앞으로도 잘 부탁드려요.""But our son still has a great deal to learn. We ask that you please continue looking after him."
"물론이죠.""Of course."
Salazar smiled — warm and unhesitating. Like a promise.
The greetings settled into something softer. The four of them finding their footing together, the initial rush of reunion giving way to the quiet pleasure of simply being in the same place again.
"엄마, 아빠, 그동안 어떻게 지내셨어요? 두 분 다 잘 지내셨어요?""Eomma, Appa — how have you both been? Are you both doing well?"
August asked it with his whole chest, eyes moving between them, already reaching for his mother's hand and holding on without thinking about it.
His parents looked at each other.
A silent exchange — a small nod, a shared breath, the kind of wordless communication built across decades of partnership. The kind that has its own language, fluent and private.
August watched this with growing curiosity.
His father straightened slightly. Cleared his throat. And then, with the careful, deliberate focus of someone who had been practicing — pointed at August's mother.
"Mom," he said, in English. Then pointed at himself. "And dad." A breath. "We watched you sing and dance." His voice was steady, earnest, holding each word like something precious. "We very proud of you — our son."
August's mouth opened slightly.
"Aunties very jealous," his mother jumped in, her eyes absolutely dancing, "because we have a very famous son!"
The pride in her voice was so pure and so complete and so entirely a mother's that it had a physical weight to it.
"Mom and dad," his father continued, "we learning English." He said it simply. Directly. "So we can understand when you sing in English."
His mother's hand — the one August had been quietly holding this whole time — gave his a gentle squeeze.
"Son speak English very good now," she said softly, looking at him with eyes that were doing several things at once. "So we learn too. So we understand what you say more. When you show on tv. And do interviews."
The squeeze again.
Steady. Warm. We are here. We are paying attention. We are learning your language so we can follow you wherever you go.
The waterworks didn't build gradually.
They just — arrived.
August's face crumpled the way faces do when something hits a place that doesn't have walls around it yet, and then he was crying — properly, fully, without any attempt to stop it or hide it, the tears coming fast and honest and completely beyond his control.
His parents blinked. Looked at each other. Looked back at their son.
"왜 울어, 해준아? 왜 그래?""Why are you crying, Haejun-ah? What's wrong, what's wrong?"
His mother's voice was immediately soft with concern, her free hand coming up to his face.
"너무너무 사랑해요," August managed, between sobs, voice thick and completely undone. "정말 너무너무 사랑해요!"
And then, because he wanted them to hear it in the language he had worked so hard to learn — the language they were now learning for him — he said it again:
"I love you both so so much!"
His parents looked at their son — this boy who had grown into someone who performed in front of thousands and still held his mother's hand and cried on a street in Gangnam because they told him they were learning English for him — and smiled.
The tender, unguarded, completely helpless smile of two people who are looking at the best thing they have ever done.
"We love..." his mother started, carefully, warmly.
"...you too," his father finished.
Together. The way they always were.
****
PS- Sorry guys for not being able to update yesterday. My brain was fully cooked from new work training.
In return, here's a little wholesome chapter for y'all. Hehehehe 🤭
Thank you guys for understanding! Love y'all! 😘