Dinner Time with Your Parents (Optional Bias)

I’m starting to think I’m really beginning to develop a comedic tone in some of my scenarios lol

Continuation of the Holiday special, part 12. Find part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here, part 4 here, part 5 here, part 6 here, part 7 here, part 8 here, part 9 here, part 10, part 11.

Rating: Fluff


You all finally entered into the apartment with a bit of relief from tension felt outside. With a new setting, things felt a lot more private and homely, less tension for everyone. Your boyfriend walked through your home with your mother in a daze at all the little collections and pictures you had in the house.

“Ah, it’s little _______-ah,” he said with a smile, pointing at a baby picture of you resting on a table in the living room.

“Wasn’t she adorable?” your mom gushed.

“Still adorable. Much like mother.”

“Oh, you,” your mother blushed. “What a joker you are. My daughter has good taste in men it seems!” He smiled to himself as he walked down the hall to the kitchen.

You pulled a seat out for your father. You didn’t want dad to grumble through dinner so you figured the best way to keep him from losing his temper would be to sit beside him. As your boyfriend was tugging the seat across from you forward, your father suddenly interrupted, “No, no. Honey, switch with oppa.”
Your boyfriend snickered, but he listened to your father’s request.

“Dad, that’s not his name. You really shouldn’t call him that; it’s weird.” You, your father and your boyfriend sat down as your mom stirred the food a bit at the table to spread the warmth again.

“If you can call him that, why can’t I?”

“Because only girls call older guys ‘oppa.’”

“Fine, fine,” your dad mumbled. “What was your name again?”

It was a little intimidating for him to see your father staring at him so intently right across from the table. “_______.”

He looked perfectly calm on the outside, but you knew that within him was a raging ocean of negative emotions threatening to flood out. This was all new to him: the country, the language, your home, your parents. It was a lot to take in, and the fact that your father felt like playing Mr. Troll didn’t help him much either.

“The food is ready. Please eat as much as you’d like!” your mom said to him.

Being the lovely Asian gentleman that he was, as soon as he picked up his eating utensil, he gathered a spoonful of food and placed it into your father’s bowl, stunning your him.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to -”

“Please eat well, Father.”

As soon as he said the word “father,” your dad’s facial expression changed from pleasant shock to annoyance. In your father’s view, this foreign boy hadn’t earned the right yet to be called his son, your husband, or even your boyfriend. Although he wanted to lash out, he held his tongue because he felt that your boyfriend’s intentions were pure.

Your boy placed food into your mother’s bowl next, earning a little giggle from her, and then gave food to you last. You gave him a shy grin, silently letting him know how much you approved of his respectful attitude towards your parents, and did not mind in the least that he served you last. It almost felt like a special gesture to you. He winked at you for emphasis.

With the first bite, your boyfriend made a very excited face and gave your mother a thumbs up. “It’s delicious!” he mumbled in between bites.

“Really? Aw, please have some more then,” your mom chirped. “Look, at least someone admires my cooking!” she scowled at her husband.

“What do you mean? How could you say that! I always think your food is great!”

“Look at how this boy eats.” Your mom patted his head. “He eats like a starving man. Look how skinny you are! Eat more.” Your mom put more food into his bowl as he continued stuffing food into his mouth. He bowed his head as he ate to thank her.

“What a kiss-ass,” your father muttered. You nudged his side.


After a few bites in awkward silence, your father asked, “So what do you do exactly, _____?”

“I already told you, Dad! He’s a really famous idol in South Korea and -”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “I want to hear it from himself.”

Your boyfriend straightened up for the interrogation. You watched him with sympathetic eyes.

“So what do you do?”

“I am a singer and a dancer,” he proclaimed proudly. “With my band in South Korea.”

“A boy band?”

“Yes.”

“No other girls?”

“No.”

“You really do look like you came straight out of a boy band.”

“Thank you.” Your father didn’t even mean it as a compliment.

“Oh, you should sing and dance for us some after dinner!” your mom said excitedly.

“Oh, no, I’m not very good.” Culture difference: Asians are very, very modest.

“No? Then how are you famous in South Korea?” your father questioned aggressively.

You whispered to him in Korean, explaining that modesty at this level in your country would not win your father’s approval. He realized he ought to change tactics. “Uh, I mean to say our band is very very good. We travel the world to sing and dance for our fans. The best boy band in Korea. We are _________.”

“Hmph. I’ve never heard of it.”

“Dad, you don’t even listen to kpop, how would you know?”

“Well if he were REALLY that good and famous…” You nudged him once more, silencing him.

Your poor boyfriend wasn’t sure what to think. His eating slowed down as his face read a sense of confusion and worry. Had he said anything wrong?

You worried over him. All you wanted to do right now was take him away to a quiet place where only you two would exist and pet his hair, telling him over and over how wonderful he is and that everything was alright. Your beautiful idol had been unfairly stripped of his reputation that took years to build by your grump of a father in less than an hour. It was sad to watch how anxious he seemed.

Since you were both sitting diagonally from each other, it was even harder to reach him. But your foot touched his ankle just to make contact with his body to comfort him and he looked up at you. You glanced at him so that it wasn’t obvious to your parents (who were busy eating) any contact had occurred. He quickly averted his gaze realizing this too, but smirked a bit. You mouthed to him, “<It’s okay>” and pulled your foot back, giving him a little smirk right back at how close to playing footsy this seemed.

The table was covered with a tablecloth. Any exchanges under the table wouldn’t be seen as long as no one intentionally looked down. Your boyfriend took your little gesture as an invitation for some risky play. Any distraction by you would be welcomed – he really needed his mind to rest a bit. He stretched his leg out a bit and when he found your your foot (for he knew because you fought back a smile as soon as you felt him), he tickled you with his own foot. You were both fighting back giggles.

“Here, have some more of this.” You both broke from your little activity as soon as your mom was offering him more food.

He thanked her and then flashed you a dirty look. He stretched his leg out again in search of your body again. He felt your leg and brushed his foot against it. But when you didn’t look up right away, he tried again.

“Oh, my…” Your father said to his wife. Your boyfriend stopped immediately. “I felt something under the table just now…”

Your boyfriend froze. You froze.

“I miss the cat. I miss the cat so much I’m hallucinating. I always remember the way he would rub against my leg under the table to beg for food. Oh, my baby… At least she’s resting in a better place now…”

“It’s alright, honey,” your mom comforted.

For the rest of the dinner, there was no more footsy, and barely any talk.


As you and your mom cleaned up and washed the dishes at the kitchen sink, your boyfriend was sitting on the living room couch, and your father was fetching some alcohol from the refrigerator to the living room table in front of your boyfriend.


Do you drink, ______?”

“A little.”

Your father set two small cups and a bottle onto the low table in front of him and plopped onto the couch opposite of your boyfriend.

“Know any good drinking games?”

“You shouldn’t be drinking so much!” your mom yelled from the sink.

“It’s alright! Once in a while is alright. So do you know any drinking games?”

“Games?”

“Yes, games.”

“I know… one game. Very easy. When I do this… bai, bai, bo!” your boyfriend moved his hand up and down in front of your father three times in beat with his words and quickly shifted to point his hand to the left. “You turn your head other way. You turn with hand, wrong way, you lose. If win, then your turn.”

“That’s easyyyy. Alright. Loser has to drink a shot each time.” Your father poured alcohol into the two cups in ready, both your boyfriend’s and your father’s eyes burning with masculine challenge.


Oh, you could tell this was a disaster from the start. How could a middle-aged (and aging!) man even stand a chance against a younger man in such a game of speed?

“Bai, bai, bo!” Your father lost.

“Bai, bai, bo!” Your boyfriend won.

“Bai, bai, bo!” Father lost.

“Bai, bai, bo!” Boyfriend won.

“Bai, bai, bo!” Father lost.

“Bai, bai, bo!” Boyfriend lost.

Such was the uneven ratio of the amount of wins and losses between the two men. And as one would imagine, your father had gotten quite drunk pretty soon, swaying and slurring his speech. Your boyfriend’s cheeks had turned a rosy red; you had never noticed how adorable he looked when he had consumed enough alcohol. He wasn’t quite as drunk since he had so much drinking practice in Korea, but he looked like he was getting sleepy. Both were a bit sloppier physically, but still tried to continue playing their silly little game. You and your mother took away the alcohol before they could continue on.

“Werrrr did the alcahal gooo?”

“No more. You’re drunk already,” your mother scolded as she put away the liquid.

“I didn’t lose to this *
hick* pretty boy, awright?”

“Sure, dad. Obviously.”

“So you think… you’re reallyyyyyyyyyyy good at dancin’ and singin’ dontcha, OPPA?” You buried your face in your hands. “Why don’t you show us, awright?”

“N-now?”

“Don’t be a chicken now~ You said you were good at ‘em didn’t ya? *
Hick* Let’s see then…” Your father fell back onto the couch comfortably as your boyfriend struggled slowly to get up.

The alcohol had made his way into his system now. His singing was off, and he danced like one of those things used for getting people’s attention that fling their arms around from blowing air. Your father clapped like a seal and laughed gleefully at the entertainment. Because of the influence of alcohol there really was no sense of holding back anymore.

“Appaaaaaaa~” Your boyfriend cried and flung himself onto the couch in between you and your father.

“Whadya just call me?!”

“Podderrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”

Your dad shoved him away, but it was useless as both of them had practically turned into jello. “I’m not your podderrrrrrr~”

“Waeeeee?” He grabbed the elder man’s sleeve and pulled back and forth, causing your dad’s head to rock like a bobble-head.

“Yarghhh, stop that! I’m not your podderrrrrr. I’m not gonna BE your podderrrrrr til I *
hick* think you’re good enough for my *hick* daughderrr! IF I even do!”

“Saranghandaaaaa~” Your boyfriend grabbed you into a tight hold.

“No, no… none of that!” And your dad attempted to pull you two apart, bending over your boyfriend’s lap to do so.

“Kumanhaeeeeee…” your boyfriend protested, trying to push him away.

“You’ve had too much to drink already,” your mom scolded. She began to pull her husband up and take him to his room to rest.

But your father struggled a bit with her, yelling out to the two of you, “You’re not sleepin’ in the same room, yer hear me?! Different rooms!”

“It’s probably better to listen to what he says,” she said to you, understandingly. “You don’t want him throwing a fit tomorrow when he wakes up with a hangover AND finds out that you two shared a room. He’s too old-fashioned for his own good.”

Your boyfriend had latched himself around your thighs. “Come here, I’ll take you to your room.” So you helped him up and lead him down the hall into a small guest room where you laid him down onto the bed.

You unbottoned his top so that he would sleep more comfortably, but he grabbed you into a tight hold when he felt you do so. Even though he was drunk and even half asleep, he still managed to have you locked into his arms under his heavy body. So despite your father’s angry wishes, you had no choice but to stay put and sleep with your oppa in the same room that night.