Soon after we returned home, Taejun disappeared into his home office. So much for not working weekends. He probably wasn’t even getting paid, either. It was fine. We needed some space from each other again after our heated talk at lunch.

With him preoccupied I decided it was a good time to call Ma (Dad was probably out at this time of day). I went to the opposite end of the apartment to his home office so Taejun wouldn’t hear me and come flying out to interrupt or give me a piece of his mind again.  

As expected, she immediately cried when I told her it was me. I explained my new situation (minus Taejun’s involvement) over her sobbing. 

“But Ma, I made a bank account, so I’ll transfer money back whenever I can. Could you give me your bank details?” 

It took a while for her to find the information, and almost as long again to blubber out the routing numbers over her sobs. I confirmed the numbers with her warily, as I had barely been able to understand her. 

I let her cry over the phone for a while as I tried to offer comforting words. But there didn’t seem to be any end in sight to her tears, and after a while I just told her I had to get back to work. A small white lie. 

I retreated to the couch and started looking through my phone to get acquainted with all its functions. The basic functions were fairly intuitive, but there were a ton of apps that seemed weird and pointless. 

I was surprised to find that Taejun hadn’t cleared out the data on this phone. The photo gallery was filled with pictures from his university days. I was thrilled at this secret look into his life that he had lived apart from us. There was a period of time where he had dyed hair! It looked ok, but his natural black hair was definitely better. 

There were a lot of pictures of his old friends and classmates. I recognised Park Soomin in a couple of photos. I remembered how he had paraded me in front of his classmates like some kind of show. I deleted his photos spitefully. Asshole. I had witnessed it in person, but in every one of these photos, all the students were tastefully dressed and groomed. No wonder Taejun had become so obsessed with his appearance and carried such a large chip on his shoulder about where he came from. Everyone in the photos looked, well, elite. 

For a period of time the photos heavily featured a particular, pretty girl. There were quite a few pictures of them taken together, too. So Taejun had even found the time to have a girlfriend. I wondered bitterly if he had ever told her about his real family. I doubted it. 

My curiosity had turned sour from my vengeful thoughts. I exited the photo app and stared at the rows of shiny app icons. I checked the time. It was about 4 pm. Maybe I’d go out and get groceries (with the money Taejun had shoved upon me) so we could have things to eat at home. I looked over to the office. I peeked in to let him know I was going, but before I could say anything he shooed me out. I was peeved. It wasn’t like I was trying to steal government secrets. 

I decided to text him instead, in case he came out and found I was missing. 

[ Going out to get groceries. Be back soon. ]

I wasn’t really used to typing, and I took a moment to check the characters for mistakes before I sent it. I thought he would be busy and answer me some time later, but before I was even out the door my phone pinged. 

It was an ok finger sign emote. A moment later it pinged again. 

[ call if you get lost ]

Did he still think I was a kid? I grumpily put the phone away and began my quest for groceries. Since I figured I had time, I decided I’d just walk around until I found a market. After almost 30 minutes of walking, I gave up looking for a market street and just went into a Lotte Mart. It was Taejun’s money anyway, he could probably afford the slightly higher prices. 

I picked some vegetables that would keep and a few other essentials that I remembered were missing from his sparse pantry. I recalled the bitter taste of the kapuchino and also got a bag of sugar. I was horrified by the upscaled prices of the fish laying in neat rows on ice at the fishmonger section. I made my way to the freezer section and settled for a bag of pre-frozen gulbi (yellow corvina). 

At the checkout, the salesperson asked if I had a membership card. “We can also input your phone number,” they added. 

I tried Taejung’s phone number, and it went through. So apparently he shopped at Lotte Mart regularly enough to have a member card. 

By the time I made it back home, Taejun must have been finished with whatever secret agent stuff he was doing, because he came out of the office as soon as he heard me. “What took you so long?” he asked. 

“I couldn’t find a market street, so I had to shop at Lotte Mart.” My arms were feeling pinched from having to carry the grocery bags back so I dumped them in the kitchen. Taejun followed me there. 

“Yeah, there’s none here in the business district. The closest one is a 40 minute walk away. Heol! You bought so much stuff,” he said. 

“You don’t have anything at home!” I protested, feeling called out somehow. “I’m not used to eating out all the time like you, rich guy.” 

I opened the freezer to put the bag of gulbi in. Something rock solid flew out and landed on my foot. After I had finished hopping around making pained noises, I looked inside the freezer. In contrast to the near empty refrigerator section, the freezer was jammed completely full of easy meals and other heat to eats. I looked at him in disbelief. For the first time since we were together, he was the one who looked embarrassed. 

“I don’t have time to cook, ok?” he blustered. 

I smirked at him and put on my most condescending voice. “Ok hyung. Don't worry. Dongsaeng will take care of you.” 

Despite the initial bumpiness, we quickly settled into the old but new routine of living together. I had to get up a little earlier to be able to make the commute to work, but I didn’t mind. I found it mildly humorous that my commute direction was opposite to the majority. It was amusing to see the press of people on the other side of the subway station, while I waited comfortably on the much sparser side. It was the same as on the return, too. 

The first day back, Mr. Do was full of questions about Taejung. I told him as much as I was comfortable with. When he seemed satisfied with the results of his interrogation, Mr. Do finally allocated a task for me. As I picked out the tools I needed, he commented: 

“Well, it's a good thing you won’t be at your father’s house the next time Han Jungho comes calling. Do you think Taejun would let your mother live with him too?” 

It was a good idea I hadn’t even considered, but I knew it was improbable. “No. He seems determined to shake her off too.” 

“Hmmm,” said Mr. Do noncommittally. 

Despite my long commute back after work, I still usually got home first and finished making dinner before Taejun returned. Whoever his boss was worked him like a dog. I was used to having pretty light dinners, but when Taejun came home, he would eat ravenously like he hadn’t eaten anything all day. I started making a little bit more for him but I could never guess when he’d come home, so I just gave up and reheated it when he got back. 

One night as I watched him devour dinner, I asked him in my condescending motherly tone if he needed me to make him packed lunches too. 

He was unfazed as ever to my teasing. “Don’t bother, I hardly ever have time to eat lunch.” So I had guessed right in thinking he didn’t eat lunch. 

Months passed and I grew used to living with Taejun again. We still had the occasional argument, as brothers do, but it was usually over small things, like me accidentally leaving a stain on the couch (that didn’t belong to Taejun), or him taking up too much time in the bathroom touching his hair. It seemed like he needed to arrange every single hair on his head before leaving the house every morning. On the rare occasions when he made it into the bathroom before I did in the mornings, I just had to give up and leave for work. I put an extra toothbrush by the kitchen sink so I could at least do that. 

I let Mr. Do know about my bank account so he could wire me money every payday instead of giving me a stuffed envelope every time. Taejun must have either worked out some secret deal to access my bank account with that weasley banker, or he was spying on me through the NIS, because the day my first paycheck arrived by wire, he was home early, and very strictly instructed me how much money I had to save, and how much I could wire to Ma. That sparked another big argument but he overruled every objection I could think of and ultimately wore me down. I was nervous about what might happen, but he unflinchingly insisted that our parents needed to learn how to cope without relying on me. 

I also tried asking him about whether I should contribute to rent at his apartment but Taejun told me it wasn’t necessary. He said he hadn’t had any problems paying rent by himself before I moved in and told me to focus on building my savings up again. I told him I didn’t want to be a leech, but he shut that down too. “You cook and buy most of the groceries. That’s plenty from a scrub like you.” The only answer I had to that was with my fist. 

As my savings accumulated again, I often thought about the money that had gone missing from my original savings box. I knew it had to be someone at the shop, but everyone was as friendly and cheerful as ever and I didn’t really want to start throwing accusations around. It was extremely difficult to think that one of my close friends who I considered family would stoop to steal from me. Though the issue weighed heavily on my heart, I kept putting off finding out the culprit. 

I often had nightmares featuring Han Jungho and my parents. The plot always featured them falling behind on their payments because of the lesser amount of money I was giving them, but the way Jungho punished them was different every time. I’d prefer not to think back on those nightmares. I’d always wake up panicked, with guilt gripping my heart in a stranglehold. 

I called my mother regularly to check in. Thankfully she reported that my father had been motivated enough to get a labor job, and between that job and the money I sent them, they were managing to keep up with the payments and Han Jungho hadn’t made a return visit yet. When I relayed the good news to Taejun, he was smug about it. “See? The less you crutch for them, the more they learn to stand on their own.” 

That made me mad and I told him that the motivation for Dad to find work was probably Han Jungho’s metal bat, not me. 

“As long as he’s motivated,” Taejun said offhandedly. I didn’t like talking about our parents with Taejun, so I just stopped talking. 

Unfortunately, telling Taejun about our parents being stable had been a bad idea. Next payday, he was home early again, and told me to reduce the amount of money I was sending them. In the ensuing argument I was so angry I immaturely vented my rage on the faultless dish rack full of drying dishes, smashing them to the ground. Taejun stood his ground and stared me down with his merciless, unflinching glare. 

“Send them anymore than that,” he snarled threateningly, “and I’ll have your bank account frozen.” 

So he was abusing his powers from the NIS. “Then I’ll just make another!” I shouted back petulantly. 

“You think I can’t freeze those too?” The tone of his voice rose sharply. 

“Then I’ll just have Do Hoon-nim pay me in cash instead!” 

“You want me to freeze his accounts too?” he yelled. 

“Leave him out of this!”

 Again we glared at each other in another angry standstill, both of us bristling with rage at the other. Unfortunately, as an NIS inspector, he had the upper hand on me, and I had no choice but to acquiesce to his demand. 

Afterwards, I called Mom to explain why I was sending less money than usual. Despite my vexation at Taejun, I still kept my promise not to mention him and instead contrived a story about rent increasing. She was quiet. I knew she was scared, and a dagger of guilt pierced through me. 

“Ok… Dad and I will find a way to manage,” she whispered. I had consecutive nightmares back to back for a week after that phone call. 

About a month after that incident, I was on my way home. It was winter now, and just outside the station, an ajumma had set up a stall selling roasted sweet potatoes. I couldn’t resist their sweet aroma and purchased one from her. 

I had to do a lot of heavy lifting today so I was particularly hungry. Instead of waiting to get home, I decided to eat it right then and there. As I devoured it, I remembered that I still had to make dinner for Taejun. Or I could also buy him one too. It would probably be cold by the time he got home, but that asshole could deal with it being reheated.

[ sweet potato for dinner? ] I texted him a picture of mine, cracked open to reveal its deliciously steamy orange inside to show him he was missing out. 

As usual, he replied almost instantly. Taejun basically lived on his phone. 

[ late night tonight. dont make dinner for me. ] 

Fine by me. I enjoyed the rest of my potato and went home. At home I flopped down on my couch (technically it belonged to the landlord). Taejun hadn’t made good on his initial promise of moving his home office to make room for me, so I was still on the couch. But I didn’t mind it, it was comfortable and I didn’t really need an entire bedroom for myself. 

I turned on the tv and idly flicked through the channels hoping to find a drama that Kim Seol-hee was in. I was eighteen and had the apartment to myself for most of the night. I won’t say anything else about that. 

To my surprise, my phone rang. Despite having a phone now, everyone around me had mostly been accustomed to me not having one, and I never received calls. I had let my mom know my phone number but it was always me calling her. 

It was her. 

Her voice was high and shaky with terror and emotion. “J-j-j-ae-h-yun,” she stuttered. As soon as she choked out my name, she burst into sobs. 

Thoroughly spooked, I begged her to tell me what was wrong. It took her a few minutes to compose herself before she could answer. 

“I-it’s your dad. He’s in the hospital!”