The Past, Seoul

I don’t remember much about what happened in the days after my father died. 

I vaguely remember being so overwhelmed by the minutiae of daily life that I didn’t have time to grieve. Arrangements had to be made for the funeral. Relatives had to be contacted. Paperwork was required to transfer ownership of our property and our remaining debt. Government agencies had to be notified. I paid bills and made calls and sometimes made visits in person to navigate archaic business practices. 

And all the while Chan Wook was mourning alone. He tried to get me to slow down long enough to talk to him, but I didn’t think I was capable of more than I was already doing so I kept putting him off. Someone had to be the adult in this situation, and ever since mom died that had always been me. So I did what I had to do, but with every passing day I could tell that he was losing patience with me. The generous little brother I’d relied upon since we were young had become an obstacle demanding my attention. I couldn’t remember when my love for him had turned into resentment, but I could tell by the tone in his voice that he was beginning to feel the same way about me. 

Everything came to a head a couple months after dad died. I walked into the kitchen first thing in the morning to find Chan Wook dressed and ready to go out, a suitcase at his side. Breakfast was laid out on the table for me – breakfast for one.

“What’s going on?” I asked, groggy from another poor night’s sleep.

Chan Wook looked up at me, his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. “You should eat first.”

I looked down at the impressive spread of side dishes and the steaming mound of rice with a frown, remembering how cooking had been a way for my mother to show her love. Even when she was angry with father or one of us, she would always cook us a good meal before starting an argument, as if by fortifying us first she could let go of any guilt she felt for putting her needs first for once. I didn’t feel hungry, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten and my stomach growled as soon as the aromas hit my nose.

Sitting down across from Chan Wook, I met his eyes for what felt like the first time in a year, really seeing him instead of the obstacle he represented, the collection of needs and demands that I had taken on as my burden. He returned my gaze without emotion, his expression guarded in a way he never was, and the sight made me simultaneously sad and nostalgic for the brother I remembered him being.

Emotion rose in my throat like bile and I forced it back down, ignoring it just as I’d been doing for weeks now. Reaching for the chopsticks, I began to eat, going through the motions mechanically, swallowing each bite without tasting the flavors that I knew from experience should be delicious. Everything tasted saltier than usual, I noticed, but I didn’t realize I was crying until I stopped to take a breath and felt a tear fall from my cheek. When I’d eaten as much as I could manage, I put my chopsticks down and looked up at Chan Wook again.

“I can’t stay here any longer,” Chan Wook said without preamble, getting right to the point in a way that was abnormal for him. He was the king of beating around the bushes and approaching a sensitive situation with caution, avoiding the point as long as possible until the topic was so obvious that no one could be surprised once he finally brought it up. But not anymore, apparently. Had he adapted out of necessity? Or was he acting this way because he thought it was the only way to get through to me?

I blinked at him a few times but didn’t reply, biting my lip to give him space to say whatever he needed to say.

“You’ve always looked out for me,” Chan Wook continued when he realized that for once I wasn’t going to interrupt, “even before we became brothers in more than name. And I’ll always be grateful for the things you’ve sacrificed to give me the opportunities I’ve had. I love you, hyung, and because of that love, I have to leave.” He paused to take a breath and the sound trembled in the air like the wings of an injured bird, weak and tentative.

“I don’t understand,” I said in a voice that came out monotone. I was being honest. I hadn’t seen this coming even though I realized now as I thought back over the last several weeks, that I could have figured it out if I had taken the time to pay attention.

Chan Wook winced and looked down at his hands. “You’ve been different since mom died. More distant. You work so hard all the time and never complain, but I know it wears on you. I know you’ve been wearing yourself out for us. I think dad knew it, too. Over the last several years I’ve only seen occasional glimpses of the real you, but not for a long time now. You’re losing yourself to all the obligations. For a while I felt guilty about what was happening to you because I knew that if I were a little more competent, a little more useful, you wouldn’t have to take care of everything on your own, but then I realized it wasn’t entirely my fault. You chose to do things this way.” 

He looked up at me then, his eyes damp with tears. “You could have leaned on me if you wanted to. I’ve been doing everything I could to help, but you won’t let me in. You won’t tell me what you need. You won’t let me share the burden.”

Standing up, he reached for the handle of his suitcase, his knuckles white as he clenched the plastic hard enough to make it creak. “I can’t stop you from taking responsibility for everything, but I can stop you from taking responsibility for me.”

“Where will you go?” I whispered, panic clenching at my chest as I looked up at him.

“I have a friend who’s agreed to take me in until I get on my feet. But I won’t tell you more than that.”

Realizing how badly I must have failed him for Chan Wook, the little brother who shared everything without holding back, to refuse to tell me details about his life, I lifted a hand to clench at my chest where a now familiar ache was gnawing at me again. “I’m sorry,” I gasped.

Chan Wook’s posture slumped as he sighed. “You don't need to apologize. I only want you to take care of yourself for once. You’re not okay, Sang Kyu, but until you recognize that there’s nothing anyone can do for you.” Wiping at his eyes, he moved toward the door, rolling his suitcase behind him. “I’ll keep my cell phone paid up so that you’ll always be able to call me if you need anything.”

Standing up to follow him, I pleaded, “Don’t go.”

He turned back to face me, and the look on his face was so tortured it made me feel even worse. “I’m sorry, hyung, but I have to do this for me as much as for you. Take care of yourself.”

I fell to my knees when he was gone and cried for a long time. I cried until I had no more tears, until I felt dried up like a husk and empty of everything. Exhausted, I fell asleep right there on the kitchen floor. By the time I finally came out of my fugue state it was late afternoon and I felt like I was dying. It was a strange feeling, like having a shard of ice in the middle of my gut. The ache had grown into a sharp pain now, and it burned in spite of being so cold. I’d never felt this alone before and I had no idea how to cope with the feeling, how to conquer the utter hopelessness of it.

I wondered if this is how my dad had felt that night, as if no one could understand his pain, as if he were fighting alone against something he had no hope of defeating. I’d never been able to relate to his decision before, but it was starting to make sense to me.

Strangely, that thought was the one that got me up and moving, forcing me out of my stupor and back to life. I stood up and looked around the empty house for a long time before finding my keys and jumping on my motorcycle. I didn’t know where I was going until I pulled into the parking garage under Yun Seo’s apartment building. 

Riding the elevator up to his floor, I realized I had no idea if he would even be home. It was the end of the work day. He could be at Liminal’s offices, in a meeting somewhere, at  or even at the estate. I didn’t know what I would do in that case. Would I text him? Would I try to track him down? Or would I go back home and fall apart, my last reserve of energy wasted on a fruitless effort? Even if he was there, I had no idea how he would react to me showing up out of the blue. Our relationship didn’t work that way. He summoned me when he needed me. I’d never made demands of him before.

I had seen him a handful of times since that horrible day, but the encounters had all been brief and the circumstances formal. Yun Seo told me in no uncertain terms to take as much time as I needed before returning to work and I begrudgingly agreed. I knew he had to be busy because the court case between the Gihoe Society and Liminal was constantly in the headlines and there was no way to tell who was winning. I could only imagine how much time and effort both he and In Ho were investing in the project. Once the case was settled, I wasn’t sure if they would even be able to go back to using Requite to bring the society members to justice or if they would have to change the whole game. I’d been so wrapped up in my own concerns lately I hadn’t even considered the possibility that Yun Seo might not need me by the time I was ready to return to work. 

Standing outside his door, I reached for the keypad and almost unlocked the door out of habit. I caught myself at the last second, redirecting my finger to the doorbell instead. Feeling foolish, I waited in the hallway for what felt like a ridiculous amount of time before turning to leave, but before I could take a step, the door miraculously opened. Yun Seo was standing just inside, dressed in a casual button down and a well-worn pair of jeans, his hair unstyled as if he hadn’t had any appointments all day. He was barefoot and a little flushed. I wondered if he’d opened a bottle of wine already. 

Then the thought occurred to me: what if he was flushed for a different reason? What if he wasn’t alone? What if he’d found someone else to fill the gap I’d left in his life? That was a logical conclusion according to what In Ho had told me about his previous liaisons. I’d never been anything special to him, so why would he wait for me? He was under pressure and he wasn’t the type to sacrifice his own needs for sentimental reasons. He would simply find another way to meet them.

“Sang Kyu?”

I backed up a step. “I shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly, the words coming out like a croak, my throat painfully dry from all the crying I’d done earlier.

Yun Seo caught my arm before I was out of reach and the look on his face was one I’d never seen before, his gaze focused and his brow furrowed, concern mapped over every feature. “What’s wrong?”

I felt the urge to laugh. What wasn’t wrong? Did I really have to list everything for him in detail? I shook my head reflexively and tried to pull out of his grip, but I was too weak at the moment to fight him. “Nothing. I should go.”

Holding me firm, he studied me with enough scrutiny to make me imagine he could read all of my thoughts if he stared at me long enough. Reminding myself that he wasn’t exactly human, that he could travel between disconnected doorways, I wondered what else he could do that I hadn’t learned about yet. Maybe he really could read minds. That would explain how he was so good at predicting what his opponents would do. 

“You must have come here for a reason,” he said, and if he’d read my thoughts he didn’t seem to know what to do with them.

“I’m sure you’re busy,” I replied. “I don’t want to interrupt…” I lifted a hand and waved it in the air before letting it drop listlessly back to my side. “Whatever it is you’re doing.”

He seemed confused by that, and I decided he wasn’t a mind reader after all. “All I’ve been doing is working,” he said finally, letting me go and relaxing his posture a fraction. I took that to mean he was alone – at least for the moment. That didn’t mean that he’d been alone the entire time I’d been gone or that he hadn’t satisfied his urges with anyone else, but I could ignore those possibilities if I had him all to myself at the moment. “In fact, I’d say I deserve a break.” Meeting my eyes again, he gave me a surprisingly honest smile, all his weariness laid bare. “Stay awhile?”

“Okay,” I said, following him through the doorway and toeing my shoes off as I went. I felt heavy, every movement requiring more effort than usual.