Taekwang POV
The house smelled like dinner that had gone cold as soon as I stepped through the front door. There was an unusual silence at first; I wasn't even greeted by eomma, but I could see the light illuminating from the kitchen.
I let out a heavy, tired sigh, taking off my shoes and placing them in the shoe rack, and then I heard eomma's voice carried from the kitchen. The walls weren't so thick that you couldn't hear; the house is getting old after all.
I quietly set my bag down by the door and followed her voice that was coming from the kitchen. Joohwan Hyung was sitting at the table, hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had probably been hot an hour ago. He wasn't drinking it yet, holding it in his hand, circling his finger at the rim, just like his circling thoughts.
Eomma stood at the counter, her back half turned, wiping the ladle that had just been washed. Her gaze flickered between Hyung and then back at her work; the sound of water rushing down filled in that silence her shoulders held.
"It was a good opportunity, Joohwan-ah," she spoke, just turning her head to the side to look at Hyung from the corner of her eye while scrubbing something in her hand. Her voice was careful and gentle, unlike the other days when she was calling him out loudly to get out of his room.
"A company like that, with a stable income, no more stuffy kitchen, no more rushing orders, just your own test Kitchen, your own money, no more following your father's orders...if you start working out of our restaurant, it'll be nice, don't you think?"
"I know," Hyung said curtly. I could definitely say he is not even bothering about what Eomma says.
Eomma was frozen, hearing his reply; she turned her head to look at him, her brows furrowed together. "Then why, Joohwan-ah, why did you refuse the offer? You know it befi—"
"I know Jaegun eomma *Term that used to call you 'father' or 'younger brother's wife,' so please don't bring it up again; I'm not interested in it," he said, cutting her off as if he had been hearing that for so long that he grew tired.
But Eomma wasn't wrong, though; the offer from Minjae's company had been real and good, exactly the kind of thing that could pull hyung out of the silent grave he'd been digging for himself in that small kitchen. I wasn't shocked when I heard he rejected the offer in the first place but was disappointed that he still chose that place with the best talent he has in cooking. And mostly worried about Minjae.
My chest heaved as I dragged a long breath in before stepping into the kitchen. My mother's gaze averted from Joohwan hyung to me as I walked in, her lips pressed together into a thin line before turning around fully, and I could see it on her face now: the exhaustion of loving someone who won't let you reach them.
"I just want to understand—"
"There's nothing to understand. I said no. That's all." Hyung set the cup down; it hadn't made any loud clank but just a small thump that was louder than his words.
"Joohwan—"
"Eomma," I stopped her before I could think about whether I should or not, catching her eye. "Let it go for tonight."
She looked at me for a moment; I thought she would argue, but it looked like tiredness won, and she nodded once and turned back, tapping on the tap. The water sound filled the silence she left behind us.
I pulled out the chair across from Hyungg and sat down. Still, he didn't even throw a glance at me. Just stared at the cup, his fingers still loosely wrapped around it even though he set it down.
A cool breeze came through the window behind him, rustling the Japanese red pine tree. The tree that was planted when I was young, back when the house felt bigger than it was. When Hyung was at least responding and laughing at home.
My eyes moved to Hyung, the shadows under his round eyes that used to shine. His lips used to curve into small, plump smiles whenever I did something stupid.
"Hyung," I said.
"Don't," he said quietly.
"I haven't said anything yet."
"I know you will," he said, finally looking up. His eyes were dry and empty in the way that was worse than tears. "The voice where you're about to say something you've been rehearsing."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Because he wasn't wrong. I had rehearsed it on the drive home, at every red light. I had turned the words over and over, trying to find the ones that wouldn't make him shut down. Trying to find the shape of something he would actually hear. But sitting across from him now, looking at his face, all the words and sentences dissolved for nothing.
And all I asked was the same old question I have been asking him for the past 7 years.
"How long, hyung?"
And he started at me, that same tired look.
"How long are you going to do this?" My voice came out steadier than I thought, unlike the other times when it used to be shaky. "How long are you going to sit in that kitchen and cook food for strangers and come home and not eat, not sleep, and not talk to anyone and just—" I stopped myself to take a breath before I completed, "Just wait?"
"Just wait for what?"
"Wait, as if Yoonsuh hyung is coming back if you're like that, as if the guilt would be washed away once you are dead. I don't understand it, hyung, why you are this persistent about this."
His jaw clenched for a second, quickly replacing his neutral face.
"Just don't start, Taekwang," he said, underlying a threat.
At that moment, I didn't even care that I hid this from Eomma. "Don't start what?!" My voice rose before I realized it. "You stood on a bridge just a few days ago. You stood on there, and you were going to—" My throat closed at the thought, but I pressed through it. "And if it weren't for Sungmin-ssi, you wouldn't have been here. Then the next morning you went to the kitchen and started cooking as if nothing happened. Like it was nothing!"
Hyung said nothing, staring at me with his hollow eyes.
"It wasn't anything; it wasn't anything to me. It wasn't anything for Noochan hyung to search for you on the roads that night. And I know—" my voice finally cracked slightly, and I hated it, hated that I couldn't be steady for this—"I know you don't want to hear about Yoonsuh hyung right now, so I won't. I won't say his name, but Hyung, he isn't—"
My words got cut off by Joohwan hyung standing up abruptly; the chair scraped back against the floor, and he was on his feet before I even registered he was moving and the look on his face… It wasn't anger…that would have been easier if it was.
"I know what you are trying to say," he said quietly, very evenly. "You and Eomma. The offer. This conversation. I know."
"Hyung—"
"You're tired of me. It's okay, Taekwang-ah, I understand."
The words hit me like a punch straight to my face that I wasn't prepared for. The fuck does he mean by that? I have been trying to talk with him and bring him out, but in the end, he thinks that we are tired of him. I stood up so fast the chair scraped back, following him into the hallway, my eyes burning.
"Yes, hyung, we are tired of you; we are tired of you being this depressed. We are tired of you closing off, not even trying to live or survive. We are tired of you thinking that we are tired of you, like you are a burden to us in this family."
The words came out louder, and they snapped me out, making me think of what I had said. Hyung stood there completely still, his back facing, like the words almost tied him to where he was standing. Eomma followed out of the kitchen doorway. I hadn't even heard her come back. Her eyes darted between them like many mothers do when their kids get into a fight.
Nobody spoke.
Then Joohwan hyung reached for his jacket from the hook by the door. Without any rush, without any drama, he just pulled it on him like there was nothing happening now; no outburst happened.
"Hu—hyung," my voice dropped; the anger left as fast as it came, and what replaced it was that worst feeling, helplessness, the feeling that I can't do anything about it.
He paused at the door, his back to me, one hand on the handle.
"Get some sleep, Taekwang-ah," he said softly and pulled the door shut behind him; the click echoed in the silence.
I stood there, my eyes getting blurred, but my body not moving, the echo of the door click still in my ears, the softness in his voice that was underlined with tiredness; the way he said that felt like he would disappear tomorrow.
My legs gave a little, and I sat down on the floor right there, my back against the wall, knees pulled up.
"Taekwang-ah!" Eomma ran to me hurriedly. She has heard everything. That we hid that hyung again tried to take his life and got saved by Sungmin-ssi. But she didn't question any of it and knelt down next to me, placing her warm, trembling hand on my shoulder.
"H-He thinks we're tired of him, eomma," I said, my voice trembling so much that I didn't even notice the hot stream of tears running down my cheeks.
She sat, her eyes softening at my tears, softly patting my shoulders; she said, "I know, son."
"We're not."
"I know Taekwang-ah."
I pressed the back of my head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Tears running down the corners of my eyes down my temples. I didn't bother fighting them or controlling them.
"Where does he go?" I asked. "When he walks out like that. Where does he go?"
Eomma didn't answer. Because neither of us knew. Every time there was an argument, he went out like this.
And that…that not knowing was the thing that frightened me most…