Until Tomorrow

Walking through the garden of El Dorado, Onew glanced up towards the quiet autumn sky overhead, streaked with chilly greys. The trees were slowly losing their red and orange sleeves. Leaves crunched underfoot. The faint pinprick of the coming winter reminded him of the passing time, making him unconsciously adjust the cream-coloured scarf around his neck. He strode through the crisp grass alone, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, hat pulled down over his brown locks. How things had come to pass since Odd Eye had accepted this case. 

In the weeks that had followed Jongin’s passing and the funeral, the group had remained quiet, answering individual requests for police consultation, but otherwise keeping away from accepting new cases. Minho was slowly attempting to make his peace with Junmyeon, but time was needed. Too much distrust had been bred between them to recover overnight. Onew had not seen Taemin since the younger, eyes red, had Jongin’s letter towards him at the funeral, and walked away, thin body hunched into itself. Key had kept regular tabs on him – with the assistance of Jonghyun picking the locks on Taemin’s front door – and informed Onew that they were ensuring Taemin would not do anything rash, and was eating as normally as possible. That calmed Onew’s anxious heart. 

But of what would come of Taemin’s place in Odd Eye, there was no news. Taemin refused to speak of it.

Onew had kept his distance for the moment. There was no doubting Taemin’s hurt, partially directed towards him. Today was the first time since that Odd Eye was together – Junmyeon would be paying them for their services, as had been worked out with Minho when they had accepted the case. Junmyeon had held fast that he would pay them. It was not entirely unsurprising – some of their kinder employers were very generous towards them. Had Taemin come, though? Would he? Onew didn’t know.

The future was uncertain. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. It was so easy to think that everything – emerging from retirement, reforming Odd Eye, accepting Taemin into the group, solving the case, all his actions – had, in the sum of all things, been pointless. He was just one person in a mad world, whose problems did not amount to much. What good could he possibly create?

As he approached the house though, he spied the lanky frame of Chanyeol by the kitchen door, looking up at the slight figure of Jessica Jung, standing on the top step. The gardener clutched a bundle of herbs in his hands, cleaned thoroughly and tied with a strap of twine. He smiled nervously at her. “Brought you some herbs, Miss Jung, if you’d like them,” he said slowly and clearly, holding them out towards her. It was not a gesture, Onew thought, of great romance and endless affection. But it was a human one, and a kind one, and one that perhaps the world needed more of.

And Jessica smiled just a little, the exhaustion and bitterness sliding right off her face, and took them from him, and said, “Come inside, Chanyeol. It’s cold out. Warm yourself a moment.”

So Chanyeol, with the lightness of step of a new man, did.

Watching out of sight, Onew felt himself smile, and it was with a gentler heart that he continued walking towards the house.

Junmyeon’s pen felt very heavy in his hand. Looking down, he found he’d smudged his signature on the financial paper he’d been scrutinizing. The black smear stared back at him accusingly. Why didn’t you see something sooner? Releasing a tired sigh, he dropped the pen down on the table and covered his face with his hands. He could barely stand to look at the photograph of Sehun and Jongin, only little children, smiling at him without malice.

Good, sweet Jongin – he remembered as a child, Jongin would always present him a poorly drawn birthday card every year, positively bouncing with excitement when his father smiled at him. Good, sweet Jongin, who had killed three men, good, sweet Jongin, who had admitted to feeling no remorse for Yifan’s death, good, sweet Jongin, who had appeared so innocent and peaceful lying in his coffin. Two Jongin’s – no, the same person, as much as Junmyeon wished it were otherwise.  

How could they have grown up to become this? What had he done wrong? How had he not noticed?

Somewhere along the way, he had grown distracted: there were always papers to be signed, investors to be met, speeches to be made, and Jongin and Sehun had been handed over to distant aunts and nannies and Minri, at least when she had been healthier. If only he had been there as the father they deserved. If only he had spoken to them. If only he had done something right by them.

If only, if only, if only…

There was a knock on the door. Raising his head, he swallowed thickly and managed a worn, “Come in.”

Sehun stepped into the room, his already pale, thin face looking positively haggard and sickly. The loss of one’s twin – Junmyeon could not imagine such an imaginable pain, not least for how much Sehun had ignored and pushed aside his brother in his attempts to be his own man. Sometimes, Junmyeon had caught Sehun turning to the side during a conversation, about to murmur some acerbic remark to his twin, only to discover that there was no one there. “The detectives are here,” he said shortly. It was the most civil statement Sehun had uttered to him in years. I failed there too, Junmyeon thought.

“Ah,” Junmyeon murmured, “Don’t be so harsh towards them – Minho is a good man, and was only trying to do what was right. Send them into my office, would you? Thank you, Sehun.”

His son bit his lip, as though there were something more to be said. Then he only nodded, hand pulling the door shut behind him. Something seemed to pass, a moment, and opportunity, a chance... Junmyeon’s eyes flicked over to the photograph on his desk of their whole family, broken now forever, – and then impulsively he cried, “Wait!”

Sehun stopped, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Father?”

Junmyeon cleared his throat, taking a deep breath. “Sehun, I am sorry.”

For a moment, Sehun only stared at him. Then the sour turn to his expression softened. “Jongin…Jongin d-did that on his own. It w-wasn’t your f-fault –”

“I am sorry for being a bad father,” Junmyeon clarified.

Again, Sehun only stared at him. Suddenly, he looked very vulnerable there, to Junmyeon, not the harsh, rabble-rousing young man he had wanted to become. “I’m sorry for being a bad son,” he choked out. “And a bad brother.”

He walked over to his father, resting a hand on his shoulder. His face crumpled. “Father, I…I miss Jongin,” Sehun rasped out.

“I know,” Junmyeon said, trying to hold back his tears, “I miss him, too. And that’s alright.” 

Then they were sobbing and holding onto each other, and they stayed there for a long while.

Onew had bumped into Key as he entered the mansion, and had been immediately informed that Taemin was present. “He’s in Jongin’s room,” Key said cautiously, “Be understanding of him, would you, Jinki? Don’t make him stay if he doesn’t wish to.”

“I would never do so,” Onew reassured him, striding towards the staircase. “Have a little faith, Kibum.”

The other man smiled tiredly. “I apologize. I’ve gotten a little anxious over him.”

“You’re not the only one,” Onew murmured under his breath. Shoes clattering across the steps, he reached the landing and wrapped his fingers around the doorknob. For a moment, he had a rather nervous thought that Taemin might be enraged to see him, or attempt to pick a fight. Courage. He straightened his spine and pushed the door open. “Taemin? Are you in here?”

There was a slender figure sitting on top of the bed, looking out the window. He turned slightly at the words, and Onew saw how stricken Taemin still looked. Taemin was already on the thin side, but the hollows on his cheeks made him look wretched. Onew gently closed the door behind him, and then, uncertain what to do and where to put his hands, leant against it, hands behind his back. Taemin did not say anything, picking unconsciously at the bedspread. The family had still not removed Jongin’s belongings. At last, Onew tried. “How are you feeling?” 

“Did you know?” Taemin asked brokenly, “That he would do that?”

“I had my suspicions,” Onew said at length.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Taemin demanded, hands curling into fists, “About any of it? Why didn't you say it was Jongin?”

“Would you have believed me?” Onew asked simply.

That seemed to stop Taemin. He deflated, looking down at his hands. “No. No, I would’ve said that you were mad and left right there on the spot, because Jongin’s kind, and good and my friend,” he spat the words, trembling horribly. He shuddered, trying to collect himself. “He… He… I can’t…. How could he? He was, he was Jongin. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“In my experience, many of those who murder are someone’s friend, or lover, or brother, fath