It was one of the hotter days of the summer where the sun was right in the middle of the sky, rays of sunlight and heat reaching everywhere. To make matters worse, it had just rained the previous night and now the air was humid and muggy. It was the kind of day where people would either be outside in a swimming pool, having fun but staying cool, or they would be in their houses with the AC on as high as it would go, contributing to global warming without a care in the world.

Kibum particularly detested summer heat, so he was already in a bad mood that day. He was hot and cranky but none the less there was work to be done and yet again, for the second week in a row, he found himself back in his old house tossing useless junk in a box to be given to charity. That’s what Heechul decided they would do with all the stuff he had no interest in or use for. Personally, he was content to throw it all in a dumpster and set it on fire, but Heechul had said no.

The windows had all been opened and the house was thoroughly aired out, but since the bank refused to pay for electricity, there was no AC and so it felt more humid and hot inside than it did out. They were all moving in slow motion, too hot and tired to work any faster. They were bumping into each other and complaining half-heartedly. It was just one of those days.

Right now, Kibum was wiping down the coffee table with a wet rag – it took all his effort not to take the bucket of cold, soapy water and dump it over his head. Once he finished, he stood up and looked around. There was nothing left in there except for this one piece of furniture and at that, Kibum hated it since he’d once tripped and busted his head on it, requiring stitches to make it better.

They had already finished the kitchen and foyer, and now the living room was finally emptied which meant all the easy rooms were complete. Kibum wrung his hands together as Heechul and Leeteuk came back into the house after taking the last piece of furniture out.

“Alright,” Heechul announced, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Pick what you want to do next: the office, upstairs, or bedrooms.”

Kibum sighed and shrugged his shoulders. The only way they had been able to get through all of this was if he was in control, deciding where they would work and what he actually wanted to do. Most of them time it was them and Hongki doing all the work while he moped and cried over everything.

“The office, I guess,” He said grudgingly. Glancing at the door to his father’s office, the room he hadn’t ever been allowed to enter, Kibum felt a deep sense of dread. This was the one room in the house that he really did not want to go in. He knew what was in there and it would only cause trouble for himself.

“Would you like to go inside first?” Leeteuk offered, gesturing towards the door. Kibum shook his head adamantly and folded his arms over his chest. He made a noise of discontent as Heechul opened the door, but followed them inside anyways.

The room was still very organized so there wasn’t actually all that much to do. There was the desk and two filing cabinets, and Kibum explained that the filing cabinets were full of his father’s work files that could be thrown away, and the desk was where all the family records were kept. They worked in silence emptying the two cabinets first, both were stocked full of papers and it took over an hour to deal with. Once they had carried the cabinets out to the storage pod, it was time to open the desk.

Kibum huffed and leaned against the wall, refusing to look at the two of them while they went through everything. He knew what was in there: old tax files, medical records, etc. Then there were a few other items that he really just didn’t want them to find. Police reports, a death certificate, and multiple newspaper articles. He knew that Heechul would want to take them home and read them tonight, and he would take one look at them and realize that everything he knew was incorrect.

“Were you ever planning on telling us?”

Kibum broke from his musings and turned around to face them. They were both looking at him expectantly, looks of disapproval clear on their faces.

“Tell you what?” He asked, tilting his head to see what they were holding.

Leeteuk looked at the papers and began to read, “You have a history of seizures – ”

“You already knew that,” Kibum pointed out.

“Appendicitis when you were eleven, broke your arm at eight, asthma as a child,” Leeteuk continued to read off the list.

Kibum rolled his eyes and scoffed. “It’s not anything important, who cares? Besides, I don’t have asthma anymore. The doctor said I grew out of it.”

“Kibum, you don’t just stop having asthma, it just goes into remission,” Heechul informed him exasperatedly, putting all the medical records in a pile to keep. He would give them to the hospital so there was a medical history for Kibum. He already had Donghae and Key’s.

They worked in silence for several long moments. Kibum watched them like a hawk, determined to intercede the moment they found everything surrounded his sister’s death. It was a manila folder marked in black bold letters, and Heechul had just picked it up.

Curiously, Heechul opened the folder and pulled out the newspaper articles that were on top. He read them silently for a moment, but he’d already known what they said. He vaguely remembered reading them a long time ago. He wasn’t much interested in reading them again so he stuck them back in the folder. Just as he was about to ask Kibum what he wanted to do about those particular files, Kibum finally spoke up.

“That’s not what happened,” He said, nodding to the folder.

“What’s not what happened?” Heechul asked in confusion, looking back at the articles.

“The newspapers, they’re all a lie,” Kibum informed them. The two gave him their full attention, but he turned away so he didn’t have to look them in the face. “One says that I lost her while babysitting, another says that I killed her and pretended to find her body in the park, but it’s all wrong. So, so wrong.”

He stared down at his shoes, thinking back to the day that had ruined his life. He knew he couldn’t complain, because at least he was alive – he hadn’t been brutally murdered. The newspapers hadn’t even gotten the way she died right. They all stated that she had been stabbed over and over until she bled out, but it was all so wrong.

“I want to go home now,” H