There is always this persistent need for Hanbin to claw his heart out of his chest.

To rot.

To be completely empty.

January nights are unwelcoming to those with equally cold hearts. To wounds that bleed open. To tiredness. To those who need places to come back to.

The streets are wet and glassy—it reflects the lights and if we look closer, maybe the stars too. But stars never really show up in the sky of a busy and glamour city like Seoul. Maybe stars have become a privilege for those who live in less worldly luxury, and Hanbin thinks it’s probably nice to get away from all this tangled world that is full of expectation.

He is supposed to arrive half an hour ago, and it’s so unlike him to be late on purpose to any occasion. But the heart was heavy—the bruise on his jaw has not even disappear yet. He’s got a bucket of white lilies on his lap, and he just smiles bitterly remembering all those days he came to the very same place bringing flowers he arranged himself.

Guess that times already passed too.

The taxi’s heater wasn’t enough to dry his black coat, but it can at least warm his thighs. Hanbin looks outside to those people who walk under the light rain, and remembers how back in the day Jiwon always carried umbrella in his backpack just in case it’s raining. Hanbin despised rain. And still does. The smell of rainy weather reminds him of sad songs and cold nights, gloomy sky makes him want to rot and be forgotten.

The next thing Hanbin knows is him standing in front of a door, controlling his breathing to at least calm himself a little. Right at the other side of the door is the person whom he wants to show only happiness to. Although he knows she probably understands that it is impossible for human being to only be happy. Although he knows that she probably will still love and accept him all the same even if he’s the saddest person on earth.

But maybe that’s the case about a relationship with loving parents, Hanbin thinks.

You so badly want to show them only happiness because you know it’s the thing that can make them the happiest.

And learning this through time, Hanbin slowly begins to understand.

His knock on the door is weak and slow. As he heard someone fumbling with the door lock, Hanbin takes one more breath and force a smile on his lips.

“Hanbin!”

How Jiwon takes after her so much, even the smile too. Hanbin should have known that once she hugs him, the smile just comes naturally. Is it the warmth, or is it because it’s the closest he can feel to Jiwon nowadays?

“Ma,”

But it is clearly the affection that Hanbin missed. The feeling of being held close by someone he loves.

Hanbin wants to protest when she pulls away from the hug. He then gives the flower to her in attempt to distract her from his bruised jaw. But who is he kidding? Of course, she saw it already.

“Baby what happened to your face?”

The caress is warm and tender, and it is sad that Hanbin cannot remember the feeling of his own mother’s palm against his skin. Her eyes are focused on the bruise, putting slight pressure on it a little too carefully so it wouldn’t hurt him. He smiles, shaking his head a little to show her that it’s not a big deal.

“Ah, this… Just a small accident at work, Ma. It looks worse than it really is.”

She doesn’t seem convinced, though. Her fingers linger a little bit more, then travelled to Hanbin’s jet black hair that is slightly longer than usual. If Hanbin reads right, there is a slight concern in her expression—and Hanbin wonders if she also can sense his tiredness. Hanbin wants to close his eyes, to take a rest a little with warmth of affection engulfing him bits by bits. But instead, he smiles.

“Let’s get inside. Let me make you something warm before dinner, okay?” She then helps Hanbin taking off his slightly wet coat, hanging it on the hanger just beside the shoe shelf. She then walks to the kitchen with Hanbin trailing behind her.

There is something about the smell of this house that gives Hanbin a sense of calmness. Of warmth. What Hanbin likes is the yellow lights, the wooden furniture and family portraits hanging on the walls. Of little Jiwon. Of the two brothers. Of the four of them. Of Jiwon’s graduation, with Hanbin there as well. Anyone would be able to sense how this simple house was filled with happiness—of warmth of the family. And it really pains Hanbin a little to remember that it’s just Jiwon’s mother now living there by herself.

Hanbin sits on one of the chairs in the dining room—his usual spot when he’s there, right beside where Jiwon always sits. He remembers how Jiwon would reach for his hand and pinned it to his thigh, so Hanbin will not dig his nails to his own palm out of nervousness.

Jiwon’s mother comes with a cup of hot tea, placing it on the table and then takes a sit just beside Hanbin. He mutters a short thanks before picking up the cup, inhaling the calming smell of lemon and a little bit of honey and smiles when the familiar taste reaches his tongue.

Hanbin can never make tea exactly like this, even though he had tried multiple times in his efforts to calm Jiwon when he’s sad or upset. He wonders if it’s him, or it’s just a touch of a mother that he can never duplicate.

But then again, Jiwon never said anything about his tea. He is a simple man, Jiwon once said. There is nothing ‘absolute’ in Jiwon’s dictionary, everything is simple, chill, laid back, flexible. One slice of lemon or two, a teaspoon of honey or none at all, it is Hanbin’s tea, he said. He’s already thankful for the fact that Hanbin always stands beside him, rubbing a gentle hand on his nape all the way up to tangle his fingers on Jiwon’s thick hair.

Hanbin can still feel how soft Jiwon’s hair is on his fingertips and the thought make him want to claw on his skin.

“Have you told Jiwon you’re already here? That kid, he’s always late. Given days off that long he’ll just sleep days and nights away.”

“Not yet, ah, I came straight from the hospital.”

Hanbin doesn’t really know what to say—he hasn’t met Jiwon for days. He doesn’t even know whether Jiwon remembers their dinner appointment or not. He doesn’t even know whether Jiwon is sleeping in their apartment or just spending nights in Namjoon’s recording studio.

“Let me call him,” she takes out her phone and dials Jiwon’s number, and typical her, she just put it on speaker and put the phone on the table.

“When is he coming back to the rig?” she asked between the dial tone.

Hanbin doesn’t really know the answer to that question. He doesn’t know when had he stopped counting days and months for Jiwon’s departures and arrivals. So ironic that all he did months ago was crossing out the dates on calendars marking days and days he spent waiting for Jiwon to come back from his offshore duties.

His thoughts fly to those days when all he can think about one breath after waking up, is how new days means a day closer to meeting Jiwon.

But meeting Jiwon now hurts more than being without him back then.

But meeting Jiwon now makes his chest burn from all the feelings he suppressed, from all the please stay and the I’m tired, please hold me that die even before he’s brave enough to look at Jiwon’s eyes.

“Ma?”

That voice sends chill down Hanbin’s spine—that sleepy voice is what he always hears every time he called to wake Jiwon up, because he knows Jiwon never sets alarms.

“Jiwon, where are you? Dinner is almost ready and Hanbin is here already.”

There is a pause after that, Hanbin thinks maybe it’s because the mention of his name. Or maybe Jiwon just isn’t fully wake up yet.

“Bin is there?”

The sleepy voice is gone completely, replaced with a very conscious tone. Almost surprised, even. Hanbin imagined Jiwon sitting up immediately, knowing that he’s already late to yet another appointment with Hanbin’s presence.

“Oh …,”

“Language, Jiwon.”

“Sorry, Ma, I fell asleep. I’m at the apartment. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Oh, Hanbin, wait, I am gonna have to check the oven right now. Just tell him to come soon and drive safe.”

With that, Jiwon’s mother half runs to the kitchen, leaving Hanbin there with Jiwon still on the call. Hanbin knows that Jiwon probably heard that, and he’s probably aware that it’s both of them on the call now.

“Bin?”

How long has it been since the last time he’s on a call with Jiwon? How long has it been since the last time he picked up Jiwon’s call?

Hanbin used to be so good at keeping track of everything—dates, schedules, Jiwon’s departure, Jiwon’s arrival, two weeks offshore, a week in Ulsan. Sometimes a month offshore, a month off. Hanbin had every little detail in his notebook, even though he can remember flawlessly even without them. But lately the stress had been heavy, the constant sadness that tugs on his heart had messed with his brain too.

“Bin are you there?”

There is an unmistakable worry in that tone, and Hanbin unconsciously closes his eyes just to prevent all the memories from surfacing—or he just wants to really listen to the husky voice and imagine every little detail of how Jiwon might look at the moment.

Disheveled dark and thick hair, probably without clothes, probably still in his worn-out jeans, and probably hasn’t even eaten proper meal but ramyun and onigiri he bought in convenience stores.

“Are you okay, Bin? How is the fever?”

Of course Jiwon would know, most probably from Yunhyeong. He had spent two days at Yunhyeong’s place. After the incident with patient’s family he’s completely out for a day from migraine and fever. Maybe he doesn’t want Jiwon to know that. Or not. Maybe he does want Jiwon to know. Maybe he wants to be worried about, to know that Jiwon still cares about him all the same as years