“Jonghyun, sit down,” Kibum says, leading me to the couch. “I’ll make breakfast, okay?”

I can hardly hear what he’s saying.

Disgrace.

Filthy.

You’re not my son.

“Jonghyun? Are you listening?” Kibum snaps his fingers in front of my face.

“Y-yeah, sorry,”

“Forget this. Come with me, help me in the kitchen.” He takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen.

“Get the beets,” he points to the fridge.

“How did you know the beets would be in the fridge?” I ask.

Only after seeing the look on his face do I realize what a stupid question that was.

“Jjong,” Kibum says. “Get the beets, honey.”

I get the beets. He gets the honey from the shelf and I watch him, moving around, cutting, mixing and occasionally ordering me to get this, wash that, cut this, with so much ease.

“Do you want your eggs sunny side up?” he asks, and I nod.

“Jonghyun,” he stills his hand on top of the egg, just before cracking it. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I try so hard to keep my voice from breaking, but it does.

Kibum puts the egg back into the carton and comes over to me.

“Jonghyun-ah,” he says softly. “Your father loves you. Trust me. Your parents will always love you, no matter what. Every parent wants their child to be happy, to live a good, happy life; but their idea of happiness is different from yours, get it?” he says, looking into my eyes.

“Their version of happiness for you is for you to get married to a good, homely girl who will give you good sons. For you to maybe take over the family business and not ge