Howon clearly heard the door creak. Someone was home and it could only be Hoshin. Why didn't he shout to notify his arrival like he always does?

He stood up from his armchair and walked to Hoshin's bedroom door, trying to peek in through the slightly opened door.

Hoshin sat on his bed with an unenthusiastic slouch, and his shoulders started slightly bobbing up and down after a while. Howon got what was happening. His son was crying. And he concluded how he didn't wish that thing to at all.

He invited himself in as he went and sat by the bedside. He knew Hoshin was aware of his presence yet decided to not look up, so Howon let the younger take his space. He sat there silently, staring at the ground as he heard his son's muffled sobs.

The first time Hoshin looked up was after about 3 hours. That was also the first time Howon looked at his son who looked more or less devastated, and guilty.

"Dad," He had called in his weakest tone, the tone Howon had never heard from his son. Hoshin was stronger than Howon, both physically and mentally. Hoshin was more charming than Howon ever was. Hoshin was more talented than Howon had been at his age. And Hoshin was cold, unlike Howon who never was. Despite all of it, Hoshin was calm, composed and wise like his father. But Hoshin never cried, Hoshin was never weak.

Howon pulled Hoshin closer to him and hugged his son, whispering, "What's up, buddy?"

Hoshin cried again, shocking and breaking