~Today~

Taemin wipes his fingers with a napkin, crumples it up, and tosses it in the paper sack by his side. He’s finishing up his lunch, having eaten throughout his one-sided conversation. It’s not over, but as much as he can talk and eat he can’t talk and clean, so he packs up the half-empty containers and finishes off his root beer, the condensation making the glass slippery. His forehead is glistening and he’s uncomfortably warm but he’s still wearing the jacket.

“Usually when I come back there’s snow on the ground. It’s kind of strange to see be sitting out on the grass in the sun.” He looks down at the blanket, fiddling with a loose thread.

“I stopped by the library today,” he says, “The mural is still there, the one with our hand prints. I took a picture of it.” He pats at the phone in his pocket absently but doesn’t pull it out.

“I hated you for a while,” he says abruptly, quietly. “For leaving. Dying. I was so angry. You left me. All alone. You were supposed to…” He stops to blink back tears, his voice beginning to break. A few deep breaths and he starts again.

“I needed you. You were my best friend. You made me feel so safe. I loved you so much and then you were just gone. The truth is that you couldn’t have stayed forever, you would have had to leave eventually. I just…it shouldn’t have been like that.

I survived your death by shutting down, everything reduced to the bare minimum just to get by. And then suddenly I was sad, I was so sad for so long, and nothing mattered.

And then I met someone who made me happy again, who made me smile, who made me feel safe. And that’s why I stayed away, Minho. I didn’t think I could do both; I couldn’t mourn you and be happy.

And after everything, I so wanted to be happy.

And that’s why I came. To tell you that I’m happy. I have a wonderful life. I have friends. I have a job that I like. I have a new family that accepts and loves me as I am. It’s so nice to hear ‘Tell me more about Minho’ instead of ‘Why can’t you be more like Minho?’” He lets the thread go and sits up straight, stretching his back.

“Jinki’s so close with his mom and I envy their relationship. She’s always treats me like I’m her own son and sometimes I forget that she’s not my real mom.”

He laughs at that, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course that would make my relationship with Jinki really awkward. We’re kind of double in-laws now, too. Jongin’s with Jinki’s cousin Eunsook and they have a little girl. Who was born a suspicious nine months after our wedding, almost to the day. They’re happy. And busy and stressed. I think that’s the parenting motto.”

A smile flitters across his lips as he thinks about his little goddaughter Taeyeon. It broadens when he thinks of the havoc the child is wrecking on his best friend.

“It’s my birthday today. I’m picking up Jinki in a little bit and we’re going to meet his mom for brunch tomorrow. She insists on taking us out on our birthdays when we’re in town together. She also gives us little gifts, even though I tell her she doesn’t have to.”

He pulls out the key chain in his jacket pocket and smooths his thumb over the inscription.

“It says ‘Choi Brothers’ on the back. The front is a picture of you, of us. The one from the wedding.” He chuckles. “I don’t even know where she could have gone to have this made.

It’s funny because I’m not a Choi. There was no point in staying a Choi if the only Choi who loved me was gone. After Jinki and I got married, I changed my name to Lee: I’ve been a Lee for almost two years now. But…”, he pauses, looking down at the image himself with his brother. “I liked being your brother.”

His visit is coming to an end. The phone in his pocket is beginning to vibrate letting him know that he needs to pick up Jinki in an hour. It’s perfect timing, there are only a few more things he’d like to say.

He stands and begins folding the blanket up. Pausing, he looks down at the headstone and reaches out, rubs his fingers over the indents and rough granite, feels the texture of his brother’s name raised in the stone.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner. You were a good brother. I miss you. I miss you every day. And I get it now. I can do both. I can miss you and I can be happy. I don’t have to choose.”

He stands back up, tucking the blanket under one arm and picking up the paper bag with the other. The sleeve of his jacket makes an odd noise at it brushes against the bag and he laughs, looking down at the heavy wool body and leather sleeves. The one with his brother’s name and badges on it.

~December 2008~

Taemin hides in his brother’s room while his parents greet the relatives and neighbors, strangers and friends who shuffle through the house to bring their condolences and casseroles. It’s surprisingly noisy for such a somber event, or perhaps Taemin is just sensitive to sounds that aren’t his brother returning home. It’s been a week and he’s still not accustomed to the silence. He stares at the laptop on the desk, at the photographs of athletes and actresses pinned to the walls. He can’t touch them, not yet. He thinks he should hide the laptop from his parents but he knows they will notice it missing and he’s not sure where he’d put it anyway. He decides that the least he could do is delete any files his brother wouldn’t have wanted seen before their parents get a chance to take a look. It’s a relief and a pain to his heart when he’s met with a request for a password, one he doesn’t have and one he knows his parents won’t know either. At least some of Minho’s secrets will stay hidden. He stands up and walks to the closet, the real reason he’s in this empty room alone. There’s something that he wants, something that he is willing to fight to keep, to own. He slips the jacket off of its metal hanger, the soft jingle as it flips back into place oddly pleasing and he’s reminded of the scene from “It’s a Wonderful Life”, the one where angels get their wings. He slips the jacket on, buttoning it up to the top the way Minho always wore it, looking down at the material and avoiding his reflection in the mirror attached to the closet door. He goes to Minho’s bed, perfectly made with the pillow tucked under the navy bedspread that matches the one in Taemin’s room. He lies down, hesitant to mess up his brother’s bedding but desperate to feel him close, to smell what remains while it’s still there to breathe in. It is in this position, lying on the perfectly made bed of their eldest son that Taemin’s parents find him, wrapped in his brother’s jacket, sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.