He and Hyesung had been friends once. Sort of. This is how it starts:

In the summer when he, Hyori, and Minwoo were six, their father enrolled them in various sports programs: Minwoo had Little League, Hyori swimming, and Eric taekwondo. How his father had decided who took up what, Eric still doesn’t know, but he remembers walking into the brand-new taekwondo dojo downtown with his father holding his hand, and being presented to their newest neighbor. Up until that point, Eric had only known Charlie Park by reputation: he had just moved into the house next door where Dr. Shin and her son lived, and he had a motorbike which he routinely cleaned every morning. He was tall and had long hair and wore sunglasses indoors. He was cool.

“Hello, Charlie. I’m James.” His father shook the other man’s hand as though they were old friends. “This is my eldest son, Eric.”

“Hello, James. Hello, Eric,” Charlie said. He was wearing a sleeveless Harley Davidson shirt over white pants and he was barefoot. When he smiled, his eyes pretty much disappeared. “My son was here somewhere, hmm. Where could he be…?”

There was movement behind him and Charlie shifted in step, revealing a kid clutching at his leg. He was smaller and scrawnier than Eric, and had puffed-up cheeks and an apple cut. He looked pretty goofy but he glared at Eric as though in warning, eyes squinting dangerously at him through his bangs.

“Hyesung!” Eric said, surprised, because he did know him, having lived in the house adjacent to theirs ever since he could remember. The one time he had come for a playdate, Hyori had made him cry, and so there had been no repeats. They had also been classmates in kindergarten, but the other boy rarely spoke. “Hi!”

“Oh, so you know each other! Good!” Charlie sounded pleased. He nudged the other boy forward. “Shake hands, boys.”

Eric offered his hand but Hyesung wrinkled his nose at it, as though it was a rotten vegetable peel.

“Hi,” Eric said again, but quickly retracted his fingers as Hyesung stretched his neck over and nearly bit them.

“HI-YA!” Hyesung shouted in reply, hands chopping air, and almost at once Charlie grabbed him by the scruff of his dobok and made him hold his hand out to reluctantly instigate a shake.

Hyesung had a strong grip even then, and Eric quickly learned not to underestimate size for strength. They met every Tuesday and Thursday and were pitted against each other for majority of the session. Eric spent the rest of that summer covered in bruises, and lost his first tooth after one of Hyesung’s kicks went astray. After taekwondo their fathers would round everyone up for ice cream and Hyesung always chose a peppermint stick over Eric’s rocket pop. When it was time to pick Hyori and Minwoo up, Hyesung would refuse to go because he wanted to stay with Charlie to practice some more.

Even then, at six, despite a swollen lip and several hundred ice packs, peering at Hyesung through the finger-stained glass as he practiced with Charlie long after everyone had said goodbye, a small part of Eric had gone oh wow.

--

“Hyesung.” He says to Minwoo the next morning as they fumble around the kitchen counter, half-blind and looking for coffee cups. It’s 7:30 and Eric is suffering from the after-effects of jetlag, insomnia, and anxiety all at once.

“What?”

“Hyesung. You know. Shin. Park. Whatever.”

Minwoo is trying to work the Keurig with his eyes closed. “I knew that,” he says irritably. He lets out a sigh of relief when the Keurig gurgles and commences on pouring both of them coffee. “We know only one Hyesung. I meant, what about him?”

“He’s back? In Rye, I mean.” Eric puts two half bagels in the toaster so his hands have something to do. Somehow the first thing he thought of when he opened his eyes was the sound of Hyesung’s voice from last night, rough and deep as though he had screamed his throat raw. He doesn’t know why his stomach is in knots as he remembers it.

“He’s been back.” Minwoo yawns and runs a hand through his hair, peering at his brother through a barely-open eye. “He had that accident in Rio last year, remember? At the Olympics. ed up his leg but got a medal anyway.”

Eric does remember, but only because he had seen it in passing on the cover of the LA Times: SHIN WINS 2^ND OLYMPIC GOLD FOR USA DESPITE INJURY, and later on had watched clips on NBC, curled up on his couch while Hyunjin, warm and docile and perfect, dozed with her head on his lap.

“And…?” Something in Eric clenches when he recalls Hyesung’s face from last night. How strange it is to see him again. That summer at Charlie Park’s dojo had sparked an unconventional friendship that neither of them have ever really understood or shaken off, but it’s now been years since he’s seen Hyesung last…

(The summer when they were sixteen and experimenting with growing their hair out, taking turns using Charlie’s old Buick to pick up the others before heading over to Parkland Place whenever Hyesung didn’t have any training sessions or chores at the dojo. The summer Andy and Junjin had gotten the chicken pox and had had them running around town all week buying candy to bribe them from scratching. The summer Hyori had gotten into a car accident with her then-boyfriend and Minwoo and Eric threatened to beat the guy to a pulp until Hyesung and Dongwan reminded them that he’s white and you’re not, and YES it’s stupid but lay off or you’ll be in prison the rest of your stupid life—

That summer had been the last time. And then Hyesung had left without even saying goodbye.)

“And what?” Minwoo’s voice yanks him back to the present. His brother glares at him, silently demanding he make more sense.

“Why is he here then? Doesn’t he train in Seoul?”

“You think he’d be training now with an injury like that?” Ceramic pings against tile and Minwoo hands him his coffee in an M&Ms mug. “Charlie practically had to carry him after the match and he wasn’t even able to make it to the medals ceremony.”

Minwoo proceeds to pour what seems to be a quarter cup of half-and-half and three heaping spoons of sugar into his own mug, slurping the liquid down before giving it a chance to cool.

Eric makes a face. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s my coffee. Anyway, what’s with the interrogation? Just go next door and ask him whatever it is you want to know. It’s not like you’re strangers.”

Eric nearly laughs at the ludicrous remark. Strangers? Of course they are. He hasn’t spoken to Hyesung in over 17 years. And if Hyesung is anything like how he was when they first met, Eric doesn’t think he’ll survive this time if he decides to suddenly roundhouse kick him the same way he did so many years ago.

“I was just curious.” He slurps at his coffee, black and soothing, enough to smooth out his edges. “I haven’t seen him for a long time.”

Minwoo scoffs, obviously unbothered. “Well he’s here now…” He’s cut off by a loud buzzing as Eric’s phone vibrates against the countertop, just as Eric stands to fetch the butter and blueberry jam from the refrigerator. “Hey, your phone is ringing.”

He knows. His and Hyunjin’s picture is large on the screen. It was taken just two months ago, when they had gone north to San Francisco to celebrate his birthday. Boss ♥, it says just above their heads, and Eric suddenly feels hot and cold all at once.

“Eric.” Minwoo says impatiently when it continues. “Answer it, will you? Or take it off the damn countertop. It’s giving me a headache.”

Mind suddenly switching focus, Eric snatches his phone and excuses himself, exiting through the kitchen door and into the backyard, where the grass is overgrown and creeping past the stone pathway leading to the side yard. Here and there are remnants of their childhood: the glass conservatory Andy used to practice his saxophone in, the doghouse he and Hyori built when they were eleven and bored, the drawings Minwoo did in ballpoint on the clapboard that their parents never had the heart to erase. This is also the same backyard where they had practiced cartwheels in, had Easter Egg hunt tournaments in, and where they broke out the Slip n Slide whenever it got too hot.

It certainly feels odd, going back to your childhood home. Even though nothing about it has really changed, everything else has, and Eric stands there, surrounded by nostalgia and the tiniest ounce of regret, and waits until his phone falls silent, as it will, as it has, the past week. When it does, he breathes a deep sigh then waits a few minutes to make sure the call doesn’t come in again. Hyunjin never tries more than once, but this time she’s made it a habit to call no less than five times a day, and Eric always has to force himself to look away.

He goes back into the kitchen feeling heavier than when he left, his phone like a stone in his palm. Hyori has joined Minwoo at the kitchen counter, dressed in a Lisa Frank shirt and matching pajamas, a relic from the 90s. She waves to Eric as he enters then takes a swig of his coffee, making a face at the amount of sugar in it. Andy pads in seconds later, bleary-eyed and wearing a RAW IS WAR shirt, and immediately finds himself the victim of a kiss attack from his brother and sister. Ducking the commotion, Eric abandons his phone on the counter and goes to the toaster to retrieve his breakfast, quickly discovering that his bagels have burned.

--

Dongwan visits them later in the morning, dressed in khakis and a tucked navy blue shirt that makes him look like a teenaged father or a closet serial killer. The latter is Minwoo’s description and earns him a quick smack from his mother.

“Mom!” Minwoo whines, rubbing the back of his head. They’re sitting at the kitchen table organizing boxes of their father’s clothes, most of which had gotten too big for him during his three-year cancer battle. “This is Erowan we’re talking about.”

“I don’t care.” Their mother says, her fingers automatically folding up one shirt after another before placing them into a common pile for them to organize. “Dongwan has done very well for himself and for the community and I won’t have you insulting him like that.”

Andy snorts. In his hands he holds a pair of paint-splattered jeans that Eric recognizes as what their father liked wearing on long days off. “The only ones who would believe Dongwan are those who didn’t have to grow up listening to his long reviews of his movie collection.”

Eric and Minwoo laugh while Dongwan keeps a straight face. “Dear Andy,” he says, maintaining his composure, “that was of course during the heyday of our youth.”

“Yeah, and also two weeks ago when Jinnie asked if you had any new recommendations.”

Eric, Minwoo, and even Hyori howl in laughter. Dongwan’s face turns the alarming shade of an overripe tomato, and he forces a smile, bowing slightly to their mother, whose fingers are still furiously folding clothes.

“Auntie, that’s a lie,” he says, although he sounds as though the wind’s been knocked out of him, and from the way Andy is smiling, Eric knows Dongwan is likely telling the truth, but it doesn’t make it any less funny. “They always do this to me.”

(You’re always doing this to me! Dongwan says, when they’re twelve and roughhousing, seconds before Eric and Hyesung accidentally break his arm on Minwoo’s bedroom rug. It’s their father who makes sense of the chaos, gathers him up and drives them all to the hospital with Eric, Minwoo, and Hyesung blubbering in the backseat, begging their father not to send them to jail.  No one gets in trouble and their father pays for everything, and when the tears dry and apologies are made, their father rounds them up over burgers and ice-cream floats.

You guys are going to hurt each other sometimes, whether you’ll mean to or not, their father tells the four of them, seated like soldiers in a booth at the diner. What matters is you still stick together at the end of the day. Got it?

They nod and murmur and end up falling asleep on the drive home, and Dongwan tells his mother he fell from the monkey bars in the park to explain the bright purple cast he sports for an entire season)

“Poor Wannie,” Hyori says, and her voice shakes Eric away from his thoughts. He sees as she reaches over to kiss him on the cheek. Dongwan pouts.

“You know, if you’d done that more often growing up, I would have just asked you to marry me.”

“In your dreams.” Hyori scoffs and pushes a ‘Space is Cool’ NASA shirt into Dongwan’s face. “You didn’t even notice me when Eric and Minwoo were in the room. Not that I minded.”

“I was young and stupid. And they always had the best video games.”

“Thank God.”

The kitchen door creaks open, a sound familiar to them throughout their shared childhood. Each other’s homes was an extension of their own, but the Muns’ was where they congregated the most, where there was enough space, clothes, and toys to wreak havoc with, and a first-aid kit designed for an army. Junjin enters now and Eric’s breath hitches for a second, expecting him to be accompanied by his brother, but it releases quickly when he realizes Junjin is alone.

“Jinnie!” Hyori squeals. “Catch!” She tosses an almond from the bowl of trail mix they have on the table and Junjin automatically bends over to catch it with his mouth. At 26, Junjin appears to still be growing, much to Dongwan and Minwoo’s perpetual chagrin.

Dongwan scoffs, unimpressed at Junjin’s hand-eye coordination. “You’re not a puppy, for God’s sakes, Jin.”

Junjin’s lips stretch into a toothpaste-commercial smile. “God has nothing to do with it, Erowan.”

“STOP calling me that!” Dongwan finally snaps, his voice breaking into a whine. “Say that again!”

“Erowan.”

“I will beat you up!”

A short chase ensues in the kitchen but either Dongwan is too short or Junjin too fast, so nothing really comes of it except for the tears of laughter rolling down Eric’s cheeks amidst the annoyed, but fond, clucking of their mother.

“If either of you breaks anything,” their mother warns, not taking her eyes off a pair of stained corduroys that she’s folding neatly with her fingers, “just remember that none of you are old enough for me to smack.”

As if on cue, Junjin ends up tripping over his own feet and splaying on the floor where, amidst loud protests, the reverent Pastor Kim sits on his head, and doesn’t let up until Junjin shouts for God and his father and several hundred es to come rescue him before Dongwan makes good with his threat to fart into his mouth.

--

“Where’s your brother?”

Eric asks it as he and Junjin light cigarettes to smoke with in the side yard, their heads leaning against the clapboard. Junjin shrugs, his face all sharp lines and angles, and it’s with a brief pang of nostalgia that Eric remembers the chubby-cheeked boy who was their constant tag-along.

“At home. Leg problems.” The younger man answers easily, as though he expects Eric to already know the full range of Hyesung’s medical history. Junjin raises an eyebrow at him. “Where’s your wife?”

“At home.” Eric takes a longer drag than usual, feels as the smoke curls acrid in his lungs before he releases it in a white plume above their heads. “Schedule problems.” Junjin looks surprised at his answer.

“That bad?” he asks, his tone curious. Careful.

“Yep.” Eric replies, although he doesn’t really know the full extent of what he means. In whatever context, it’s the same answer anyway.

“That .” Junjin wrinkles his nose, a habit Hyesung also has. Had. Eric doesn’t even know.

“Yep.” His chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with a cigarette.

“I thought you’d quit.” Junjin points out. “Andy said you’d adopted that LA healthy lifestyle. You and Hyunjin.”

“Yeah well.” It had been true. Until recently. “There’s no such thing.”

“As ‘LA healthy lifestyle?” Junjin’s smile turns cheeky. “Or as you and Hyunjin?”

Eric opens his mouth to protest. Something. Anything. But his phone suddenly starts ringing again and he’s more than happy to excuse himself before Junjin’s curiosity unearths something more than what he’s willing to share.

“Hello?” he says, and in his haste, he does end up accepting the call, although he already knows full well who’s on the other line.

“Eric?” Hyunjin says, her voice broken, fragile, like crystal-spun glass. Thousands of miles apart and yet she still feels so close, and Eric can almost feel her warm weight against his. His ribs hurt against his skin, as though an invisible force is crushing them and they’re just about to give in.

“Not now.” He says through gritted teeth, aware how Junjin is merely steps behind him, and the rest of his family just through the kitchen door.

“Where are you?” Hyunjin asks, pleads. She isn’t angry; she’s upset, and for the life of him, Eric doesn’t understand why. “Your stuff is gone. Your keys are in the foyer. Your office said you’ve taken a leave of absence, and nobody knows where you’ve gone…Eric, please!”

He’s surprised to feel tears pool in his eyes. He doesn’t owe her anything. Not anymore.

“Don’t call me again,” he says, and promptly hangs up. He tries to rip the battery out but quickly realizes he can’t and so throws the phone against the wall in a fit of frustration. It doesn’t break, not with the ridiculously expensive protective casing he’s placed it in but the screen cracks anyway as it hits the pavement, right through the wallpaper of him and Hyunjin three winters ago in the Swiss Alps, and makes their smiles disjointed. The sight of it makes him feel only slightly better.

“Whoa.” A voice says, and Eric whirls around to see Hyesung stepping in through the open side gate, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What's up?”

Junjin clears his throat. “Nothing,” he says, before stubbing his cigarette against the ashtray they’ve brought with them. He holds it out for Eric, and Eric follows his lead. Hyesung frowns at them both.

“I’ve told you to quit.” Hyesung says, eyeing Junjin. Although an Olympian, Hyesung is no match against his younger brother’s build; Junjin’s athletic prowess is a clear inherited trait from Charlie, whereas Hyesung has had to train twice as hard as everybody else.

“I have,” Junjin grins. “For the night. Start again tomorrow.”

He salutes as he excuses himself, squeezing Eric’s arm as he walks past. Hyesung shakes his head.

“Stupid kid and his stupid habits.” Hyesung grumbles. “He could have trained properly and have done the Olympics. He’s far better than me.”

“You know that’s not what he wants.” Eric says. He's highly aware of the number of audition tapes Junjin had secretly sent his way in LA and which he’d peddled to one producer after another. “He’ll get there.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Hyesung hands him his phone which he’s picked up off the ground and brushed off. Eric almost recoils. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Eric forces himself to swallow. Hyesung is a step away from him, a black cap turned backwards keeping his hair from falling into his eyes. He feels both awkward and not, like he’s six again being reintroduced to someone he already knows. He hopes Hyesung doesn’t kick him. “Um. Junjin said your leg was bad today.”

“It is.” Hyesung stretches his right leg and turns his foot in a circle. His expression crumples into a grimace as he does. “It always does, after the rain. Or before it. I can’t really tell. It’s like a busted thermometer.”

“Barometer.”

“Whatever.” Hyesung shrugs. “My meds with my memory.”

“Or you’re just stupid.” Eric says, and he very nearly stops before he says it, unsure if it’s even appropriate, their childhood banter. But Hyesung lifts his head, smiles.

“. I haven’t heard that in years.”

It warms him, slightly, that Hyesung even remembers it. His chest feels hot and he wonders if his first foray into nicotine in years has triggered the start of lung cancer.

“Come in for dinner,” he says, because he doesn’t really know what to say next and yet he doesn’t want Hyesung to leave. Not yet. His presence feels comforting somehow, and in this period of bereavement that he’s allowed himself to wallow in, Eric will take all the comfort he can get.

Hyesung looks like he’s about to say no. “I shouldn’t.”

“Everyone’s here.”

“Exactly.” His shoulders slump. “I’m not really feeling too hot, and I only really wanted to drop by…”

“Have dinner then go home.” Eric isn’t about to give up easily. “We probably have extra painkillers you can steal.”

“My leg is killing me.”

“Yeah, and my dad just died. And you weren’t there for the funeral.”

(And we haven’t seen each other for 17 years. . Why did you leave without saying goodbye?)

“Touche.” Hyesung sighs. “All right. Dinner.”

Eric tries not to look too pleased. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

“Bridal or fireman?”

“What?”

“Since you keep complaining about your damn leg, I might as well carry you in.”

Hyesung punches him in the shoulder. Hard. “,” he says. “And using your dad is such a move.”

Eric laughs and it almost feels genuine.

“Sorry,” he says, even though he isn’t. Not really.

--

His mother, for some reason, is ecstatic to have all of them back under her roof, as though they aren’t the same kids who trampled her flowers, tracked mud across her floor, and routinely broke a window at least thrice every summer. She welcomes Hyesung’s arrival with much fervor as though he’s her own son and guides them towards the table to eat. Despite her grief, a full-course dinner is set. All their father’s favorites: pot roast, kimchi stew, rice, buttered vegetables, and a battalion of side dishes.

“Now,” she says. “Let’s say grace.”

“Grace.” They all automatically say, even Dongwan, bound together by childish stupidity. They grin at each other, pleased, before Dongwan clears his throat and claps his hands, summoning their sincerity before they awaken their mother’s ire.

“We thank you, Lord, for gathering us today. We ask that you bless this food, and this family, and this set of friends, so we may continue to grow and love each other through the best and worst times. Bless the Muns and help them through their grief, guiding them with your ever-loving spirit. Amen.”

“Praise Erowan.” Andy says, and earns a slap on the mouth from his mother. Junjin beside him grins. Erowan, he mouths, and both he and Andy giggle like maniacs until Hyori kicks them both under the table.

The kimchi stew is piping hot and sour and nearly scalds the roof of Eric’s mouth. He doesn’t realize how much he’s missed their mother’s cooking until he refills his second bowl. Adjacent from him, Hyesung is slurping down his soup enthusiastically.

“There’s enough for everyone, why do you all eat like you’ve been starved?” Their mother scolds as she places food into each of their bowls. “Eric?”

“Hm?”

“The clothes have all been sorted. If you want none of your father’s clothes, could you drive down to Goodwill tomorrow and deposit the boxes?”

Eric rolls his shoulders, suddenly feeling his muscles tightening. “Okay, Mom.”

“I’ve sorted the books and the other stuff in the study too, and have put in boxes the ones that we could donate.”

It shocks Eric how efficient their mother is. Their father’s study has always been a sacred room, built to house his most precious things. They used to need special permission to even enter. Their mother rooting through the things inside and giving them away seems like an unexpected blow.

Fortunately, he seems to not be the only one as Hyori voices the question he has in mind. “Mom. Are you sure? I mean…you could take some time doing this. We could help you.”

“Yeah, Mom. What do you mean ‘stuff in the study’?” Andy pipes up. “Like…all of it? Even the globes and stuff?” He laughs nervously. “Don’t we have a say in this?”

“Nonsense. I was already doing this even while your father was in hospital. Sometimes he even helped me.” Their mother scoffs. “It’s therapeutic, this.”

“Yeah, but you might throw something we may want to keep.” Minwoo speaks up now. “Like…Daddy had those books on the Korean War…”

“Oh. He already asked me to donate those to the library.”

“Mom!” Minwoo whines. “I wanted those.”

“Well sorry, honey, they’re gone. He didn’t think any of you wanted it.”

Minwoo pouts and grumbles. “Okay, I’m looking through every single box now before it gets thrown out. Or donated. Or whatever.”

Dongwan frowns at him. “You might end up hoarding even stuff you didn’t need in the first place. Just let some of the stuff go. It’ll be good to—”

“Well I’m sorry for being sentimental over my dead dad’s stuff, Dongwan,” Minwoo snaps, turning in his seat. His eyes glint dangerously. “If you have any more advice on stuff you know all about, please feel free to share.”

Dongwan turns defensive. He never was one to go down without a fight. “I didn’t say you couldn’t! I just implied that maybe some things do need to be given away, even though it would hurt...”

“That makes absolutely no ing sense!” Minwoo slams his hand down on the table and everyone jumps. Eric wonders then if this is what grief looks like on his happy-go-lucky brother. Even Hyori looks shocked, not really used to seeing Minwoo’s temper flare so easily.

“Minwoo!” she hisses, and their brother immediately backs down, as though doused with cold water.

“Sorry,” he says, eyes widening.

(Sorry, Minwoo says, when they’re eight and he’s sent Eric to the hospital after accidentally hitting him with a perfectly timed curveball. His face is wet and red and he hasn’t stopped crying ever since they left. Eric wants to comfort him but his head hurts too much. Sorry, Eric. Sorry, Daddy, please don’t send me away.

Never, their father says. Never ever, Minwoo.

You will. I’m not your real son. I hurt Eric. You will. You’ll hate me.

I won’t. Never. And you are my real son. You are my son and I love you so much...)

“Sorry.” Minwoo says again, breathes. Then he turns and stalks out of the kitchen, and their mother buries her face in her hands.

tbc

Author's Notes
This is a bit all over the place but I'm also trying to convey how messy life is. How messy grief is. Sometimes it just comes and punches you in the gut and you don't know what to do with it. And yes, sometimes, memories just come without you wanting them to. All in all it's a very difficult experience. Eric is not having a Great Time. Lol. 

And yes, Hyesung is an Olympian?!? I watched too much of Pyeongchang's Olympics this winter. Forgive me. I initially wanted to make him an ice skater but it was too commonplace and I didn't want to make him too feminine than how he's already perceived to be. So taekwondo it is.

And yes, I'm writing Come Away too while doing this! Hahaha. Sorry for the wait. ^^;;