They go through the boxes in their father’s study and make quick work of it, especially when Minwoo (emerging from his bedroom to eat but perpetually afraid of being left out), and Hyori (wanting to make sure they don’t give away anything she may want to lay claim on) join in. Between the four of them, they decide to keep their father’s chess set, some books written entirely in Hangul that none of them know how to read but feel attached to nonetheless, a nautical compass, a sheaf of their childhood drawings tucked into an old leather binder with a faded JM on it, and a small wooden box containing trinkets (a Pink Floyd ticket stub, a voting pin, one of Minwoo’s marbles, a baby tooth, a dried flower, a key…) that they don’t really understand the full significance of but decide to keep anyway because nothing screams of their father more than an amalgamation of tiny things that only he would find significant. There are also photos that their mother never noticed, used as page markers for the many books that had filled the room, and the four of them collect them all, howling with laughter or squirming with embarrassment as each discovered photo unlocks a long-hidden memory, or reminds them of something meant to be forgotten.

“Hyori, your bangs were hideous, didn’t you cut them with craft scissors or something?”

“Shut up!”

“Eric, this is one of you and Minwoo doing an Easter Egg hunt on the lawn and…hyung, were you pooing?!”

“Aghh! Eric, LOOK! This was our 100^th day celebration! Look at Mom and Dad and those tiny hanboks!”

“Wow, you were hella crying. And Dad’s sweater…oh my God.”

“Here’s Dad with Minwoo…and us with Minwoo too shortly after he came to live with us!”

“AKA the best day of your lives.”

“You ing thought!”

“Here’s one of us with Andy when he was a baby…”

“HIS FEET ARE SO TINY, OH MY GOD! Come here, widdle baby…”

“STOP!”

“Man, I didn’t even know Dad had these pictures.”

“Gotta say, you guys were way cuter before than you are now.”

“Well I don’t know about these two, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we hear you, shortstop.”

“Hey—!”

They share their finds with their mother, practically ambushing her in the kitchen where she’s starting to cook dinner, and laying out the items on the kitchen counter for everyone to touch, fondle, and laugh at. The distraction is enough to prevent her from asking about their triple disappearance during the church service that morning, as well as the mysterious fire alarm that was triggered midway, and soon, she too has lost herself in the small pile of rarely-seen photos that their father squirreled away into his study throughout the years.

“I was wondering where some of these pictures had gone,” their mother laughs to herself as they share a bottle of wine after dinner. The remains of doenjang jiggae, mung bean pajeon, and LA galbi (a tribute, they know, although their mother never says it, to all their childhood favorites, seeing as it’s their last night all together) crowd the kitchen table. For some reason that goes unquestioned, they’ve still set a place for their father at the head, by their mother’s left side, and Eric doesn’t miss that her hand extends to where his hand would have been resting on the table had he been there. “I thought I’d just misplaced them; I never thought of asking your father.”

“Thank God they didn’t show up any earlier.” Andy says, holding up one of his where he’s four years old, stark , and grinning at the camera with a bright neon Nerf gun in hand. “Or that social media wasn’t around then.”

“Ohhh, I dunno...” Minwoo says, and Eric knows he’s already surreptitiously taken photos of them with his phone when everyone else wasn’t looking. He laughs as Andy takes a swipe at Minwoo’s phone and nearly falls off his chair in the process.

“You’ve gone through all of the stuff in the study?” Their mother looks at each of them in turn, and all of them nod automatically.

“It was a lot of stuff, Mom, and it was only a couple of boxes.” Hyori shakes her head. “I can’t believe he kept so much stuff in that tiny room.”

“I’ll have one of Charlie’s boys bring the boxes to Goodwill at some point after you all go back home and things are more settled.” She swirls the wine in her glass. “Were you all leaving tomorrow?”

Eric glances at his twin, who narrows her eyes at him. His fingers worry the fabric placemat. “Only Minwoo and Andy are sure, Mom. I may have to catch a flight out tomorrow night to start…finalizing things in LA. I dunno, we’ll see. I’ll let you know.”

A tight smile crosses his mother’s lips. Just for a second, then she takes another sip of wine as she nods.

“Were you meeting them tonight?”

“Who?”

“Junjin and Hyesung. And Dongwan, I suppose. You boys never went anywhere without each other anyway.”

Eric swallows, butterflies gathering at the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, we’re supposed to. Junjin invited us out for some drinks.”

Hyori checks the time. “Yeah, we were going to meet at 9. It’s already 8:30 so we’d better get going….”

“Can’t believe it’s still raining.” Andy grumbles as he looks outside the kitchen window and surveys the sky overhead. “This is the most rain I’ve seen in a single season.”

“The weather man said it’s a series of storms blowing in from the Sound. It should calm down in a few days or so.”

“Well either that or Dad’s been extremely pissed at us. Ha!” Minwoo starts clearing the table, placing one dish on top of another before transporting them to the dishwasher in a precarious pile. He nearly slips and almost sends all of it crashing, but doesn’t, so he plants a triumphant kiss on their mother’s forehead as she shakes her head at his actions, tutting annoyedly.

“None of you are too old for me to beat, remember that.” She says, clicking her tongue at him. “Get going now, before you end up breaking my dishes. If any of you do, I swear you’re all sleeping on the lawn. I don’t care if it’s raining, you all know how to swim.”

Andy gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Mommy, are you actually sending us, the lights of your life, away?”

“Do you mean my four most precious and beloved pains in the ?” Their mother smirks. “Yes, so I can watch my Sunday night shows in peace.”

Eric rises from his seat and kisses their mother’s cheek. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you all, too. Now git. Your friends will be waiting and I have a new episode of Law and Order to catch. Your father wouldn’t have wanted me to miss it.”

--

The rain is near torrential as they drive to the Pub, making Eric want to second-guess their car of choice (Minwoo’s habanero orange Porsche 911 Carrera that he drove all the way from DC and that he insisted needed to be taken out for a spin, despite all their protests that the back seats can hardly fit one of them let alone two people) lest it suddenly gets swept away in a flash flood. From the sliver of a window that he has access to in the back he can barely see anything apart from darkness streaked with light and water, making him feel like they’re traveling through the Sound. He hasn’t seen rain like this since childhood, and it settles him somewhat despite the churning anxiety in his gut.

Home is where I want to be

Pick me up and turn me ‘round

Minwoo and Hyori are singing along to the song being played on the radio. It’s a song from childhood, one of the few their father could play on tape that they wouldn’t fight over apart from the usual Disney. Eric taps his fingers to the rhythm, letting the words wash over him like the blue-gray of the Atlantic.

I feel numb, born with a weak heart

I guess I must be having fun…

The Pub is nestled within the Doral Arrowwood Resort, a golf course and conference center perpetually inhabited by out-of-towners wanting to use work as an excuse to play a mean game over a long weekend. It’s an open secret to Rye Brook locals that the Pub despite its location is a decent place to have a few drinks in without worrying too much about being choked to death from cigarette smoke or jostling for space with tourists. For some reason, tourists coming into town gravitate towards the square, where the Starbucks and Le Pain Quotidien are, to meet their socializing needs, and then end up drinking at one of two of the available dives there even though they’re already staying at the Arrowwood and are 20 feet away from one of the best bars in Westchester. As a result, not mentioning the Pub at all to any tourist asking for a place to get drinks in is a running joke for the locals, lest they be driven out of their own favorite watering hole.

Small town culture, Eric thinks amusedly as they settle, slightly wet from their run from the parking space to the inside of the bar, on the unoccupied sofa placed just beside the pool table, before immediately ordering the first round of beers. Their spot has the perfect view of the entrance, and Eric wrings his hands as they start to wait. He unconsciously hums the song from the radio, its melody still on loop in its head.

The less we say about it the better

Make it up as we go along

Dongwan arrives before the beer, shaking droplets from his hair like a wet dog. He’s changed out of his pastor ensemble and is back to blending in as a suburban soccer dad with his plaid twill shirt, jeans, and Jack Purcells. Minwoo manages to kiss him on the cheek only five seconds in from his arrival before handing him over to Andy, who wrestles him into the sofa. Hyori allows him one selfie with her, but then steals his phone so she can put half a dozen filters on their faces.

Feet on the ground, head in the sky

It's okay, I know nothing's wrong, nothing…

Junjin arrives alone as they finish the first round, and orders an additional burger even before he takes a seat. His face is dark as he grabs a spare beer. Eric tries not to ask about Hyesung but ultimately fails.

“He’s outside having a smoke,” Junjin makes a face. “He’s being a complete douche; I don’t know what’s up with him. He has the keys to the car too, so if he leaves me here, I’m going to have to hitch a ride with one of you.”

The burger arrives, and there’s still no sign of Hyesung. Junjin bites down on his burger, ravenous, juices dribbling down his chin as Dongwan warns him to slow down and Andy hands him a second beer.

Never for money, always for love

Several other customers arrive: two businessmen still in suits, a group of college-aged kids, and two ladies who order whiskey sours from the bartender as they come in.

Cover up and say goodnight, say goodnight

Then: Hyesung.

--

(Stop being such an idiot and hang up first.

No, I’m not losing this bet.

We already decided to call it off. If our parents find out we’re still on the phone they’ll kill us both and feed our bodies to the wolves. I can already hear my dad yelling about the phone bill.

Then you hang up first.

Oh, you, Eric Mun.

With pleasure.

Fine, you wanna play like this? Get ready to be creamed, . This phone is going to be off the hook the whole damn night.

You’re so loud for a loser.

HA!)

--

It’s his gaze that Hyesung locks onto first, and Eric feels his mouth go dry as their eyes meet. This is a new feeling for him, and he isn’t sure whether it’s good or bad that his heart is suddenly slamming itself against his ribs with full effort, or that he feels that if he stands up too suddenly he may actually pass out.

Hyesung is the first to break eye contact, dropping his head so that his hair falls over his eyes and his chin almost touches his chest. Eric feels his gut churn.

“Steve Shin, what took you so damn long?” Minwoo hands him a beer as he approaches. “We thought we’d have to check on you to see if you’d drowned out there.”

Eric watches as Hyesung takes a full swig before settling on the empty space beside Dongwan, directly in front of where he’s sitting. He averts his gaze, not wanting to seem overly attentive, and concentrates instead on the beer bottle in his hands.

“Sorry,” Hyesung finally speaks. His voice sounds rough, but hearing it for the first time in two days lifts Eric’s spirits immensely, it’s ridiculous. “I just had to take care of some things.”

Hyori’s leg bumps against Eric’s as she scoots forward in her seat, startling him enough to look up. “You okay?” she asks, and Eric sees as she places a careful hand on Hyesung’s knee.

To her, at least, Hyesung always puts more effort in being amiable, and so he lifts his head to give her a small smile. Eric doesn’t miss the way his stomach does a somersault at the sight, no matter how meager, and despite the fact that he isn’t the recipient.

“Yeah, of course.” Hyesung says. “Don’t worry about me, Hyori.”

Dongwan snorts loudly. “She was so not worried,” he says, ducking without missing a beat as Hyori takes a swipe at him. “She just wanted to get properly wasted already.”

“Why Pastor Kim, I would never!” Hyori says, smiling with her tongue in between her teeth. “And I was worried, you .”

“Oh please, I specialize in humanity and its sins, remember? Can’t pull the wool over my eyes.” Dongwan smirks. “Anyway, now that all you losers are finally here, we should probably start with a toast...”

“Here here!” Minwoo puts his shoulders around both Junjin and Andy, swinging his gaze back and forth between the two of them. “I can’t actually believe all of us are here again. Look at you both! You can actually drink with us now!”

“I haven’t forgotten that you gave Andy and I beer when we were, like, 12 or something.” Junjin raises an eyebrow as Minwoo scoffs in reply.

“If I remember correctly, you were actually enjoying it!”

“You told Mom it was apple juice, you big, fat liar.” Andy pulls a face. “I should tell on you now and see how she reacts.”

“It was the holidays and it was only half a glass, quit your whining.” Minwoo grins, indifferent to their accusations. “Anyway, a toast?”

Hyori raises her bottle first. “To my nearest and dearest,” she says, smiling as she looks at each of them. “Here’s to you all not managing to kill each other through the years.”

“Amen,” Dongwan clinks his bottle against hers. “I too have been supremely blessed to have been surrounded by heathens my entire life which enabled me to find my calling faster—”

“Oh please,” Andy blows air noisily out his nose. “God is always watching, Erowan. He knows you lie.”

“You little brat, I told you not to—”

“Anyway!” Minwoo gets in between Andy and Dongwan by managing to quickly exchange seats. “I for one thing am grateful that despite the unfortunate circumstances that brought us all back home to dear old Rye Brook, we are all still generally hale, whole, and hearty. That goes out to you too, our favorite Olympian.”

Eric sees as Hyesung gives the tiniest of scoffs at Minwoo’s statement but it goes by largely unnoticed by the group.

“To big brothers!” Andy says, clinking his glass.

“And sisters,” Dongwan adds, winking at Hyori as she sticks out her tongue at him.

“Here’s to endings, for Dad.” Minwoo says, with a lopsided smile.

“And new beginnings, for the rest of us.” Junjin says, a small mysterious grin on his face.  

“Here’s to friends!” Hyori says, using the opportunity to give Dongwan a quick peck on the cheek as the pastor pouts in disagreement, and Minwoo, Andy, and Junjin suddenly burst into raucous laughter.

Eric pays them no heed, keeping his attention solely on Hyesung who’s sitting in front of him with his lips pressed together and his body angled away ever-so-slightly, looking for all the world that he wishes he was anywhere else but where they currently are.

“Best friends.” Eric says, softly, raising his beer bottle a fraction. He catches Hyesung’s eye as he does, and he wonders if he heard. A beat passes, then without a word, Hyesung avoids his gaze once more before downing the rest of his beer.

--

(D’you ever think about stuff like…why Oreos are called Oreos? Is the ‘O’ the cookie and the ‘RE’ the cream? So if it’s two cookies—

Honest to God, Eric, do you NEVER shut up?

I’m just trying to liven up the conversation.

There is no conversation. This is a standoff because it’s nearly 1AM on a school night and you’re being an idiot and won’t hang up.

Or you could just…you know…hang up.

Over my dead body.

Suit yourself.)

--

There’s no small amount of jeering that takes place next as they recount memories, sharing between themselves more beers and a bowl of chips with a mysterious 7-layer dip that they keep trying to guess the components of. Eric chimes in occasionally to correct a declaration of a past event or two, and so does Hyesung, but they are easily drowned out by the rest who are either trying to out-talk each other (Dongwan to Minwoo, or Hyori to Dongwan) or are trying to wrestle each other like restless cubs (Andy and Junjin, or both to Minwoo) on the sofa.

It feels…homey, somewhat. But Eric also can’t help but feel as though he’s apart from the conversation taking place. That even though he’s included in the memories they’re bringing up (and he knows it, he remembers it too), it’s someone different entirely, and the present him is only concerned about the one person his younger self would have never thought he’d be so emotionally confused over.

(Hyesung, are you asleep?

Go yourself.

Ha! You probably would love to.

Oh my GOD.)

“What’s next for you guys, then?” Dongwan throws a general question to the whole group. “I mean, not that I’m concerned but being the only person here with sense, I kind of feel obligated to ask.”

“Oh, shut up.” Hyori tosses a stray chip at him, looking simultaneously amused and annoyed, an expected reaction when it comes to dealing with Dongwan.

“Say what you want, but at least my 10-year plan entails me being right here in Rye, dreading each time any of you morons ever deems to come back and sullies my town with your sins.”

“Please. You’d be bored to death without us.”

Dongwan laughs in reply but doesn’t deny it. “You getting married anytime soon then, Hyori Mun?”

Hyori flips her hair at him. “Ha, as if any man would be so lucky.”

“Mommy may sell the house.” Andy pipes up, but quickly follows it up as everyone who doesn’t know yet sits straighter at the words. “But the operative word is ‘may’. I dunno, we’ll see.”

Dongwan brushes it off. “Nah. No way. Your Mom loves this place too much. If she ever comes close to doing it, I won’t let her. I’ll move in there if I have to.” He solicits more answers from them the same way a salesman or a circus ringmaster implores a crowd: “Anyone else? Is anyone about to father a child? Having a tryst? C’mon now, cards on the table. I promise, the Lord will be forgiving.”

“Well, I’m getting divorced for one thing.” Eric says wryly, swilling the dregs of his beer. “In case anyone needs reminding.”

The mood changes instantly. He can see as Dongwan (and Hyesung, but maybe it’s a trick of the light; he can barely even see his face) winces at his statement, and he almost feels sorry, but then he figures now is the best time to bring it to light since it’s apparently Honesty Hour. At the very least, Eric thinks, he owes them some form of closure.

“Ah , you know that wasn’t cool at all what happened.” The pastor turns somber, the expression on his face similar to a dog with its tail between its legs. “That…I didn’t mean to make a joke about that. Sorry, Eric.”

Eric waves him off. “It’s fine.” He’s partly embarrassed that they’ve all had to witness the showdown that had happened in their kitchen between him and Hyunjin, but also considers that it’s at least practical, and saves him from repeating the story more times than he can bear. “We’re finalizing it when we both get back to LA.”

“That bad huh?”

“You heard what she said. What she did. It’s just better to walk away from it now rather than sticking around and waiting until we both explode.” Eric knots his fingers together, squeezing the remnants of his tension away. It still hurts, of course, when he talks about it, but it is getting easier. He’s not sure if it’s another phase of grief for his father that’s keeping him from feeling as devastated as he should, or if it’s…something else. At any rate, he’s had enough of sympathy. “Anyway, it’s for the best, so it’s totally fine.”

“Well I’m assuming you haven’t had any affairs or have gone around kissing and sleeping with random people—whoa, Hyesung, you all right?” Dongwan is interrupted as Hyesung chokes while drinking the last of his beer. He claps Hyesung on the back as Hyesung manages to croak out an I’m okay, before reaching for the glass of water already being handed to him by Eric. He glares at Eric for a split-second before he accepts, making it a point to avoid their fingers touching at all costs.

“Speaking of LA,” Junjin speaks up suddenly, looking at the group and at his brother with a careful gaze, before turning to Eric. “I don’t know if it’s the right timing but Eric hyung, I’ve been meaning to tell you: I got a callback for one of the audition tapes you helped send out.”

“Wow, no way!” This is news he didn’t expect and that Eric is pleased for, especially since he’s been helping Junjin get in touch with the right people for the past two years. “For whose work? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah,” Junjin is grinning this time, his handsome features bright even among the dingy shadows of the bar. “It’s for that new Ron Howard one. Script isn’t too bad, and if I get it, it’s not a token Asian role so I won’t be, like, killed halfway or something.”

“Our Jinnie, the Hollywood star.” Minwoo beams, clapping Junjin’s shoulder. “It’s about time!”

“Does that mean you’re moving out west then?” Andy asks.

“Maybe?” Junjin gives a nonchalant shrug, although he glances back several times at his brother, who’s stone-faced as he speaks. “It’d really depend, but if I get this role, you know…I may have to stay there a while.”

“You can crash with me if you want,” Eric offers. “I have another place I stay in that’s closer to the studios and you can—”

There’s a loud noise of several empty bottles falling over and hitting the glass tabletop as Hyesung suddenly stands, stance rigid and fists balled at his sides. It’s jarring enough to make the entire bar turn their heads towards their table to see what the commotion is about, while the rest of them are startled into silence.

Several seconds pass until one of them (Hyori) is jolted enough out of their stupor to ask: “Hyesung, what—? Are you all right?”

Hyesung fumbles in his pockets and extracts three 20-dollar bills that he places on the table, keeping his head low and his eyes trained on the stained tile floor.

“Listen, I have to go. That’s my share for it, you guys can keep the change. It’s been great seeing you all. No, don’t get up. Junjin, I’m taking the car so just ride back with the guys, ok?”

Hyesung is already on the way out as he says the second part of his statement, and even though both Dongwan and Junjin rise at the same time Eric does, only he ends up chasing after Hyesung into the cold wet night, without an umbrella or even a plan.

“Hyesung! Wait! Stop!”

He would have been barely able to see Hyesung given how hard the rain is falling outside and so is thankful that the other man is wearing a rain parka the color of an electrified lime, making him easy to spot in the gloom. Junjin’s Jeep Wrangler is parked further off from where they had parked Minwoo’s car, and Hyesung’s leg must be in pain because Eric manages to catch up to him in no time, even making it so far as to sliding into the passenger seat just as Hyesung clambers (with great difficulty) into the driver’s side.

“What the are you doing here?!” Hyesung asks incredulously, hair stuck fast to his head and his nose, ears, and chin dripping water. They are so ridiculously wet it’s laughable; Eric is wet in places he doesn’t even know could have been reached by the downpour, not to mention that this is also the second time that day he’s gotten fully soaked with all his clothes on.

“Let me drive.” Eric offers, saying the first thing that enters his head. His heart is beating against his chest so hard that his throat feels tight and he’s amazed he can even speak at all. When Eric breathes, he breathes in the sharp tang of Hyesung’s cigarettes and his own primal fear. “You just tell me where to go and I’ll take us there.”

Under the soft glow of the streetlamp, Hyesung’s knuckles are white against the black leather of the steering wheel.

“Go yourself.”

“You’re drunk.”

“ing please, look who’s talking.” Hyesung snaps. “You won’t pass a breathalyzer test if any cops catch us. I know you’ve had more than enough.”

“Hyesung…”

“Get the out of the car, Eric.”

“No.”

“Hyesung, I—” A sneeze ambushes him and rushes out with enough strength to make Eric’s head spin. When he opens his eyes, Hyesung’s face has doubled, the sight of twin expressions of barely-contained rage making him slightly nervous.

Okay, so maybe he is drunk. But just slightly.

“Great. ’s sake. .” Hyesung slams a palm against the steering wheel before turning on the engine with a quick snap of his wrist to start up the heater. A blast of hot air streams through the vents, making Eric realize just how cold he actually is. “What do you want from me, you ?! You just won’t give up, huh? Stubborn motherer, never wanting to be the one to be on the losing end.”

(I swear to God, Eric, you’d better hang up.

Why should I? I could do this all night.

We have Trigonometry for first period tomorrow, you , we’re going to die if we don’t get any sleep.

No one’s asking you not to sleep.

Are we going to do this all night?!

We already are.)

“Hyesung, look. We n-need to talk. We d-don’t have to g-g-go anywhere…” The shivering that escapes Eric is involuntary. He’s only just realizing how cold the rain they were in is and how useless his coat is, reduced now to five pounds of dead weight in wet wool draped over his shoulders. He doesn’t want to fight, but he does know they probably need to clear up some things. “We’ve all been d-drinking and this rain…”

He’s silenced as Hyesung throws a (clean) towel as well as a dry sports sweatshirt at his face.

“Just shut up and don’t catch pneumonia on my watch or I will kill you, I mean it.”

There’s danger in his tone enough that Eric just throws his hands up in submission and nods wordlessly, choosing to instead go down the path of least resistance than to die by his own sword. Hyesung growls one last time but doesn’t make another attempt to chase Eric out of the car. Instead, he flicks the vents once more so half are directly hitting Eric and bathing him in hot air.

“I’m not telling you again,” Hyesung says, speaking to Eric as though he’s a very small child, or a very big idiot. “If you catch your death because of this I’ll kill myself to drag you back from whatever hell you end up in just so I can beat you up.”

Eric doesn’t need to be told twice. He peels off his wet clothes, noting that Hyesung waits until he does it before he shifts the car into gear and starts to ease them out of the parking space. By the time Eric has changed out of his shirt and coat, dumping them unceremoniously onto the floor of the Jeep, and into the sweatshirt he’s been lent, Hyesung is already driving out of Arrowwood and into the darkness beyond.

--

(Eric. Are you asleep?

…Maybe.

…I hate you.

No, you don’t.

Yeah? How would you know?

I know enough.

You think you know me that well huh?

Yep.

No, you don’t.

Wanna bet?

Go ahead.

I know that you’re never one to lose willingly to a bet, no matter how dumb it is. You’re too proud, Hyesung Shin. You will never back out of a challenge. Especially if I’m the one challenging you.

…

So, you don’t hate me, or you wouldn’t even bother still being on this phone call.

…

See? Toldja I know you. Another bet lost.)

--

He doesn’t know how he falls asleep, but he does somehow, possibly lulled by Hyesung’s persistent silence as they drive through seemingly endless night, combined with the alcohol he’s ingested, and the comfortable warmth that builds up inside the car. He only wakes because the Jeep suddenly shudders to a halt, and Eric cracks his eyes open to the sound of the car door being slammed closed on the driver’s side.

He blinks, quickly gathering his senses. It’s still raining hard, but they’re in the town square, it seems, given the familiar signs and lighting fixtures that bathe the inside of the car in faded neon pink and blue. Eric leans over and wipes the condensation off the windshield with his sweatshirt sleeve to figure out exactly where they’ve stopped: the whitewashed brick building that looms large in front of him with the American and Korean flags posted just behind its glass doors is not the place he’d expected Hyesung would take them, and although it’s a place he’s seen a million times before, seeing it now makes something in him clench.

SHINHWA DOJANG, the sign above the doors read, TAEKWONDO SCHOOL, MAKER OF LEGENDS. Then in smaller font below it: Training Ground for Hyesung Shin, 2-Time Olympic Gold Medalist (London 2012 and Rio 2016) along with a small painted decal of someone in mid-kick.

The entryway is lit and the metal grilling that’s usually lowered whenever the dojo is unattended has been lifted, indicating Hyesung has already made his way inside at some point during Eric’s rumination. Without waiting for any further cue, Eric unbuckles himself from his seat and steps out of the Jeep, rushing to get out from the rain and into the waiting building where he assumes Hyesung already is.

“Hyesung?” he calls, his voice loud in the large empty space. The dojo only has two floors: one to hold Charlie’s office as well as lockers and storage space for equipment, and one upstairs that serves as the main training area and where Eric had spent many a childhood summer day in, being taught how to punch, kick, and spar, and then later on a place he used to read comics or do homework in while waiting for Hyesung to finish training…

“Hyesung?” Eric calls again, and this time the answer comes in the form of a scuffling from upstairs, along with the faint sound of skin hitting leather. He takes the steps leading to the upper floor two at a time, his heart already rammed up his throat. Waves of nostalgia hit him one after the other in the form of scents and sights as he ascends: the lingering smell of rubbing alcohol and peppermint liniment, of Korean essential oils Charlie always insisted they put on their aching muscles, the framed pictures of Hyesung and his career that line the stairwell, the medal and trophy case at the top just before you open the door…

“Hyesung, are you in here?” Eric says just as he pushes the door leading to the second floor open, but hesitating at the doorway. His calls are met by silence punctuated by the steady thwack! thwack! thwack! of high kicks meeting targets. Eric is hardly deterred, the after-effects of too much alcohol having already faded away and leaving him stupidly brave (or desperate, he doesn’t know which).

“I’m coming in, okay?”

He crosses the threshold and blinks, his eyes adjusting to the change from the dimness of the stairwell to the brightly-lit room. The entire training area is bathed in bright white fluorescent light, the sight made all the more blinding by the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, used to check and correct form and posture. The room is empty save for the corner where Hyesung is, faced towards a large punching bag chained to the ceiling. His hair is slicked back and glistening wet from rain, and he’s shed the jacket and shoes he was wearing, leaving him in a black tank top over form-fitting joggers. He doesn’t turn as Eric approaches, but instead gets busy beating the punching bag to a pulp, the muscles in his arms twitching and gleaming under the light.

Eric doesn’t know exactly how to act, move, or think. A small part of him is going slightly haywire at the sight of Hyesung there, unspeakably angry about something he can’t but badly wishes to understand. “What the hell…Stop! You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He approaches and touches Hyesung’s arm, meaning to pull him away for what he hopes would be a level-headed conversation, but Hyesung wrenches his arm back as though electrified when their skin make contact.

“What the is wrong with you?” Eric asks, more annoyed now that he’s being treated like a live wire. Hyesung doesn’t turn around to face him, but does at least deign to turn his head a quarter of a way towards his direction.

“Touch me again,” Hyesung warns, his voice menacingly low, “and you’re going to have to fight me. I mean it. I won’t hold back.”

It’s an obvious threat, of course, and if spoken by another person, especially if said person is also a black-belter in Taekwondo, Eric would easily yield. But this is Hyesung he’s talking to, and he’s never been one to back out of a challenge when it comes to him.

(You’re so ing dumb. This is so ing dumb. Just HANG UP.

If it’s so dumb, you go first.

UGH. YOU, ERIC MUN.)

“What the hell are you so mad for?” he asks, partially frustrated at Hyesung’s refusal to communicate properly. The minute he says the words, however, something dawns on him, the realization so sudden it feels like a kick in the head. “Is it because of what Jinnie said?”

Eric circles the punching bag so he’s talking to Hyesung’s downturned face rather than his back to get a better gauge of his reactions. Instinct tells him it’s hardly wise to provoke someone raring to have a fight, but he figures if this is the only way they can have any sort of conversation about topics they need to air out then so be it.

“Hyesung…the kid has been wanting to go to try his luck out in west for years. I just gave him a bit of help. He’s not you; he doesn’t want to be an athlete, but he loves both you and Charlie too much to just up and leave.”

He’s admittedly confused as to why Hyesung would be so upset over Junjin leaving. After all, didn’t Hyesung do the same thing when he exported himself to Seoul all those years back, not even bothering to return until injury dictated so? Even their mother, a doctor practicing for Doctors without Borders for the past two decades and constantly being deployed to the most far-flung areas of the world, has done her bit of uprooting for the benefit of her own dreams. It seems only fair now that Junjin follow his own path.

“This is just the beginning of something, it doesn’t totally have to mean the end—”

He’s taken by surprise when Hyesung suddenly pushes against him, his palms shoving him squarely against his chest and making Eric step two full steps back, abruptly killing the words sitting on his tongue. The action makes his temper flare, and it takes a monumental effort for Eric to force himself to stay calm.

“Shut up, okay? I don’t want to hear it! , I should have left you back at the resort.” Hyesung glares at him through the fringes of damp hair that’s managed to fall back onto his forehead, his hands clenched in tight fists.

“Yeah?” Eric rises to the challenge. “Well, it’s too bad but maybe you do need to hear it, you escapist . Rather than running away again instead of facing your problems head-on!”

The words escape him before he can stop it, and he regrets it seconds after it’s said. He sees as the expression in Hyesung’s eyes shifts like a tidal change, like the way warm water suddenly runs cold and turns icy within seconds. Goosebumps rise on Eric’s skin, and he wonders if it’s actually due to the draft in the room, or the unfiltered hatred he can feel emanating from the man in front of him. They’re no longer talking just about Junjin, it seems.

.

He backtracks, desperate to already make amends. “Hyesung, I—”

Eric can barely get another word out before Hyesung charges towards him, throwing his full weight forward and sending them both crashing against the wall.

--

(I’m getting tired of this. If you don’t hang up in ten seconds, I’m never going to speak to you again.

Empty threats echo the loudest, is what my Dad says.

I mean it, you wad.

Awww, I love you too, Hyesung Shin.

Hyesung laughs this time. Low and wry, as though caught off-guard. He doesn’t say anything more apart from a last you, but his tone is almost fond. Almost.

Neither of them hangs up, and slowly, Eric feels himself falling asleep, the phone still cradled against his ear)

--

Apart from a few tussles during his high school and university years, and the one-sided fight he had with Tony after discovering him in bed with Hyunjin, Eric hasn’t been in an actual fight in years. The only ones he can probably consider as proper fights would be the sparring matches that he did under Charlie’s watchful eye, during those long hot summers before he hung up his dobok for good after three seasons, having already reached full satisfaction with the sport after obtaining his blue belt. He never thought he’d have to quickly dust off that knowledge again, and finds it especially ironic that his first ever sparring partner is the one pushing him into a fight now, in the same place where they learned to never misuse their skills and to have total control over their power and movements.

“! Hyesung, stop!”

Hyesung comes at him with the speed and power of a runaway train. His movements are minimal but strong, and it’s taking all of Eric’s effort and concentration to block and parry each blow as it comes, hellbent on not getting himself accidentally killed. Two or three kicks come his way, and he manages to dodge each one at the very last minute with either sheer luck or fervent determination for this not to be his last day on earth.

“Hyesung!”

The blows come at him at a faster pace, one after the other now, aiming for his head and his chest. He knows Hyesung isn’t aiming to kill (hopefully) but it doesn’t make him any less threatening. He’s getting more exhausted as the minutes tick by, untrained for the rigor and continuous parrying Hyesung is making him do. He doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an easy win, but also doesn’t want to risk his neck in the process. He figures Hyesung will run out of energy at some point; endurance, after all, will always trump skill…

“OOF!”

Eric feels as a foot makes contact with his ribs in the two seconds that his concentration slips, a miscalculation on his part. The kick is from Hyesung’s injured leg, and is only hard enough to leave a bruise and make him take several steps back, but not enough to send him sprawling. He gets over his surprise just quickly enough to lift his head to get ready for another bout when a hook kick catches him at the back of the neck and pushes him down with one deft movement, sending him crashing onto his back on the safety mat. An explosion of stars floods his vision as the breath is knocked out of him.

(Eric. Are you still awake?)

“Fight back, dammit! FIGHT ME! You’re not even trying!”

(I swear, if you’re only pretending to be asleep…Eric? Hey, I have a crush on your sister. Eric?)

Eric shuts his eyes, concentrating on getting his breath back, and Hyesung’s voice that sounds so far away, just barely out of reach.

(Huh. You must really be asleep then…)

“I didn’t hit you that hard, so don’t pretend you’re hurt, you lazy er. That’s not even the best you can do.”

(Eric.)

“Eric? Jesus Christ, are you all right?”

(A beat, and Eric on the other end of the line holds his breath.)

He can feel as Hyesung runs his hands over his face, slender fingers swiftly running across his skin checking vital points, hot and barely there like a flapping bird’s wing.

(I love you.)

Eric opens his eyes, sees how Hyesung is on his knees on the mat beside him and is now staring back at him in mute shock. The ghost of the three words he’s just said is now hanging between them, imprinted into the air. Eric wonders if he should say it again.  

“You…” Hyesung’s chest heaves with each word. His hands have stilled and lie warm and heavy on Eric’s shoulders, effectively pinning him to the ground. “You…what?”

Eric can feel something unnamed unfurl within him. Something unexplained and unexpected, but light. Courage…or maybe hope?

“I know…I heard you…all those years back. That one phone call we had.”

Eric looks at Hyesung and really sees him this time: His hair is wet and falling over his eyes and his skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, glistening almost bronze. Breaths come out of him in barely audible puffs but his chest rises and falls with intense effort at each one. A draft enters as the rain outside worsens, causing the temperature in the room to drop, but Eric can only feel as the warmth between them builds, as his pulse thunders louder in his ears. He his lips, dry from constant exposure to the cold, salt-laden, East Coast weather; Hyesung does the same almost in sync.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hyesung whispers, but his body states the opposite: his heart is beating so hard the thin fabric of his undershirt is quivering, and his eyes reflect an unbridled fear Eric has never seen. He’s kneeling on his bad knee while his other leg is bent in support; a fight or flight stance, and Eric knows it all too well.

“Bull.”

“I don’t know what the you’re talking about, Eric Mun.” Hyesung’s tone rises now, quickly replacing shame with anger. His ears blossom bright red and he makes to stand, only to falter as his bad leg gives way before he’s even fully upright. “Agh, !”

Eric is quick to catch him before he crashes to the floor, then swiftly gets to his own feet while having Hyesung brace against him.

“Are you all right?” he asks, ignoring it when Hyesung struggles in his hold.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Let me go!”

“You can barely move this leg, you . Why did you even have to use it for that kick you did? .”

“You deserved it.”

Eric is feeling petty but holds back, figuring enough damage has been done. And now that Hyesung can barely move… “Look, let’s sit down and just talk like proper adults…”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

“Yes there is, you stubborn !” Eric feels heat rising in his neck, likely from the stress of having to repeatedly encounter the brick wall that is Hyesung Shin. “Just because you don’t want to talk about it doesn’t mean it never happened.”
 

“NOTHING HAPPENED!” Hyesung shouts, whipping his head round to face Eric and freeing himself from his hold with a rough shake. His expression is raw and livid and in pain, in so much pain that it manifests in the downward curl of his mouth, in his protruding knuckles, in his clenched jaw, and radiates from him like an energy shield. “Absolutely nothing happened. You understand?”

Eric is at a loss. The small flower of hope inside of him shrivels closed.

“It did.” To himself, he sounds like a child being chastised, but he has to say it, has to force it into the plane of reality before he loses his entire nerve. “Something did happen, Hyesung.”

“You mean the kiss?” Hyesung says, his tone sharp and mocking. It’s an ugly sound, and for second, Eric almost hates him.

“Yes, the kiss.” Eric pushes on, remembers how warm, bitter, and absolutely exquisite that small eternity was, but he protects it within himself, tucks it between velveteen folds of memory, in case Hyesung or anyone else wants to be cruel. “You and I…I know it’s unconventional, but you and I…” he exhales, gingerly extending a metaphorical hand with the hope that Hyesung will still want to take it, or at least attempt to, “…we can try…”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

Snap. Ouch.

Eric bristles. “Look, I know you want it too.”

“You’re still married to your wife. You live in Los Angeles. You have a career, a future. Have you gone insane?”

He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand why this has to be so ing difficult.

“People do this all the ing time, it’s not rocket science, Hyesung!”

“It’s not a game, you dense prick!”

“I’m not saying it is!”

“I’m not gay.” Hyesung hisses, saying the word through clenched teeth as though it’s a curse. “I can’t be. You of all people should know this. It can’t happen.”

His words feel like a coup de grâce, a killing blow to something that had been barely alive in the first place, and Eric almost laughs, not sure if he should feel relieved upon hearing Hyesung’s words.

“So…you do like me then.” he says, carefully. “You like me...but you’re scared.”

Hyesung stares back at him, defiant but guarded now, the unfiltered emotion that had been on his face no longer leaking through. His eyes are shuttered, and he stands a little straighter, forcing weight on his leg despite the pain rendering him pale. He doesn’t say a word.

“I’m…” Eric weighs his next few words. “I’m already due to leave tomorrow. When I leave…I just want you to know that I’m not coming back.”

This is an experiment, maybe, or it may even be the truth, Eric isn’t really sure. But when he says it, it feels right and final, a new path carved out that threatens the existence of all the others. He’ll be divorced in a year; if he’s lucky, a couple of months. He’s received new scripts for movies that he can accept or reject as he pleases, and can be kept busy for about three to four years while earning a steady income. His mother will likely pack up their house in Rye and travel, or he can invite her to stay with him in Southern California, where the beaches are warm but the booze is cold, and food comes in the whole psychedelic rainbow range but with minimal sugar.

(The truth he can’t quite force himself to face is this: life will keep moving, with or without Hyesung in it. It did not stop when his father, a whole universe, died, and shut him out of all several million possibilities that could have been fulfilled had he lived even a year longer; it will not stop if Hyesung disappears from his life once more.)

Eric looks up. Hyesung is still staring at him, mouth set in a thin line, eyes hard as granite.

“I’m not a rebound for you. I don’t care if you go. I don’t care if you don’t come back. If you go, then go. No need to tell me.”

He didn’t expect that answer, but at the same time, he did. Eric nods. He is defeated, but he will not show defeat.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Hyesung sounds surprised.

“Yes. Okay.” Eric confirms. Outside, the rain is lashing at the windows. “Where are the keys? I’ll drive us home.”

--

(Daddy, you won’t ever go away, right?

I will. But not until after a very long time, I hope.

Oh. Okay.

Don’t look so down, ah deul. Everything ends.

Yeah…but you’re here now, right? And you’re not going away now, right?

No, not right now.

Someday? When I’m ready?

Maybe. You never really know…

Daddy.

Yes?

Could you just hold me then? For now, while you’re here?

Okay. Will it make you feel better?

Yes.

Okay.)

--

Nearly 2AM and in the hushed darkness of his childhood bedroom, Eric pulls out his laptop and enters several keywords. It only takes a few minutes, and almost instantly, his phone starts vibrating at a frenetic pace, confirming with him all the details he's just entered. He doesn’t bother checking; he knows what it says. Instead he just sighs and pulls open his bedroom window a bit more before retreating back within the comforting softness of his Bart Simpson duvet, relishing the biting cold granted to them by the Atlantic coast as his phone screen continues to burn icy blue:

Eric Junghyuk Mun
LGA New York LaGuardia -> ORD Chicago O’Hare International -> LAX Los Angeles International
One-Way Trip

tbc

Author's Notes:
1. Hella long. I'm sorry.
2. I'm projecting. A lot. But that's what writing is good for, anyway. Hehe.
3. The song playing on the radio is This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) by Kishi Bashi, which is my fave version of the song.
4. Comments are very, very much appreciated! There's one chapter left and I'd love to know what you think!