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And the sharp edge of a metal piece dug into his flesh, creating a rather deep cut, thick red substance trickling out.

Jihoon hissed in dull pain and then put the tip of his finger into his mouth to stop the bleeding. He frowned, but not because of the taste of metallic tang on his tongue. Somehow, a bad feeling had been clouding his mind since last night, causing him a lack of good sleep. What could possibly happen today, it was the question repeated in his head that caught him off guard just now—hence his wounded finger.

He finished preparing breakfast and then called out from the dining room, loud enough to be heard upstairs. Both his lawyer husband Mingyu and nine-year-old son Seungkwan showed up at the same time and gave him a sweet peck on each cheek. Like usual, they would be busy the whole day, doing their activities. He himself had to write a book. He might have wanted to just type the day away, sitting by his noisy typewriter, if only his mind had not been bothered by something.

He gazed through the open window. The weather was not very nice to start the day with. It was later in the evening that his bad feeling finally manifested itself into an ugly reality. His brother’s husband phoned him up, informing the bad news. His brother was found lying on the bathroom floor, lifeless; the cause of his death had not yet been identified. The Kim family then drove straightaway, their blue 1968 Ford Falcon swooshing by, to Miami state hospital.

Droplets of water eventually fell from the grey sky, so did the tears on Jihoon’s brown eyes.

**********

The solemn funeral had ended and the gloomy crowd slowly left the scene.

Jeonghan died of a severe heart failure. There was no sign of violence on him, too. But it was not like his husband would hit him. Jihoon went back to his brother’s house with all the families and relatives. His eyes roamed all over the house and stopped on the verandah, where his brother used to sip a cup of Darjeeling tea every afternoon, to help him relax his mind—the last thing he did before slipping out of this world, according to his husband.

It was not the fact that Jeonghan had left him, but the fact that he had never really left him.

He then walked to Jeonghan’s closet; Wonwoo, his brother’s husband, had asked him to take whatever he wanted from his brother’s belongings. He accidentally discovered a blue carton box when he was cleaning the closet, in the very back—very well hidden. The box seemed to have been touched not very long ago, though. There were parts on the side and top that were not as dusty as the rest. Having opened the box, he saw that it contained old letters, still in the envelopes.

He scrutinized; all of them were sent to Jeonghan (‘Yoon Jeonghan’) from a man named Choi Seungcheol. The name was not really foreign to him. Choi Seungcheol. He tried to recall something, amongst many personal conversations Jeonghan and he had shared, that could probably help him with the name. Choi Seungcheol. The name kept dancing on the tip of his tongue without he really noticed it.

Choi Seungcheol, Choi Seungcheol…

His eyes widened as a remembrance came across his head. The man had been mentioned by Jeonghan several times before. He was a classmate of Jeonghan, his high school sweetheart, he might add. Seongcheol had to serve in the army during World War II. His brother thought he had died on the war, but it turned out he was still alive. By the time he returned home, after six years of no communication, Jeonghan had already been married to Wonwoo—he had become Jeon Jeonghan. His brother said that they tried to keep in touch after he had found out his new address.

Jihoon went upstairs, to his old room when he used to live together with Jeonghan—he felt secure there. He decided to reopen one envelope that looked the oldest. To his surprise, the letter dated back to almost ten years ago. He read it through but then became more interested in the rest of the letters. In the end, he read them all, in silent. From the letters, he drew a conclusion that Jeonghan had had a romantic affair with this Mr. Choi for the past ten years.

His head was filled with assumptions, imaginary reactions of Wonwoo if he were to know about that.

**********

Jihoon found himself standing in front of a thick metal door, which led to the basement.

He was supposed to head for the kitchen, but then he spaced out while walking. The basement was the place Wonwoo had never allowed him to enter, telling him that it was full of chemical liquid that could endanger human being if spilled. He had always said that, before putting his white lab coat and mask on. The room was his workplace, like a small laboratory for the purpose of his experiments.

Whenever Wonwoo was or was not working inside, it was locked. He guessed that Jeonghan had never been inside, either. His brother’s husband had always been a devoted brilliant scientist who held many secrets, even from his own family. His brother once told him, however, that Wonwoo was actually a family man who was rather possessive—in a good and bad way. But why the couple decided not to have children, it was beyond him.

Being highly curious, he turned the doorknob. It was not locked. Despite finding it very strange, he dared himself take a step further inside. He closed the door softly behind him, turned the lamp on, and walked down the stairs. He almost tiptoed for fear of being caught sneaking by Wonwoo. It fell on him that the laboratory was recently used, judging from the strong chemical smell wafting in the air. He thought Wonwoo had abandoned the room ever since he retired from his job five years ago.

He looked at the table. Traces of drips of some liquid could be vaguely seen if he squinted real hard. He assumed the baker glasses had been washed and left there to dry before being put back in the shelf. His brother’s husband must have formulated something. Shifting his gaze, he sighted the trash can down beside the table. His eyebrows furrowed as he saw a crumpled paper in it, looking fresh. He tried to unfold it, making it become square-shaped once again. It had only two sentences, aside from the recipient’s name, written neatly, ‘Wonwoo knows. We’d better put this to end...’

It was his brother’s handwriting with which he was very familiar. To end their affair, it was what Jihoon could make out of the letter. So, Wonwoo did know about the affair. The things he had just stumbled upon guided his mind to another possibility. He knew Jeonghan had been suffering from a heart disease, and it could seize the life of him at any time, but everything just seemed so odd.

The letter was supposed to be sent to Mr. Choi, but it never was. Instead, it ended up crumpled, tossed away, in the trash can inside Wonwoo’s small laboratory. Who could possibly have the access to this room other than his brother’s very own husband? Only him had the key. And why did Wonwoo not want the letter to be sent? Would the letter help reveal something that Wonwoo did not want to?

He tried to put the pieces of puzzle together. A realization glinted in his eyes when he finally succeeded. He thought, perhaps, Wonwoo’s old age had weakened his sense of solicitousness and thus a small mistake could hamper him from escaping his suspicion. What he had to do now was engulf the bitter truth and bring his findings to the court as soon as possible.

…That was what he thought, at least, until a man emerged into the room with the look of resentment in his eyes.

The End