He looked nothing like him. Shotaro was a lot shorter, with smaller, beadier eyes and a sense of sheltered innocence only possessed by someone who hadn’t seen the darkness in the world. He probably didn’t even know it existed, honestly – he’d spent too much time in some cushy Tokyo suburb, running around rainbows and puppies behind a white picket fence.

Yuta felt like he was in a soap drama on crack. He had to be – right? A Japanese child left behind in a South Korean orphanage growing up to encounter someone who claimed to be his brother – even Murakami would be hard pressed to find a more convoluted plot. Alright, perhaps Murakami not finding a better plot would be a bit of a stretch, but still. These things don’t happen in real life.

“One iced café latte, no whipped cream,” Yuta said to the cashier, before turning to Shotaro – his brother. Even the thought sounded strange.

The look he gave Shotaro was simple: Order.

“Oh, right, uhm,” Shotaro stuttered, “I’ll have that too.” He reached towards his pocket and fumbled with his wallet – his sense of Japanese hospitality was kicking in, Yuta knew.

But Yuta already stuck out his card to the cashier, who tapped it on his POS system. Shotaro sheepishly lowered his head. “Thanks, oniisan.”

Yuta attempted not to shudder. He wondered if that was how Seulgi felt when Jungwoo suddenly became her brother. Then again, Kim Jungwoo wasn’t that cheesy. He couldn’t say the same for the boy in front of him.

Thankfully, Shotaro had the tact to keep his silence, at least until they had collected their drinks and awkwardly found a table to sit at. Yuta was usually a man of small talk –business was all about the small talk– but not when it came to personal issues. Thing was, he usually didn’t have any.

“I heard you’re a fashion designer, Yuta-oniisan,” Shotaro started, trying to be polite.

Yuta honestly wished he hadn’t. Here we go. “Yeah.”

“And that’s your store?” Shotaro pointed behind him, like Yuta’s entire fashion empire was right outside the door.

Wrong direction kiddo, Yuta wanted to say, but it really wasn’t the time and place to be sassy. But it wasn’t the time and place for pleasantries, either.

“Yeah.”

“That’s really cool–“

“Look,” Yuta interrupted, “I’d love to sit here and be merry, but we both know we’re not in a position for that. So, why don’t you tell me what you’re here for?”

He saw Shotaro’s initially bright, hopefully expression falter. “Right, right,” he said quickly. His eagerness was quickly replaced by a sense of hesitation. “I didn’t know– I didn’t know if it was right to look for you– But I– I do think that you’d be the right person to–“

“Cut to the chase.”

“Sorry,” Shotaro muttered. He took in a deep breath, probably a breath of courage, and looked Yuta squarely in the eyes. “Oniisan, I need your help.”

Yuta was close to rolling his eyes. He was definitely in a soap drama. But he wasn’t playing into it. Nakamoto Yuta wasn’t like the rest of his friends, who seemed to trip over their shoelaces while trying to save the world. He needed to save himself. From the drama.

Yuta leaned back. “How much do you need?”

Shotaro’s eyes widened. Bingo, Yuta thought. He knew he should’ve kept his actual name out of his branding. Screw the ego-boost.

“No, no, oniisan,” Shotaro said. “It’s not about money.”

“What?” It was Yuta’s turn to go wide-eyed.

“My mother, I mean–“ Shotaro spluttered. “–our mother has leukemia.”

Dear Yuta.

“What?”

I can’t wait to meet you in Tokyo.

Yuta saw the years of his life flash before his eyes. The letters, the flights, the hope that he clung onto as he stood in front of the Tokyo tower that one stormy night– Why am I thinking about this? Yuta shook himself back into reality. Why am I thinking about this?

Shotaro slid a small envelope to him. Yuta felt his heart lurch. “She’s currently being treated back in Tokyo. It’s a rare kind of leukemia, one where chemotherapy isn’t much use. She needs a bone marrow transplant.” Shotaro drew his breath. “And when they ran the tests against the samples in the international donor database, they found a match.”

Me.

Yuta immediately rose to his feet. He wasn’t going to deal with this. It was none of his business. Wendy had said so herself – they’re not your family. He didn’t need to try to–

“Wait, oniisan,” Shotaro called, grabbing onto his arm. “I know I shouldn’t be asking you–“

“Yes, you shouldn’t,” Yuta said curtly. “Since you know that, you can leave.”

“You’re our last hope!” Shotaro burst. The entire café turned their heads to them. Shotaro quickly quietened down. “Yuta-oniisan, I know… I know what my mother has done. She knows, too, which is why she didn’t want me to come here. But I had to… I had to.”

Yuta felt something rising to his throat. He didn’t know if it was emotion or bile.

“Hey there, where’s Jungwoo?”

It was a relatively innocuous question, one that Wendy had asked casually and frequently over the past decade – and not just about Jungwoo, either. So, she didn’t know why she was met with a look of seething venom from his strikingly beautiful but also visibly enraged receptionist.

“In his office,” Ningning said somewhat begrudgingly, like Wendy had stolen her man.

But isn’t your man Jaehyun? Wendy was perplexed, but she chose to take a leaf from Yuta’s book and not interfere, especially since the girl looked like she was about to douse her with kerosene and set her on fire. Wendy had enough of fires and firefighting for the day.

She dodged into Jungwoo’s office, quickly shutting the door behind her.

Jungwoo raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You could knock, Wendy Son.”

“I think your receptionist hates me,” Wendy said, visibly shaken. She headed towards his mini-fridge and helped herself to his collection of canned iced coffees.

Jungwoo’s look of surprise morphed into a frown. “You didn’t even talk to Ningning during the party.”

“Exactly,” she said, heedlessly taking a large swig of coffee. “You don’t think she assumes that I’m one of Jaehyun’s flings, right?”

“Short and noisy isn’t exactly his type.” Wendy aimed a kick at his shin. “Ow!” Jungwoo yelped. “It’s true! The girl he was having dinner with a few days ago looked like she came straight off a runway. Probably picked her up from Yuta’s show.”

“He’s seeing someone new?”

Jungwoo snorted. “When is he not? You’d be hard-pressed to find a time in his life that he’s not toying around with some girl’s heart.”

“Oh god – Jaehyun. Poor girls.” Wendy shook her head.

“Yeah.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Poor Seulgi.”

Wendy looked up. “What?”

“Poor me,” Jungwoo corrected. “I don’t really care about whatever he wants to stir, but he’s been going off a lot recently and leaving his clients to me. The workload’s already going up with all these folks being cranky and angsty after the new year, and–“

“Look who’s talking.”

“Oh, shut up.” Jungwoo sighed in his seat, more exhausted than annoyed. He stared at his inbox, which seemed to be blinking unendingly with emails, half regarding taking over the work of his nowhere-to-be-seen colleague. Then, he thought of Seulgi, and their conversation in the car right before the action-packed New Year’s party. “God, people are so fickle when it comes to their relationships.”

Wendy turned wryly. “You know, with all he’s been through, I always wonder how Johnny always manages to be less cynical than you and Yuta.”

“Well, because we’ve got our feet grounded in reality. We know what these relationships are really made of, and the collateral damage they often beget.” He shifted his mouth, clearing away his unread emails. Without looking at her, he added, “You know what happened to Yuta.”

Wendy kept silent – one of the rare times she did. She knew. They all did. It was just one of the things they’d never really spoken about.

Out of all of them, only Johnny still spoke about his parents fondly. They were in the States, but he would call them on a regular basis, and recount on the days that they would take him down the Pacific Coast Highway, where the sea and the skies were blue and everything was good and peaceful. The rest of them probably did have good memories too, but they were all too clouded by the disasters that transpired and the moments that became nightmares.

“All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.” Jungwoo could remember the lines of that book like he’d read it yesterday. The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Mitch Albom.

“Did he ever try to find his real parents?” Jungwoo asked absentmindedly.

Wendy nodded quietly. “He did. He also wanted to wait for them, so he never tried to get adopted out of the orphanage.”

“And?”

“They never showed up.”

“Jesus Christ.” He’d heard such stories too many times in his line of work, but it felt different when the situation was a lot closer to home. “I hate people sometimes.”

Wendy nodded again, but kept her eyes trained away. Jungwoo read the signs – his whole job was about reading the signs. It was a cue for him to stop talking.

“Hey, by the way,” he said, finally turning to her, “why’re you here?”

Wendy blinked. “For lunch, obviously.”

“Hmm… My next client is coming in in five minutes,” Jungwoo said. “Where’s Yuta?”

“When I checked the store, Renjun told me he went out. Probably to meet a client,” Wendy replied.

Jungwoo furrowed his brows. “So, I’m basically number two.”

“Well, yeah,” Wendy shrugged.

In between their rejoinders, Ningning burst in, probably catching a very misunderstanding-worthy set of words. Her expression immediately darkened, proceeding to stare daggers at Wendy.

“Dr. Kim, your twelve o’clock has arrived,” she said curtly, still glaring at Wendy. “Should I ask him to come in?”

“Give us a moment, Ningning.”

“Sure, Dr. Kim.”

As Ningning huffily shut the door, Wendy gave Jungwoo a look. “You know, I’m starting to think Jaehyun isn’t the one she’s into,” she observed.

“You’re crazy.”

The way Jungwoo looked at her, someone would think she escaped from a bedlam. But Wendy knew it was quite the opposite – he’d gotten it all wrong. Men, she thought to herself, these blind fools.

Yixing had been decently acquainted with Seulgi’s friends. Keyword: acquainted.

Not that they weren’t amiable people. Wendy and Johnny were the friendliest, albeit most uncouth, drunkards he’d ever met. He knew his Ferragamo loafers caught Yuta’s eye and turned him into a business prospect, hence the pleasantries even post-breakup. Jungwoo gave him a small, brotherly look-over, probably acting in Taeil’s stead, but eventually settled into general amiability. Only Jaehyun was a little standoffish, but he’d heard from the others that it was just part and parcel of Jaehyun’s demeanor. Otherwise, Seulgi’s friends were mostly alright.

But, it always seemed that they placed a barricade around their circle, even between each other. Yixing had always sensed that it was more out of necessity than hostility – they all had their share of skeletons in their closets, and Yixing guessed that they’d rather minimize the exposure to both protect themselves and the people that were just short encounters. Some pains were best kept between the people who knew and understood them best. Yixing understood.

So, he didn’t quite understand why the one o’clock slot his calendar was titled Consultation with Nakamoto Yuta. Last he checked, the latter was neither married nor served a corporate lawsuit.

“Oh, Yuta,” he said, as the blonde-haired –now electric-blonde-haired– man strode into the room, seeming rather grim and solemn. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Yuta smiled politely. “Thanks for opening up a slot. Just had a few legal questions.”

“We could’ve just talked it over dinner.”

“Businessman to businessman – wouldn’t want to deprive you of your business,” Yuta replied.

Yixing chortled. “Alright. Take a seat.”

He gestured Yuta to the sitting area, observing him closely. Yixing still didn’t have a clue why the man was there, but he could hazard a guess.

“So,” Yuta said, folding his hands on his lap, “I was wondering if you’ve ever don