Exhaustion, injury and medication eventually won out and Seungri drifted off to sleep. But SeungHyun remained exactly where he was: in the hard, uncomfortable plastic chair holding vigil. There was no way in hell that he was leaving his brother alone.

Arashi was still at large and ground rules were still in place but, even had that not been the case, nothing could have dragged him away from that hospital bed.

His little brother had been prone to nightmares in the past – and SeungHyun knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would be needed before the night was over.

And he also had his own demons to battle. He had to face up to the dreadful reality that his mother was dead; had to reconcile his father's terrible reaction, by justifying that his father’s grief must have been increased a thousand fold, compared to what he was feeling. And he had to fight the insidious, sadistic voice that whispered in the back of his head – insisting on creating scenarios where the whole tragedy might have been avoided.

He closed his eyes and tried to forget the events leading up to that fateful trip to the grocery store; tried to ignore the niggling fact that it had been mere whim which caused Seungri to be the one accompanying their mom; tried not to consider what the outcome might have been if he had been the one to volunteer.

Still fighting a losing battle with his own subconscious, SeungHyun drifted off into a light sleep.

Seungri was ten years old when he broke his arm. With a tenacity that would serve him well – and cause him a whole lot more trouble the older he got – he had refused to admit defeat when his Frisbee had got caught high up in the branches of an old tree. His friends – and his brother – had warned him about trying to retrieve it and even he had recognised just how dangerous the venture might prove to be.

The tree was ancient but not in a romantic, makes a perfect hideout or treehouse or anything you want it to be way. More in a rotten, decrepit, should be torn down sort of way.

But Seungri loved his Frisbee and, when hurling rocks at the hopelessly snagged piece of plastic failed, had refused to write off his loss – as would have been the sensible thing to do. Sensible was an alien concept to ten-year-old Yang Seungri. So he climbed the old tree.

The inevitable happened and he had fallen – but he had fallen with the bright blue disc clutched triumphantly in his left hand.

With an irony that was almost predictable, the tree was torn down mere days later and the Frisbee never saw the light of day again that Spring.

But the damage had already been done:

His right arm had taken the brunt of the impact and was broken in three places. He had also sprained his knee, fractured a couple of ribs, suffered a minor concussion and sustained various other bumps and bruises.

The combination of wounds was severe enough to warrant a brief hospital stay and then strict orders that the boy was to remain housebound – preferably tucked up in bed – until he had time to properly heal.

Seungri, unused to such forced inactivity, quickly became insufferably bored. And, with SeungHyun at school and dad at work, it was their mother who had to bear the brunt of that boredom.

She never insisted that he stay in bed – she couldn't be that cruel – but that was the only consolation he had. And it was a small one at that.

The boy couldn't draw, or paint, or play with any of his toys properly. Even eating had become a chore and he was in constant danger of descending into surliness – even depression.

Inspiration struck their mother just when she had been on the verge of despair at ever seeing his wonderful smile again. She had been folding laundry and Seungri had been staring listlessly at the television, without actually watching it. His mother took the remote from him and turned the set off. Then she sat down next to him and asked: "Why do you think the tree wanted to keep your Frisbee?"

And she had captured his imagination.

Over the following days and weeks – and then months and years – that followed, his mother would pick the most inane of topics and Seungri would spin her some fantastic story. The story of the tree – of how it had grown old and sad and just longed for children to play in its branches again – was just the first of many. It became almost a tradition, whenever the two of them were alone together – and it was a tradition that had endured to her dying day.

"How do you think it got there?" His mom was referring to a dented old shopping cart that had been discarded hovering precariously on the edge of the mall's multi-storey parking garage.

Though Seungri was now a teenager – was, in fact, now old enough to drive – he never stopped loving this game. Though he knew that the cart had most probably been dumped by kids after they had finished messing around with it, he never once considered opting for such an ugly answer.

"It was used in a crime," he began, already thinking ahead as to how he would embellish this story. "It was used to transport stolen goods from the mall to where the bad guys had hidden their van.

And his mom had laughed.

Then he remembered that she was dead and they would never play that game again.

And Seungri cried.

A sound woke SeungHyun. Even though he wasn't exactly sure what the sound was, or even where he actually was, he knew it was important that he wake.

Reality crashed down on him with harsh unexpectedness and he scrubbed one hand across his face as he realised he was facing a world without his mother in it.

Then he recognised what the sound that had awoken him was. His brother was crying softly – and SeungHyun’s heart ached to witness it.

Even though they had both been sleeping, the two brothers' hands were still clasped together and so SeungHyun squeezed just a little bit more tightly. He was trying to offer comfort, even though he knew that none could be given.

He wondered if he should wake Seungri. Bitter experience had provided him with a thorough knowledge of head injuries and concussions – and he knew that the recipient should be woken every hour or so. But then he figured they were in a hospital and they had staff to take care of that kind of thing.

It was all probably beside the point anyway. Given the way that his brother was crying, there was no way he was actually still asleep.

"Seungri," he whispered. Sleeping or not, it didn't matter. He couldn't just sit there and listen to the sound of such heartache. He pulled his chair in closer and reached out with his free hand to gently his brother's brown hair. "It's okay," he murmured, with what he hoped was reassurance. Seungri didn't open his eyes, but he did turn towards his brother. Tears were cascading down his cheeks.

"It's okay…" SeungHyun choked out. Then he sniffed. Until that moment he hadn't even realised that he, too, was crying.

Profound grief hit him then – and at the most inopportune moment. He had been seeking some way to help Seungri.

But he couldn't comfort his brother anymore, because he was suddenly too caught up in his own bitter memories. They couldn't even be considered bittersweet memories, because he knew that there would never be any more of them.

There would be no more bright, golden smile first thing in the morning – when it seemed that, no matter what time he rose, his mother was always up before him.

No more wonderful cooking and seeming to know exactly what it was that he needed – exactly what 'comfort foods' he craved.

No more tender touch – better than any medicine – when he was hurt, or injured, or even just plain sick.

No more 'rock' in the turbulence that was all of their lives. She had kept them grounded; kept them real; kept them human.

She had been the one to remind them of simple things that they might have otherwise taken for granted: the need to say 'I love you'; the strength drawn from a simple touch or even a mere word; the value of family.

She had been brave and strong and…

And now she was gone.

And SeungHyun had lied to Seungri when he'd numbly said that it was okay – because it wasn't okay. It wasn't. How could it be?

Their mother was dead – and he couldn't hold it together anymore; not for anyone – not even his kid brother.

Their mom – his mom – was dead.

This couldn't be fixed. It wasn't something that he could solve with logic or intelligence or rational thinking. It wasn't something he could solve – period.

He believed in facts: cold, hard facts. And the simple fact was that his mom was dead.

Yang SeungHyun broke down and sobbed.