"The pin-striped men of morning / Are coming for to dance /
Forty-million dollars / The kids don't stand a chance."
– Vampire Weekend, The Kids Don't Stand A Chance

(Years ago when Siwon was young and nervous, Donghae had played conscience and asked him what nobody else could. Siwon, Donghae’s voice cracked but it was not unusual, not then, are you sure about it? You’re not going to regret the—the consequence?)

Siwon sits on the concrete floor in his backyard. To his left the sun is slowly setting in, the sky turning into a calmer shade of orange. He is quiet as he throws his head back, inspects pale streaks of yellow and pink present up there.

Half a mind somewhere else, he dips his feet into the water, a private outdoor swimming pool on the highest floor.

Not like he has the time to reflect on it, but what a VVIP way to waste money: this penthouse of four bedrooms and three gas fireplaces.

Dispatch released the detail of his purchase, he smirked at the rage of the South Koreans. $16m TriBeCa penthouse for the Chois’ new residence, the headline disclosed. Sometimes he will still feel pride running through the course of his veins.

Jack O’Connell and Siwon Choi on the set of Harrow. Siwon Choi in early talks for Michael Bay’s new project. The Choi clan off to the Hamptons this summer.

He stretches out his arm and his fingers wrap around the neck and cold of an Evan Williams bottle.

At least bourbon cannot talk back, cannot cry in the warmth of his chest, Oh, Siwon! Cannot look him in the eye with contempt, cannot spit fire onto his face, Aren’t you a disappointment!

(Bom, he wants to say, I can’t do this by myself, though he really, really wants to.)

This is true: Siwon was twenty-three when he was once asked in an interview for some magazine, Which one’s the most important for you—love, money or success?

This is also true: Siwon was twenty-three when he answered the very offending question, impatient, almost snorting, Love, ‘course. Not true.

Not true.

Subsequently Evan Williams freefalls from his grip. Plunging into the water below, its alcoholic content mars a memory. Some sunshine, red nail polish, a child’s laughter ringing in his ears.

Good afternoon, Mr. Choi, I’m terribly sorry for contacting you in such an informal manner, only there has been an emergency, and, and—

And with shaky fingers and a subconscious that kept rebelling against it, Donghae was the first person Siwon contacted.

We’re getting through this together, Donghae said, I’ll be in the first flight available tomorrow morning, Donghae’s voice did not crack, not then.

Now, three sleepless nights later, Siwon feels, rather than seeing, the younger man slip in and join him by the pool. Everything’s going to be okay, Siwon. B is.

The sun has completely disappeared below the horizon and now New York City’s night sky is just dark. Starless even seen from a $16m penthouse, now approximately twenty-seven. Sometimes Siwon will feel pride running through his veins, but not now, not tonight, not ever. He says nothing to Donghae.

(Bom, he wants to call out her name, articulate it carefully, voice it out loud to the void that used to be his golden heart, Bom.)

Come on, Siwon, Donghae stands up. Sandara had prepared us dinner before she left to the hospital.

Siwon lets go of the black sky. He lets go of the velvety liquid burning down his throat. Donghae must have noticed his going back to decadence, but it has been four hours and Donghae has yet to address Evan Williams.

Tell Sandara I’ll go back there after dinner.

Donghae is quick to object, No. He repeats, No, you won’t. I will. It’s your first time home again, Siwon. It’s been one long grueling week—you need a break.

It sounds right put that way. She is stable and not going to die. It might be alright for him to get away from the hospital (Or from the ing guilt, you mean, something whispers) and rest at home for a few hours, only he knows, he knows: it is not a home without her, far from it.

Dinner is a quiet affair.

Donghae makes a comment or two on the dinnerware (I still can’t believe it bears your family monogram), but Siwon is too busy numbing his senses to say anything.

Kimchi on the table symbolizes preservation, now only mocking his lack thereof. He tries not to think about the bad, but there is a lot of them and he is a coward.

Some boys trim their nails and wear seersucker suit, she had once said to him over Darjeeling and French desserts. Some fall asleep to the aesthetic of Neruda and paradoxes of Nolan, while some others glorify Lou Reed, making smart references to The Smiths.

He smiled and took a sip of his tea. Yeah?

She shrugged her shoulders, Yeah, in nonchalance, yeah. See, they’re different. But still, they’re united in the way they all smell: like pot.

It does not matter that he gets it now. Back then he was laughing and barking, Ah, they do! Chaps! Disappointing! Well, he should have not—should have told her, calmly, It’s okay, it’s okay, B, I love you.

Donghae and Sandara tell him that it is not his fault, but they were not there when she wailed like a baby, I’m not happy, I don’t know, Siwon, my career ended abruptly, maybe I want to sing again?

They were not there when he raised his voice, Are you kidding me? How can you not be happy, Bom? Bom, we’ve got everything here! And everything I’ve done, I’ve done them all for you!

And that was true!

I’m going with you, Siwon says as he puts down his empty cup onto the table. You’re crazy if you think I can sleep soundly here, having no idea how B is faring tonight. Ridiculous. I don’t know why I agreed to it on the first place.

Donghae does not look even a bit offended. He just offers a sad little smile, Sure.

On the way, though, Donghae puts a goddamned weight on Siwon’s shoulders, albeit unintentionally, saying, Shouldn’t you tell B’s mother, Siwon? It’s time, don’t you think? She deserves to know. Everyone back home does.

Siwon wants to argue, No, shut up, Donghae, you know nothing of the circumstances, but the weight feels heavy on his person only because he knows that it is real. And true. I’ll ask B first.

Donghae is not satisfied with his answer. And Sandara frowns when she sees him walking on the sterile hospital hall beside her husband, the two approaching her. Siwon, are you tipsy? Did you—drink?

Women know how to hit where it hurts the most—that is what they are good at.

Just a little.

Okay. She nods. The irony’s not lost on me, Siwon. But then she bites her lip, looks very close to tears. Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s just—Bom—

Bom what? Sandara, Bom what?

(They found her just in time. Had ten more minutes passed, it would have been much harder for us to make best use of our capacity. She’s lucky, Mr. Choi. You are. The critical period has passed.)

But not all critical period, it seems.

Siwon sits on the sofa across her bed. Donghae, on another. Sandara whispers quietly into her phone, Listen to Uncle Cheondoong, okay, baby? Make sure TamTam and Mulkkogi are in your backpack. Mireu cannot fly without them.

Is it really okay for the boys to come visit? Donghae asks.

Mireu can’t do without his plushies, Siwon answers, you and Sandara can’t do without him and Haru. I understand. Family.

Hmm? Donghae tilts his head, softly murmurs, Do you?

Donghae, don’t. I’ll ask her  first.

(Good afternoon, Mr. Choi. I’m Jean-Luc Dubois from Dalton School. I apologize for contacting you in such informal manner. There has been an emergency, Mr. Choi, and, and, your daughter—)

Dad?

Siwon cranes his neck to see his daughter stir on her hospital bed. Sorry, B, are we too loud?

I thought you’d rest at home tonight?

I changed my mind.

Oh. I see. She drops her gaze and glances at Donghae and Sandara. Hey, Aunt Dara. That’s Haru on the phone?

Yes, Brooklyn, sweetheart. He’ll arrive here tomorrow.

Good. It’s been months. I’ve missed him.

And so have I, Donghae sneaks into the conversation, smiling.

You definitely would! Her pale face breaks into a weak grin. I’m sorry for keeping you away from him, Uncle Hae. You’re kind of like the best uncle I have.

Donghae caresses her forehead. I know, right? So, what—you like me more than Seunghyun and Siwan now?

She snorts, Of course, she rolls her eyes, I’ll never let them see me in this state, you know.

Oh, Siwon knows. While Donghae bites his lip—Sandara wears another frown. Being around can be difficult at times.

(Bom knows I’m in NYC. She asked me about you, told me to tell you to please answer her call. She misses Brooklyn. And another article was released today. Something about her ruins: reputation, career. And now, marriage. It’s difficult for her, Siwon. You two should not live like this.)

Guess we need to talk, B.

She shrugs her shoulders.

Donghae and Sandara leave the room.

He feels his eyes watering as he braces himself. Do you want me to tell your mother about all this?

She shrugs again, decides to play with the edge of her hospital blanket. You will have to, won’t you? You don’t lie to Mom.

Yeah, he closes his watery eyes, tired, he should get some sleep. That’s true, I don’t.

Where were you, Siwon? Whom did you meet? What is the meeting about? How did it go? What did they say? What are you thinking? How are you feeling? Siwon? Siwon?

She was always asking questions, her eyes big and curious. Siwon? She always wanted to know, sincere and borderline annoying, though that was what made her the Park Bom that he loved.

The Park Bom that always cared for him. You okay? Through thick and thin, and through the good and the bad but more often than not the latter.

Park Bom is never quite his and his head hurts. Siwon? Something prickles and he wants to sneeze and get whatever it is out of his system. Maybe it is guilt but more likely Evan Williams. Everything hurts at the moment.

Siwon? Siwon? Si

I should apologize, she snaps him out of his reverie.

Huh? He opens his eyes.

Her hand makes a quick awkward gesture indicating what is next to her bed—transparent tubes and beeping contraptions and all—then goes back to grasping the blanket again. I mean, I didn’t want to die. That wasn’t my aim. It’s got to mean something, right?

Right.

Of course.

He shakes his head slowly. You know that I don’t understand, don’t you? Don’t understand why you stop eating and just drink. How you know the smell of pot. Why The 400 Blows is your favorite movie. Always the bored and misunderstood. Rebel Without A Cause. Palo Alto. The Selfish Giant. What I’m trying to say is, he pauses and looks her in the eye, guilty. Blurry. I don’t understand. I mean, I never witness my parents fight.

Never hears a bang so loud he wakes up from his sleep. Never shivers like a madman under the covers even though it is a perfectly warm early autumn night.

He never knows a hushed nervous murmur to God, God, are You listening—God?

She was only ten when it happened the first time.

How can you not be happy, Bom? Everything I’ve done, I’ve done them all for you! For Brooklyn! What’s your problem, Bom—marriage and motherhood finally taking its toll on you?

Siwon, you had Jackie to help you, you got the whole entourage, I didn’t, my career ended tragically!

But, Bom, your career ended tragically so then you won’t!

What did I do that made them hate me? She croaked out, her eyes red, her fingers shaking.

He tightened his jaw and looked away. You really want an answer?

Siwon, she cried again, her fingers had stopped shaking but her eyes were still red like it was hell, I didn’t kill an innocent soul, didn’t steal their men, we violated a clause or two in our contracts, but it’s been years, Siwon, they should have not made our lives their source of amusement! Oh, Siwon! Siwon, she must have heard us! Are we too loud? Did she hear us? She’s asleep right?

Yes you were too loud. Yes she did hear you and no she was not quite asleep.

I’m the one who should apologize, he says quietly into the white and cold of the room, his voice practically a whisper. I’m sorry I got caught up in my own business. Let your mother leave alone. Never realized you’d been stealing Cristal and Pabst from my stash.

She looks away and tightens her grip on the blanket. You told me and Mom that we only had one another.

I know. I know. He rubs his face and eyes and cheeks and feels something wet. I genuinely thought I had it good. Under control. But do you know what adults at? Being adults.

You told me and Mom that we only had one another, she has stopped doing her thing with the blanket but now her fists are balling. Everytime you’re in Hollywood and Mom’s in Seoul or somewhere her mind takes her, has it ever crossed your mind that—Oh, if Bom and I aren’t home, this means Brooklyn is alone. Has it? And everytime you both are home—it’s—hellish—

Which one’s the most important for you, Mr. Choi—love, money or success?

Siwon, are you sure about it? You won’t regret the—the consequence? People will never forget this, you know.

But how about our seventh album? The upcoming world tour? You destroyed us! Big time!

Who are you—what have you done to my son?

Siwon, can we raise her well? Can I raise her well? Siwon, I’m afraid.

Bom knows Donghae and I are in New York and tells us to tell you to please answer her call. She wants to know how Brooklyn’s doing. How you’re doing.

Bom.

Bom.

She is naturally stoic like a statue. She has stopped her thing with the blanket and now her fists are balling. But the eyeballs are glassy, though. They are red like hellfire is beneath them. Reminds him of her mother’s. Maybe it is really there somewhere, burning, destroying. The Choi women are nice but fiery. They run after what they want. Explode when it is time. Cry when they are mad.

Park Bom cries when she is sad. If the situation was different and she was close to his sister, maybe Jiwon’s personality would have rubbed off on her. Park Bom could have been a little bolder, a little calmer. Sturdier and she won’t break off so easily.

He has to tell her about their little baby, sixteen going on seventeen, a pack of shrooms on the bottom of her backpack. He has to tell her and he will break her again, even more so than what he has done many times before.

Brooklyn failed Latin and Precalculus and accidentally slashed her wrists in the third floor bathroom like, last week. Dalton draws a veil over it but I don’t know until when. Oh, BTW, yes, it’s our fault. We, irresponsible, negligent parents. Should we get her a life coach?

She will seppuku right on the spot.

But it needs to be done, anyway.

Dad, are you okay?

Huh? He opens his eyes. Yeah. I guess. We will.

She looks at him, confused. We will?

(Bom.)

Yeah. We will. Recover quickly, B, I’m booking a plane.

(Bom, I can’t do this by myself.)

She knits her eyebrows. What? To Seoul?

(I need you and Brooklyn.)

Yeah. To Seoul.

(And we’ll make us okay again.)

.

.

.

We should downplay it all. To Mom. I mean, I messed up, you messed up. I don’t want to see Mom go to jail for plotting your murder after she hears about it from you.

Ha. He says dryly. Ha-ha. I’m glad to know you’re back to joking again. About my demise, yes, but, oh well. Thought you were about to cry five minutes ago, you know. Very sensitive of you, B.

What? I was not.

You were!

Was not!

You really were about to cry!

Whatever. Turn down Michael Bay’s offer, Dad. All his movies .

Yup. Thank you so much for reading it. It's a mess because my mind is. Tell me what you think and I'll give you an SJ or 2NE1 member of your choice. Imaginary one, but still. Oh, sequel has not been written, but I'll work on it. Once again, thank you!