Kris isn’t sure if he’s immersed in the tranquility of the worker’s lounge or perplexed by the deep purpling beneath Zitao’s eyes. Kris stares at his colleague with quite the intensity, not even close to batting an eye. Kris leans back with a sigh and intrigue finally gets the better of his counterpart. “Do Mild Sevens not suit your fancy, or would you prefer a western brand instead?”

Kris tremors backwards when he realizes his cigarette shrunk half its original size due to careless desertion. There’s no use salvaging it now, he thinks. He puts it out in the ashtray before him and sighs yet again. “I’ve been more accustomed to lights nowadays. I’m trying to quit before my clothes reek as much as yours do.”

Zitao laughs obnoxiously loud, as reflection of his immaturity, and it’s expected considering the stench is unavoidable in a smoke-infected room such as this one.  The younger man blows smoke purposefully close when he rebukes. “You say that and yet for the past two weeks, all I see is empty Marlboro cartons cluttering your waste basket.”

Kris grunts, tousling his hair in aggravation. “My current client is not cooperating properly at all. Buyers are basically shoving money into his face, but he refuses every single one of them like the pompous that he is. If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s a stubborn client.”

Again, Zitao laughs. “Frazzled broker by day, frazzled executor by night. When do you find the time to get laid?”

Now it’s Kris’s time to laugh. “I don’t. Somewhere between being a good business man and a good brother, I signed a contract swearing to celibacy for the rest of my life.”

“What do you call that hot blonde last night?”

“I call it none of your business.”

No articulation was needed really. Kris can easily read the look of pity etched in Zitao’s expression. It’s only been two weeks, but Kris has already grown tired of that look. But it’s not because he particularly hates it as it is because he doesn’t believe he deserves it. All their sympathy really should be directed towards those in genuine grief, not those burdened by the whole ordeal. Zitao shoots him that look, and Kris feels like scum rather than human.

Every night after work does Kris abide to brotherly obligations. Ordering the casket, finalizing funeral arrangements, and most importantly, settling and dispersing of the assets. Of course, Kris thinks his father should be the one handling Luhan’s affairs. Luhan is his son from his first marriage, so of course, Luhan’s tragic death should be his responsibility as well. But Mr. Wu is a ridiculously persuadable old man, and Kris having his Bachelors in accounting and finance does not entirely work in his favor. So as his old man is living it up in Canada, Kris currently wallows knee deep in his half-brother’s estate and legal affairs all the way in Seoul. It’s just is a coincidence that Luhan resided in Korea as well. Perhaps Kris should have chosen his residence more wisely. It’s not like he had a way of knowing his stranger of a brother was born but not raised a lifetime in the bombast city of Beijing. Emphasis on stranger, but it’s almost on a daily basis that Luhan’s friends call and ask him ‘when’s the funeral date?’

Regardless of the pressure, Kris manages to finish organizing Luhan’s memorial in a little over a month. And in all frankness, he’d happily work another two months as long as he didn’t have to make a speech. He thanks the heavens he doesn’t have to, but he wishes his father didn’t have to either when he witnesses the half-hour long eulogy of pure mortification. Mr. Wu leans onto the mahogany podium due to anxiety and poor articulation skills. He proceeds to stumble on his words so now weeping women are exchanging looks of equal distain and confusion. He endures until his father steps down from the platform, his mother nowhere to be found. Luhan’s relatives and friends are now bowing to him as a way of consolation. His father smiles back, shaking their hands and patting their backs to accept condolences. Kris’s dad was hardly a father, but Kris is nothing short from a stranger. In an odd yet inarguable way, the two of them just being there felt like sacrilege.

There’s still a number of eulogies to go while Kris has yet to see his brother’s burial. It really doesn’t matter anyways because if he doesn’t leave now, Kris will probably have himself a mild aneurysm. So while whispering ‘excuse me, pardon me’, Kris wiggles his way through the mass of mourners. Kris doesn’t know what is or is not considered blasphemy, but he takes his chances to light himself a Marlboro outside of the cathedral. He immediately inhales the cigarette, even quicker to discard it when he hears footsteps approaching near.

It’s merely a prepubescent boy that catches him. Probably old enough not to snitch on him but still young nonetheless. Kris sustains a calm expression despite the burning cigarette still lodged between the ball of his feet and the ground. “Hello,” he manages but the boy doesn’t even cope a reply.

Kris is not the most intimidating of guys, but it’s pretty clear that he’s not a very welcoming individual either. He’s startled when the boy approaches him, rudely defying his personal bubble as if they were yearlong buddies. But despite his assertiveness, the boy must not have any motive to his bold gesture because he just stands silent, face hanging low while kicking at the pavement cracks. “Are you a friend of Luhan’s?” Kris breaks the silence.

The boy doesn’t reply so Kris feels the need to repeat himself once again “Well, are you?”

Finally, the boy looks up. He’s scowling, there’s no mistaking it, but Kris doesn’t mind since nothing is more cumbersome than a face of pity lately.

Still.

It’s irritating.

Because the boy continues to stare, continuing not to answer in the slightest. He’s wearing a navy school uniform while everyone else is decked head to toe in licorice black.

Insolent, this kid.

“Did one of the attendees drag you along?”

Not even a mumble for a reply. Kris would just pull out another cigarette if he wasn’t such an advocate for being smoke-free. Yes, Kris knows that’s hypocritical, but youngsters like this one should never be exposed to tobacco in any shape or form. Plus, Kris smokes because his other problems make lung cancer seem infantile. This kid probably doesn’t have much to deal with besides being teased for being pretty. This kid sure has a nice complexion and damn was he pretty. “Chanyeol!”

Both of their heads look up and suddenly, the boy is darting for the cathedral entrance. The hollering man is Luhan’s step-father from what Kris can remember. He’s not too good with faces, and it’s just today that they exchanged words in person. After all, Luhan’s parents make a prosperous living in Beijing.

Kris gradually realizes that that man was screaming ‘Chanyeol’. Kris is much better with names and so, that pretty boy must be Luhan’s son. Or Kris’s nephew. But if Luhan is Kris’s half-brother, does that mean Chanyeol is Kris’s half-nephew?

There’s just no point in debating over it now. All that is for certain is Luhan’s son is going to live in Beijing too after he completes his first year of high school. It’s a shame, really. Luhan left his entire estate to his one and only son.  And now, it’s going to waste away in Seoul because Chanyeol is much too underage and much too orphan to be tending it all by himself. Kris has seen the house and wow, what a house it is.

After another ten minutes of debating to leave or not to leave, Kris surrenders to his conscience but mostly the ‘What Would Jesus Do’ bumper sticker on the priest’s pink Vespa. He forces himself back inside to once again be watching weeping woman and his dad making an utter fool out of himself in front of a female or two. Everyone’s saying their farewells to Luhan’s closed casket; closed obviously because a 16 wheeler can really disfigure a guy’s face.

In the corner of his eyes, he sees Chanyeol again. The kid’s now being hugged by old woman after old woman after young woman after old woman. Each and every one of them is crying, but Chanyeol’s face remains just as stoic as their first encounter.

Kris can’t even say he properly met the kid, but here and now, he’s the closest to tolerable out of anyone else. He’s practically darting to the Chanyeol, pushing Luhan’s colleagues and neighbors out of the way just to be in peripheral vision to him.

After the last woman gives her condolences, Chanyeol’s left alone and now, Kris’s fake coughing just to make his presence known. Coughing is unnecessary because Chanyeol acknowledges him in an instant. Plus bleach blonde hair and ridiculous height helps. “Hello again,” Kris greets him.

Kris didn’t read anywhere that Chanyeol might be mute, but he’s considering it to be a possibility. The boy shifts weight from feet to feet, more fascinated by the ground below him than even Kris’s undeniably attractive face.  Kris slowly narrows the distance between them. “I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man.”

Finally, Chanyeol actually looks at him. There’s the same sternness, but Kris swears he made out a lip tremble. Kris averts his eyes, stomach starting to churn with guilt that he’s probably making such a stupidly sensitive face. “He still is a good man,” Kris corrects. “I never met the guy. But people tell me he is a good man.”

The line for the view of the casket is now empty. Chanyeol instantly takes notice, and Kris watches him leave toward it without even an appropriate farewell.

Suddenly, the boy stops. He’s not making eye contact, but something tells Kris he’s calling for him. The boy’s hand twitches backwards, his eyes skid back and forth from Kris’s shoes to the ground. With hesitance, Kris steps forward, and it’s immediate when Chanyeol starts walking again.

He follows him to the closed casket until they stand side to side. Chanyeol stares at the casket, and Kris takes notice of Luhan’s memorial portrait. It’s hard to believe there’s any relation between them. Luhan looks so thin and fragile while Kris, though not entirely masculine, is tall and robust enough to make up for his skinny build. Chanyeol barely resembles his father despite how ridiculously pretty Luhan was for a 39 year old man. In comparison to Luhan’s dark amber hair that curled at the ends, Chanyeol’s is slick straight, black and shiny like Kris’s once. Only mildly annoying because of the unnecessary length, and now he has the strange impulse to shave it all off.

Kris sees more Korean in him and now thinks his deceased mother must have been a regal beauty. But Chanyeol does have a bit of Luhan in him; both their eyes both are doe-like and sparkle from the natural secretion of water…no, Chanyeol is now crying.

Or no, he’s trying so hard not to, but Kris can very well tell. Again, there is no words exchanged, but Chanyeol manages to communicate with him. He tightens his lips thin, hands now clutched into tight fists. “You can cry if you want. I know it seems unmanly now, but you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Kris isn’t very empathetic. But Chanyeol trying so hard not to cry added to the unstable tremble of his lip only makes Kris pity him more. Kris drapes an arm over the kid, patting his back awkwardly and chanting ‘there, there’ because that’s what normal people do, he thinks, to calm a crying thing.

Chanyeol is now trying-not-to-but-still-so-obviously sobbing unattractively, nose dripping without halt and tears streaming down his nose and chin. Kris offers his sleeve, he has no idea what else since besides this circumstance; handkerchiefs are incredibly pointless, and Kris sort of kind of never cried even once in his entire life. “There, there,” Kris repeats again, now petting the back of Chanyeol’s hair as a form of consolation.  But really, he has no damn clue.

Suddenly, he feels a tap on his back, and he turns around in slight annoyance. “Son.”

It’s Kris’s mother, and she’s smiling a smug sort of beam. Kris knows that look from a mile away so he rolls his eyes in anticipation. “You did a great job with the memorial, son. Really good job.”

Wait for it.

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

There it is.

“Because I have this lovely young lady I would like you to meet. Now, when is your next day off so I can book you a flight back to Vancouver and-”

“I have no days off.”

“Well, you better take some off sometime or marriage will no longer be an option.”

“Maybe in the future.”

He doesn’t want to get married.

“There are no maybes. If you don’t look for an appropriate spouse now, you’ll never be able to start a family.”

“When it happens, it’ll happen.”

He hate kids.

“Kris.”

His mother places a sturdy palm on her son’s shoulder. Kris eyes that particular finger; there’s no ring adorning it this time. He knows it would never be official on paper, but perhaps she has already given up. “I’m giving you a month. Come meet the girl, Kris, and listen to your mother. Your mother knows best.”

Even at a funeral is Kris is not safe from his mother’s matchmaking schemes. It has always been constant, but Kris is gaining close to twenty-six. In addition, Mrs. Wu is growing bitterly jealous of her friends’ daughter-in-laws. Even more than her son, she’s ridiculously impatient. Kris understands there’s no sign of cease any time soon. “I’ll…let you know.”

Kris manages to escape his mother, soon realizing Chanyeol was left unattended for quite some time. Kris turns around, and Chanyeol is AWOL. And it’s sign for him to take his leave.

That’s it.

Brotherly duties are over.

At least Kris got to pretend he was a part of a family. At least for a month anyways, he could pretend he actually cared.

Author's Note: 2.5k word chapter and Chanyeol hasn't even talked lmfao.