Work Text:
March 20th, 2016
—
Han-Seok was home for the first time since August; he had chosen to stay in America for winter break months before. Han-Seo sat next to his brother at the dining table tonight, more-so staring at his food than eating it. Han-Seok was making conversation with their father in a mix of English and Korean. Something about how law school was going. At twenty six (and nearly twenty seven), Han-Seok was probably one of the smartest students at Stanford. Not because of the grades he achieved, although those were nothing to scoff at, but rather, because he knew how to handle people. Read them, catalogue minute details about them, and ultimately play them like puppets.
Sometimes, Han-Seo feared his brother. He used to fear Han-Seok more when they were much younger, when Han-Seok would actively bully him. Torture him. But Han-Seok stopped doing that. So Han-Seo stopped fearing him. Maybe absence really did make the heart fonder.
However, there were still times Han-Seo felt uneasy next to his brother. This was one of those times. Watching Han-Seok and Abeoji exchange subtle barbs in their conversation, Han-Seo could not help but feel something odd. Perhaps it was the way his brother was sitting—tense instead of laid back. The way Han-Seok’s leg bounced just slightly under the table, as if he were waiting for something.
Han-Seo observed as his brother’s hand clenched around his chopsticks as their father stood, walking towards the kitchen.
Thud
Han-Seo’s eyes widened and he turned at the sound. Guk-Han was prone on the floor. “Abeoji!” Han-Seo exclaimed, concerned.
Han-Seok rose, slowly, and put one hand on Han-Seo’s shoulder, silently signaling him to stay seated. Han-Seo did so as his brother approached their father.
Han-Seok knelt close to the older man, pressing careful fingers on the veins in Guk-Han’s neck. “Call an ambulance,” Han-Seok said, without looking back at Han-Seo.
As Han-Seo did so, Han-Seok moved his face closer to their father’s, whispering something to him that Han-Seo could not quite catch. Han-Seo heard the word ‘karma’ quite clearly. He ignored it. Just like he ignored how feeble Han-Seok’s “attempt” at CPR was. He was good at ignoring things. They all were when it mattered.
An ambulance arrived minutes later and Han-Seo went to the door to let the paramedics in. He stood off to the side as they got his father into a stretcher and took him out of the villa. Han-Seok moved to go with them. Han-Seo did too, at first, but then Han-Seok turned to face him and shook his head ever so slightly. So Han-Seo stayed home that night. And waited.
—
When Han-Seok returned home, he came alone. Han-Seo was seated on the couch, and when his brother entered by himself Han-Seo gave him a questioning look, but he dared not ask. If he was being completely honest with himself, he was afraid of the answer. Afraid of what might happen if he guessed correctly. Afraid of the unknown, of whatever happened next.
Han-Seok answered anyway. “He’s dead,” he said, “Cardiac arrest.”
“…I see,” Han-Seo replied. What an awful son he must be, he thought, not even present for his own father’s death. “Why did you want me to stay home,” he asked.
“You didn’t need to be there,” Han-Seok said, quite simply. It was in that moment, the split second in which Han-Seok’s eyes flickered away from his own, that Han-Seo knew what his brother had done. “Hyung-nim…,” Han-Seo started, though he did not know how to finish.
“Han-Seo,” his brother replied, evenly. ”…You didn’t need to be there,” he repeated. The two men stared at each other in a silence thicker than the lenses of Han-Seo’s glasses. (The lenses were pretty damn thick)
“…Okay” Han-Seo conceded.
Han-Seok left the room. Han-Seo went back to his book. It didn’t take long for him to find a few pages that seemed to fit what he was looking for.
Croephite, also known simply as crophi, is most noted as a heart poison…
—
When Han-Seok re-entered the room, he took the armchair opposite the couch. Han-Seo kept reading, and Han-Seok kept staring at the ceiling, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together.
“What happens now,” Han-Seo asked, breaking a long period of quiet.
“I don’t know yet,” Han-Seok responded, honestly.
Han-Seo figured they should have a funeral. No matter how…unconventional a father Guk-Han was, he still deserved a funeral. Well, maybe not deserved. He just needed one. Like all dead people do.
“Will you still go back to America on Wednesday,” Han-Seo asked his brother.
Han-Seok paused before answering, “No. I’ve lost a family member; no one will question it if I stay a while longer.”
“What will become of Haemun,” Han-Seo asked.
“How many questions are you going to ask me tonight,” Han-Seok quipped.
“…two more,” the younger decided.
Han-Seok chuckled. “I’ll handle Haemun; you just focus on your studies, okay?”
“Okay.”
“What are the other two questions?”
“Will we give him a funeral, and would you like to play a game hyung-nim?”
“We’ll probably have to. Just for the family image. How about a game of chess?”
Han-Seo brought the board and he and Han-Seok set up the pieces quickly, each trying to get their pieces up before the other.
Han-Seo won. Han-Seok won the game of chess. He took far longer than he needed to; Han-Seok was always one to play with his food before devouring it.
“I asked him about your mother once. A while back,” Han-Seok started, suddenly. “Do you want to know what he told me?”
Han-Seo’s breath hitched as he set up his pieces again. Neither his brother nor father had mentioned his mother in years. The last time Han-Seo had mentioned her, Guk-Han had cuffed him upside the head and scolded him for talking about trash at the table. Han-Seok had been there that day, and Han-Seo could have sworn he heard the older boy say something that sounded like “Two pieces of trash are perfect for each other” under his breath.
He hadn’t commented or laughed. Because even though Han-Seok had insulted their father, which was always a fun thing to witness, he had also insulted Han-Seo’s mother. Even though Han-Seo could understand his half-brother’s ire regarding Seo Min-Hui to a certain extent, it still upsets a boy to hear his mother insulted.
Han-Seo was brought out of the memory by Han-Seok poking his forehead. “Earth to Han-Seo, you listening? It’s your turn.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. What did he say about her,” Han-Seo asked as he moved one of his pawns.
Han-Seok gave him a half-smile, sad in the way he didn’t truly feel, only mimicked. But the bitterness under it was real. “She’s still alive. Married, even. She’s got kids Han-Seo.”
Han-Seo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. In hindsight though, his father had never explicitly said his mother was dead. Not once. But if she was still alive, why hadn’t he heard from her in so many years? Did Guk-Han threaten her, or did she just not care about her firstborn?
Han-Seok, oblivious to what was going on in Han-Seo’s mind, went on. “She’s living in Japan. I’d rather you don’t bother with people that don’t care for you, but if you want to see her just once, I could find her address.”
“No.”
“…No?”
“I… I’m just not sure. I don’t know what to think hyung-nim; this is all so sudden.
…You’re sure it’s really her?”
“Unfortunately. Take some time to think about it Han-Seo. However, I certainly wouldn’t mind if you don’t ever want to see that wh— woman again.”
“Okay, hyung-nim.”
Han-Seok checkmated him faster this time.
“You want a drink,” Han-Seok asked him after they’d put the game away.
Han-Seo agreed, and they pulled out various bottles. Han-Seok had a thing for experimenting with cocktails. However, that didn’t make his tolerance for the stuff any better than Han-Seo’s. The two men joked around more as they drank. Han-Seok mocked their father, and Han-Seo gleefully joined in.
The younger man was the first to remember how rare this kind of joking was. Mostly because he and Han-Seok didn’t really interact throughout the year unless Han-Seok was back in Korea on vacation. Guk-Han hadn’t wanted his sons “being in cahoots with one another”, so they’d never gotten each other’s phone numbers or even sent letters.
When he brought it up, Han-Seok got out his phone, fingers fumbling ever so slightly, and gave Han-Seo his number. Han-Seo vowed to send his brother memes at three am henceforth. Han-Seok laughed at the declaration and clapped a hand on Han-Seo’s shoulder. “Dongsaeng-ah~,” Han-Seok hiccuped once, “You wanna go to an amusement park when the a**hole’s funeral is over?”
Han-Seo threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly, agreeing instantly.
By the time they finally decided to retire for the night, it was well past two in the morning, and Han-Seo was staggering on his feet, all too aware of the awful hangover he’d be dealing with later. He got in bed and listened to Han-Seok moving about for a few minutes before his eyelids drooped and his mind turned to a blurry mess of static, a faint crash registering in the background.
In another part of the house, Han-Seok leaned against a table, gripping the edges to keep himself upright. On the floor next to him was a shattered picture frame of his father in front of Haemun’s main building.