Chapter Text
After the talk, he’d hoped things would get easier. And in a way it did.
The next time a nightmare left him gasping awake, instead of sneaking out, he’d play the tape his father had returned to him. Somehow listening to Yi Chan’s voice when he was at his happiest, made Eun Gyeol feel safe too.
He felt guilty for a while about the fact that the only person who could hear his father’s voice in their family would be him, but secretly he was happy that there was a part of his parents that belonged to him and only him.
Eun Yoo had introduced herself again as the fake Choi Segyeong and meshed into their family perfectly, having an interesting dynamic with his brother that absurdly bordered on rivalry.
Eun Gyeol could slowly feel the guilt chipping away after seeing the different ways he’d changed them and not just in the drastic change of lifestyles.
His father was more confident in himself, rather than just his competence and his sons. He had pride in himself which was absent before. Yi Chan had a harder life as a disabled, high school graduate and his entire self esteem was built on his competence.
Now he commanded respect not just for his exemplary work ethic but his resilience, to achieve a prestigious position in the most unlikely of enterprises for a person with his condition.
This confidence shone through everything that he did and made him more charismatic than ever.
The first thing he’d done with his savings was to buy the restaurant and gift it to his grandmother, who spent the rest of her days rushing about feeding and caring for students, being a safe place for innumerable people. And all the restaurant tables were curiously equipped with rotating, black boards.
Go Yang Hee didn’t realise it but she was the owner of one of the first deaf friendly restaurants in the country.
His mother, having never needed to fend for herself alone in this timeline, grew around the warmth of people who loved and cared for her, comfortable with the knowledge that she would always have her family beside her.
She went to college, met people she related to and blossomed under their attention, fully achieving her potential. And she had her father next to her the entire time. A sturdy pillar of support, willing to let her spread her wings but always ready to catch her if she should fall.
In the safety of her loved ones’ care, Chung Ah completely shed her cold, mistrusting persona, embracing her disability, striving hard to create organisations and charities that helped people like her who were not as fortunate.
She finally could open the attic door and could see it for what it was, just an attic instead of a prison.
Exactly five years after that woman had been found out and sent away, Chung Ah holding both Yi Chan’s and her father’s hands had opened the door herself with shaking hands.
Soon after, the attic was completely remodelled to be her art studio with big, bright windows on every wall, the light pouring through and burning away every last vestige of the old attic, leaving only a beautiful studio in its stead.
She learned fear at age of eight and learned love at eighteen but learned courage at the age of twenty three when the thought of walking into the attic no longer filled her with dread.
She was Yoon Chung Ah and she was no longer afraid.
Eun Gyeol thought that after twenty eight long years, they would’ve forgotten about him.
After all, the time they spent with him was a fraction of the time spent after.
But his parents and grandfather sat him down separately and explained how decades later, he still played such a big role in their lives.
His father was the first, insisting on a little drive after dinner and took him out. Afterwards, when the two were walking and staring out at the Han River, he began to speak, and Eun Gyeol nearly tripped in shock.
Yi Chan’s voice was gravelly with disuse and each word was slightly overenunciated, as if the whole speech was practised over and over.
Though Eun Gyeol thought that he’d give anything to hear his father’s voice again, he didn’t like the slight discomfort in his father’s eyes when he spoke, as if the pain of losing his hearing was reignited again with his inability to hear his own voice.
“The promise I made to you was the biggest source of motivation for me, Eun Gyeol-ah. Everyday after the accident, even breathing seemed like a chore, all I could see was your devastated and guilty face when I closed my eyes.
And I thought that at least for your sake, I should do something worthwhile with my life. If it weren’t for you, Ha Eun Gyeol…”
For just a moment, Eun Gyeol didn’t see his father Ha Yi Chan, he saw the eighteen year old boy he’d left broken all those years ago, standing in front of him tall and proud.
“Appa……you don’t have to speak. I can hear you just fine. I would always, always hear you.”
Yi Chan laughed and ruffled his hair. He signed back, fondness brimming in his eyes.
“I know, I was lucky enough to have a son that heard me when I wouldn’t speak and heard me when I couldn't speak.”
The two of them spent nearly three hours outside, roaming the city, taking the car when they got tired of walking, raiding convenience stores when they spotted any, and talking the night away about anything and everything under the sun.
Eun Gyeol was nearly drunk on sheer happiness. He’d never gotten to talk to his dad like this before. Their relationship was strained with expectations and secrets, making idle talk awkward.
But now having virtually no secrets with his father felt exhilarating.
They spent so much time out that when they came back home, Eun Gyeol was certain that he would never feel his toes again and Yi Chan, having given his coat to Eun Gyeol, dreaded the scolding he would get from Chung Ah after she spotted him sniffling with a cold.
It was worth it though, to see Eun Gyeol’s relaxed smile and sparkling eyes, looking as if there really was no other place he’d rather be.
Yi Chan thought he’d done a pretty good job as a father, all things considered, and if he got a few smacks after they both were seen sneezing at breakfast, well that was a small price to pay.
His mother too was making a special effort to sit and spend time with him lately, almost as if competing with his father who was doing the same. When they went out for the first time after the talk, just the two of them, she held his hands tightly and then signed,
“Thank you for teaching me sign language, because for the first time in my life I had people who heard me, I had people in my corner and it was all because of you.
You were the only one who’d found me all those years ago.
Thank you Eun Gyeol-ah, you were my first friend and the one who taught me how to live. ”
Needless to say, the outing had many tears involved.
After that outing, the mother and son could often be seen in his practice room or her office, having a meal together amidst the flurry of hands, soft smiles and eye crinkles having a constant presence.
He’d asked his brother to join in once but he’d simply shaken his head.
“I’ve had more than plenty of time with Eomma, now its your turn. I’ll just go bother Appa instead. You’ve gatekept him for far too long. I need to hear some juicy eighteen year old lore too.”
His grandfather was also much warmer than before, understandable considering the circumstances they’d met under.
Eun Gyeol never had a grandfather before, so he had no frame of reference but having a grandfather was the best thing ever.
They had long talks in his office, which almost reminded him of their talks back then, but this time Geun Hyung was no longer the aloof and cold businessman but a kind and warm grandfather who loved doting on his youngest grandson.
Eun Gyeol knew that even though his grandfather never explicitly thanked him for stopping the witch, he could feel his gratitude through every head pat, every nonchalant prototype guitar hidden in his room for “beta testing”, through the way he always made sure to attend his practice if he was in town.
Guilt was a funny thing. It lingered and pulsed in everything till all he could see was everything he’d done wrong.
But when he slowly began to heal from that, it returned in the form of grief for everything he’d left behind.
On some days he’d miss his mother’s cooking like someone was hacking at his heart. Some days he’d missed riding the cycle around the city, hair flying in the wind and he could never do that now, being a member of a group as popular as SPINE9.
But all of that seemed small compared to the heartrending feeling of homesickness. The need for simpler times.
On those days he texted Eun Yoo, laughing at her cutting replies, or he practised in a healthier manner, often with his band members who were responsible enough to stop when he was tired, going so far as to keep his guitar out of his reach.
( “I hate tall people.”
“It's not my fault you’re built like a bonsai.”
“A BONSAI-”
Soo Tak coolly dodged the guitar pick thrown his way. )
But when he first realised that he could no longer quite recall what his mother’s cooking tasted like, he cried so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth with the force of his sobs.
His family was naturally alarmed and the topic of therapy was being thrown around again. But the dilemma was the same as before, what would he talk about? His memories were still blank as ever. So, therapy was once again pushed on to a later date.
Instead, when these days came by, his mother would cook with him, the both of them figuring out recipes together, creating new food to be nostalgic about.
Or he and his brother would dress up ridiculously and hit different cafes, eating copious amounts of sugar.
Or he’d stay up talking with Eun Yoo till he woke up to embarrassing photos of him falling asleep on the call.
Eun Gyeol loved doing all of this and the pain of what he lost was slowly being replaced with the joy of what he’d won instead.
Slowly but surely Eun Gyeol was adjusting to belonging somewhere.