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Snow fell gently outside like a mother's kiss; silently and leisurely, savouring each second of the fall until it met the ground. There was a calmness to it that spreaded through the homes and colouring the silences with an underlying solace where time no longer rushed forward, where time sat right beside. No more running, Dongsik thought, as he stood before the window and watched the streets layer with a thin blanket of dirty white snow. For once in a long time, Manyang no longer felt haunted by an itch under the skin. For once, there was tranquility and the wintery air had become a breath of relief instead of a reminder that somewhere, a body might be freezing underground.
No more searching. No more chasing.
It baffled Dongsik how final it all seemed yet there hasn’t been any declaration of an end. Two decades of his life were wrapped up within months, and suddenly he no longer woke up with the purpose to search for his sister; he woke up simply because he did. He lived because he was alive. The vanishing of such a vital goal left an emptiness within him that he didn’t truly despise that which he, in fact, embraced instead as the emptiness had become a comfort, because it told him that he still had space for the life he would’ve lived during those twenty years of anguish.
If this was a movie, credits would probably roll out around this time but instead there was snow, and there was Juwon, and there were walls to fill in, boilers to fix, and life moved as if it had never stopped or faced any hindrance.
Dongsik turned away from the window and sat beneath it, one of his knees bent to his chest while the other stretched out before him. He felt the sweat from fixing the wooden floors earlier slowly dry off from the cold breeze that slipped through the window gaps and soon he’d settled there, with the ache in his body now numb and muted, and the hard floor grounded him to where he was.
From there, he watched Juwon who was sitting across from him on the couch with a crossword puzzle in his lap. He’d been staring down at it with lips curled in concentration for the past two hours and Dongsik found it funny and endearing enough to not disturb him, despite the urge to do so. And naturally, Dongsik found himself studying the little bits of Juwon that the world would often oversee; he found Juwon’s tired yet focused frown creased at his forehead while warm lights fell from above, soft shadows palming his face until he was nothing but blunt edges and welcoming. Dongsik found the little strands of hair that fell away from his tidy hairstyle, and the very few stains of dinner trailing his collar where Juwon wouldn’t notice, he found the infinitesimal messes that made up this man, this man, and clutched onto the warmth that had grown within him without ever realising until he sat there, the winter breeze failing to chill him.
Juwon was oblivious to his observer and remained idle besides the little strokes of his pen on the paper every now and then, and the fleeting smiles on his face whenever he finished off a word. Dongsik found it easy to watch him, and so he stared and stared until his mind drifted decades ago where instead of Juwon he saw his sister hunched over a school textbook on her desk, her long hair draping past her shoulders and partly shielding her face. The memory came in so suddenly he sucked in a breath, and then Yu-yeon was smiling and solid, and she was right in front of him, and he was 18 years old again.
It felt so innate to allow himself to live in the memory when it was all he had left of her that wasn’t covered in dust. Unlike her crumpled clothes that were still folded in the wardrobe, or her yellow-stained books, memory Yu-yeon was alive and she wasn't lonely bones reaching out for an escape. In those, she was simply his sister and he was her brother, and the blue tint of grief was almost nonexistent with how orange and bright the memories were.
In this particular memory, he was sitting on her bed with a guitar on his lap as she finished off homework. So often she allowed him to stay there and strum the guitar because she said it helped her focus, despite the cacophonous tunes that vibrated through his fingers. During moments when he’d prick the strings too wrong, Yu-yeon would let out short laughs yet she never told him to stop.
"Don't stop, it really helps me focus," she would warn him.
"But you're laughing! How is that focusing?" Dongsik had retorted back, and Yu-yeon would hold her book out and show him the several questions she'd solved within minutes. Dongsik never felt bitter about their differences in intellect because he loved knowing that he shared blood with someone like Yu-yeon. It made him feel worth something, and seeing her smile fondly at him was enough for him to settle with the way he was.
Sometimes it would be snowing, and the warmth allowed them to stay that way until morning, where Dongsik would doze off on her bed with Yu-yeon resting her head on her forearms at the desk before their mother would come in and find them both. Mornings were always pleasant after nights like those because their mother loved seeing them together, and breakfast was always plentiful and more flavourful than any other days.
The snow was the only thing that remained the same, Dongsik thought, when his mind returned to the present time, where Yu-yeon was merely a washed out memory that he worried would become faceless one day and all he would ever have left of her is a picture on a missing poster. Memories were rarely so reliable and Dongsik knew this with the way he can never quite remember how Yu-yeon laughs, the sound of her voice when she’d just woken up, whether she preferred doing the laundry or the dishes. Such details about her had been run down in the midst of all the grief, and Dongsik never realised it until his memories became unsteady blocks with no pillars, floating and trembling and monochrome without the little insignificant details that would normally colour them in. He could picture her sitting at her desk but he couldn’t remember the way she sat; if she had a cushion behind her to avoid slouching, if her ankles were crossed or swinging beneath the desk.
Those details had become discoloured spots in his mind and he feared how quickly they were disappearing. He swallowed down the terror, the subdued panic, and the cold no longer felt comforting. He hated how he continuously gained newer memories and the ones he had of her were slowly being pushed to the edge before they would inevitably fall off, and how he might never notice it happening until it was too late and he won’t be able to tell Juwon whether Yu-yeon was real or not. Because she was real, she had existed, she had lived in his life, and she had lived in her own life, and putting a period to her existence simply because he’d forgotten was unmerited.
When Juwon's frown ceased after finishing a puzzle, Dongsik decided he didn't want Yu-yeon to fade away anymore.
"She was smart."
His voice was startling in the quietness, and it almost sounded foreign to his own ears. Juwon looked up and turned towards him, blinking as if he was wondering whether Dongsik was talking to him. Dongsik didn't return his gaze.
"Everyone said she was smart but I don't think they really knew it," his eyes were on the blemished carpet but he wasn't really looking. There was a faint smile on his face and he was slowly stiffening from the cold yet he continued before he lost her completely. "She was smart not only because she got into a top university but because… she knew how to love me."
Juwon's confusion slipped away when he realised who Dongsik was talking about. Silence became a calming presence in that cold night, and the heater hummed quietly as Dongsik tried to collect his thoughts. "She loved me," he said then, as if just hit him. As if it took over 20 years for him to realise that he was loved, once upon a time, unconditionally. "She loved me even though I wasn't smart like her and couldn't play the guitar well."
"She loved me, Juwon-ah," his head rose to find Juwon's eyes, and he could see Yu-yeon crystallising once again albeit through someone else. "It's funny, isn't it?" He laughed but it was heavy and it was bittersweet at the back of his throat. "How I just realised that my sister loved me, 22 years later."
Juwon remained quiet but he watched Dongsik carefully like he was a candle in the wind, his gaze worried and steady as if he was ready to jump up from the couch should anything happen to Dongsik.
"We used to share a bike to school before our parents got a car—no, even then we still did. Yu-yeon liked to sit at the back and feel the wind whenever I cycled fast. She would tell me, 'Oppa, go fast!' and I'd pedal faster even though my legs would start aching," Dongsik looked away from Juwon then and stared down at his legs, where a scar would line his thigh beneath his trousers. So much has changed and yet, even if the injury was fresh, he would still cycle fast if Yu-yeon asked him for it. "So by the time we reached school I would be too tired to play soccer with friends," he laughed.
Dongsik then paused for a while. He leaned his head back against the wall and was alarmed by how hard and uneven it was against his skull but he didn't move any further. He tried to remember the tiny details that made up his sister and he was afraid it would all run away if he moved an inch.
Yu-yeon liked mornings because of how fresh the air felt when they rode the bike, she liked the piano, and she liked his guitar. She liked reading random facts and often told him things about the world that he would've otherwise considered insignificant. She often worried over him not because she didn't trust him, but because she never wanted him to face any unwanted comments that he usually got. Most of the time it felt as though he was the younger sibling but Dongsik didn't mind that unlike other older brothers. He didn't mind that she would fuss over him not attending church, or the numerous 'Mom would get mad', or the way she never woke him up whenever he fell asleep on her bed.
Yu-yeon was attentive and she noticed everything. She would notice the slightest wrinkles in his school uniform and insisted on ironing it out before they left the house. 'You can't keep letting people look down on you', she would tell him, and iron his shirt until it was crisp and brand new. Dongsik often imagined her disappointed face if she ever saw how he'd lived his life the past 2 decades, and the idea that he'd let her down was enough to push him to try better the next day.
But Dongsik didn't know how to tell Juwon any of those because the memories felt like scrambled parts of a book, and reading one out loud wouldn't make sense unless he arranged it in order and he didn't know how to do that anymore, he didn't know how to place Yu-yeon anywhere besides in the gaping hollowness of his life where such an innocent happiness had once been. He was exhausted in wanting Yu-yeon to be more than just fleeting echoes in his mind that he could never really catch, and all he could do was watch it float away day by day until soon it would disperse into absolute nothingness.
He was afraid, because no one else remembered Yu-yeon like he did. His mother was slipping away with each visit and all that was left was him, and his own disordered memories.
Dongsik found Juwon's patient stare and tried again. He pictured her smiling, and felt his body relax like the falling snowflakes outside.
"She was pretty too, I can see why Jeong-je liked her," he nodded to himself. "My friends would ask me about her but I always turned them down. My dongsaeng… I would never let them come close to her. I was proud of myself, you know," Dongsik smiled again, and Juwon returned it partially, his face layered with an immeasurable sympathy. "I really thought I was doing a good job protecting her but…"
"But that clearly wasn't the case, right, Juwon-ah?" Tears struck his eyes and he shakily wiped them away with the back of his hand, and rubbed his neck to warm himself. He was suddenly restless when the pain returned, and he wanted to get up and walk away, just walk away, anywhere, because facing the realisation that he wasn’t there for Yu-yeon during her last fearful moments often got too much to bear. He curled his lips before smiling to himself, although nothing about the smile was delightful.
Juwon shifted on the couch. He was quiet, and Dongsik was grateful for it because any other sound would've been dissonant to his pounding head. Dongsik sat straight then and he seemed disturbed, his face twisting into a deep-rooted shame. "But Juwon-ah, do you know what I regret the most?"
The younger man watched him inhale roughly as if it almost hurt to breathe. It did, at some point. Dongsik swallowed, "I… never thanked her."
"I never thanked her for loving me," Dongsik's lips quivered as he said the words out loud. It was never real in his head; the reason why he never rested when it came to looking for her, not until now. "I never thanked her for ironing my shirt or letting me sleep on her bed. For over 20 years I desperately hoped she was alive so I could thank her, I—just one second was enough, just… just one second. That was all I needed… to say thank you. For being my sister."
By this time, Dongsik was shivering like he’d been out in the cold for hours and it startled Juwon so much he rose from the couch and rushed to the curled up body below the window. It was pushing midnight, and the snow was harsher than it had been as if it decided there was no more waiting before dawn arrived. Juwon was struck by how the temperatures quickly altered from the couch and to where Dongsik sat, the heat from his own body pulsing to fight the cold. But Dongsik was worse; when Juwon knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, he gasped from the iciness of his skin.
“Dongsik-ssi, you’re freezing! Let’s move to the couch, it’s warmer,” his fingers grasped the older man’s arms and tried to pull him up, only to no avail. Dongsik was weighted down to the floor with the heaviness of regret and grief and the burden of his memories, and Juwon felt helpless as he watched him hang his head low as he shook, a cry breaking out of him so silently, so quietly Juwon thought it was the most delicate form of heartbreak.
His lips parted as he tried to say something, anything, but he didn’t know what to do. He would never know the kind of pain Dongsik would be in at the mere thought of his sister because despite losing his own mother, he never had enough memories of her to mourn over. His life had been solitary of life itself, bare of the bits that made someone human, a flickering vacancy where there should’ve been happiness, grief, childhood games and melted ice creams, dirty trousers and a scolding mother; he had lived without the awareness that he’d been missing out until he met Dongsik and suddenly there was so much life.
That was his biggest regret; Juwon thought. To not have a full grasp on what Dongsik felt because unlike him, Dongsik was full of whatever made a person human. He was colourful and he was grey, he was always feeling and he always knew what Juwon felt before he even felt it himself. He was more human than Juwon ever was and it was nights like these that made Juwon terribly hopeless about himself.
But he wasn’t the one crumbling, at this very moment. Dongsik was.
Juwon decided to just stay there and the hand that was on Dongsik’s shoulder now slid around his neck. He gently pulled Dongsik to him until his face was buried in his chest, and Juwon slowly lowered himself so he was sitting on the floor instead of kneeling. His exhale was unsteady when he felt his shirt grow wet with tears.
He could feel the wind slip in and crawl up his skin, chilling him to the bone, yet he tried hard to not shiver. Instinctively, he began to sway a little to beat the cold, and soon he held Dongsik in both of his arms and cradled him while the older man trembled.
Juwon was lost. As he rested his cheek on Dongsik’s hair, his eyes found the abandoned crossword puzzle on the couch, trailing the lukewarm tea on the table as well as the coffee that he’d made earlier for Dongsik. He was lost, he was always lost, and so he tried to look everywhere and not think about how he was not the best person for Dongsik to seek comfort in simply because he was young and naive, and he still had so much to learn about what it means to be human.
When Dongsik no longer quivered, and his body was warm enough, Juwon breathed in and quietly said, “Sorry.”
There was an unwavering silence between them and the sounds of the heater and the snow outside were deafening. Dongsik didn’t say anything for a long time and Juwon felt his nerves spike up. He tried again and almost didn’t hear his voice over the rapid poundings of his heart. “I'm sorry, if it wasn’t for my fa-”
“Don’t,” Dongsik weakly interrupted. He shifted so he was out of Juwon’s grasp and he was able to find the younger man’s face shadowed by the dimming light. He looked tired. “I… didn’t tell you about her so you could feel remorse over what could’ve been. We both know it won’t change anything.”
“I told you about her because I want you to know her,” Dongsik smiled, his eyes warm and it mollified the trepidation that was building up in Juwon. “Because she was my sister. She wasn’t just a case file, she wasn’t just someone your father had…” Dongsik paused when he noticed the slight flinch on Juwon’s face. “She was my sister,” he simply concluded.
He wanted to tell Juwon that it mattered for him to know about Yu-yeon, that it was important to him because Juwon was his second chance at living just like how Yu-yeon was in his first. Because he loved Juwon, and he wanted him to not only be his new memories but also share his older ones before they faded. He wanted Juwon to know that before everything, he was happy, and that he never knew he could ever live that sort of life again until Juwon came along.
Juwon stared at Dongsik, his throat closing up. He then looked down at his hands as he said, “Thank you. For telling me about her.”
And it wasn’t cold anymore, and Dongsik breathed out a laugh, and his swollen eyes made him look so alive. His hand rose to settle at Juwon’s face, his palm warm on his cheek. A soft smile bloomed on his tired face. “Aigoo, Juwon-ah, you must have been curious about her, haven’t you? You can ask me about her, you know. Anytime.”
At that moment, Han Juwon understood that what he felt for Dongsik extended beyond comprehension. Saying he loved the man had become an unclear statement because the word love felt too foreign to him and also insufficient, because he didn’t really know what love encompassed. But what he did know was that he was willing to go anywhere Dongsik went, he wanted to wake up and find the man beside him, he wanted to hold two mugs in his hands whenever he made tea or coffee. And mostly, he wanted to know about Yu-yeon solely because he wanted to, and not out of any obligation. If loving was all of those, then Juwon would settle for it and more.
He returned the smile. He wanted to ask, would she like me? but instead he only managed, “What did she like to eat?”
Dongsik seemed taken aback by the question, almost as if he didn’t anticipate such a simple ask. He pondered over it. “Well, she wasn’t exactly a picky eater but she really had a soft spot for our mother’s japchae.”
“Japchae?” Juwon echoed.
Dongsik hummed in response. “Why?”
“No, nothing,” Juwon frowned, alarmed by the vague memories of him eating a dish as a child. It wasn’t him eating one that shocked him, it was the presence of his mother in those memories that did so.
“It’s late. Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Dongsik stood up, struggling a bit from how his legs had fallen numb. He stretched out a hand for Juwon to take, who then disregarded it and stood up on his own. Dongsik scoffed but it was empty, and there was just endearment at the way Juwon hid a smile as he walked past him.
“No, I requested to take a day off,” Juwon said as he gathered the puzzles and arranged them into a neat bundle. That was partially a lie. He hadn’t requested it yet and decided to do it first thing in the morning even though he knew it wasn’t exactly ideal. But Juwon wanted to start living the way he hadn’t, he was tired of rules.
“Day off? Why? Is there anything important tomorrow?”
“Yes, there is,” Juwon replied without any further explanation and ignored Dongsik’s follow-up questions on what he meant by important even until they were both under the sheets, the weight of winter heavy on them. Juwon merely told him to sleep, which didn’t really take long for Dongsik because he was exhausted from hammering down on those wooden floors the whole evening.
Juwon turned around when Dongsik fell silent and his steady breathing replaced his endless queries. He blinked in the dark, acclimatising to the lack of light before clambering to the older man and curling his body towards him. Dongsik wasn’t awake but he still shifted so Juwon was able to move closer, as if it was purely instinctive, a habitual gesture that he carried out even when unconscious.
Juwon found warmth when he slipped his arms around Dongsik’s waist and slotted his face into his neck, smiling when the man groaned at the sudden weight of him.
He found warmth, and he felt human.
-
Dongsik woke up with a daunting ache in his body and sighed when he noticed it was already eleven in the morning. He slid out of bed and groggily headed to the bathroom to wash the sleep off his face and brushed his teeth. As he walked out, he wasn’t surprised to find Juwon in the kitchen. What did amaze him was the bowl of japchae on the table.
He remembered last night, Juwon asking him about Yu-yeon’s favourite dish, and he almost couldn’t control the laugh that burst out of him. Juwon turned around in surprise. “Oh, you’re awake.”
“Han Juwon,” he called out when the laugh subsided. “Is this it? That important thing?”
Juwon didn’t reply for a while and looked nervous instead. “Well, it’s not your mother’s, of course, and I picked the most reliable recipe I could find on Internet-”
“Shut up,” Dongsik smiled. “You’re really something, Han Juwon.”
Juwon blinked. Something. He was something, and he was here, and Dongsik was then walking to where he stood with such wonder in his eyes that he found it hard to believe it was directed at him.
For once, the memories no longer hurt, for once Dongsik could think of Yu-yeon and not feel that bottomless grief because he could think of Juwon instead, he could tell Juwon and feel the weight climb away. Dongsik realised then there was no use in separating new and old memories when they could very well blend into each other, diffusing across the borders until there was an equilibrium, a balance, a drop of ink into transparent liquids so life didn't feel as monochromatic as it would without the irreplaceable happiness that older memories brought. Yu-yeon could be found through Juwon skipping work so he could make her favourite dish, and she would never fade, and Dongsik could no longer worry.
"Thank you, Juwon-ah," Dongsik said quietly.
“Well, it’s really nothing,” Juwon replied awkwardly and tried to remain stoic with the plates in his hands. Dongsik took one from him and smiled, "Alright, let's see how bad your japchae is."
He was disappointed when it didn't taste bad. At all.