Chapter Text
For anyone who wants to tell a story, it will always be important to know where to begin. When it comes to two people, it is customary to choose one as the starting point.
In-ho was never good with words, and he is a man of few. Gi-hun is better at telling stories, but terrible at making decisions: perhaps it all started when In-ho took his hand, or the moment he finally accepted what he felt for him, or maybe when he heard about him for the very first time.
But the truth is that this story begins with neither of them.
It begins with Junho. A small Junho, sick of the suffocating heat trapped inside their tiny house, sneaks out without permission to buy ice cream from the corner shop he had spotted the day before, when he’d been forced to leave the house in the middle of summer to carry home a sack of rice and two bags of sugar.
His brother obviously hadn’t wanted to go outside, so he wouldn’t hear the front door opening and closing. Their mother said it was because he was too busy studying for his university entrance exams.
So Junho walked alone through streets he barely knew.
They were new to the neighborhood. Living in Ssangmun-dong wasn’t exactly the kind of thing people bragged about to their friends, or so everyone said. But if he was going to spend the next few months there, he figured he should at least learn the streets. Buying something from the local store seemed like a good start.
And besides, the money he had was his. He’d saved it up himself. Or at least that was what his mother called it, “saving.”
For about a week now, Junho had been sneaking into every room in the apartment, which was easy considering there were only two: his brother’s room and the one he shared with his mother, stealing just a little bit of money from each of them. Just a little.
There was nothing wrong with taking a little.
“I’ll take this,” Junho announced proudly, dropping the large tub of mint ice cream onto the counter. He’d chosen it carefully after realizing he was apparently the only person in the family who liked mint flavored anything, meaning he wouldn’t have to share with anyone.
“Good choice, kid. So how are you paying for this?”
“With this.” The teenage cashier stared at him strangely as Junho dumped a pile of coins onto the counter, but he didn’t say anything.
Instead, he let out a snort of amusement and started counting out loud. He had to restart twice halfway through because he kept getting distracted. Are people in Ssangmun-dong all like… this? Junho wondered.
After a while, the boy stuffed the ice cream into a large plastic bag and waved him off with an easy grin. “Enjoy your ice cream, kid! Come back soon!”
What happened afterward was fairly predictable. Junho went home and unlocked the door with the key his mother had given him “for emergencies only,” pausing for a moment to stare at the tiny Superman charm dangling from the keychain.
Without much hurry, he placed the ice cream into the freezer and settled onto the couch to watch television for a while. Not before scooping some into a bowl for himself, of course.
The neighbor’s air conditioner hummed through the thin wall beside him. Junho envied it deeply. Their own had broken a few days ago.
He was already on his third spoonful when he heard keys rattling outside. His mother returned home exhausted, carrying several bags filled with groceries she’d bought from the stalls near the apartment.
Damn, Junho thought.
Back then, he used to go with her to supermarkets or large convenience stores. Now she bought food from wandering market vendors near the neighborhood streets. Nobody ever said it aloud, but everyone had started praying twice as hard before meals lately just to avoid collective food poisoning.
He wondered what his father would’ve thought if he’d seen their new home. Probably the same thing his brother did, who walked through the neighborhood with the firm belief that someone would stab him the second he stepped into one of its dark alleyways.
“I assume you already brought your brother a cold glass of lemonade, right?” his mother asked “He must be tired from studying in that room all day.”
“Eomma, you didn’t take your shoes off.”
Mal-soon, knowing exactly what Junho avoiding the question meant, slipped off her shoes and sent them flying neatly toward the door with the tip of her foot. “Put some ice in this and bring it to him.”
As obedient as ever, Junho wandered off toward his brother’s room with the drink in hand and a grin already spreading across his face as he planned a small prank.
He pressed his ear against the door, sharpening his hearing. There was Inho again, laughing to himself like always.
One strange thing about his brother was that he constantly locked himself inside his room supposedly to study, but somehow always ended up laughing at who-knows-what or muttering quietly to himself.
Junho waited a moment before knocking. “Hyung, open up please.”
A muffled curse came from inside, followed by the sound of creaking bedsprings somewhere in the distance and a clumsy thud against the wooden wall.
“Shit…” Inho muttered from inside. “I’m coming.” That was his cue.
He carefully placed the drink down in front of the door and bolted before his brother could catch him. “I told you to stop doing that, Junho!” he heard Inho yell as he sprinted back toward the kitchen.
When he returned, his mother had already taken off her shoes and was now holding a small white invitation card with a smile.
“This is for you, Junho,” she said, offering it to him. “The woman who sells fish on the corner gave it to me. She wanted to hand it to you herself, but since you didn’t come with me today, she gave it to me instead.”
Junho wrinkled his nose suspiciously.
“The lady who sold us that delicious fish yesterday… or the one who sold us rotten fish last week?”
“Yesterday’s,” his mother answered with a laugh. “The vendor from last week was just some long-haired boy. The lady apologized earlier today and said he’s just clumsy and didn’t mean to sell us anything bad.”
“Can Inho come with me?”
“Junho! Don’t interrupt me while I’m talking!” she scolded, lightly smacking his shoulder.
“But can he?” he insisted, blinking dramatically as he tried his hardest to look convincing. “Sorry for interrupting, eomma.”
“You know your brother hates going to strangers’ parties. I can take you instead.”
His mother absolutely could not go. Because if she did, she wouldn’t let him shove the birthday kid’s face into the cake or play-fight with the other children. Inho, on the other hand, wouldn’t care if he ruined his clothes, nor would he tell him to act like a proper little gentleman around adults.
Junho glanced down at the invitation again. The edges were bright pink, and there was a doll holding balloons printed in the corner. It was a girl’s birthday party.
“Eomma, if it’s a girl’s birthday, I don’t want to go,” Junho complained, scrunching up his face.
“Well, now your brother’s going too… yay!” Mal-soon declared brightly, her entire expression changing as she seized the perfect excuse to drag Inho out of his cave. “Now go figure out what you’re wearing.”