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There lived a ghost in his house.
No, more correctly, there lived the shadow of one. It would come at random times, perch somewhere and leave. He couldn’t tell when it would come, or when it would move, but he could tell when it was there.
His brother—his dear brother—had become the vessel of that thing. It would wear his skin, it would string his hands, and it would adorn his face. When the—parasite came, his brother would be taken apart mechanically and put together again.
Like an amateur engineer’s handiwork, some parts would be too tight, some too loose. A sense of wrongness gripped him whenever the parasite seized control. Like an uncanny montage. The feeling of looking at the smiling photo of a person who’s long gone.
All wrong, wrong, the thing was all incorrect. His brother wasn’t ashen-faced, he was not some, some unfeeling man—no, his hyung was expressive and lively. And a life-loving person. Whenever his parents would call, he’d answer, warm and carefree. Whenever he called, he’d answer fondly with teasing.
•
His brother was an emotional person, knowing how the world worked and not complaining anyway. No, he did complain, but even someone as young as himself could see it was bemoaning the general state of things.
He knew that his brother talked through his eyes. His eyes, perfectly black with a ring of brown. When he found something amusing, his eyes would curve and the would brown in them would turn red. When he felt fear, his eyes would harden but never lose their shine.
That's right, he thought, the window to the soul. This thing, this ugly, treacherous thing, could not replicate that. Sure it'd taken his voice—melted it into a hollow echo, like the sound of a rusted music box—and his skin, made it tense and clammy, and cold to touch, but it could never take his eyes.
No, it couldn't. Whenever it came, his hyung's eyes would turn distant. They'd grow glassy, like he was seeing something else. Those eyes would turn indifferent, their shine dimmed, and that parasite's ugly self would be reflected in them.
Like some kind of monster.
Yes, monster. Not ghost, not parasite. But a true, inhumane monster. Every other term felt inadequate. No, this being of lassitude and indifference was a monster who'd replaced his brother—kidnapped him and repurposed him into this unfeeling, distant shell of his former self.
But it was good at that, wasn't it? It'd taken him so long to figure out the oddities in his elder brother, and he’d known the guy his whole life! The self-proclaimed patisserie was confident this change—if that’s what we’re calling it—was not yet caught onto. One thing which remained constant throughout this was that people still stood at an arm’s length to his hyung.
There was no elaborate reason. He simply was like that. His brother had good friends, sure, but he did not think they were extremely close. If he was callous enough, he’d say that they were more like friendly peers who got along surprisingly well. And their parents would chalk everything up to him—them—growing up, like always.
So, yes, If someone truly asked, then he was quite sure that only he was the one who’d recognized this monster. Like how only an experienced taster can distinguish the sort of sugar used in a dish once it has melted and dissolved.
Grief, he finds, is communicable. A sad person dims the atmosphere around them, a quiet or sophisticated person, makes the atmosphere around them like that as well. A serious person makes the air around them serious. Such a phenomenon holds true even for parasites, monsters.
He watches his enemy. Know thyself, know thy enemy. He decides that if he wants this unfeeling, foreign creature gone, he has to know when it comes. The young person follows the shadows of the monster, and in them he looks for his name elder.
•
It was impulsive, the younger Kim thinks, to follow his brother to Seoul. He hadn't meant to do that, but the excuse of an upcoming food fiesta was handy enough. Hyung ended up giving in easily—on the condition he’d get whatever sweet he wanted from him.
So far, the finance worker only requested donuts. He didn't know Soleum was so fond of them.
Truth be told, he realized there were many things he wasn't aware of. It was only a studio apartment—and for all that time Soleum wasn't home, his dongsaeng had taken care of it—but it looked like a funeral home.
The thought itself was vexing. How could the living place of a living person be haunted by ghosts?
But it did seem like that, and the patisserie found he had nothing to say. The worst thing was that, apart from the house itself, the man himself did not appear to know what he was doing.
Leaving place for another pair of shoes by the shoe cabinet, making coffee for four, sectioning food in two quarts, assigning laundry day to himself, leaving a hook empty—as if to hang something else entirely—cleaning a small section of his desk as if to keep something there—even laying a soft cloth, and.
Kim Soleum is not an especially social person. But that does not mean he’s antisocial or reclusive either. He’s good with social cues, with treading that invisible mesh of the hierarchal system the boy can’t bother to understand. So, he knows how to stay and drink with fellow employees and on trips, but.
On nights of team dinner, or once a trip to the saunas, the blue-suited person comes back and lies down. Those nights, its like the monster comes to comfort him, eyes turning distant but not glassy, body going clammy but warm. Those nights, he retreats to his room and leaves his elder brother to stew in what could only be described as homesickness.
Ambivalent felicity greets them in the morning. By that time, the monster recedes, and the morning light feels diaphanous. The silence of the golden rays is not-dulcet, but they seem it seems to frolic around into–what’s the ward?
Pyrrhic.
Those few days, there are no requests for donuts, and there is no hollow echo of a deep, discomforting voice. Those few days, it’s like the house and the owner are in mourning, and the boy only a guest in his brother’s hiraeth.
•
The terrifying thing about living with someone is the image you’ve formed of them often shatters into a scintillation of proximity and life.
The same is true for his brother, and for the monster who looms over his shoulder. He doesn’t know what to feel. The initial distrust and anger, now feel like a lonely child’s tantrum, and with the food fiesta soon to be over, his excuses for staying seem to be running out.
He doesn’t know what happened between the time he was gone to when he returned, but whatever it was, it left it its marks on his hyung-nim. Whatever it was, it sunk claws into him and kept him in a state to saudade.
Some days, Soleum would perch on his sofa and click through kid’s channels. He’d watch a show or two, call dongsaeng too, and they’d laugh over it and point out silly things and fight over the remote like they were little kids again.
On others, he’d leave ambient lights on around the house at night. Enough to chase out the dark, but not enough to be annoying. It was pleasant even, in some capacity.
During those times, any and all traces of thr creature would be gone, dissipated into the wind, and a sense of normalcy would fall over the quiet house.
But there were times it would come tenfold.
Those few moments were fully, truly treacherous. Those few moments, it was like his brothers and his imposter had melted down into a mass of bone, muscle, and skin.
•
It was a festival in Busan. They'd taken the high-speed rail—although Soleum was somewhat hesitant about it—and had reached just as the sun started going out.
Dongsaeng, he'd singsong in a tired-teasing voice, aren’t you still young? Then some ruffling of hair, not-pouts and huffs of amusement had ensued. Maybe not necessarily in that order.
They'd had fun. It was truly fun. They'd bought good food, souvenirs, and things you buy at a festival just because. The sun had settled, but it had left streaks of purple and pink and a hue of red in the sky
Something impulsive must've come over him, because he ran from his brother and dared him into a game of tag. There wasn't a lot of space, and he didn’t expect his hyung to run a lot in his office wear and dress shoes, but giggles erupted from both of them and—
Well, gotcha!, he sang lightly, like an eager child’s whisper, and his right hand made a thumbs up—no, it ruffled his hair.
It was a bit startling he could run so well in such constricting clothes, but the rare glee on his brother’s face was good enough to make up for it.
And, well, if he’d led him to a cake stand coincidentally on the 13th of September, that’s neither here nor there, is it?
If Kim Soleum had noticed, he didn’t say any thing.
But the ‘perfect face' mask he’d put on told his younger brother there was confusion hidden behind it. That was new too. He had developed a habit to employ a cool, level-headed facade whenever faced with unexpected situations.
Weird, but he never did comment on it. He was cool like that.
They each had their preferred slices of cake, and bought two of each for back home. Keeping then at the stall to pick up later, the two Kims went on ahead in their merrymaking.
The skies had turned a brilliant shade of onyx, with stars sprinkled evenly across. It was a mesmerizing sight, in all ways.
Had the sky always been so beautiful?
Or perhaps it was the fact they could breathe wo fully again, after what felt like a long, long time.
Strange, hadn’t they met on May 4? May 5? May 3? Whatever.
A stand of masks drew his attention away from that line of thought. A bit further off, stalls were selling traditional and animal masks of all kinds. There was a beaver's—though it looked ugly—a tiger’s, a lion’s, a lizard’s and was that some sort of horned animal? Maybe a deer? There was definitely a white goat mask too, and a bird of some sort.
Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten so carried away. Maybe he should’ve paid attention, and seen how the monster came back in its ugliest, desperate form yet.
When he turns to face him, gone is the easy smile on his hyung's face. The hue of pink which danced across his cheeks is void, his face sunken, his eyes unnaturally hollow.
Kim Soleum lives like a man mourning. Kim Soleum looks like a man haunted.
He wants to shake his elder brother, shake him until light comes back in his eyes and he does not look so pale any longer. Shake him until the monster leaves them forever and things go back to as they were.
He does not shake him.
He takes his sleeve and guides him to a secluded spot—the festival is organized across buildings, and the roofs are a resting area. He takes him to the rooftop of a six-story building and.
He’s pushed violently into the emergency stairs. No, he’s going to be locked inside it, and Soleum looks at him in delirium through the sliver of open space.
The monster is taking his eyes.
The monster is taking his eyes.
The monster is—
When he comes to, they are in the middle of the empty rooftop, and he’s sitting on his brother, crying into his chest. His knuckles burns.
When he looks up, he’s met with a pair of obsidian eyes with a ring of crimson in them. There’s a fist shaped mark on his skin and did he hit him what—
The monster is gone. The monster is gone and the only thing the lonely man’s dongsaeng can recognize is anguish and longing.
Why?, he wants to ask, Why?
Hyung wraps his arms, trembling arms, around him and he wants to sob. They stay like that for however long, and he waits and waits and waits, wondering how they got here in the first place.
It had started long ago, hadn’t it?
From the moment he came to Seoul, this was imminent.
The problem with both of them is they can’t confront their demons without the push of another. He’d always suspected that the monster wasn’t…
Wasn’t the monster only a creature of grief?
•
Grief manifests in many forms. According to the manual, anything longer than six months is pathological.
But what if it’s not grief which hurts the very bones of a person, but something far sadder?
Something which arrives in the shape of pink rabbit keychains and sea-themed amusement parks, something which arrives wrapped up in rock candy and barbeque, something which arrives in fake glasses and blue windbreakers.
Nostalgia, he’s told, is like a burn which seeps into skin and muscle and settles in the negative space where everything and nothing exists. It’s kinder than a brand, but no crueller than a balm. It stings and it soothes and it makes you chase it with no reward.
Or is the intimacy with grief and joy that reward?
•
There are days when he calls and Soleum speaks like a man possessed. There are days when he’s forced to go to a counsellor and return with tickets to meet foxes. There are days when he smiles wistfully at a high school and at a team of journalists.
There are days when Soleum purchases weird, innocuous lizard-alien themed things and laughs himself to mirth. There are days when he fiddles with a worn paper boat, and spends the evening browsing cafes.
There are times when the monster settles in the space between a griptok and a phone. There are also times when the monster settles in the crevices of a well-loved bicycle.
He has learnt to notice if Soleum notices when the monster comes. Few instances, they are more obvious, few not.
He does not really point out the waiting house. He only helps pack up excess food or the sort, and neither comment on it, because they are cool like that.
Since that birthday, they have both learnt to let sleeping dogs lie.
In the blue hour of Kim Soleum's life, where he rests in a place his dongsaeng can never reach, all he can do is let bygones be bygones.
All he can do is hope the monster settles in somewhere bittersweet, and not take his older brother away again.
All he can do is prepare for the next September 13th , and believe Soleum remembers it.
•