Chapter Text
“Did you forget the– Junho?”
For a split second, his brother looked shocked to see him standing on the other side of the door when it swung open at Junho’s second knock, as if he’d been expecting someone else. The flicker of emotion was quickly snuffed out like a candle blown, and calm indifference returned.
“What are you doing here?” Inho asked. He didn’t move, nor did he offer to let Junho in. His body was jammed in the sliver of space between the wall and the door, posture almost defensive in a way that reminded Junho of himself when he’d been a teenager and their mother tried to enter his bedroom unannounced.
Except the roles had reversed and he was playing the nosy mother now.
“I brought yangnyeom tongdak and tteokbokki,” He said, lifting the two hefty bags of food in his arms in an attempt to entice his older sibling to let him in. Inho stared at him with those expressionless eyes, long enough that Junho almost gave up and ran back to his car with his tail between his legs.
If Inho refused, he would need to text Kang Daeho to help him eat the stuff, he thought distractedly, there was no way he’d be able to finish it all on his–
“Did you bring beer?” His brother finally opened his mouth and asked.
“I did, hyung,” Junho beamed, jerking his chin at his backpack, “it’s in here.”
Inho’s face softened. The shift was imperceptible to the untrained eye, but Junho knew he’d won him over. His older brother rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Come on in. It’s a bit messy. I would have cleaned up had I known you’d come.”
It had been years since he’d last stepped foot inside Inho’s sterile apartment. His brother had been meticulous with the way he kept things organized, almost borderline obsessive. It looked different now – still clean but lived in. Junho spotted a rumpled blue coat thrown almost carelessly on the hanger behind the door. Shoes were slightly out of alignment on the rack, and–
Huh, there were two mugs on the dining table sitting atop matching coasters in the shape of orange cat paws, looking glaringly out of place among his brother’s preferred black and gray aesthetic.
“You can put them on the table,” Inho said, taking the cups and coasters. He clicked his tongue in disapproval when Junho snatched a wing from the takeout bag and tucked it between his teeth, “come wash your hands before you eat, Junho.”
It felt like he was ten again, standing in the kitchen on a stool next to his older brother, singing the little tune in his head that Inho had taught him to finish before he was allowed to rinse the suds off his skin, afternoon sunlight pouring in from the open window.
“A gift from a lady friend?” He asked past the chicken wing in his mouth and gestured at the cat paw coasters Inho had tossed into the sink. They were cute, complete with little pink toe beans.
“No,” Inho said and flicked some cold water at him.
“Hey!”
He caught a flash of his brother’s brief smirk before Inho ducked out of the kitchen. Junho patted his hands dry with the bizarre towel hanging by the fridge and followed Inho into the living room. There had to be a woman in his life that Junho didn't know about, he was convinced now. Hwang Inho would never purchase a towel in the shape of an elongated corgi, well, unless he’d been held at gunpoint at the time maybe.
His brother had cracked open a can of beer and was texting on his phone. A muffled ping came from somewhere in the apartment. Inho blinked, the loose line of his shoulders going stiff again. He bit his lip.
“Are you expecting someone?” Junho asked slowly, taking a seat in the chair opposite him.
“No.”
“Who are you texting?”
“A neighbor,” His brother shrugged, taking a sip of beer and avoiding Junho’s gaze, “they have my mail.”
“Hyung,” He said, setting his half-eaten wing aside. Inho looked up finally, his face impassive, betraying nothing.
“I miss you,” Junho said, “mom misses you. You never come around anymore.”
“We see each other at work,” Inho pointed out.
“That’s not the same.” He scowled. “I want you to be in my life more. You know, the way we used to be, before our father died.”
It was the wrong thing to say, bringing up the man that had lost billions overnight and thrown himself off a building like a coward, leaving behind his oldest son to pick up the pieces. Junho had been in middle school at the time. He couldn’t remember much, only snippets here and there – their mother quietly weeping at Inho’s side; men in scary black suits spilling into their home and leaving muddy footprints all over the clean floor; and his older brother, the pride and joy of their family, getting down to his knees promising to pay back what was owed. He had, over the span of nearly a decade, with a few court dismissals and invalidations helping along the way. And then, Junho had gotten sick and Inho had fixed that too.
“Is she doing well?” His brother asked after a pause. He put some more food onto Junho’s plate almost out of habit, falling subconsciously back into their old rhythm.
“I guess,” Junho shrugged, biting into another piece of chicken, “she’s been complaining about the lack of grandbabies a lot lately.”
He peered at Inho from beneath his lashes for his reaction.
“Sign her up for some night classes,” His older brother suggested blandly, “I hear there’s a great old person’s college program near the area. She might meet some grandbabies there.”
“So you’re not seeing anyone?” Junho pressed, licking the sticky sweet sauce from the corners of his mouth. Inho handed him a wet wipe from a pastel yellow dispenser on the other end of the table.
“Are you?” He replied with a question.
He scrunched his nose. “Nope.”
“Hmm.”
“I mean, if you were to want to see someone, hyung,” Junho said, “Daeho has four older sisters. I could set you up with one or all four of them.”
“Please don’t,” His brother said, rubbing his forehead with a pained look.
A knock sounded at the door then, and Inho shot up from his seat, telling Junho a hurried “keep eating, I’ll handle this,” as he rushed off. Naturally, he did not keep eating and followed his brother out into the hallway to see who it was.
Seong Gihun stood in the entryway in a thin gray shirt drenched with rain. He was wearing a pair of ratty cotton boxers and plastic slides.
“Aish…it started raining all of a sudden and all the cats ran off…” He was saying as he pushed damp curls out of his face. He turned and sneezed then, eyes lifting up to connect with Junho’s. The air caught midway up his throat and he dissolved into loud coughs. Inho’s hand twitched, half lifting up as if he’d wanted to pat the man on the back before he caught himself and forced the wandering limb down.
“Officer Hwang,” Seong Gihun gasped between wheezing gulps of air, “long time no see.”
“What are you doing here?” Junho asked with a frown. Inho was watching him, body angled slightly away from the man Junho had arrested very recently, his expression unreadable as always.
“Uh,” Seong Gihun peered between them. He coughed again, cupping a hand over his mouth, “I ran out of soy sauce.”
This made Inho finally turn to him.
“Did you?” His brother asked, both eyebrows shooting up his forehead.
“Oh yeah,” Seong Gihun nodded vigorously, still dripping rainwater on the welcome mat. “I was going to try roasting a pork chop and ran out. Thought I’d pop by and ask my resourceful neighbor for some.”
He slapped Inho jovially on his shoulder and Junho’s older brother’s jaw flexed soundlessly.
“Do you live around here?” Junho asked. They seemed more friendly than just mere neighbors.
“I do, just up the street.”
“Here, let me grab it for you,” Inho said, moving to step past Junho with jerky steps, “you can bring it back tomorrow.”
He watched Seong Gihun in the beat of awkward silence when they were left alone, taking in his rumpled appearance. He was all gangly limbs and sharp elbows, a little wrinkly with age, his hair streaked with bits of gray, no longer a man in his prime years.
“How’s your day going, Officer Hwang?” He asked Junho, shivering a little from the damp wind that carried an early autumn chill.
“It’s fine,” Junho said, his tone not very kind as he added, “I hope you’re keeping off the streets, sir.”
Seong Gihun chuckled, the sound almost indulgent, like he was dealing with a demanding toddler instead of a member of the Korean National Police. He pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, “Yes, no more love hotels.” His eyes went to something behind Junho, “my girlfriend made me promise.”
Junho turned and found his older brother there. Inho thrust the bottle of soy sauce his way, along with a black umbrella.
“It’s raining,” He explained between them.
“So thoughtful,” Seong Gihun’s eyes crinkled as he smiled brightly, “Thank you. I’ll bring this back later as well.”
Feeling a little guilty for his hostile attitude earlier, Junho said, “good luck with your pork chop.”
Seong Gihun gave him a double thumbs up and winked before scurrying down the stairs in his plastic slides, little puddles of water exploding beneath his feet with each step. Beside Junho, Inho’s mouth had thinned into a flat line.
“What a weird man,” Junho remarked as he followed his brother back inside the apartment.