A strong breeze rustled through the foliage. Hours deep into a quiet Thursday evening, moonlight dripped from every petal and leaf. He climbed out of the van as soon as their driver hit the brake. This was Ezra’s stop, not his, but he always walked his brother upstairs when they dropped him off.
On any other night, Eunjae would’ve paused to admire the contrast between the geometric lines of each planter and the wild profusion of greenery within. He’d be wishing for his camera. Even now, it was easy to compose the image in his mind, to choose the correct angle and frame the shot. Much easier than sorting out his emotions.
Eunjae kept returning to that moment with Ezra, rewinding and replaying the words that were said. But the memory had sharp edges. Regardless of how gingerly he held it, there was no avoiding the sting.
He wanted to get going, but a scuffle ensued in the van. “Aww, I want to go,” said Namgyu, unbuckling his seat belt. “Hang on, Ari.”
Kei blocked the exit with his leg. “Why do you have to go with him? Hyung can handle it by himself. He takes the kid up every night without any help from you.”
“I know.”
“So stay in the car.”
Namgyu hopped out with the energy of a gymnast sticking a gold medal landing. “Next time,” he told Kei, cheerful as anything. “Don't worry, okay? You're always so worried. It's really cute. I love it so much. But I'm the oldest here, and Ezra’s the youngest, so he’s my responsibility too.”
They looked over at Kazu, snoring softly, long limbs splayed all over the passenger seat. He’d fallen asleep the second they left the diner. “Gyu really is the oldest right now,” muttered Kei. “Good luck to us all.” But he joined them a second later, and he didn't close the van door, avoiding the noisy process of sliding it open or shut.
Ezra stomped ahead of them, past the pool and down a breezeway lined with potted herbs, mint and thyme and lemon balm. They took the exterior stairwell to the inn’s third floor, Namgyu chatting amiably while his companions walked in silence. “It's so nice,” he mused, as a breeze ran its fingers through the plants, stirring up a fresh, vibrant scent that belonged more to summertime than autumn. In careful English, Namgyu added, “Do you like it here, Ezra? I like it here.”
Ezra shrugged, tepid and noncommittal. “Guess it could be worse.”
“What did he say? He talks so fast.”
“He said it could be worse,” translated Eunjae. Namgyu’s expression contorted into one of pure bafflement. Why point out that things could be worse? That wasn't any fun. Of course they could be worse, but they weren't, right? Things were mostly good. What if they all focused on that part instead?
Kei shook his head. “We should all be like you, Hong Namgyu.”
“What? That's so crazy. You should be like you. I think you're the best. And Ari’s the best, and Zuzu’s the best, and Nicky—”
“Is insane.”
“Awwww!”
When they reached the stairs, Ezra threw a sullen glance in Eunjae’s direction. “I can go up by myself. If you just want to yell at Mum, she’s not back until Monday.”
Naturally, his mother wasn’t here to answer for what she’d done. Eunjae had to say something, though. She had no business putting Ezra on that app and his father had no business sitting around, letting everything just happen without lifting a finger. Pointless as it may be, he’d tell Simon what was going on. He shared custody with Leila. Surely that amounted to some form of authority over a fourteen-year-old’s social media use.
Let’s try talking to Ezra about it, Jiyeon texted twenty minutes ago. But why was this a talking point? It shouldn’t have happened. The kid didn’t need a public account watched by thousands of strangers.
Simon must have been watching for their arrival; he answered their knock right away, offering the usual polite greetings. “Out late tonight,” he observed, while Ezra skulked into the hotel room, tossing his jacket onto a chair.
“We went out for dinner,” Eunjae replied. “Can I talk to you before I go?”
His father responded with a nod. Now that they saw each other nearly every day, Eunjae often found himself comparing their interactions to the years spent trading concise, clinical emails. In retrospect, the emails were a lot wordier. Dad wasn't the type to use a full sentence when a monosyllable would do.
“We’ll wait for you in the car,” said Kei. To Simon, he bowed and said, “Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight. Thank you for bringing him back.”
“Aww, I wish we didn’t have to bring him back. Too bad there’s no room left in our little shed.” Namgyu pantomimed eight men plus one teenager attempting to coexist in a cramped cottage, packed like a fancy can of sardines. The performance could be compared to an avant garde interpretive dance sequence. “Too many brothers!” he clinched, in English.
To Eunjae's surprise, Simon laughed. What a rare sound. Had he heard this very much as a child? He couldn't recall.
Ezra didn't laugh. His expression crumpled, collapsing inward. He reeled away as if he'd been slapped. “He doesn’t have too many brothers. Why do you guys always say that?”
“Oh no, I really need to get better at English,” Namgyu whispered to Eunjae. “What’s he saying?”
There wasn’t any time to translate. Dry-eyed, Ezra sucked in a shuddering breath, then railed at Namgyu with everything he had. “Eunjae doesn't have too many brothers! The only brother he's got is me. Just me, but he doesn't even care!”
