Maybe it was the lingering unease from his encounter with Yesoh yesterday. Or maybe it was Bae’s visit forcing him to confront the tangled web of emotions Yesoh evoked in him.
A knock on the door made him jump. Plastering on a smile, he opened the door to find Bae, a whirlwind of youthful energy in a pink puffer jacket, her silver streak shining.
“Wyn Wyn!” she squealed, launching herself into a hug.
He chuckled, returning the embrace, warmth spreading through him. “Hey, Bae,” he greeted, ruffling her hair. “Let me take your coat, how was your flight?”
“Exhausting, not enough snacks. Why would I eat crackers? When I fly with you, they give me marshmallows and milkshakes,” Bae grumbled, waltzing in like she owned the place, and her brother chuckled.
“That’s because when you’re with me I make sure we fly first class.”
“Ah yes, the perks of having a famous big brother.” She sighed, opening the fridge and taking out a jug of lemonade.
“I guess I needn’t say make yourself at home.”“Well yes because what’s yours is mine. Not vice versa though what’s mine is mine alone—we discussed this before.”
Wynter couldn’t help but smile at her assertiveness as an ever-demanding youngest daughter.
As Bae grew older, her appearance reflected her vibrant, unique personality. Her style had become an eye-catching blend of colours and textures, inspired by the whimsical, dreamy aesthetic of shoujo manga. She loved oversized sweaters in bright pastels, layered skirts with playful patterns, and bold accessories—chunky bracelets and quirky hair clips that she coordinated meticulously.
Her hair, a deep brown with subtle streaks of pink or lavender, fell in soft curls that framed her face. She often pinned it up with cute themed barrettes or headbands that added to her animated look. Her hazel eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, especially when she talked about something she loved, and her expressions were as dynamic as her outfit choices, making her seem almost like a character from one of her favourite comics.
Bae giggled, tossing her coat onto the freshly fluffed sofa, then bounced into the kitchen. He followed, reminding himself that Bae’s presence was a good thing, a grounding force in his current emotional turmoil.
“It's freezing out there,” she exclaimed, rubbing her gloved hands together.
“Come on, I've got hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls,” he offered, hoping the familiar comforts would soothe his own anxieties as well.
As Bae settled at the counter, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the treats, Wynter found himself studying her. He saw areflection of himself in her eyes, in the single strand of white in her hair.
“So, tell me everything,” Bae demanded, taking a bite of a cinnamon roll, icing smudging her cheek. “Julliard, the city, the boys…”
He chuckled, pouring her hot chocolate. “Slowdown, Bae.” He filled her in on life in New York, carefully avoiding the more complicated aspects—the modelling gigs, the emotional turmoil, the diary agreement, and most of all,Yesoh.
“Soleh’s here too?” she exclaimed. “Does he still have that ridiculous collection of vintage video games?”
Wynter laughed. “Of course. And he’s still convinced he can beat you atMario Kart.”
Bae snorted. “As if.”
As they chatted, a comfortable familiarity settled between them. But beneath the banter, Wynter felt a growing unease. It was as if Bae could sense his turmoil.
“What about you, Wyn?” she asked suddenly. “Not to lay it on too thick but are you…you know happy?”
Her question caught him off guard. He’d perfected the art of appearing content. But beneath the surface, he felt lost, adrift.
“I… Yeah, sure,” he stammered, taking a sip of coffee, hoping to drown out the truth. He wasn’t happy. Not truly. Not like before the tragedy, before the weight of his secrets.
Bae studied him, her brow furrowed. She’d always seen through his masks.
“You’re not telling me everything,” she stated, her voice firm. “What’s going on, Wyn? Talk to me.”
He hesitated. Bae was more than just his little sister; she was his confidante, now that she’d grown older. He’d confided in her before, back when Beck had pulled away.
“It’s…” he began, struggling to articulate the jumble of emotions. “It’s Yesoh.”
“Yesoh!” She beamed with a smile. “I miss her, so much. What’s she like now?”
“She’s….” He sighed, glancing down at his coffee cup. “The same but different.”
