There was a silence.
Then—
“WAIT. He has a brother? A baby version? Of him?!”
“Not a baby. A gremlin. They’re not close.”
“Why?”
“Because Seungho’s a stoic warlord with restraint, and Ji Ho is a sex-drenched trust fund himbo who once got banned from the family estate for hosting a lingerie party in the koi pond.”
Haneul stared.
Then smiled like a fox who’d found a henhouse made of cashmere.
“Oh. I have to meet him.”
??????
It was two days before Haneul returned.
Seungho met Jaewan for lunch. Nothing unusual. Same restaurant. Same time. Same iced tea with too little syrup because Seungho liked it bitter.
But Jaewan kept smirking into his bibimbap like it had secrets.
“What,” Seungho finally asked.
Jaewan chewed slowly. Swallowed.
“I’m just saying,” he said mildly, “if a certain feral boy shows up at your door with a rolled-up psychology textbook and a list of your insecurities, it’s technically my fault.”
Seungho didn’t blink. “What did you do.”
“I redirected him. Nicely. With empathy.”
He sipped his drink. “Also gave him your brother’s address.”
Seungho’s grip on his chopsticks twitched.
Jaewan grinned. “Don’t worry. He’s not trying to destroy you. He’s trying to understand you. Which, let’s be honest, is worse.”
“Why would he go to Ji-ho.”
Jaewan leaned forward. “Because he’s learning. How not to flinch. How to reach. And because Ji-ho’s a mirror. You and him are—”
“Nothing alike,” Seungho said, too fast.
“Exactly,” Jaewan said. “But Haneul’s not afraid of chaos. He understands it. He just doesn’t know what to do with silence.”
A pause.
“I think he’s trying,” Jaewan said. “In his own way.”
Seungho didn’t answer.
But when the waiter came back, he ordered extra rice.
Just in case.
