CHAPTER 37
There was no need to ask.
“Why is he here?”
Chung-Hee stood. For a moment, he rested both hands gently on his mother’s shoulders. “Why don’t you stay in the kitchen for a little while?”
She turned to look at him.
“You’ll understand soon enough.”
***
A faint smile appeared on his face. Not cruel or warm. Almost forced, as though he intended to prove something to his mother, or perhaps to himself.
The smooth glass doors of the elevator slid open, and Noeul stepped into the luxurious foyer.
Chung-Hee was already waiting. The moment their eyes met, something inside Noeul tightened.
There was no anger in Chung-Hee’s expression, no smile either.
Only an unreadable darkness that sent a quiet shiver through him.
His feet stopped inside the elevator.
“Why are you standing there?” Chung-Hee asked softly, extending a hand toward him. “Come in.”
Noeul hesitated. Nothing looked wrong. Nothing felt dangerous.
And yet every instinct urged him to leave.
After everything that had happened between them, he no longer trusted his own judgment.
How could he walk away because of a feeling?
How could he reject Chung-Hee when the man had done nothing wrong today?
He swallowed and placed his hand in Chung-Hee’s. The warmth of Chung-Hee’s fingers steadied him for only a moment. As they stepped inside, Chung-Hee casually swiped his access card across the panel beside the elevator.
A soft click echoed through the foyer.
Noeul didn’t notice. His attention had already drifted toward the corner of the living room.
A shrine.
His breath caught. The table was beautifully crafted, every detail polished with care. Delicate gold patterns framed the dark wood, while two white candles stood on either side of a large framed photograph.
Haneul.
Fresh lilies filled the room with their subtle fragrance. Several of Haneul’s favorite snacks had been placed neatly beneath the photograph. Everything looked peaceful, almost sacred.
For a brief moment, Noeul forgot where he was. He took an involuntary step toward the shrine, his chest tightening.
“Haneul…”
The name escaped before he realized he had spoken aloud. He bowed instinctively. Once, then again.
His eyes lingered on the photograph. It was one he had never seen before. Haneul was smiling.
He reached toward the frame without thinking, his fingertips stopping just short of touching it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The apology came so naturally that he barely heard himself say it.
“I wondered whether you’d still apologize.”
Noeul turned. Something in Chung-Hee’s voice had changed. It was quieter. Harder.
He looked back at the shrine. Only then did he understand. This wasn’t simply a memorial. It was waiting for him. His heartbeat quickened. He suddenly became aware of how empty the apartment felt, how far away the elevator now seemed.
“I…” He took a small step backward. “I think I should go.”
He turned toward the foyer, but a hand closed around his wrist. Firm, but not painful.
Not yet.
“No.”
Chung-Hee stepped closer. “We haven’t finished.”
Noeul’s pulse began to race. “I’ve seen it,” he said, barely above a whisper. “It’s beautiful.”
“I didn’t build it for you to look at.”
The weight of the admission silenced them both. Noeul slowly looked back at the shrine, then at Chung-Hee. This wasn’t about remembering Haneul. It was about judging him.
Instinct took over. He tried to pull free, but Chung-Hee caught him before he could move farther, turning him gently, but firmly, back toward the photograph.
He stepped in behind him, one hand settling beneath Noeul’s jaw to guide his face toward Haneul’s smiling image, the other resting lightly against his shoulder.
He was close enough that Noeul could feel his breath against the side of his neck.
“Your reaction hurts more than you know,” Chung-Hee whispered, his voice low and controlled. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave? We haven’t even reached the reason I invited you here.”
“Why, hyung?” Noeul asked, his trembling voice barely audible. Tears welled in his eyes. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I didn’t do anything wrong.
His mother’s voice echoed in his mind. Haneul had believed Noeul didn’t know. Chung-Hee had told himself Haneul was protecting him. Noeul knew enough. He chose his brother.
A hollow laugh escaped Chung-Hee. It sounded wrong, even to him. The laughter faded into something closer to a broken breath as he lowered his head, fighting to regain control.
How could he reconcile the two versions of the man standing before him: the gentle, selfless Noeul who apologized for everything and the boy who had remained silent while Gong destroyed Haneul?
“You really think you did nothing wrong?” he asked quietly. “You have the courage to stand before my brother’s shrine and tell me that?”
Noeul shook his head immediately. “No… that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I…” His voice faltered. “I didn’t kill him.”
Silence.
Those words again. The same ones Noeul had spoken to his mother.
For one brief second, Chung-Hee wanted to believe him.
Then Haneul’s words returned. I don’t think Noeul knows.
Chung-Hee forced them away. Haneul had loved Noeul.
He had been protecting him. That was what Chung-Hee had believed for years because the alternative left him with no one living to blame.
Noeul still knew enough.
His jaw tightened. “It seems you’ve forgotten the impact your choices had on my family. Perhaps you should pay tribute to Haneul’s shrine and ask for his forgiveness.”
Noeul instinctively tried to step back, but Chung-Hee guided him toward the shrine.
“No…” Noeul resisted, his heels scraping against the polished floor. “Hyung, please.”
His heart pounded painfully against his ribs. The room, the shrine, Chung-Hee standing behind him, everything reminded him of the cemetery.
“How could I forget?” he whispered. Then louder, “How?”
His voice cracked. “I think about him every day! I know I failed him. I know.”
He covered his face with trembling hands as sobs shook his body. “Three years have passed, and I haven’t known peace for a single day. My brother destroyed himself trying to atone for what he did. He died believing that was the only way to make things right.”
Noeul looked toward Haneul’s photograph. “I lost my best friend. I lost my twin. Our families were destroyed.”
He slowly turned toward Chung-Hee. His expression wasn’t defensive anymore. Only exhausted.
“Tell me, hyung…” His eyes searched Chung-Hee’s desperately. “When does it become enough?”
For a heartbeat, Chung-Hee almost answered. Almost crossed the distance. Almost embraced him.
Then his mother’s voice returned.
He knew. He chose Gong.
The tenderness vanished.
He shoved Noeul forward.
Noeul fell hard onto his knees in front of the shrine, the impact echoing through the room. He remained curled over himself, one hand braced against the floor as he tried to steady his breathing.
“Why won’t you let me go?” he sobbed. “Why do I have to keep paying for my brother’s actions?”
The sentence hit Chung-Hee like a slap.
“For his actions?” His voice rose for the first time. “What about yours?”
Noeul slowly looked up, confusion filling his tear-stained face.
“You speak as though you were only Gong’s brother. Aren’t you responsible too?”
“No…” The answer came instinctively. Then uncertainty followed. “I…”
Chung-Hee grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “Aren’t you?”
His voice trembled now, not with fear, but with anger fighting grief.
“You knew.”
“I didn’t know how much Haneul was suffering.”
“You knew Gong was hurting him!”
“I knew they fought!”
“You knew enough!”
Chung-Hee’s hand slid from Noeul’s shirt to his throat. He didn’t squeeze. He simply held him there.
“You keep calling yourself innocent,” he whispered hoarsely, searching Noeul’s eyes. “Then tell me… why have you spent three years punishing yourself?”
Noeul tried to pull away, but Chung-Hee was stronger. As he struggled, several decorations fell from the shrine and struck the floor. Chung-Hee forced him back against the shrine table and held him there, every movement abrupt and careless of the pain he was causing.
“Hyung… please. You’re hurting me.”
The words barely reached Chung-Hee.
Chung-Hee leaned closer, breathing in Noeul’s familiar scent. Almost instinctively, he brushed a strand of hair away from his face, the gentleness of the touch at odds with everything that had come before.
His feelings for Noeul had only grown stronger.
Slowly, he lowered his lips to Noeul’s neck and lingered there. The quiet sound that escaped Noeul tightened something painfully inside his chest.
For the briefest instant, Chung-Hee imagined another life. One where Haneul was still alive, where revenge had never existed, where he could have loved Noeul without guilt.
Then his mother’s words returned.
He knew. He chose his brother.
The fragile fantasy shattered.
Chung-Hee bit down hard.
Noeul’s cry tore through the apartment. The wound bled immediately, and he clutched his neck with trembling fingers.
Chung-Hee remained standing between his legs, staring at him in silence.
Chung-Hee’s closeness still awakened feelings Noeul wished no longer existed. Every gentle touch was followed by cruelty, every moment of comfort by humiliation.
He hated that part of him still longed for the man standing before him.
Most of all, he hated himself for it.
When Noeul’s cries gradually subsided into uneven breaths, Chung-Hee kissed him.
“Whatever I give you,” Chung-Hee murmured, “whether it’s happiness, anguish, or pain… you have no right to reject it.”
“I don’t want what you’re offering,” Noeul cried, shaking his head. “It hurts. Everything hurts. Even the moments that should feel good hurt. I can’t do this anymore, hyung. I’m losing my mind. I need to leave.”