CHAPTER 30
Three days had passed since the incident, and Noeul still felt completely drained. He moved through the hours numb and detached, as if he were watching his life from a distance. He barely spoke. He didn’t answer questions, initiate conversations, or react when people tried to reach him.
Mr. Choi went about his duties carefully, avoiding unnecessary touch or even standing too close. Ji-Woo stayed with him most days, sitting nearby and talking about anything that came to mind.
***
On the fourth day, Ji-Woo decided silence was no longer an option.
He sat beside Noeul on the couch. The air between them felt heavy with everything that had gone unsaid. Ji-Woo studied his brother’s face. It was too still. Too empty.
After a long breath, he placed a hand on Noeul’s shoulder. “Hyung… we need to talk about what happened,” he said gently. “I’m really worried about you.”
Noeul inhaled slowly and pressed his fingers against his temples, as if trying to hold himself together. “I can’t have this conversation.”
“I know you don’t want to,” Ji-Woo replied.
“But pretending it didn’t happen won’t make it disappear.
What he’s doing to you… it isn’t okay. He’s manipulative,” Ji-Woo continued.
“Abusive. I’ve seen it with my own eyes now.
I won’t let him control you anymore. But I need your help, hyung. I need you to want to be safe.”
Noeul’s expression tightened. “You don’t understand.” His voice was brittle. “Chung-Hee hyung has been through hell. He’s broken. Just like me. I pushed him. I shouldn’t have let Duri get close. But having him in my life… it isn’t as bad as you think.”
Ji-Woo lowered his head for a moment.
“No.” His voice came out sharper than he intended. “No, hyung. It is that bad.”
Noeul looked up, startled.
“You keep defending him!” Ji-Woo burst out. “Every single time!”
He stood abruptly and began pacing across the room, struggling to steady his breathing. “He controls who you see. He controls where you go. He hurts you whenever you don’t do exactly what he wants.” His voice cracked. “And after everything… you’re still making excuses for him.”
Ji-Woo laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “What does he have to do before you admit this isn’t love?”
Noeul looked away, his jaw tightening. “You can’t understand what binds us. We’re trapped in the same past, Ji-Woo.” His voice grew softer. “He needs me.”
A long pause followed.
“And I…” His lips trembled. “I need him.”
Ji-Woo froze. Slowly, he walked back and knelt in front of Noeul, placing both hands gently on his knees.
“I’m sorry.” His own voice trembled now. “I shouldn’t have shouted. I just…” His words caught in his throat. “I don’t know how to save you anymore.”
Noeul finally looked at him. Ji-Woo’s eyes were red. He had never seen his little brother look so helpless.
“Don’t let anyone convince you that pain is love,” Ji-Woo whispered, shaking his head. “Please.”
He swallowed hard. “The bruises. The way he talks to you. The way he makes you feel guilty for existing.” He squeezed Noeul’s knee gently. “None of that is love. And what he does to you is not your fault.”
Noeul’s eyes filled with tears that refused to fall.
“What happened to him happened because of me,” he whispered. “The way he treats me… that’s how he feels about me.” His voice broke. “He hates me. And maybe he should.”
He lowered his head. “Maybe I’d hate myself too. I don’t deserve forgiveness… not yet.”
A sob escaped before he could stop it.
Ji-Woo tightened his grip. “How long are you going to keep blaming yourself for everything?” His eyes filled with tears. “Gong chose to abuse Haneul. You didn’t make him do it. And you didn’t make Haneul die.”
He waited until Noeul looked at him again.
“You survived. That doesn’t mean you owe everyone your suffering.”
“I’m scared,” he admitted.
The words barely rose above a whisper.
“I don’t know how to leave.” He closed his eyes. “I can’t go back to who I was.”
His breathing became uneven. “If I lose him…” He stopped.
“I’ll try to kill myself again.”
The apartment fell silent.
“And I can’t stay away from him.” His lips parted. “He’s…”
The words never came.
Ji-Woo held his breath. Behind him, the kitchen had gone silent.
Neither of them asked him to finish.
Ji-Woo remembered Duri’s warning.
Don’t push him. Not today.
He reached over and wiped the tears from Noeul’s face. “You don’t have to figure everything out right now,” he said. “Just… don’t shut me out again, okay?” A small, uncertain smile touched his face. “I’m here. Duri too. Whatever happens, you don’t have to deal with it by yourself.”
Noeul nodded slowly. The tears finally slipped down his cheeks.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Thank you, Ji-Woo.”
Ji-Woo carefully pulled him into a hug, holding him as though afraid that, if he let go too quickly, his brother might fall apart again.
For the first time in days, Noeul didn’t pull away.
Mr. Choi cleared his throat from the kitchen. “Dinner is ready.”
The brothers slowly let go of each other. They exchanged a small, fragile smile before walking to the table together.
Mr. Choi had prepared doenjang-jjigae, grilled fish, rice, and several small side dishes. Steam rose lazily from the bowls, filling the apartment with a comforting warmth that had been absent for days.
“Eat while it’s hot,” he said, setting another bowl of rice in front of Noeul. “You don’t have to finish everything.”
Noeul looked down at the meal. “…Thank you.”
It was the first time he had thanked him since returning from the cemetery.
Mr. Choi smiled to himself but said nothing.
For several minutes, only the sound of chopsticks touching porcelain broke the silence. Ji-Woo stole a glance at his brother and noticed Noeul reaching for a second spoonful of stew. He looked away before Noeul could catch him watching.
“Your soup is really good, Mr. Choi,” he said instead.
The older man chuckled. “I’ve had many years to practice.”
“You should open a restaurant.”
Mr. Choi laughed. “At my age? I’ll leave that dream to someone younger.”
The conversation faded again. This time, it was Noeul who broke the silence.
“Ji-Woo.”
His younger brother immediately looked up.
“How’s your portfolio coming along?”
Ji-Woo let out a sigh. “Not great.”
Noeul frowned slightly. “What happened?”
“My art teacher looked through it this week.” Ji-Woo poked absentmindedly at his rice. “He said it’s technically good, but it doesn’t stand out enough anymore. He told me I need to update it. Make it stronger.”
“What kind of program are you applying for?” Mr. Choi asked.
“Animation, if I can get in. Maybe illustration.” Ji-Woo rubbed the back of his neck. “The problem is… I don’t really know how to make the portfolio better.”
“You’ve always drawn well,” Noeul said. “I’ve seen some of your work. I still remember the sketches you used to leave on the coffee table.”
Ji-Woo smiled sheepishly. “Thanks… but university portfolios are different. They don’t just want good drawings. They want to see growth… creativity… a reason to choose me over everyone else.”
Noeul remained thoughtful for a moment.
“I can help.”
Ji-Woo blinked. “You can?”
“I’ve built portfolios before. Different field, but the idea is the same.
” A faint smile touched Noeul’s lips. “Presenting yourself matters just as much as the work itself. We can go through everything together. Maybe reorganize it. Decide what should stay, what should go, and what you could still improve before you apply.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“When?”
Noeul looked down at his bowl before answering. “Give me… a little more time.”
Ji-Woo smiled. “I can wait.”
A comfortable silence settled over the table. Mr. Choi reached for the rice cooker.
“Would anyone like some more?”
Noeul hesitated.
Then, almost shyly, he held out his bowl.
“A little, please.”
Mr. Choi’s eyes softened as he filled it. “Of course.”
No one commented.
But Ji-Woo couldn’t stop the small smile that found its way onto his face.