"You'd only care enough to kill somebody you love."

~K.W.

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I stare at the lock in front of me, keys in my white-knuckled fist. At first, I thought it was the trick of a paranoid mind that fooled me into believing it. The welcome mat is shifted approximately 12 degrees to the left; 12 degrees I did not move. Yes, maybe in my rush to leave, I stumbled on it. I'll give you that.

But now, the lock on the front door has a 2 millimeter scratch on it. Its golden sheen is marred by a clumsy hand.

I replaced the lock just 2 weeks ago. It's not mine. Someone's in there.

With a deep breath, I slowly insert the key into the lock, twist, and open the door.

The house is quiet. No. I hear shuffling, too heavy and ungainly to be a woman's. My heart pounds as I take out my switchblade, searching for the source of the sound.

Why don't I hear Yeontan? There would at least be the crack of nails on the floor or even a bark, but when I strain, I hear nothing. My blood runs cold as I think about all the things the intruder could have done to him.

I'm an understanding guy, but if there is so much as a hair missing on Yeontan, I will skin him alive like a grape until there is nothing left but an unrecognizable, fleshy lump.

The shuffling gets louder. It's headed toward me. I grip my switchblade tighter as I go further in, passing the entryway and travelling up to the kitchen. I'm afraid the intruder can hear my heart pounding out of my chest.

I see more signs of re-organizing; chair at the wrong angle, knives out of the block and sitting on the counter. My eyes widen; my favorite one is missing.

And orange juice. Why is the orange juice sitting out on the counter? That sinister assfuck; it's not enough to invade my privacy, you just have to go and drink my orange juice straight out of the carton.

I progress into the living room, and I see him, turned away from me and rummaging through my TV cabinet, and there's my knife on the coffee table unattended. He takes no notice as I step forward onto the rug, just a few feet away from him. Now's the time, if ever.

With one more step, I yank the man back from the cabinet, arm wrapped around his throat, and kick the back of his knees to make him fall. To my surprise, however, the man lets out only a chuckle once he hits the floor, and I freeze. I know that voice from anywhere.

"No..." I whisper, holding the knife against his throat now. "There's no way."

"Is this how you treat all of your guests?" he asks with a tsk, then swipes his leg out from under me to make me fall on my back. I wince as pain shoots up and down my body, but I don't give him the satisfaction of letting a sound escape my lips.

I've already given him plenty of that in the past.

"Most of my guests don't barge in without permission," I say through gritted teeth, but he only laughs heartily; Jesus, I thought he'd do something about that windshield wiper laugh by now.

Looming over me, he smirks. "Well, most guests aren't your brother." He offers me a hand up, but I smack it away, opting to stand on my own without his help.

"Yeah, thank fucking God."

When I regain my composure, I take a good look at him for the first time. His hair is well-groomed, not like the last time I saw him. His cheekbones have gotten higher, and his skin shows no trace of the acne scars he used to have. I can't tell whether it's makeup or plastic surgery. Maybe it's both.

I try to think back to the last time I saw him, but my mind draws a blank. He wasted no time moving out of the house when he turned 18, opting to fly across the ocean to live with his aunt and uncle in Seoul while I rotted away in our home with a senile father and a buried mother.

Soon enough, he struck gold in our motherland, and the checks came rolling in by the next month, if only to serve the part of the dutiful eldest son. From what he told me in a brief email, he was 'scouted' by a talent agent for his symmetrical face, where, after a few auditions, he scored a small modeling gig, and things soared from there. He's already done three shows in the few years he's been there, and had a new one coming up soon. Not that I'd know anything firsthand; I refuse to lay eyes on anything he's ever been in. He's lucky I haven't killed him already.

He told me he did me a favor when he left, but money could never fix the black hole he left in his wake. We couldn't pretend we were fine without him in the house, no matter how much I wanted him gone after the things he did.

Sometimes, I wonder if he left me to adopt his demon, and I wonder if it waits for him to come back.

"Another pet project in the basement?" Seokjin asks, then laughs when I put on my best poker face. "Come on. Don't give me that look. You know I have a knack for this stuff." He starts going through my CDs again. Kill Bill, Inglourious Basterds, Spirited Away... "What is it this time, hm? New love interest? Something to keep you up at night?"

"None of your business."

"Actually, it is my business, little brother. Oh, remember when I called you that last? Eomma was still alive. Mm, those were such good times."

I flinch. Good times are synonymous with welted skin and busted lips easier to hide than my own pride. Extra bleach in the laundromats to hide the bloodstains.

(if you apologize it'll only make it worse she won't listen she never listens)

"I told you not to talk about her in front of me."

Something flickers behind his eyes, but he covers it up with a nonchalant eye roll before I can decipher what exactly it is. "You've always been sensitive."

I shoulder check him and I grab the knife from the coffee table to go back into the kitchen, reorganizing everything exactly how it was before. The only thing I can control, ripped away from me by him again. He knows every pet peeve of mine and went out of his way to do them so precisely. I should be used to it by now.

Orange juice back on the second row of the left side of the fridge, knives tucked away adjacent to the stove. He follows me in and sits on the counter as he observes with keen eyes; he's always been good at that, being quiet when he wants to get information. Then, he uses it to kick you when you're already down.

"What are you doing here?" I finally ask, refusing to look at him. His face brings up too many memories. "And where the hell is Yeontan?"

I can tell he's examining his perfectly manicured nails from behind me. "Oh, the dog? It was barking right in my ear and I couldn't concentrate, so I just gave it some anesthetic to calm it down. It's in your bedroom." Embers burn in my eyes as I whirl around to face him.

"What do you mean 'some' anesthetic? A high enough dosage could kill a dog that small! I swear, if Yeontan is..." I swallow and choke out the word I dread with all of my being, "dead, I'm gonna kill y-" 

"Oh, my god. Can you chill out for one second? And stop speaking so fast. It's been forever since I've even spoken English," he says as he puts out a hand. Rolex watch, cream silk shirt. Seeing such an indifferent display of wealth makes me even angrier for some reason.

"That's my bad. Should I switch over to Korean for your convenience? What else should I do for you, hm? Kiss your hand? Buy you a drink, like we're good?" I ask, genuinely curious.

We are fire and ice, staring each other down until one of us eventually puts up his white flag. But neither one of us will. The battle will just have to dance on for eternity.

('What do you want me to do? I'll do anything! Just pleasepleaseplease...')

(He hates the way you beg. You know that.)

('Stay down. Just stay down.')

The dull sounds from the basement turn both of our heads.

Thump, thump, thump.

Fuck. I'll have to soundproof that as soon as the intruder leaves, but I can't help but giggle a little; does the professor really think my brother cares? He must have gone down there, checked the scene out, then went upstairs and left my guest there to his own devices. No doubt the professor is waiting to hear the sirens in the fruits of a call to the police, but oh, how disappointed will he be when he realizes my brother would do no such thing.

Why would he, when we share the same toys?

He looks toward the basement in disgust as he jumps off the counter. The sudden movement makes me jump.

"You know, a few hundred milliliters of ricin would take care of that for good. Or maybe some succinylcholine. They'll think he died in his sleep."

"I know how to handle it. Don't tell me what to do in my own house," I say.

He scoffs as he bites back, "Your house? The only reason this is your house is because I left."

I lick my lips, but I can't feel them. That pompous shithead thinks he can march into my home and tell me I belong in a collar on his chain.

He had everything handed to him his whole life, and now, maybe he'll have his ass handed to him, too.

"You leaving has nothing to do with why this is my house. While you were snorting coke off some hooker's tits, I had to take care of appa by myself. A teenager. Alone. I couldn't even graduate high school properly because of you."

"Yeah? Who's the one that took him off your hands and pays for Querencia? It's not cheap, either. You should honestly be thanking m-"

"You don't do shit. But that's what you're good at, isn't it? You leave when things get a little too heated for your taste, right? Tell me, how many times have you visited him in the past year?" His silence is more of an answer than anything. "Go on. Tell me."

"That's not fair. I had a really important drama to film this year," he murmurs, his face losing that edge I had come to know from him. It almost makes him look like a normal person under all of that snake skin.

"You sicken me. I wish I could've run away from my problems as soon as I became a legal adult, but you know what? I didn't. I fucking stuck it out because I had someone to take care of, and loyalty is something you don't know jack shit about. So don't you tell me what does and doesn't belong to me, because I deserve every inch of this space after what you did, and I'm not little anymore, Seokjin. I'm more of an adult than you'll ever be."

I didn't realize I had been backing him up into the wall next to the front door until I heard a thud from behind him. We're the same height the last time I checked, but at this moment, it looks like he lost a few inches by the way he cowers. The smirk he perpetually seemed to wear is replaced with what I can only identify as a mix of shame and contempt.

However, in a fraction of a second, his gaze hardens and he straightens, matching my height for his once again.

"Well, I'm staying in Austin whether you like it or not, little brother, so you better welcome me home while you can," he says with a wicked smile. I can see flickering flames creep up the shadows of his face.

"The hell I will." Opening the door, I shove him out, slam the door in his face and latch the lock before he can scramble his way back in again. The house is blissfully quiet without a human to fuck it up, but I can't seem to get comfortable in the silence like I usually can. So, I compromise and put on Bach's Two-Part Inventions, starting all the way from number 1. Quite often, the compilation is a little too upbeat for my taste, but just for today, it's a way to get my blood flowing and let me relax in my own home.

Yet, everywhere I look, I see where he's defiled the space, and I can't even touch anything without wanting to demolish every part of it. The counter, the refrigerator, my CD collection, the rug, the floors, the very air I breathe now.

My own bed. Yeontan.

Can't he see it's all mine? Why can't he see that?

No way he's staying, not while I still have so much to do. And of course, through brotherly intuition, he knows just what to do: break into my house and drug my dog. I can already feel myself wanting to storm back out, grab him by the collar and throttle him by his chicken neck as I go to retrieve Yeontan from the bedroom. I let Bach lull me into thinking everything is just the way it should be. He lets me believe there was a time when I didn't have to cover my fear with fire.

I take Yeontan's pulse, and sigh in relief when I feel his faint heartbeat through the fur. My fist clenches.

I'll find out what Seokjin is doing here sooner or later. In the meanwhile, though, I'll indeed celebrate his homecoming.

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안녕 여러분! I hope everyone enjoyed
this chapter! What did you guys think,
and what are your theories on their past
together? Let me know if you have any thoughts!

QOTD: What is your favorite dish native to your country?

Favorite korean dish: kal-guk-su or kimchi. Favorite American dish: Does Tex-Mex count? ;)

Comment your answer inline!

Until next time, happy reading!

Love,
Haneul