WAY BACK HOME

When Haru first moved to Daegu, the Chois lived on the ground floor of the Ryus’ two-story building, in the unit beside hers. It was spring—a season she would always remember as the last before her husband enlisted. She was twenty-six, newly married, and working at a daycare, where the children had a way of softening her heart. Most of her days were spent at work. In the quiet hours that remained, she did chores, meditated, and cared for a neat row of flower pots along the side of the house, humming old songs as she trimmed and watered.

One such evening, young Areum—still caught in the soft blur of adolescence—wandered over and pointed to a vivid red bloom.

“Is that a rose, auntie?” she asked, lifting an innocent finger.

Haru flinched at first, then eased. Her shoulders dropped as a slow smile stretched across her lips. “It’s not, sweetie. It’s a red camellia.”

“Oh…” Areum’s hand fell to her side, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “But how’s it different from a rose? It looks the same to me,” she murmured, lips pursed in a soft pout.

Haru set the watering can aside and reached for her gently, fingers brushing Areum’s as she guided her closer to the flower.

She crouched beside her, voice low and warm by Areum’s ear. “Because they carry different meanings,” she whispered. “Just like our names.”

“Haru means spring in Japanese. What does your name mean?”

“Beautiful,” Areum said softly, her gaze lingering on the flower like it held a secret just for her. “Areum means beautiful. Mom and Dad said I looked so beautiful when I was born, they named me after it.”

Her face lit up with a smile—bright, effortless, and true to her name.

“Beautiful, indeed.” Haru pinched her cheeks lightly, the affection in her touch saying she meant more than just the name.

Children were easy to talk to, Haru realized long ago. Their hearts were unclouded, untouched by the greed and bitterness that often shadowed adulthood. With them, words held their meaning—simple, honest, and unburdened. Any small gesture could lead to a flourishing relationship. It only took a fleeting moment. Just like it had for Haru and Areum.

The meaning behind a flower was all it took to begin a quiet bond between a child and her neighbor.

Haru welcomed little Areum into her home, offering her wonder alongside warm cookies fresh from the oven. With gentle kindness and quiet humility, she earned the trust of that innocent soul.

Every day, Areum dashed home from school, changing out of her uniform before crashing at Haru’s and joining her for tea. Oftentimes, she’d bring along her homework, asking for help whenever something didn’t make sense to her.

“She hated studying English, most of all,” Haru told a keen-eared Jungkook. “The verbs and articles never really interested her.”

Jungkook chuckled. He wasn’t great at English either—he once scored 4 out of 100 on a test. But knowing his mother had struggled with it too as a child made his chest puff with childish pride. He wanted to go back to those moments when she reluctantly made him study, just to mumble, “You weren’t great at it either,” like any kid trying to get the last word.

It was baffling how little he knew about his mother and her life before he was born. He never knew about her knitting habits, the overprotective relationship she had with her father, or the motherly bond she shared more with Haru than with her own mother. Jungkook couldn’t imagine it. Areum had never even told him she came from a Catholic family, not once in all the years he could remember. Maybe she was too overwhelmed by the responsibility of raising a child on her own. Maybe she was too stressed, struggling to make ends meet in her hectic life. Or maybe Jungkook had simply never bothered to ask.

The realization hit hard, sinking into his gut and twisting with guilt. His chest felt like it was caving in under the weight.

“What were my grandparents like?” Jungkook asked quietly. “What happened to them?”

Haru scoffed. “They were proper Catholics,” she said, rolling her eyes. The bitterness in her voice filled in what she didn’t say. “Hyuk-sik was a manager at some local firm—very much the textbook nine-to-five family man.” She lifted two fingers in the air, throwing in the quotes. “And Nina? Always buried in church work. She couldn’t stand that your mom spent more time with me than with her.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Thought I was a bad influence on Areum. She’d knock on my door constantly—pretending to check in, but really just inserting herself. The moment she walked in, the whole room tightened. And she loved her little sermons about how people without religion were bound to drag the world to ruin—always with a glance in my direction.”

Haru nodded at the ink and piercings that adorned Jungkook’s skin, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “She’d go straight to confession just for laying eyes on you if she saw you now.”

A soft laugh slipped out of Jungkook, his eyes crinkling. “Wow, she must’ve been terrible.”

But Haru didn’t laugh with him. Something shifted in her face—like a curtain drawn back. Her gaze drifted, unfocused, her voice quieter when she spoke again.

“She wasn’t, not really. As much as I wanted to believe that back then… no. Your grandmother loved Areum deeply. She was both overjoyed and devastated when she found out Areum was pregnant. Joyful, because—what mother wouldn’t want to see her daughter become a mother too?”

Haru raised her eyebrows slightly, forehead lines deepening with memory.

“But it didn’t align with their beliefs. Having a child out of wedlock was already against everything Christians held sacred. But falling in love with a man who was already married?” She shook her head slowly. “That was a sin Areum believed had no redemption.”

Her voice caught, but she kept going.

“Areum was scared. I told her—come stay with me, we’ll figure it out. But she wouldn’t. The guilt had already consumed her. She left the city… and no one’s heard from her since.”

A pause.

“Not a single word. All these years.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them away. Sniffling, Haru held Jungkook’s hands tightly in her own and continued, her voice a little softer now.

“Nina took it the hardest. The pain overwhelmed her—day and night—until she slipped into drinking. Heavy, relentless. Her perfect little world had fallen apart. And Hyuk-sik… he couldn’t handle it either. He left her. Divorced, remarried a widow a few years later. And Nina was just… left behind. Alone.”

She paused again, her thumb brushing over the back of Jungkook’s hand.

“I took her in. I couldn’t stand to see her like that. We spent years clinging to hope, wondering if the people we loved would ever come home. They didn’t.”

Jungkook gave her hand a small, wordless squeeze.

“She never stopped talking about Areum,” Haru said. “She used to wonder what her grandchild would be like—if it’d be a boy or a girl. I told her it would be a boy. Areum already had a name picked out.”

Haru looked at him then, her eyes full of love—quiet and immense. Her lips curved into something between a smile and a sigh.

“Jungkook,” she said. “A pillar of the country.”

She patted his hand gently. “She wanted you to grow into everything she couldn’t be. Strong. Independent. Righteous.”

Now it was Jungkook’s turn to cry. Tears streamed down his face in silence, his chest rising and falling as he fought to keep the sobs at bay.

“I wish you’d come a little sooner though,” Haru said, her voice barely holding together. “Nina would’ve loved to see you—tattoos, piercings, all of it. None of that would’ve mattered in the end.”

Her voice cracked. And that was it.

Jungkook folded into her lap, his shoulders trembling as the weight broke loose. He cried—softly, fully.

“I… I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know,” he whispered through the sobs.

Haru stroked Jungkook’s back in slow, soothing circles. She bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“You were never to blame, Jungkookie.”

She hesitated for a while, then asked the question that had been sitting in her chest for years.

“How’s Areum? Is she…” Her words trailed off.

Jungkook shook his head.

The silence that followed was thick. His shoulders began to shake again, and the tears returned, quiet but relentless.

Haru pulled him into her arms. Her voice barely carried.

“Life is cruel.”

And she held him, as if holding him might heal even a little of it.

It did.

Jungkook’s breathing slowed. The sobs faded, leaving a quiet stillness in their place. When he finally pulled himself together, it felt like a long-missing piece of his life had finally clicked into place.

He knew now what had happened to his mother. Not everything, but enough.

Gently, he eased out of Haru’s embrace, wiping the tears from his face with a trembling hand.

Haru watched him quietly, her gaze soft with empathy. In that moment, Jungkook looked like a scolded child—innocent, unguarded. The roughness he usually wore was just armor, a defense he’d learned too early. His childhood hadn’t been easy. Not like most. She could only imagine how hard it must have been for him.

“How long are you staying in Daegu?” Haru asked, her tone light, a deliberate shift from heavier things.

Jungkook sniffed. “A few days,” he said, voice low, offering nothing more.

“Good,” she said with a faint smile. “I want to make up for all the time we lost.”

She reached for his hand. He let her take it—and smiled.

“I’d like that.” Jungkook nodded.

Jungkook spent the next three days at the Daegu Golden Years Home, soaking in its quiet charm. It gave him a glimpse of what visiting a grandparent’s home might feel like—something he’d never truly known. He rented a small room at a nearby motel and visited Haru each day, staying until the last of the clouds slipped away and stars appeared one by one in the hush of night.

On the second day, he took Haru for a stroll. She walked beside him, beaming, saying it was the most fun she’d had in years. Having a grandson-like presence beside her brought a rare smile to her face—one she hadn’t worn in her entire lifetime. The nurses were kind, sure, but none of them were quite as steady to lean on. That little detail stayed just between them.

Her feet, she complained, were always swollen these days. Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He sat her down and gently massaged them before leaving, promising he’d be back the next day.

In the quieter moments, when they weren’t doing much at all, Jungkook took the time to fill her in on his life. He told her he was an architect at Kim Enterprises, and Haru’s ears perked up. She instantly asked if it was the one run by Kim Seokjin, catching him off guard.

“Yes, we’re actually close. He treats me like a little brother,” Jungkook said as he blew on his hot stew. They were sitting in the modest dining area reserved for visitors and staff. Jungkook had wanted to take Haru out for a proper meal at a hotel, but her nurse gently declined, saying she needed to stick to food prepared on the premises for her health.

“Oh, he’s one fine specimen of a man,” Haru said, taking a sip of her soup. “The nurses here literally cried when he got married. What a pity women could never have a chance with a man like him.”

Jungkook coughed, struggling to hold back his laughter. But her next words nearly made him choke on his stew.

“Are you also gay, or do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, so casually it felt like small talk.

He quickly reached for his water, gulping it down to ease the tofu that had lodged halfway down his throat. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he cleared his throat.

Why did people keep assuming he was gay? Was it his appearance? His vibe? He had no idea.

“I’m straight, but no—I don’t have a girlfriend,” Jungkook answered truthfully.

Haru gave him a knowing look, then replied to the question he hadn’t even asked.

“We never know with young people these days. Gotta ask,” she said with a shrug. “Back in my time, it was simple. Now there’s all these umbrella terms, and you risk offending someone just by guessing wrong.”

Jungkook coughed again—this time, not from laughter.

“But really,” Haru added, “I don’t understand why a handsome guy like you doesn’t have someone.”

A quiet warmth crept into his chest as Aera crossed his mind. It felt like forever since he’d last thought of her so clearly. He could still see her expression from that moment—the way her face shifted when he accidentally let his guard down, letting a piece of himself slip through.

It wouldn’t surprise him if she’d already figured out who he was. She’d been trying to, ever since day one.

To be honest, he was tired of hiding. Tired of the quiet pretending. Especially now that Aera was spending time with Park Jimin once again, just like in their school days.

Jungkook didn’t want to keep circling around the truth. He wanted to step into it. To show Aera who he really was, without fear or pretense.

Whatever came of it, he was ready.

Because finally, his heart knew what it wanted—and he wasn’t afraid to follow it.

Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but Haru waved him off.

“Let me give you a nice haircut,” she said, eyes twinkling. “A fresh look always turns a few heads—women of all ages.”

Jungkook chuckled, the sound light and genuine. He didn’t argue. Whatever Haru offered, he accepted with an open heart.

On his last day, she kept her promise. She trimmed his hair with surprising precision, chatting as if they’d known each other for years. When it was done, she handed him a small box.

“It’s from me... and Nina,” she said softly.

Jungkook opened it with care. Inside were faded family photos, a photo album, handwoven tapestries, a few worn books, and delicate baby clothes—tiny socks and onesies knit with loving detail. His throat tightened.

While he was still quietly taking it in, Haru returned with something else—a woolen scarf, its stitches uneven, its shape a little crooked. Scarlet red.

“I’m not much of a knitter, not like your grandmother,” she said, placing it in his hands. “I didn’t make it for anyone in particular... but I think it’ll suit you.”

Jungkook looked at the scarf, then at Haru. His gaze softened, quiet and full of feeling. Without a word, he draped it around his neck, sinking into the warmth it held—her warmth.

“It’s so soft,” he murmured, voice muffled as he nuzzled into the wool. “I love it.”

Haru’s eyes lit up. “I’m so glad,” she said, smiling as her fingers threaded gently through his hair, then slid down to adjust the scarf. “You look adorable.”

Jungkook’s grin—wide and a little crooked, nose scrunched in that familiar way—melted something deep inside Haru. Her chest tightened, full to bursting, and without thinking, she pulled him into a fierce hug.

“You’re such a sweetheart… just like your mother,” she whispered, her voice thick. “You remind me of her so much.”

And for the first time in all the days they’d spent together, the tears finally came. Quiet, unrelenting, overdue.

“Promise me you’ll keep visiting,” she choked out, arms tightening around him like she could hold back time.

Jungkook responded without a moment’s pause. He held her just as tightly, warm and steady. “I promise,” he said, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before slowly pulling away.

“Stay healthy for me, okay?” Jungkook said, his voice soft, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed Haru’s shoulders.

Haru couldn’t speak. She just nodded, her tears slipping freely down her cheeks.

Jungkook wiped them away with careful fingers, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Haru whispered, the word catching in her throat.

At the front desk, Jungkook signed the visitor’s log, scribbling down his name and contact details. Sunmi—the nurse who had greeted him on his first day—offered a kind smile as she took the register from him.

“She’s been so much brighter since you came,” she said. “You’ve made a real difference. Please visit when you can.”

“She’d be even happier if you let me take her home,” he muttered, the bitterness barely veiled.

Sunmi’s smile faltered, her shoulders dipping. “I know. We wish we could—but her health is too fragile. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook exhaled softly, his nod slow. “Please… take care of her,” he said, then turned and walked away.

But he didn’t return to Seoul.

Instead, he flew to Jeju—drawn to the quiet coastlines and the site where the collaborative project between Kim Enterprises and Park Corporation was beginning to take shape. The island, with its salt-kissed breeze and hushed mornings, gave his thoughts space to breathe. To settle.

Here, the noise inside him faded.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind wasn’t a tangle of half-finished thoughts and knotted emotions. Everything lined up, clean and still, like the horizon after a storm. He could feel the shift in him—like a new taste on his tongue, strange and sweet.

Daegu had changed something in him.

He felt weightless, unburdened—not from forgetting, but from understanding. His heart, emptied out and poured back full, carried something softer now. Something warmer.

Standing at the edge of a cliff, sea wind in his lungs, he screamed—not out of anger or sadness, but from release. Joy. Gratitude.

He was full. He was light. He was finally at peace.

And above all, he was grateful—for Haru, for the love he hadn’t known he was starving for, and for the chance to feel it. To be addicted to it, in the best possible way.

Now, he was ready. Ready for more. For every kind of love life still had to give.

Jungkook was finally open to receiving love and giving love in return.