"Unggh! Why isn't he back yet?"
Haneul exclaimed with a pout, his small hands clenching the cushion of the sofa. His eyes kept darting to the wall clock in the living room, watching the hands inch forward at an agonizing pace.
He fidgeted endlessly, unable to sit still. One moment, he was perched on the edge of the sofa, bouncing his legs anxiously, and the next, he was circling around the room like a lost puppy searching for its owner.
The toys that once held his attention lay forgotten in the corner, abandoned the moment his worry took over.
It had been a while since his brother left, yet he still hadn't returned.
A sickening sense of dread curled in his stomach, growing heavier with every tick of the clock.
Whatif somethinghappened? Whatif hisbrotherhadwalkedintothatscaryman'sdenandnevercameout?
The man was like a shadow lurking at the edge of a nightmare. He reminded Haneul of the big bad wolf in fairy tales, waiting for the right moment to snatch his precious older brother away forever.
The weight in his chest swelled, pressing down like an anchor sinking into the depths of the ocean. A lump formed in his throat, and his vision turned glassy as he fought the sting of oncoming tears.
Beep.Beep.
Before his thoughts could spiral further, the familiar chime of the front door's lock echoed through the apartment.
Haneul's head snapped up instantly, his heart skipping a beat.
Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave, washing away the fear in an instant. He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping in his eagerness, and rushed toward the door.
The moment it swung open, he threw himself forward, ready to greet his brother the second he stepped inside.
Jihoon looked noticeably disheveled compared to how neat he had been when he first left. His sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to his elbows, and his face was flushed, with stray strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead.
"Hyuuung…" Haneul whined, dragging out the word as he rushed toward his brother. His small lips jutted into a pout as he wrapped his arms tightly around Jihoon's waist. "What took you so long?"
Jihoon let out a breathy chuckle, ruffling the boy's hair. "What do you mean? I came back as fast as I could." He spoke lightly, hoping to ease Haneul's sulking mood.
Haneul only huffed in response, his grip tightening as if afraid Jihoon might disappear again.
Jihoon glanced down at him, gently patting his back in reassurance. "You must be starving by now, right? Let me warm up the food...it's probably gone cold."
Slipping off his shoes, he stepped into his indoor slippers and guided Haneul inside.
"In the meantime, we can set the table," Jihoon added as they reached the kitchen counter.
Haneul nodded eagerly, his earlier frustration momentarily forgotten. While Jihoon busied himself reheating the meal, the little boy diligently arranged the cutlery, occasionally pausing to make sure everything was perfectly aligned.
Soon, the delicious aroma of home-cooked food filled the air once more, wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. It smelled just as inviting as when Jihoon had first cooked that morning, stirring warmth in their stomachs.
Once the food was served piping hot, they finally sat down to eat. After a long and tiring day, the meal tasted even more delicious. It was a much-needed treat they both savored.
- - - - - - -
Ryul stirred awake with a slow, disoriented blink, his body sinking into the fading warmth of sleep. His throat felt dry, parched from hours of uninterrupted rest.
Without fully opening his eyes, he fumbled blindly across the pillow, his fingers searching for the familiar cool touch of his phone.
When they finally brushed against the metallic edges, he clumsily grabbed it and pulled it close, the screen flaring to life with an intense glow that momentarily blinded him.
He squinted, his vision struggling to adjust as the glowing numbers on the screen gradually came into focus.
9:00PM.
A deep sigh escaped his lips. Hadhereallysleptthroughtheentireafternoon?
The realization left him feeling oddly detached, as if time had slipped through his fingers without him noticing. His body still ached with fatigue, but the hours of rest had dulled the worst of his earlier discomfort.
As the haze of drowsiness finally lifted, something else caught his attention.
He had expected the room to be shrouded in complete darkness, given that he hadn't turned on any lights before collapsing into bed. But instead, a golden glow bathed the space in gentle illumination. His bedside lamp was on, its light spilling sleepy shadows across the room.
It took him another moment to register the damp towel resting atop his forehead.
His fingers gingerly reached up, pulling it away as he pushed himself upright. The cool fabric left a fleeting sensation against his skin before he lowered it onto his lap. His gaze wandered across the room, and for the first time since waking, he took in his surroundings properly.
On the small table near his bed sat a neatly arranged meal, its presence unexpected yet strangely comforting.
Beside the plate stood a glass of water, beads of condensation clinging to its surface, and taped to it was a small sticky note.
Curiosity flickered in his chest as he reached for the note, peeling it off carefully, his eyes scanning the neat handwriting.
"Please enjoy the meal! :) It may turn cold, so please reheat it. If you can't, you can call me here: 010-XXXX-XXXX."
Ryul stared at it for a long moment, his thumb absently tracing the edges of the paper.
"How childish," he scoffed lightly, finally setting the note down before reaching for the glass of water and taking a slow sip, his thoughts still tangled.
Once his thirst was quenched, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and slipped on his slippers, which were already neatly arranged by the bedside. His brow twitched–he knew himself well enough to be certain that, in his half-conscious state, he wouldn't have bothered to keep them this organized.
Pushing the thought aside, he slowly pushed himself up, his muscles still heavy with the remnants of fever. He shuffled out of the bedroom, but as he stepped into the living room, he came to an abrupt stop.
It was spotlessly clean.
The difference was almost startling. The usual clutter had vanished, replaced by neatly arranged and dust-free surfaces.
"Is he a clean freak?" he muttered, dragging himself toward the sofa. Without much thought, he flopped onto it with a soft thud, sinking into the cushions and letting his head fall back.
The room was eerily quiet, save for the sound of his own breathing.
The crisp, unfamiliar scent of lemon disinfectant hung in the air–one he was certain didn't belong to him.
Letting out a slow breath, Ryul stretched out on the couch, closing his eyes. His mind wandered aimlessly, thoughts slipping in and out of focus as drowsiness pulled at him once more