Minho didn't know how difficult finding an apartment would be. He assumed he would just... find one.

Instead he has to rent a room in a motel. It isn't as bad as he's heard from the guys at the country club. Maybe a little noisy. He locks his door and eats Thai food while revising his new self-sustaining budget. He at least respects his mother for sticking to her 'do what I say or you're cut off' threat. His credit cards have started being declined, all except the one he set up for — well, for this.

It's odd to sleep somewhere without his family close by. The voices aren't his sisters arguing or his father yelling at the maids. When someone lingers outside his room, it isn't his mother come to shine a flashlight on his bed. It's a little bit fantastic. It's a little bit frightening.

Of course, he doesn't go long without contacting them. He has, admittedly, been acting kind of unhinged, like one of his father's middle-aged magnate friends before they go missing for six months and resurface with dead eyes and less wrinkles.

Minho assumes everyone will have some choice words for him, and they do. His sisters utilize different tactics; a lecture and snide remark (Sooyun), and a disappointed sigh (Haewon). All his father says is that the family dealings have been temporarily transferred to an associate — and not Sooyun, which makes Minho more angry than he can afford to be at the moment.

(Luckily no one says anything about the conservatory. Minho was worried the furniture would be out of place after the cleaning crew left.)

The family then quickly, collectively moves on to the 'cold shoulder' part of the procedure. Only his mother is willing to talk to him, though talk is probably the wrong word. He stays quiet while she lists her disappointments and misgivings, like she's reviewing a sub-par ski resort. Sometimes she pauses to muse about what his father had accomplished at Minho's age — a wife, a career, a small fortune. Respect. It makes Minho's blood boil till he's so close to snapping that he has to pinch himself. By the time they hang up, his wrists are covered in little whitened marks.

Sleeping is a tricky game. Sometimes he's out as soon as his head hits the pillow, sometimes he floats at the surface until the light shines through to taunt him. Jisung is asleep as well. Meeting in their dreams is different from meeting in real life — free of the rage, free of their bodies. Unable to communicate, they just move closer till Jisung feels so palpably there that Minho swears he can taste him.

It doesn't happen every night. Their sleep schedules are usually at odds. Which is good, since their bodies seem to gravitate toward each other while their minds are asleep. Maybe it's the universe's plan B to force them together, yet another way for it to exercise control. Minho feels like Haewon's dolls when he used to knock them together and bury them in the backyard.

He's taken to fastening his wrist to the bedpost with a belt, like he's holding himself hostage. Sometimes he wakes up on the floor, arm numb and wrenched awkwardly above his head. At least he isn't streaking in the motel parking lot.

He calls Jisung's house in the morning, knowing he won't be there to pick up. Nini answers. Though she doesn't sound well, she has enough energy to deflect Minho's questions about her health. (She does end up graciously accepting his offer to get lunch delivered to the house. Thai, at his recommendation.) He promises that he's there to help with anything, and leaves his number in case they need to contact him. For any reason.

He doesn't say anything about Jisung. He doesn't tell Nini to say "hi," or maybe, "sorry we were pelted with glass." He expects he'll get a call once time has passed, considering what happened in the conservatory. But he doesn't. He's been holed up in the motel — fielding questions from his family, mooring himself to his bed, vetting apartments and systematically ruling them out — for almost a week without a word.

Which is okay. Obviously. Minho was the one who said not to call. Jisung must have realized it was for the best.

His alibi — "sorry, I'm busy" — only carries him a few days over the one-week mark. Eventually his mother talks him into coming back to the house for dinner. ("Just dinner," he stressed. "Just dinner," she told him. "Then you can bugger off again," his father added.) He doesn't want to go — for multiple reasons, interpersonal and intergalactic — but he hopes, if he could just face his family, show them he's intact, not soaring on ecstasy or covered in tattoos, they'll leave him alone for a while, at least until he has an apartment and a job.

The gate guard waves him up the driveway and he parks in the garage. He takes a moment to calm himself down. He can't get emotional tonight. Just get in, get out. And no one will be hurt.

He sees Sooyun in the foyer. She nods curtly in his direction. They're not fighting at the moment... unless he's forgotten something. Maybe she would have liked a heads-up before he jumped ship. Maybe she's still vicariously outraged he didn't come to the hospital. Maybe she's angry he would shirk his responsibilities so readily — the same responsibilities she would kill for.

He catches up to her. "Hey."

"Mother finally wore you down?"

"It's all part of the plan. There's no reason to freak out about me moving out — I'm an adult now."

"You're twenty-two, for God's sake, you've been an adult for years."

"I'm learning how to do normal things. Like laundry. It's actually not that complicated."

"Is that really why you left? To do your own laundry?"

"I'm being serious. I... had to go. It's nice. Even with the phone calls. No, never mind, the calls are unbearable."

Sooyun smiles a little, ruefully. "If that's unbearable, this is probably going to kill you."

They walk into the dining room. Most everyone is seated. His father is standing over the head of the table, hands on the back of the old wooden armchair. Hara is in her mother's lap, happily attempting to eat mashed peas; Haewon is clutching her like someone might try to steal her away.

"Minho!" his mother exclaims. Everyone turns to him except Haewon. He sits at the opposite end of the table. He doesn't want to be within a five foot radius of Hara for the rest of the night.

The staff carry out platters of food. He tries not to seem overly excited about a home-cooked meal. Eating nothing but takeout and instant soup gets old after a couple days.

"So," his mother says to fill the silence. "I saw the Jungs at the club earlier today. We're invited to their banquet on the twenty-sixth. Think about coming along — everyone has a plus-one."

"I'll try to make it," says Haewon.

"I'll be there," says Sooyun.

Minho asks for the salt.

"So," his mother says again. "Why don't we go around and say what we're grateful for. I'll start. My family is together tonight, and I'm very grateful for that. So much more than grateful. Sometimes I just" — she dabs her eyes with a napkin — "wish we could stay together in this house forever."

Minho asks for the pepper.

"I'm grateful that the bad weather has blown over," his father says. "The clouds were suffocating."

"Hara's healthy," Haewon says. "That's all that matters."

"And you, Minho?" his mother asks eagerly.

"I'm grateful for Hara's health too."

Haewon gives him a look. Shouldn't have said it. He looks down at his plate.

A maid walks into the room and whispers in Father's ear. He shakes his head sharply and she scurries away.

"What was that?" Sooyun asks.

"The phone. It's no one."

Mother clears her throat. "So, Minho, where are you living now? You said you were looking on the north side."

He had been apartment hunting in the area, but he'd quickly realized his expectations were too high. He couldn't even find a place on the east end, at least, not a cockroach-free one.

"Yeah," he says, "I found a place, not on the north side, but it's nice. I haven't moved in yet."

"What's keeping you?"

"You know, contract complications, moving stuff. It takes time."

"And you're paying with your own money." Father meets Minho's eyes across the table.

"Yes, of course. I'm cut off. Remember?"

He takes a sip of wine and doesn't answer.

"You should invite us," Haewon says then. "To your apartment, once you're all moved in. I'd like to see it."

She's challenging him. Minho swallows a bite of anger. Hara is sucking on a spoon, unbothered.

"That'd be fine," Minho says. "As long as you don't mind going into the city."

"How many bedrooms?" Mother asks. Jesus Christ.

"Just one. But it has a closet. I mean, a kitchen. As well." He takes a bite to stop himself from talking.

The maid comes in again and whispers in his father's ear. He waves her away.

"Anyway," his mother says. "You know the Jungs, right, Minho?"

"Yeah, the banquet. I'm still pretty busy, I don't know if I'll be able to make it."

"It would be lovely if you could find time. And, you know, poor Mrs. Jung was telling me today, her eldest daughter has been going through some rough times. She and her husband are divorcing."

"Minji or Mishil?" asks Sooyun.

"Mishil. She founded the campaign for the arts, you remember." Mother shrugs. "She's a beautiful woman. Philanthropic. Very engaged in the community. Only a couple years older than you, Minho."

He keeps his head down.

"And unattached. Evidently."

"Mother, why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Try to set me up with women even though you know I'm—"

Sooyun cuts him off. "I heard that Mishil was going out with some lawyer from the other side of the river."

"How would you know that?" Father says, deadpan.

"Well, I'm engaged in the community as well."

"Yes, she is," Minho says sharply, bitterly. "She's made for this, being head of the family, but I'm still the heir even though everybody knows I'm shit at it."

Mother tells him to watch his language. Sooyun has her face in her hands. Father is staring back at Minho, rigid, stoic, like he's won the same argument against a thousand men better than his son.

"Sooyun has her duties as you have yours."

"Why didn't you let her take my place when I left? She's more than qualified to—"

"You'll get your job back once you've come to your senses."

"I shouldn't get my job back — why don't you get it?"

"It's your responsibility. You shoulder it and you don't complain."

Minho gets to his feet, slamming his hands down on the table. "Fuck your responsibility and fuck shouldering it!"

Hara snuffles and starts to cry. Minho stands down instantly, horrified. Haewon pulls her closer, burying her in her arms.

"Well done, son." Father drops his napkin on his plate. "Clean this up, we're done here."

The maids converge on the table.

"Well," Mother says, voice small. "We'll just have to watch our language next time."

Minho pushes his chair out and leaves the room, walking fast, ignoring the voices calling his name. They have to let him go. His defences are low, his anger at a hairline trigger. He wants to tear down the whole building and take himself with it.

Calm down. Calm down.

It was worth a try, at least. Now he knows, now they all know — everything is better when he isn't around. Like his father said, the clouds have blown over.

The phone in the foyer is ringing. A maid glances at the number and then heads toward the dining room.

Minho stops. The maid is going to tell his father, speak in a whisper so the rest won't hear. That has never happened before tonight, not once in his life.

He picks up the phone. "Hello? Who is this?"

The voice on the line speaks low and fast.

"If the person you loved most asked you to kill them, would you?"