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I hope this letter finds you well.

My name is Kenichi Fujiwara. I regret to inform you that my brother, Ryo, passed away six years ago due to an undiagnosed aneurysm. I am sorry that you are learning of this in such a manner.

With regard to your letter, I must be clear that our parents are not aware of your correspondence, and it would be best that they remain so. They are elderly, and the circumstances surrounding the past are a source of considerable difficulty and distress. For this reason, I kindly ask that you do not attempt to contact my family again.

I regret that I cannot respond to you in the way you may have hoped. I would encourage you to continue with your life, as you have until now.

For your records, I have enclosed a brief summary of relevant family medical history. I hope that, at the very least, this information may be of some use to you.

I have also returned your original letter.

Yours most sincerely,

Kenichi Fujiwara

Jihoon was silent as he read the letter. It didn’t take him long, it wasn’t lengthy. I saw him briefly unfold the other sheets of paper – my letter to Ryo, and the medical history his brother had included. Jihoon refolded the papers and put them back in the envelope. He moved to sit beside me on the bed.

“Kaiya, I am so sorry.”

I shrugged. “I get it. I kind of don’t want to. I wanted to be angry,” I admitted, “but honestly, I didn’t expect much. My mum was basically exiled when she fell pregnant. I knew that. I had some expectation of how this might go. I understood that there was a chance he–” my voice faltered, and I switched to a different word, “they wouldn’t be interested. I knew that. But still, when I got to the post office, and I saw a return letter with those Japanese stamps, I… I thought,” my voice hitched, “I thought maybe.”

I sniffed, dropping my head so my hair fell around me, and I could almost pretend he couldn’t see me. It made it a little easier to let my face crumple.

“I don’t know what I wanted from this. I don’t want another dad. I didn’t–I don’t,” I let out a harsh breath. “Fuck. I don’t know what I expected. I don’t feel conflicted about who I am, I wasn’t looking for a new family. I just don’t think I could have kept walking around every day without hearing for myself that the person who helped make me didn’t so much as care that I existed.”

I fiddled with my ring, trying to collect my thoughts out of the turbulent mass of emotions swirling inside, taking me this way, then that.

“I don’t know how to feel about this,” I said eventually. I turned to look at where Jihoon was watching me with an expression on his face that I couldn’t decipher. I waited for him to say things like, ‘it’ll be okay’, or ‘this doesn’t change who you are’, but he said none of that, and I knew it was because he knew I didn’t need to hear any of it.

What he did say was almost worse.

“I feel sorry for them. Their world is a darker place, and they will never know.”

I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. His eyes held mine, the sincerity cutting through the tangled mess inside me. It didn’t lessen the pain, exactly, but it felt like it had changed the shape of it into something less sharp.

“I know that from experience,” he said softly. The words fell into the space between us, bridging the gap from his hands to mine.

My heart thudded against my ribs, a too-fast staccato beat that felt too much, as if my chest were suddenly too small, too tight. He looked at me like he was holding himself back from reaching for me, his expression closed off in a way that I recognised as something closer to need. I felt the pull of it deep within me. The urge to lean towards him, to reach across the world between us.

“I should go,” he murmured.

My fingers twitched. “You don’t have to–”

“I do.” The words were rough, like saying them hurt him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he reopened them, they were the same colour they always had been, fringed in inky black lashes, but his expression was shuttered.

“I do, because if I do not leave right now…” He exhaled a shaky breath. “I have to because you’re sad, and right now you think you want me to stay, but you might regret it tomorrow.”

Jihoon stood, the sudden movement making the bed shake. I stared up at him, confused, colder than I had been a moment ago.

“I could not stand that, cheonsa,” he rasped. “I cannot be something you regret. Not again.”

He hesitated, one step faltering before he turned towards the door. I watched him go, speechless, unable to decide if I was letting him go, or was powerless to stop him.

But either way, he left and did not turn back.

Chapter 32