lighting the flame in my heart that felt ready to go out
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"Taeyong, can I ask you something?"
Taeyong turned, looking surprised to see me standing next to the table, which might have been because I hadn't exactly made my presence clear. He had obviously just gotten up—his hair was sleep-mussed, and there were circles under his eyes, a clear reminder of the fact that no matter how happy we tried to be about the little things, the big picture was a devastating portrait for which the last stroke would probably be death.
"Yeah," he said, frowning slightly. "I guess. Whether or not I can answer your question is another matter. Or if I'd want to answer your question."
I ignored everything he had said after the affirmation, and pulled a chair from next to the dining table and sat down on it, expecting the conversation to be a long one. "How did you deal with it?" I asked. "Going back to your brother after so long?"
He quirked an eyebrow, understanding settling over his features. "Simple," he said, also pulling up a chair and taking a seat opposite me. "I didn't."
I shot him a questioning look. He leaned forward, and the neckline of his t-shirt shifted, revealing the bare skin of his shoulder when yesterday a bandage had been. It was both relieving and worrying, because though it meant that he was healing, it also meant that in a couple more days, he would be able to get back to his feet and join the offensive team.
"It wasn't just a family favor for him, taking me back into the clan," Taeyong replied, and a shiver passed over me at the word him, knowing he meant his brother. "He made me do odd jobs for him. Security for deals, pushing drugs. And racing, of course. On the good days, at least. Usually I was just a punching bag for the others."
A muscle jumped in my jaw as I remembered how I had found him in the casino, beat-up and bleeding all over the floor. "As much as I want to know the details of your bodily torture, I was talking about the emotional baggage," I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. One corner of his lips lifted slightly at 'emotional baggage'. "How did you deal with seeing him again?"
"That's what I was trying to say—that I busied myself in my job so I wouldn't have to think about it. It did have its moments, and I saw some things I won't ever forget, so do direct me to your therapist next time we're not in mortal danger."
"That's not funny."
"My bad," he said, but there was no apology in his tone. He had his elbow propped up against the tabletop, chin resting in his palm, and was looking at me through hooded eyes, a smirk playing across his lips. "Look—your brother isn't anything like my brother, and the situation here isn't anything like mine. And besides, I'm not the best person to ask for advice."
"Maybe not three years ago, but you're a different person now," I said. His expression sobered a little, languid features turning soft. "And I'm not asking for advice."
