The setting sun drowned in a crimson sea of distant maple groves. From the horizon came a flock of white birds—doves in pure flight—crossing above Yonan's head, soaring past the throng toward the mountain's foot. The wind stirred by their wings brushed his cheeks and hair, carrying with it a lone white feather, swaying down the slope as though in dream.
Leaning against the iron fence, he fixed his eyes first on the feather, then on the crowd. Each one hurried along the path to freedom after a grinding day. And no small feather, cast into the abyss, could ever draw their gaze.
From within the press of people, a familiar face emerged—a man in his mid-thirties, carrying a leather briefcase and clad in a gray suit. Frank—the responsible brother—his mouth bent in that foolish smile that always came before excuses.
"I know what you're going to say, but I swear I have an excuse."
"Damn you, Frank." Yonan turned his face toward the sea of maples.
"I'm telling the truth," Frank lifted his arms. "Come now, don't you want to hug your handsome big brother?"
"Look down at the forest below. I bet it would be a swift death if I shoved you over."
Frank leaned forward, eyes on the abyss. "Don't put such thoughts in my head."
Perfect chance to frighten him.
Yonan stretched out his hand toward his brother's back, but Frank stepped away, caught his look, and smirked.
"Nice try, little fiend."
"I'm no fiend. But I wouldn't pass the chance to see you soak your pants."
Frank rubbed his chin. "I doubt it would end with that alone."
"Filthy wretch." Yonan turned aside, rubbing his neck to hide the smile creeping to his lips.
Frank rested on the railing, eyes lost in the glow. "Do you like this city?"
Yonan leaned beside him, watching the horizon. "Beautiful... chaotic... I don't know."
Frank's glance darted at him, then his mouth stretched again. "Don't know? Just admit you've got a girl in your bed."
"No, fool. You know me. No time—"
"Deceiver. Alone in a new city—and you never even tried your charm with women?"
"Frank, don't rile me."
"So it's true? No girl? Nothing at all?"
Yonan stared down at his hands, then at the forest beneath. "Nothing. I only lie on the bed and—"
Frank winked, grinning. "Ah, so that's what you do. What I'm thinking is what you're thinking. Your poor hand must be worn out with all that work in bed."
"Frank, I swear I'll hurl you off this cliff if you keep at it."
"Alright, alright. You said you lie on the bed—go on, I'm all ears."
"I don't want to speak."
"You've grown so quick to anger." Frank shifted, sighing. "I know how it is with sleep. I get home so tired I collapse, and when I wake, I can't rise from the sheets. Maybe it's winter drawing near."
"It's not... not weariness."
"You've grown thinner, Yonan. Pale, with shadows under your eyes." He reached toward Yonan's forehead, but Yonan turned away. "Are you fevered?"
"No. It's only that... I love sleep. The moment drowsiness takes me, the world disappears with its burdens. It's the only time I can rest from what gnaws at me. And when I wake, I set out again, chasing sleep once more."
"That's it? You'll let your days dissolve without achieving a thing."
"Who spoke of achievement? So often I wish I never woke again. To sink into a deep slumber... a slumber without end."
Frank's breath escaped sharp. He turned to the horizon, now dyed in violet above the maples. "Yonan, what are you doing in this city alone?"
"Save your strength and admit Father sent you."
"Our father," Frank cut in. "And you're wrong—Mother sent me."
"I knew you wouldn't suffer the journey for me alone."
"You only believe what you want. What of Mom? If Father's words wounded you, what of her? She can't even reach you, with you changing numbers every week. And tell me—did he truly say so much you had to flee? You're no child."
"I act as I will, whether you like it or not." The old man's furrowed brow burned in memory. "And you say he said little? If I am human, I can't stand insult without fury."
"What did he call you? Fool? Failure? That's all? He told me worse, and I stayed. And truth be told, I think he was right. Who abandons everything—first in the nation, top of the best university for three years—and in the final year throws it away... to be what? A painter? Since when have you held a brush? A week? A month? Who does that outside madhouses?"
"A week... a day... an hour. I study, I play, I die—it is mine to choose. Didn't you hear him tell me not to live in dreams? Tell me, is that the tongue of a father? Even enemies wouldn't say it."
"Yes, he was cruel. And yes, you are free. But could you not wait one damn year? Sixteen years of study—and you couldn't finish the last? You could have spared yourself, and me, Father's rage."
"I never thought leaving would wound you more than him. Perhaps because I robbed you of boasting your brother's degree. Or perhaps it pleased you—finally, you could be the favored son."
"Favored son? Don't speak of my heart. If you knew what is inside me, you'd never have left Mom to hear neighbors jeer her. They sacrificed for you. What good are those years now? You toppled the tower you built the moment you set the last stone. Imagine Father's face when asked why his son abandoned his final year."
"Good. Then you'll see at last the look I carried for seventeen years."
Frank's eyes blazed. "By God, I long to smash your vile mouth."
"Try me." Yonan's head shook.
Frank unclenched his fists, turned skyward. "Darkness has fallen, and still we quarrel. I want to punch you... perhaps later." He looked toward the crowd. Yonan followed.
Three young women, no more than twenty-five, books in hand with drawings of animals like dinosaurs, whispering, staring.
"Perhaps they've never seen a man as handsome as me," Frank said.
"Or perhaps you look like one of those dinosaurs. Or like humans mid-evolution. Ever heard of that damned theory of human evolution?" Yonan muttered.
"You're rude, you know that? But I'll forgive you—just call me handsome brother, or say you love me."
Yonan opened his mouth to spit a curse, but Frank added quick: "If you don't, I swear I'll shout 'I love my cute brother!' ten times and hold you before them all."
Yonan glanced at the women smiling his way. Sweat broke on his brow. Frank's grin widened.
"You know I mean it..You've known me long enough to know I don't jest. One... two..."
"What are you doing?"
"Giving you ten seconds. Three."
"Don't count so fast, bastard."
A thought crossed his mind: to run away, but Frank's voice rang louder. "If you flee, I'll chase you yelling 'My baby brother!' to the station. Five."
"Wait—"
"Six." Frank shook his head. Yonan's palms sweated. He looked from the women to Frank's gaping smile. No escape.
"Seven."
Blood thundered in his ears, face aflame. He whispered, "I love you... my handsome brother.."
The women laughed, pointing. His blood boiled. Fists clenched.
"Handsome, ugly, animal, bastard, @*#$!"
Frank pressed his palm to his chest, lashes lowering. "And I love you too, little brother."
Yonan had not longed so fiercely to strike a face in years. His eyes sought the women, but they were gone.
Frank's foolish mask fell to gravity. "Despite your sharp tongue, you know I want what's good for you. Whatever you choose, I hope you succeed. Whatever Father said—Please forgive him. He is an old man."
He turned, then back again, gaze locked on his brother. "Do me this—call Mom tonight. Or I swear, if I find you haven't, I'll cast you from this cliff myself."
"I was going to call her anyway. So get lost."
Frank's grin returned. "Good." He waved and stepped into the throng. But then he turned, grin stretching wide, and cried out, "I love you, my cute brother who hides his girlfriend from me!" Then he vanished.
Heads turned. Curious, mocking, amused. Yonan's blood surged, his teeth clenched, his eyes shut against the blaze of shame.
"I told you, I don't have a girlfriend, you damn—!"
⸻
Frank dragged himself home, briefcase in hand, until he stood at his parents' house, the crickets sawing their endless hymn. His eyes lingered on the lit window, the shadows moving behind the curtain. He sighed. "Dinner, of course."
But it wasn't dinner he dreaded. It was his father.
He stepped inside, set the briefcase down, and took his place beside his wife, Lora, and his mother, facing the old man. He could swear a black cloud hovered above his father's head.
His mother rose, pushing a bowl toward him, half-filled with chicken wings. "I made them for you, but they're cooling."
Frank stared, swallowed. They must be perfect, hot, spiced. He placed some on his plate.
"If you had come ten minutes earlier, you could have seen your child before he slept," she said.
He bit into a wing, the savory fire bursting on his tongue. "He sleeps that fast?" He glanced at Lora. "Can I wake him?"
Her mouth tightened, near to bursting. His skin prickled.
"No need for that look, love... I was only joking."
She bent again to her plate. Frank stole a glance—his father still watching the soup as if gazing on his own reflection.
His mother's hands rubbed together, as they always did in unease.
"Do you want something, Mom?"
Her eyes shifted first to her husband, then back to Frank, as if torn by hesitation. She touched her wrinkled brow with trembling fingers, and her voice broke as she asked, "How did it go?"
So this is what troubles her.
"He'll call you tonight."
His father's spoon crashed against the bowl, broth spilling. His brows knotted. "Who will call her?"
His mother drew back. Frank's fist tightened beneath the table.
The old man stabbed a finger toward her, roaring: "I asked, who will call you?"
"Yonan," Frank forced out.
"I told you never to speak with that disgrace! You left your wife and child all day for that shameless brat?"
Frank breathed deep. "You quarreled with him. We got it, but don't drag us into it. Mom, me, the rest—we're not part of it."
His father thumped his chest, his face burning red. "When I speak, you do not interrupt! Remember your place. After all I gave, all I sacrificed—have you no shame? Tell me what I withheld from you!"
"I said nothing, yet now I'm accused beside him. But you know what? Now I'm certain he wasn't the only one at fault."
The old man surged to his feet, his chair crashing. "Who are you to judge me? You and your wretched brothers, all of you siding with him! My error was not raising you harder! And if my words angered you..." He slammed the table twice. "He is a coward, a disgrace, without honor—whether you like it or not. And whoever stands with him is the same."
Upstairs, a child's cry rose, startled from sleep. His mother's face drained pale. Anger flared in Frank's chest. He rose.
"I've known Yonan all my life. Cowardice never touched him. Even you know that."
The father turned his back, refusing. Frank's voice grew raw. "Don't you think you owe him an apology for burning his computer, his paintings?"
The old man froze, eyes blazing. "Mind yourself, or I'll remind you of your place! You'll teach me how to act?"
"That's not what I—"
"Silence! Weren't you rebuking your brother? Now you rebuke me? How swift your faces change." He turned to Frank's mother. "I wonder... from whom did you inherit this?"
Frank shook his head. "Of course... now you'll lay it on my mother too?"
"you—!"
Frank tossed his napkin onto the table and turned to his wife. "Lora, bring our child. We're leaving."
Lora rose without word. His mother's pressed in, anxious. 'You're leaving now?'"
"Yes," Frank said, eyes locked with his father. "Before two people in this house start another fight."
The old man snorted, retreating to his room.
Frank saw his mother's hands tremble. He caught one, forced a smile. "The wings... as wondrous as always."
"But you took only a bite."
He glanced at his plate. "Seems you're right." He looked back. "Would you pack some for me please?"
Her pale face lit with faint smile. "Of course."
An old phone rang in the corner of the living room. Frank's eyes moved from his mother to the sound.
"It must be him."