Chapter 136: Fanfic #136 frame the halves and call them brothers by pendwelling(TrashOfTheCount’sFamily)
This fanfic is an au of Trash of the Count's Family that has Kim Rok Soo reborn as the the twin brother of Cale Henituse. I really like this fic because it actually develops the characters, based on the events, so that it isn't just a canon rehash with one more character.
Synopsis: When he woke up, Kim Rok Soo noticed something was different. Very different. Everything seemed... larger. As if he had somehow shrunk in the short amount of time he had fallen into a slumber. And lo and behold, when Kim Rok Soo shook off the remainder of sleep from his foggy head and looked around, he found himself with plump, small limbs, chubby where there were once the muscles that he gradually built up over the years. His hands that were once able to imitate perhaps half of what a decent pen twirl was were now... small. Tiny. Baby fat. Kim Rok Soo was... a chubby baby. (Kim Rok Soo wakes up in the body of an infant—and beside him in the crib, a red-haired baby.)
Rated: M
words: 60k
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460065/chapters/61755568
Here's the first chapter:
When he fell asleep that one, typical day off, Kim Rok Soo was cold.
Not freezing—not exactly—but the room temperature at the time was a decent middle of both hot and cold, and the curtains were drawn close together without a sliver of sunlight to warm his skin.
It was peaceful, he'd say. Falling asleep while reading the series he planned on immersing himself in until evening was a good way to end the day. He deserved this break—earned it, really. He was done staring at the files on his desk, brain, head and eyes overheating while he analyzed data after data after data without break until he felt like flipping over his desk in frustration.
So when his eyelids began to feel heavy, dipping until he saw the blur of his lashes and the dark red behind the folds of his skin, Kim Rok Soo allowed himself to succumb to his well-deserved rest, only slightly wishing that he could do such a thing every day—to be a slacker in his every moment, in his every second, wherever and whenever he wanted.
And so he allowed himself to fall, to accept the drowsiness that washed over him, and slept. He slept even as it began to feel warm and then eventually hot, as if there was a bubble surrounding him and embracing him in a comfortable heat. But then for a second, it felt cold—a brush of wind that hit him so suddenly he barely had the time to register it.
Grumbling to himself, he decided to ignore it.
When he woke up, however, Kim Rok Soo noticed something was different.
Very different.
Everything seemed... larger. As if he had somehow shrunk in the short amount of time he had fallen into a slumber.
And lo and behold, when Kim Rok Soo shook off the remainder of sleep from his foggy head and looked around, he found himself with plump, small limbs, chubby where there were once the muscles that he gradually built up over the years. His hands that were once able to imitate perhaps half of what a decent pen twirl was were now... small. Tiny.
Baby fat.
Kim Rok Soo was... a chubby baby.
And to his side, there was another one—another baby, that is. With what small hair there was on that living lump's head, Kim Rok Soo could spot thin growing strands of red so vivid it might as well be dyed—but who in their sanest of minds would dye the hair of a baby? Certainly no parent with even an ounce of common sense, so he reasonably deduced it to be its natural colour, especially with how he had been surrounded by shades of browns and blacks his whole life.
And as if sensing the gaze of another on his face, the other baby slowly opened his eyes, greeting Kim Rok Soo with a brownish-red gaze much similar to that of his own, yet with features that weren't as Korean—as well as much younger—as he was used to.
Just as he had been in the middle of a contemplative trance, the baby suddenly opened its mouth and began to cry right in Kim Rok Soo's face.
He didn't know why it happened—he was just laying there, limp like a sack of potatoes, unmoving and non-threatening, nothing that would prompt a young child to start bawling their eyes out.
... Stop crying, he irked to himself, attempting to frown but got whisked away by the wet blur that welled up in his own vision, way too sudden for him to properly comprehend. And before he knew it, Kim Rok Soo was also crying, small lungs bellowing themselves out in a way he had never done before, not since his early childhood.
He didn't think of himself as someone so easily moved to tears. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he cried, not even when he was dressed in a black suit, not even when he found himself staring at several framed photographs placed on top of simple yet ornate coffins, back and shoulder slumped like they always seemed to find themselves as the days went on.
Kim Rok Soo wasn't the type of person to cry for any reason.
And yet here he was, bawling himself out alongside a redhead baby he didn't even know, feeling so oddly emotional and vulnerable like he's never been before.
Kim.
That was his name now, apparently.
Not Rok Soo, not Kim Rok Soo—but… Kim. That was what the beautiful red-haired woman softly muttered and cooed whenever she cradled him in her arms.
With long, fiery locks that would occasionally brush over his forehead or tickle the sides of his face, she often flooded his nose with the floral fragrance of roses. The light aroma of flowers was subtly engrained into her scent, recognizable whenever she came near, and it didn't take long for it to slowly become something that Kim... strangely took comfort in, whenever he caught whiff of it.
The woman felt very familiar and comforting, her presence lifting him up without any ounce of effort, and when she smiled, it was beautiful and graceful, even more so whenever she brought him up to muzzle their foreheads together. The warmth she radiated was welcome, soothing against his own, one he didn't find himself minding and sometimes she'd even hold him and the other baby in both of her arms—a feat Kim didn't know how it was possible, but considering he's never held a child before (let alone two at the same time) he decided to ignore it in favour of feeling slightly impressed.
But then the baby on the woman's other arm began to cry once more, breaking whatever serenity they were basked in. If Kim was able to, he would've rolled his eyes or let out a sigh.
Babies were tiresome. So quick to break the peace and quiet.
"Oh, Cale... What's wrong, hm? Hungry? A poopie in your diaper?"
Kim never understood the point of talking to babies, let alone asking then what was wrong when they were incapable of speech, but he couldn't find it in himself to criticize this woman—kind, gentle, beautiful, comfortable, and every bit of what he was beginning to associate with warmth and home.
"Ron?"
"Yes, my lady?"
"I think Cale has soiled himself again. Would you please keep Kim company while I take care of his brother? I'll be right back."
"Of course, my lady. Leave the young master to me."
Kim was shuffled around, his mother standing up from her chair to walk over to a man in a black servant's suit. And while his mother could be associated with everything good and comforting, the butler that was always accompanying her was the complete opposite.
Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe it was because he had been reading [The Birth of a Hero] before he had fallen asleep only to wake up here... But the fact that this butler of theirs was a middle-aged man that went by the name of Ron, who was so competent he was nearly perfect, whose steps were so silent Kim never noticed when he had appeared to check up on him and his brother while they were in their crib, whose entire person reminded him of that certain fictional character...
Ron sort of... scared him, quite frankly.
"You're always so well behaved, young master Kim. So unlike your brother. Not even my own son had been this quiet at your age."
Kim couldn't tell the man that it was because he technically had the mental maturity of an adult—mostly because he couldn't properly enunciate at his age, but also because Kim's throat contracted and dried whenever he was held by this butler of his, like the instinct of prey in the face of its predator.
"Agah... gooh.."
"Ho. Yes indeed, young master Kim."
..... Kim didn't know why this man was so happily playing along with the indecipherable speech of a child that wasn't even a year old, even more so when he was trying to say "put me down, you scary old man," before his mouth and tongue failed to properly deliver his words—though thinking about it on a more rational scale, it wasn't as if he would ever say that to this terrifying butler of his. Ron might smile at him and appear before everyone benignly, but Kim has seen the way the man polished a dagger while watching over him and his brother's playtime, and therefore he valued his life.
… It was terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. But as much as his baby instincts wanted him to, Kim couldn't even cry. What if he accidentally pissed Ron off with his screams and the man snapped, finally putting to use that knife he always carried to silence him once and for all? What if merely a few months into this new life, Kim suddenly go offed and sent to his next?
It didn't help that whenever his twin brother—named Cale, quite similar to the young master of Ron Molan in [The Birth of a Hero], much to his... very much concerning and growing speculations—started his waterworks, Kim always found himself on the verge of joining him. Not because he was startled by his brother crying and definitely not because he was sad or anything of the likes, but because Ron Molan of all people was on stand by and by god, he didn't want either him or his new brother to die. He was only alive for less than a year in this world, yes, but he had a sense of camaraderie with the chubby baby that resembled him nearly exactly and felt fear over their possible fates.
Maybe it was because they shared a womb and some odd twin thing was going on that immediately made him empathetic. Maybe it was because they both couldn't control their own bladder and he was glad he wasn't alone in that. But whatever it was, Kim didn't want Cale to piss their butler off with his screeching, wailing, eardrum-shattering voice.
Thankfully it was their mother who was in charge of caring for their diapers—though, as unfortunate as it was, if their mother wasn't available then the job would inevitably go to Ron. And at this point, he wasn't sure if Ron was supposed to be a butler, a wet nurse or a nanny, or if the duties overlapped... Whatever. It was none of his business. What that scary old man did outside of his range of view was entirely up to him, and Kim had no desire whatsoever to have even an ounce of insight into the man's pastimes.
But besides having a terrifying butler that he was around ninety-(nine) percent sure was the assassin of the book he was reading as Kim Rok Soo, Kim was.. leading a pretty amazing life.
He did nothing but sleep, eat and on occasion play with the toys the servants procured for them—but sleep and eat primarily, since he left most of the toys for Cale to enjoy.
Life was good. He never would've imagined saying he loved what being a baby entailed.
"Mama is back Kim! Did you miss me? Come on let's go on our walk to the gardens now, hm~?"
Hah... Finally. Take me away. Flooded with relief, Kim immediately reached his chubby hands towards his mother and her red hair, and by extension his now-calm twin brother in her arms, but he was suddenly pulled back, his small body separating further, further and further away from his safe haven.
"My lady, you shouldn't strain yourself to hold both of them. The master has told you repeatedly to not burden your body," Ron lightly chastised. And no matter how gentle his tone was, Kim still couldn't help the way he felt his entire stomach sink like a stone in a well, the impact loud and resonating. "Allow me to hold young master Kim for you, hm?"
"Ron, I am perfectly capable of holding my sons."
"Ho. This Ron heavily implores my lady to reconsider that confident statement of hers."
"..... What if I... politely refuse to do so?"
Ron's smile remained firm. Kim had to turn his gaze away to avoid premature heart failure.
"Ron..." And before she could refute and demand she hold them both, Ron sent her a pointed look under the guise of a gentle quirk of his lips. "... Alright, fine," she finally relented, though not without a bit of petulance. "But just this once! Now, let's go to the gardens then, shall we? My cuties and I need our daily dose of fresh air and sunlight."
And so, that was how Cale ended up being carried in the comforting bosom of their mother, while Kim remained stuck with a middle-aged man who most probably hid daggers up his sleeves.
..... He really wanted to learn how to walk.
He was previously fine with just laying around and on occasion crawling whenever it was necessary, but maybe he should start training his muscles so that he could avoid being carried by Ron any longer than he'd appreciate.
By their first birthday, Kim was certain.
He was inside [The Birth of a Hero], someway or another. He wasn't quite sure how, but it happened—and no matter his feelings about the entire situation, Kim Rok Soo was currently a useless baby who couldn't do anything about the situation he was in, and therefore, he will accept it. Begrudgingly, albeit, but he could deal. He was no stranger to having to deal with the sudden and unexpected, after all.
And another thing he was certain about was that he became a part of that very novel as a child of the Henituse family—the family that oversaw the territory where the first village the protagonist visited was located. And... that his older twin brother was the future trash of this family, Cale Henituse, who gets beaten to a pulp by Choi Han at the beginning of the very first book.
At that realization, he found himself laughing.
... Hah.
How great. How amazing. Just what he needed! To be related to the infamous first son of the Henituse family of the Roan Kingdom's north-eastern region. Unbelievable how that said trash was currently giggling to the odd faces their father was making them. He was very different in comparison to his counterpart in the novel, but Kim supposed that was a good thing.
All that aside however, he was slightly confused. When was there ever a Kim Henituse? He remembered everything of all the five books he had read and not once has he heard of Kim Henituse, younger twin brother of Cale Henituse. Was this an unmentioned aspect of Cale Henituse's story? or was he playing the part of an entirely new original character that the author hadn't planned to have exist in the first place—or even at all? But knowing how incredibly thorough Nelan Barrow was with his descriptions, wordbuilding and the backstories he gave even a minor cannon fodder like the trash Cale, Kim doubted it was the former. With such a consistent style, it would feel odd for the man to have hidden such a backstory to the character of Cale Henituse.
"Happy birthday, Cale, Kim," a man with curly brown hair gently squeezed their hands. Count Deruth Henituse, Kim noted to himself after breaking out of his thoughts with his father's prompting. Just as he was described in the novel, the man was quite average in appearance, but was somewhat charming in his own way, too, although Kim supposed he could be biased, considering the nature of their relationship.
"My children are growing up so fast..." came another tearful sniffle from the side. "Kim has already started walking a bit and Cale sounds as if he will speak his first words any day now..."
And upon hearing her recognizable voice, Kim slowly turned to his mother, a newfound realization struck the gears in his head.
'Mother,' huh.
His mother with bright red hair that had a soft scent of roses...
His mother who expressed firm desires to carry both of her children at the same time to avoid favouritism, only relenting when Deruth or Ron reminded her of her health...
His gentle mother that wasn't even alive by the time the events of the novel started.
(If he started tearing up due to his cursed baby emotions and triggered Cale into following his example, well, that was a story for another day.)
"Kim..."
A soft nudge.
"Kim?"
A drawled hum. The sound of rolling over.
"Kim!"
Groaning, Kim lazily looked over his shoulder, meeting a pair of brownish-red eyes that were only slightly darker than his own. "... Brother," he greeted curtly, only to flop his head right back onto the couch the second after.
Cale gasped, almost in affront. "Kim! Stop sleeping already! Let's go play, Mama said we could go outside in the gardens!"
"... Hyung-nim, I don't want to."
"Kim!!"
It has been a few years already and it never ceased to amaze him how different Cale Henituse was as a child, compared to how he was in the few scenes he appeared in, in the novel. Who could've imagined the trash young master at eighteen was once a child who jumped around and whined petulantly because he wanted company? The contrast was stark and oftentimes baffling to think about, with how the image of an impulsive and drunken young man failed to properly transition over the figure Kim associated with the brother he knew. But here they were, Kim Rok Soo, now Kim Henituse as a young toddler; and Cale Henituse as a decently behaved—though eccentric—child.
"Young master Kim, you'll be turning into mashed potatoes if you continue laying around like this any longer."
Sitting upright in a flash, Kim looked up, his eyes meeting Ron's and his benign face who was standing right next to his brother.
This crazy— he gasped, clutching at the fabric over his chest. When did he even get here? And mashed potatoes? Isn't a normal potato enough? Do you want me dead if I don't play outside? Is that what you're trying to get at??
Upon seeing his brother no longer imitating a lazy cat lounging on a heated stone, Cale cheered, immediately latching onto his brother's arm to pull him along. "Let's go, Kim! Ron got Beacrox to lend us some toy swords today, you know!"
Beacrox got them toy swords? That cook who had a hobby of polishing daggers, throwing knives, and who had a… questionable skill set outside of cooking that consisted of torture and interrogation??
Hah.
Imagine his non-surprise when the toy swords turned out to not be toys after all.
"... Ron."
"Yes, young master?"
"These..." Kim slowly weighed the small sword (a dagger..?) in his hands, carefully observing how Cale was swinging his around in a poor imitation of what he's seen of the knights' training regime and Deruth's personal morning sword practice. "Ron, these appear to be real."
Ron's kind face allowed for a sliver of surprise to cross his expression. Kim was 99.99% sure it was fake.
"Oh my. My apologies, young masters. It seems Beacrox gave me the wrong ones."
..... Bullshit. A person like you immediately would've noticed the difference between a real sword and a toy. Why are you pretending you didn't know anything??
"Hyung." Steadying his perturbed expression to the best he could, Kim turned to his brother. "Stop playing with that."
Cale immediately frowned, his lower lip jutting out just as his voice reached a high whine. "But what if I want to learn?"
"... Excuse me?"
Ron, the vicious man that he was, immediately quirked his lips and pounced upon the opportunity to interject: "Is that so, young master Cale? Then, would you like for this Ron to arrange you both swordsmanship lessons?"
"Really? YES!!"
No. NO, absolutely not—!
When Ron turned his gaze to confirm with him, Kim was unable to express his opposition, too afraid of what lied beneath that benign and patient smile. And as if sensing his hesitation, Ron let out what might have been an amused huff, his gaze turning gentle as it settled upon his youngest master's form. "It would do you good to learn how to protect yourself, young master Kim. You never know what could happen when your guard is lowered."
….. Kim didn't like how threatening those words sounded. He felt as if Ron was implying he might stab him one day.
But just as he was about to choke out a stiff refusal, he felt a tug at his sleeve and upon looking to his side, he saw the pleading puppy-dog look on Cale's face intensifying tenfold.
"... Fine." Fuck! Whatever! Sentence him to death while they're at it!
And with good cheer, Cale flung the sword to the side, already jumping up to glomp his twin into a devastating hug. With the air nearly knocked out of him and too preoccupied with his arms full of brother, Kim missed the fond look that swept over their butler's face, a small slip up that the man allowed himself to fall into.
Indeed, he chuckled. It would be a good idea for these two puppy and kitten young masters of his to learn how to protect themselves well.
And learn they did.
But it seemed that no matter how many lessons they took—with Cale being diligent and enthusiastic, and Kim begrudging and tired—no amount of sword practice would be enough to protect their mother from the illness that was affecting her.
They were walking in the garden one day, heading towards that one tree near the hilltop at the back of the estate that was perfect for hosting small family picnics.
Deruth had been carrying Cale on his back and Kim was content with merely holding their mother's hand, although the fact that he ever was in the first place was mostly because of her own persistence.
Everything was going as per usual and absolutely perfect until she staggered and missed a step, her form stumbling when it was usually so confident and graceful. Kim didn't know why he suddenly froze, eyes locking onto her bright red hair—wild like fire underneath the sun, but suddenly as fragile as a dwindling candle flame against the grass floor.
Cale probably screamed in alarm, his joyful rendition of a song he learnt cutting abruptly mid-verse to make way for a cry of startled horror. Deruth might've dropped to his knees in an instant to try and catch his wife, too driven and flooded with both adrenaline and concern to remember his son on his back.
Maybe. It all went by in a blur, so he couldn't quite remember.
"—H ey, rookie. How come you can remember anything you want to remember a fter seeing it once, b ut never remember anything you don't want to remember as if y ou have a m nesia?—"
But oddly enough, all Kim could vividly recall was how her hand slipped from his, its warmth lingering faintly even as it dropped to the ground, tingling the skin of his palm until it felt numb and cold.
When was the last time..?
"—im."
... he saw someone fall before him..?
"—Kim?"
The warm hand of his mother gently landed on his shoulder. Her red hair appeared vibrant, contrasting the soft white of her sleeping gown and bedsheets.
"Kim, what's wrong?"
The fuzz around his ears gradually receded. Regaining himself, he shook his head. "Nothing is wrong."
"Your face is all scrunched up, dear. The same way it does when Ron gives you lemonade."
Deruth's lips quirked up, despite the worried crease of his brows. Looking towards his eldest son who was burying his face into the covers of the bed—always so emotional yet currently trying his best to appear mature—and his youngest who appeared a little too mature in all aspects, yet was so visibly affected he couldn't even hide the way his lip quivered, fists clenched until his knuckles turned went white... Deruth couldn't help but force himself to smile, to reassure these two children that shouldn't be drowning in worry. Not at such a young age, not when their faces were better off carefree and happy without a concern to dampen their mood.
"Your mother is going to be fine. We have a good doctor on their way to check up on her."
"That's right. Mother will be getting better soon, hm? You children don't have to worry about me so much." Chuckling, her hand gently patted the short curls of Cale head. "So enough with that expression, Kim. You're going to make your face freeze that way if it continues any longer. Worry isn't a good look on my cutie, hm?"
… Kim wasn't that worried. Why was everyone looking at him like he was going to break down?
A small hand suddenly reached out to tug on his sleeve. On instinct, Kim accepted his sibling's hand, holding it maybe not only to comfort his brother, but to perhaps comfort himself, too.
But Kim Rok Soo had read the novel, and he knew that Cale Henituse didn't have his birth mother by his side by the time he appeared in the novel.
... Forget.
If only he could forget.
But despite his strong desire to close his eyes and remain blind to the world, Kim couldn't help the way his eyes recorded the scene before him—his gentle mother, his father's minuscule smile, the weight of his brother's hand in his… taking it all in like he once did near a mountain in the countryside, alongside two annoying-as-hell punks.
Silently, Kim squeezed his fingers around his brother's, only vaguely registering the ministrations of their mother's hands as she comfortingly played with his long hair, red much like her own.
Contrary to what she told them, however, their mother had been getting worse each day. Her smile seemed to glow even brighter in contrast, however, as if to make up for where she was dimming.
And throughout this all, Cale worked hard on his swordsmanship and began studying diligently even though he hated academics to the core. Kim was sure it was all done just to make mother happy, to impress her and to make her eyes twinkle and glow whenever they reported their days, because why else would this kid—who always bantered with their teachers, daydreaming and complaining more often than not—make an effort to be more attentive during their lessons?
What a little kid, he scoffed.
Although, Kim... also might've wanted to do that. To make their mother happy, to hear her laugh as much as he could before she inevitably took her leave. So if he put more effort into studying or in what little he didn't skip out on actually attended of their swordsmanship lessons, well, no one brought it up, but it didn't go unnoticed either. That was for the better, anyway—Kim didn't need any more of the knowing looks sent his way, nor the way the tutors would beam when he finally stopped sleeping as much during their lessons, and even less so how Ron would smile whenever they met eyes, a glint in his gaze that seemed sharper than it should be.
But Kim was doing well. Studying was no problem for him with how he could easily remember anything he wished, and despite being new to this world of fantasy quite different than his old one, he had read the book in which the universe was based in, and had somehow arrived with a familiarity of this language so different than that of Korea.
He already had a headstart in this game of lectures and relentless studying, compared to Cale, who, on the other hand, didn't have the same advantage—but to say his brother was dumb would be nothing but false slander.
Cale had a certain sharpness in his eyes that narrowed down onto social cues quicker than most, not to mention the children his age. He possessed a determination that rivalled Kim's own laziness, (which Kim could admire, in some way) and that energetic child he was currently growing up with was... emotional, too, in the way that made Kim wonder how his twin ever managed to survive with all those sentiments he had to spare.
He wondered briefly how long it would take before the boy would be unable to put a reign on them all, but as he was now, Cale was stable when it came to his emotions, and Kim had yet to see the boy enter the rebellious phase that led him on the path of "trash". Whatever excess energy Cale had was well spent on sword practice or martial arts at the moment, and who knows? maybe if he does eventually go down the route of getting beat up by the protagonist, he'd be able to defend himself enough to not get completely pummeled to the ground.
... At that thought, Kim decided it would best to subtly start encouraging Cale to pick up martial arts.
It wouldn't do anyone harm if the eldest young master of the Henituse Household knew how to beat some feral doberman when the time called for it. But the downside of Cale learning martial arts was that his brother, in turn, told Kim to do good in their studies, quote, "if I'm gonna do your share of sword practice, then you do my share of studies!! You can't slack off when I'm out here in the sun working so hard!"
And so, it didn't take long for rumours about the twin sons of the Henituse family to rise, claiming that the siblings would soon grow to be well versed in the arts of sword and pen respectively.
The whole territory was proud. Young master Cale was a good child, if not a bit eccentric and slowly showing signs of being... a little too curious about the wine their territory was famous for (in Kim's opinion, something he'd have to veer his brother away from for the sake of the future), and his younger twin, young master Kim, albeit... incredibly lazy (and according to Cale, not unlike the lazy stray cat that liked to laze around near the main gates), was mature and stoic but seemed to care more than he let on—especially when he indulgingly let himself be dragged by his older brother around town, despite claiming 'he was tired' and 'wanted to go home' even when they were already a few hours into their city outings.
They were good children that many people could be proud of. And their mother especially so.
Kim remembered how she smiled and caressed their heads, running her slender fingers through Cale's unruly short locks, and brushing through Kim's longer hair. Cale would energetically report their day and the results of whatever latest test or homework they were assigned, and their mother would continue smiling, gaze soft and chuckling gently, a candle flame that never wavered despite how small it was.
But then one day the windows opened,
And wind came to blow her fire out.
She died one autumn, early in the morning.
There was no warning, no farewell or goodbye.
She just left.
Like the leaves during autumn, vibrant and red and fleeting, she had fallen.
Inevitably, silently...
Without notice moments prior, except for the gradual dwindling of her health.
And yet again, even in this second life, Kim found himself standing in front of a coffin. Surrounded by weeping family members that have visited from other territories, he faced a pair of once-lively eyes, immortalized between the delicate pigments of—not a digital photograph, this time—but a beautifully painted portrait.
Cale had clenched onto his sleeve so hard the fabric ended up crumpled by the end of the whole affair. But Mother had always told them to appear as tidy as they could, because the Henituses were nothing less than clean and presentable, so Kim took it upon himself to take his brother's hand in his to avoid having him crease his clothes any further, remaining unaffected no matter how harshly Cale squeezed his hand back.
It was then that it crossed his mind that their mother was the one that picked out all their clothing, the one that took them to the tailor whenever they needed to have their clothes fitted, either for special occasions or her own personal enjoyment. And no matter how long their mother spent, browsing around and walking until their feet went sore, going from shops to bazaar to marketplace, enjoying whatever little delicacy was offered in the food stalls or local cafes...
Kim felt a little hollow now that he understood he would never be able to experience such things again.
(Not for a long while.)
There were sounds of muffled sniffles and sobbing all around him, as well as quiet mutterings from the distant relatives he hardly bothered to remember. But despite the faint noise, he couldn't find it in himself to hear a thing. It felt like dull buzzing, like white noise. Like cotton was currently occupying his head.
It seemed there would be no more of those joyful visits to clothing stores.
... This wasn't something new to him.
It shouldn't be something new to him.
But even so, he couldn't help the way it hurt as if it were the first time, all over again—a freshly covered scab being mercilessly torn back open. Both his shoulders and head felt heavy and his back too small as he stood beside his brother, who was snivelling as quietly as he could, holding his breath on occasion to bite back his hiccups.
He didn't speak up. He let Cale cry, let him grieve. Cale didn't know how inevitable this outcome was compared to Kim Rok Soo, so the shock was surely hitting him harder.
The hand his twin was tightly holding was a little numb by now, but the grip had significantly loosened, and that was alright.
That was good.
It meant Cale understood he was there for him, and that he was starting to calm down.
... But he couldn't say the same for their father.
Even as the sun began to set and the leaves continued falling in fluttering droplets of red and orange, Deruth never moved. Not even when their relatives bid their goodbyes and condolences and began retreating for the night, eyes full of pity and sharp emotion when they flickered over the madam's young sons and their respective faces, and then to their unresponsive father.
Rooted in spot, Deruth stared at the fresh dirt covering the coffin of his wife's grave, at the dark brown bark of the tree she was buried under, at the flowers his sons had picked and placed for their mother, plucked from the gardens she loved to stroll in so very often.
Roses as red as her hair and as fragrant as her perfume, the sight was a fickle reminder of who they were so strongly associated with.
The blue of the sky slowly melted into a blush red, much reminiscent to that person that was as striking as fire and as warm as the sun.
With a veil of blurs hindering his sight, Deruth failed to notice his twin sons standing behind him the whole time, left and right hands respectively clasped together, one holding on so tightly as if to make sure the other wouldn't fly away, too.
Cale's shoulders trembled every so often despite having calmed himself after a while, lips red with how much he's bitten and chewed on himself, eyes puffy and red with how much he's cried, nose red and cheeks red with the slow dip of temperature that occurred throughout the day, the bite of the wind harsh on his skin.
Red.
Everywhere they looked, there seemed to be hints of red—yet the splash of red they yearned for the most was nowhere to be seen.
Reaching out, Cale grasped the sleeve of their father, tugging once before he paused in hesitance. "Papa."
Deruth's shoulder trembled, the curls of his warm brown hair lowering with the dip of his head.
"Papa. Father, we're here..."
The smile on his brother's face was brittle, fragile... shaky and clumsy at best. But it was radiant and steady in the way it was genuine, a rare stillness amongst the stone-casted ripples of a pond.
Slowly walking forward, Cale stepped near his father and wrapped his small arms around the man's waist, reaching out for a hug Deruth didn't immediately reciprocate.
"... Father." Carefully, Kim lifted his hand too, softly landing on the count's back. No patting, no rubbing—merely establishing his presence in the form of a single, lingering touch. Perhaps it was because he didn't exactly know how to comfort this man that looked on the verge of breaking. Perhaps it was because he didn't quite know what else to do.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps..
But Kim took one glimpse at his brother who was trying his best to smile despite the glossy sheen of his eyes, and another at his father who had just dropped to his knees to pull them both into a tight, sobbing embrace... and decided that perhaps it was enough that he was just there.
And it was only when Ron came to get them maybe an hour later did Deruth finally stop shedding his tears, slowly calming himself down with the grounding presence of his sons to keep him afloat.
"... Ron."
"Yes, young master Kim?"
The middle-aged man's voice was incredibly soft. In any other situation, Kim would've felt wary of such a tone—but as it was now, he didn't have the energy to react as usual, too tired, too exhausted to find it in himself to have even a single hair on his skin stand on edge at the surprising gentleness.
Staring at his older twin, Kim noted his red-rimmed eyes and the way he firmly held their father's hand on their way to their coach.
Cale was smiling. Fragile under pretenses of being strong, but smiling. Letting his palm fall on top of Cale's head, Deruth's cold hands ruffled gently at his son's red hair. A sliver of a smile could also be found in his expression, despite his mournful eyes.
... It'll be alright.
They'll be alright.
"..... Nevermind."
Kim took one last glance at their mother's rose-decorated grave before he turned away, heading towards the carriage where the rest of his family were waiting.
... Bye, Mother.
Right hand over his heart, Kim Rok Soo held his own private ceremony. He was no stranger to the weight of death, but it still pulled him down every single time without spare, heavy around his small limbs.
Pounding his fist onto the thighs of his legs that refused to move, Kim dragged his feet through the red leaves on the ground. Under the shoes that mother had gifted him, they scrunched painfully loud in the silence of the graveyard, dying and starting to shrivel—but beautiful while they had lasted.
"Let's go, Ron."
"Of course, young master Kim."
And when he looked out the window of the coach as it slowly began driving away, Kim couldn't help but record the way the red leaves and roses seemed to sway with the wind, as if gently waving them goodbye.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone