TTDOTO 3.1

If humanity were ranked on a scale, Jae-an, not Jae-rim, would fall among the wicked.

He wasn’t always this unstable, pathetic wreck. Mild depression lingered, but he could pass as an ordinary person. Yet, after his maternal grandmother’s funeral, his mind rapidly deteriorated.

At twenty-eight, in autumn, his grandmother passed away. That day, Jae-an learned the exact reason his mother took her own life.

His mother despised not only his father but also Jae-an, who resembled him, leading to near-total estrangement from his grandmother after her suicide. With no other family, Jae-an became the chief mourner.

After the modest funeral, a belongings organizer handed him a cell phone. He’d requested most items be discarded, but the phone, deemed valuable, was kept. His grandmother never owned one, and the outdated, non-smartphone model was unfamiliar.

The phone was dead. Curiosity piqued, Jae-an bought an old charger online and powered it up.

Moments later, the screen lit up, and he froze. A low-quality photo of a toddler, barely three, smiling brightly, was the wallpaper.

Recognizing himself, Jae-an realized the phone’s owner.

Why his mother left it at his grandmother’s was unclear, but hoping to find traces of her, he explored it.

He pressed the photo album button. Expecting family pictures or his mother’s selfies, his faint smile vanished.

The first image showed someone kissing his father’s cheek. The photo, a snapshot of another phone’s screen, was grainy but clear enough to identify the figures. It wasn’t his mother kissing his father.

“What the hell…”

Shocked, Jae-an, face drained, pressed next. Only the timestamps differed; each photo captured the same scene—his father with someone, intimate. The album was filled with evidence of his father’s affair, meticulously collected by his mother.

His father’s long-term infidelity was shocking enough, but identifying the other party left Jae-an reeling beyond words.

“…Fucking bastards.”

His trembling hands let slip a curse.

His father, Lee Han-yoon, had betrayed his mother with Seo Jae-rim’s father, Seo Seung-hyeop.

Suppressing nausea, Jae-an scoured the phone—texts, photos, call recordings between Seung-hyeop and Han-yoon.

Now he understood why his mother lost her sanity. Why she loathed his gaze.

For years, she silently gathered evidence, hiding the phone at her mother’s to avoid detection. Then, impulsively, she ended her life, leaving the phone buried with proof.

No evidence postdated her death, but it was clear the two continued their shameless affair.

Jae-an’s memories confirmed it. Seung-hyeop, mostly abroad, visited their home whenever in Korea, often with young Jae-rim, claiming he couldn’t leave him alone. The four often met.

After his mother’s death, Seung-hyeop freely entered the master bedroom, sometimes staying overnight.

Five years later, at fifteen, Jae-an’s father suggested a Vietnam trip to Seung-hyeop during a fall holiday. A car accident killed them both. They’d loved each other fiercely until their sudden deaths.

Jae-an’s world, once pitying their tragic end, was shattered that day.

He could no longer see Jae-rim the same way.

He knew it wasn’t Jae-rim’s fault. But seeing him recalled Seung-hyeop’s face from the phone, tormenting him.

Jae-rim’s handsome features, black hair, rare golden eyes—eerily like his father’s. Ironically, Jae-an mirrored his own father.

Whenever he and Jae-rim stood side by side, reflected in mirrors or glass, the image of their fathers’ photos made his skin crawl.

He felt sorry for Jae-rim, but after thirteen years of brotherly closeness, Jae-rim became uncomfortable for the first time. Unable to confess this absurd, shocking truth, the pain grew.

As if fated, Jae-rim opened a small restaurant that year after long preparation. Its quick success kept him busy, and Jae-an, using the restaurant as an excuse, decided to suggest independence.

Over breakfast, he broached the topic, aiming for casual indifference, but his voice betrayed tension.

“You got home at dawn again, huh? Busy?”

“Yeah. Lots of prep work.”

“How about finding a place near the restaurant?”

“Move? This area’s better for driving to your school.”

“No, for you.”

“….”

“You’re an adult now. Time to live alone.”

Jae-rim, mid-bite of soup, stared at him. His expression was unfamiliar, reminiscent of the cold look after he beat a friend unconscious in high school for insulting Jae-an.

Sensing anger, Jae-an quickly explained.

“The restaurant’s stable now. You’re grown, so practicing living alone—”

“You’ve been avoiding my eyes lately. Was this why?”

“Not exactly—”

“I’ll think about it. Let’s eat.”

Uncharacteristically, Jae-rim cut him off coldly. Jae-an, fidgeting with his spoon, asked,

“Are you upset?”

“No.”

“Seems like it.”

“If it looks that way, maybe.”

At the curt reply, Jae-an couldn’t press further and ate in silence, each bite like swallowing sand.

Worrying about Jae-rim’s feelings for a week, Jae-rim finally spoke first.

“I found a place.”

“Already? Where?”

“Not far from the restaurant. A remodeled unit. I signed the contract.”

Jae-rim, propping his chin, seemed milder than before, relieving Jae-an. He asked about the contract and loans, but Jae-rim’s responses were half-hearted.

While watching TV, Jae-rim called softly.

“Hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not kicking me out because you hate me, right?”

The blunt question jolted Jae-an’s heart, but he forced a smile.

“Of course not. Why would I hate you?”

“Don’t change the passcode. It’s useless.”

“What, planning to visit often?”

Jae-an laughed, incredulous. Jae-rim’s lips curved silently.

“Come whenever you miss me.”

Even as he said it, Jae-an wondered if he could face Jae-rim as before.

Yet, contrary to his fears, Jae-an was the one to reach out first, just two months after Jae-rim moved out.

On a winter day with a cold wave warning, Jae-an, about to smoke in the apartment’s smoking area, saw snow piling up and felt a startling loneliness.

Wondering if Jae-rim got home safely, his curiosity turned to resentment at Jae-rim’s silence after being told to leave.

The absurd emotion baffled him. Seeing Jae-rim recalled his father’s affair, yet his absence left a hollow void.

Smoking heavily, he returned home. The empty entryway, devoid of Jae-rim’s shoes, the half-empty clothing rack, the once-cramped sofa—his gaze lingered.

Thirteen years of living with Jae-rim left memories and voids intertwined.

His heavy steps led not to his room but to Jae-rim’s old one. Collapsing onto the unmade bed, he hugged a pillow, faintly carrying Jae-rim’s scent. Eyes heavy, he grabbed his phone, typing and deleting texts repeatedly.

“Snowing.”

After hesitation, he sent a purposeless message. Should’ve asked to meet. Sighing at the lame text, he raised an eyebrow at a reply within ten seconds.

“Picking you up in 20.”

The tender response drew a hollow sigh. From that day, despite suggesting independence, Jae-an met Jae-rim often.

When loneliness overwhelmed, he’d barge into Jae-rim’s space, clinging like a child. When self-loathing surged, he’d ignore Jae-rim’s calls, locking himself away.

His fickle moods flipped like a coin, but Jae-rim never showed frustration, always welcoming him. Jae-an vowed to push Jae-rim away, yet his unwavering kindness fed Jae-an’s self-hatred.

‘You’re too kind, too good, so I can’t help it.‘ His pathetic rationalization.

Even now, he couldn’t fully accept this hellish reality. Despite witnessing Jae-rim’s brutal violence and enduring humiliating captivity, Jae-rim’s past kindness dulled the cruelty’s edge.

Still collared, Jae-an shifted his gaze to the window. The sun moved across the small frame. Leaning against the wall, lost in memories, time dragged. The sun, bright white during his escape, turned yellowish.

Then, unexpected voices sounded outside. Jae-an’s eyes widened like a startled rabbit, head snapping toward the door.

“I’ll start with the laundry room, then the kitchen.”

“Okay, I’ll take the bedrooms.”

Two middle-aged women’s voices came through the closed door. Discussing cleaning tasks—wiping surfaces, moving items—they were clearly housekeepers.

During his week chained in the bedroom, no cleaners came, so he’d forgotten Jae-rim had hired help.

Jae-rim was never tidy. Clumsy and disorganized, cleaning fell to Jae-an when they lived together. Seung-hyeop, often staying in hotels or shared accommodations with Jae-rim, left him unaccustomed to chores.

Jae-an was surprised at Jae-rim’s house initially. Expecting a mess, he found it immaculate. Jae-rim, embarrassed, admitted to hiring cleaners due to his busy schedule.

If they cleaned everywhere, they’d enter this room. Stacked with storage boxes, it wasn’t dirty, but they’d dust and wipe surfaces.

If the door opened, he’d be exposed. Curled tightly, Jae-an strained to hear footsteps, clenching his fists as they neared, heart tightening. Alternating tension and relief soaked his freshly washed body in cold sweat.

As the slipper sounds approached again, Jae-an bit his lip. The footsteps stopped, and the doorknob turned. His face paled at the click.

“….”

“….”

A woman entered, pausing at the sight of Jae-an, naked and curled against the wall.

He pressed himself closer, covering himself. Their eyes met briefly, and a plea for help slipped out.

“Hel…”

Help me. Please, call the police. But his faint voice faded like breaking foam.

This was likely streaming to Jae-rim via CCTV. The woman might not be an ally. If she reported his plea… the thought was horrific.

Staring desperately, another voice called from the hall.

“Hey, we’re not supposed to enter that room today!”

“Oh, right…”

The rattled woman quickly shut the door.

Jae-an bit his lip hard, tasting blood from cracked skin, as hope vanished. Exhausted by repeated despair, he slumped against the wall, silencing his breath, eyes squeezed shut.

The women finished cleaning hours later, their proud chatter about the long task faintly audible through the door.

They’d locked eyes, yet their tone was bright, as if nothing had happened.