TTDOTO 4.4 [Part 2] The Past – Angel

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 1 Peter 4:8”

Lee Jae-an’s father, Lee Han-yoon ajussi, went to church.

It seemed natural. Ajussi was kind, gentle, and looked innocent enough to believe in God. In contrast, my father seemed more suited to hell—cursing with every sentence, body covered in messy tattoos, acting crude and sleazy.

Maybe because of ajussi’s faith, Jae-an’s house was filled with Christian items: a framed Bible verse, a children’s Bible with Jae-an’s name scrawled crookedly, a wooden carving of Jesus with a crown of thorns.

That wasn’t all. Magnets from around the world, cups with tourist spots, bottle openers, and even a dreamcatcher—souvenirs from ajussi’s travels as a middle school teacher during breaks cluttered the shelves, walls, and cabinets. The already small house felt even smaller with all the stuff.

My tall, burly father didn’t seem to mind the cramped space, always coaxing me to visit ajussi’s place. I didn’t hate it. Playing with toys at Jae-an’s was more fun than being alone with Father.

But though Father suggested it, he’d always hand me the phone just before the call connected, urging me to charm ajussi for permission. I’d glare once, take the phone, and ask the same question:

“Can I come over to your house?”

Ajussi never once said no, always welcoming me. It felt like I could just show up, so I didn’t get why we did this.

Still, at ajussi’s, I’d look for new items. One caught my eye: a white statue on the low wooden living room cabinet, about the length of my six-year-old forearm. Not big, but it was carved as an angel, they said.

No wings, just a childlike figure—it seemed odd for an angel. Yet, its eyelashes, hair, and clothing folds were intricately detailed, almost lifelike.

Today, I sat cross-legged in front of it, staring intently. Was it sleeping or praying? Its hands were clasped by its cheeks, eyes tightly shut.

“Bought it in Paris. Pretty, right?”

Jae-an’s father crouched beside me, asking warmly. I nodded, lost in thought. Ajussi was so kind, so why was Jae-an so quiet? He spoke less than me, still learning Korean.

Thinking of Jae-an, my yellow eyes stayed fixed on the angel’s face.

Was it pretty? I couldn’t yet tell beauty from ugliness, but it didn’t feel bad—more mysterious.

“Want it?”

I shook my head. It drew my gaze, but I didn’t want it that badly. Ajussi ruffled my hair lightly, then went to the kitchen, bringing back snacks and milk. Setting a tray piled with snacks on the table by the sofa, he called to the closed bedroom door:

“Jae-an, come eat snacks.”

Jae-an, who’d gone to his room to write in his diary, walked out. My eyes were on the snacks, but my ears caught Jae-an’s soft, shuffling steps—ticklish, fragile, like his appearance.

Jae-an glanced at me briefly, then sat diagonally across, digging into the snacks. I’d seen him devour katsu, yet he stuffed his cheeks until they bulged, gulping milk. How did he stay so small and skinny? It was strange.

Watching him, the adults chuckled softly. Father praised his hearty eating; Jae-an bowed his head, mumbled, and kept chewing.

“Say thank you,” ajussi urged. Jae-an muttered a late “thank you.”

His small body matched his small voice. I drank another glass of milk, thinking I’d soon outgrow him.

Still, I decided not to look down on him. Jae-an’s mother had recently died. He’d always been reserved, barely smiling, but since then, he spoke even less and never smiled.

Losing someone hurts more than never having them. I wanted to comfort him but kept quiet, afraid it’d sound like boasting.

“Play while eating snacks,” ajussi said, heading to the master bedroom. Father grabbed a snack, holding it like a cigarette, and followed.

With the adults gone, an awkward silence filled the living room. Neither of us was the type to start talking, so we ate quietly, eyes on the TV as Jae-an flipped to an animation channel.

When the snack plate emptied, Jae-an put it back on the tray and took it to the kitchen. The loud sound of water suggested he was washing it.

Father would kick leftovers into a corner. Jae-an’s tidying felt a bit like an older brother.

After washing, Jae-an returned with a box, sitting on the sofa with a comic book, flipping pages. My eyes lit up.

“Play with it,” he said.

It was the toy box he always brought out when I visited. Father moved often for work, staying in motels in Seoul or remote villas elsewhere. He disliked extra baggage, so I had no toys. Burying stones or hitting tissue rolls was my play; this box was a treasure chest.

Lips pursed, I rummaged through it. From familiar Digimon toys to unknown but tempting ones, I picked a spinning top, fidgeting with it.

It had a shooter. Jae-an glanced over but returned to his comic.

I struggled with assembly at first, but got the hang of it, attaching parts and spinning it. When that bored me, I played with paper disks, stacking blocks, and carefully opening a bag of Legos to build.

Eventually, toys grew dull. Lying on my stomach, chin on my hands, I nudged a block and turned.

Jae-an was asleep, comic book splayed on his chest, rising and falling with his soft, colorful breaths. He seemed deep in sleep.

My eyes narrowed. Staring at his sleeping face, my lips parted slowly. My golden gaze shifted to the white statue. My eyebrows arched.

They were alike.

Jae-an and the angel were identical—gentle eyes, long lashes, round cheeks, pale skin. They said it was an angel. Did that mean Jae-an looked like one?

Like the statue, Jae-an’s sleeping face held my gaze.

Ajussi’s voice echoed: Want it? I regretted refusing. An angel resembling Jae-an—I wanted it now. Realizing the resemblance sparked a desire to keep looking at it, even at home.

I’d need to ask ajussi again and get Father’s permission, since he hated extra stuff. Hearing Jae-an’s soft breaths, I stood carefully.

Knocking on ajussi’s bedroom door, I turned the handle. The room was empty. As I turned to leave, soft laughter came from the small dressing room attached to it.

Through the slightly open sliding glass door, two voices leaked out. I walked toward the sound, peeking through the gap. My eyes widened.

“….”

Father held ajussi’s cheeks, their lips pressed together. Father’s large frame hid Ajussi’s face, but sitting on a low cabinet, Ajussi clearly embraced him.

Holding my breath, I backed away instinctively. I didn’t know what was wrong, but it felt strange. Careful not to make noise, I fled the bedroom, collapsing among scattered toys.

Shock made my stomach ache. Clutching it, I shuffled to Jae-an. Should I wake him? What would I say? Biting my lip, I hesitated.

Jae-an slept peacefully, angel-like, unaware. If I made a fuss, this quiet calm would shatter. Pressing my pounding heart, I fiddled with toys.

A soft groan came from the sofa. Jae-an, rubbing his eyes, woke, checked the clock, and walked toward the master bedroom. Startled, I grabbed his hand.

“W-Wait…”

Surprised, Jae-an tried to pull away, but I held tight. Wincing, he frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“How do you do this?”

I dragged him to the spinning top I’d tired of. Grumbling, Jae-an muttered,

“You played with it fine earlier.”

“Forgot.”

At my insistence, Jae-an disassembled the perfectly built top, showing me how to reassemble it. Meanwhile, ajussi and Father emerged from the bedroom.

“Jae-rim, let’s go,” Father called.

I shoved toys into the box and stood. Jae-an, frowning faintly, neatly sorted the jumbled toys.

Ajussi ruffled my hair, saying I could take any fun toy. Dodging his touch subtly, I pointed to the statue.

“Not a toy, but… can I take that statue?”

“You wanted it? You’ve been staring at it forever,” Ajussi laughed, placing it in my arms. Father tapped my head lightly.

“Kid, say thank you.”

“…Thank you.”

“You give him anything he asks for?”

Father tapped ajussi’s head too. Ajussi, grinning as if being hit was fun, walked us to the door.

My face still held lingering confusion. I wanted to ask why they kissed, but it felt like it’d ruin this peace. I came here to see Jae-an; if this broke, I might never see him again—a bad premonition.

Even as their kiss muddled my mind, I couldn’t tear my eyes from Jae-an’s pale face as he saw us off. Father, usually stern, smiled often beside ajussi.

Holding the statue tightly, I thought: people like pretty things. Father must like ajussi. I’d just think that and move on.

“Don’t you miss Jae-an?”

“Next time we’re in Korea, wanna visit his place?”

“You and Jae-an are like brothers. Your names fit, right? Jae-an, Jae-rim.”

As I grew, I understood their relationship clearly. Were they hiding their dark intentions, or did they not care if caught? Ajussi’s name popped up constantly.

Each time, I stayed silent, staring at the statue’s face. Angel, Unit 1004. To keep meeting this angel, I had to stay quiet forever, I told myself.

The nauseating moment, the instinct to hold my breath, never faded. No—over one, two, five, ten, thirteen years, it grew sharper.

Jae-an and I mirrored our fathers perfectly, living together in the space where they deceived us kids to love.

Jae-an often went into that dressing room, organizing supplies or seasonal clothes, back turned unguarded. Leaning against the sliding door, I watched him quietly.

The urge to hold his slim cheeks and kiss him, like an unfading memory, gripped my mind. Slowly, the image of our fathers’ hushed kisses morphed into me kissing Jae-an.

“Why follow me into this cramped space?”

Jae-an frowned, puzzled, when I trailed him into the dressing room. Unaware of how darkly he was ravaged in my mind, he came close innocently, making me laugh sometimes. Rarely, he’d smile back weakly.

But I settled for those rare, precious smiles. If I sullied this bond, I might never see that face again. Stuffy, dull Jae-an would do just that.

My foolish father, indulging his desires, failed to keep ajussi. I hated that recklessness.

I wanted to stay by Jae-an’s side, wholly, for as long as possible.