Wednesdays were the long days—Mondays too, but today was Wednesday and thus the worst day. He had three classes: ten-thirty to eleven-forty-five blessed his morning with Systemic Macroeconomics, noon was Physics with Systemic Considerations to one-fifteen, and lastly from two to three-fifteen ended his suffering with Differential Calculus. Macroeconomics-Physics-Calculus, hell-hell-hell. He might as well be a Slayer; that’d be easier. The last two had a test scheduled for next week and the first bled him with a project. Lovely things. He admired education in a philosophical way. That was about it. Until nearly six, he locked himself in one of the libraries, studying his youth away with Leona.

Now he was at home stuck in the kitchen, wearing a pink apron with cute roses and those purple things and blue freaks too. (He would’ve worn a different one but Althea “misplaced” the rest of them.) Alexander was not a florist—he knew only three flowers: roses, lilies, and daises. Anything else was variations of those three.

Althea sat her lazy ass in the living room, not doing homework although Alexander full-well knowing she had some. She was catching up on K-dramas with Leona who invited herself. Today was an exceptionally long day for Alexander: dealing with assignments worth a majority of his grade while wearing a pink apron while also cooking cashew chicken while hearing two girls gossip about how handsome this random Korean actor is: Quack Yo-yo or something like that.

Alexander had all of the ingredients out and was waiting for the oven to preheat. Having nothing else to do, he decided to be a loving big brother and harass his sister. He stepped out from the kitchen, leading directly into the living room, and leaned on the open door frame.

Althea and Leona were engrossed in the show, muttering their reactions. It seemed the tension was high. A gorgeous Korean woman with strikingly bright pink eyes was speaking to the male lead, or what he assumed to be the male lead—he was a pretty boy, all male leads seemed to be pretty boys. He paid little attention to the subtitles, watching their acting more, how the little micro-emotions shined through with every word. They weren’t half-bad, he thought. Clearly worth their salt.

Then, the woman slapped the pretty boy hard across the face and the television’s speakers crackled as though in applause, the camera following the woman as she dramatically turned her back, casted off the male lead, and she looked—well, heartbroken, she looked heartbroken but not ashamed. Even when heartbroken, she was gorgeous.

“Wow!” exclaimed Alexander intentionally loud, startling Althea and Leona. “She slapped the hell out of that guy. Despite her pain, her makeup is flawless. Beautiful even in emotional turmoil, how about that?”

Althea groaned, leaning on the couch’s armrest, glaring at her brother. “Aren’t you supposed to be cooking? Nice apron, by the way.”

“Ha-ha. I’m waiting for the oven to preheat, so I decided to pester you.” Alexander pointed to the female lead. “What’s her name? Real name.”

“Choi Molan,” answered Leona, who was just as annoyed as Althea, but she was hiding it. Though, not a good job since her cheeks were puffed up.

Choi Molan got into her nice black luxury car, sat inside, and began sobbing. It was a perfect time for a commercial break, having a man yap about his cleaning products. “Choi Molan, huh? Molan doesn’t sound Korean. Just a ‘u’ away from Mulan.”

“It is actually. ‘Molan’ means ‘peony’.”

“What’s a peony?”

“The white ones on your apron, Alex.” Leona pointed at one of them. “You have white peonies.”

Or supposedly, she pointed at them. Alex held up his apron, immediately finding five “peonies”, the white punks, but all of them were different sizes and shapes. “The white ones, I—?” He sighed, dropping it. “Do you know how little that narrows it down, Leo?”

“You seriously don’t know what peonies are?” attacked Althea. “Even I know what they are. And the meanings! Love, fortune, healing too I think, it’s pretty cute.”

“Thea,” said Alexander, disappointed, “you’re such a nerd—”

His face was flattened by a pillow.

“And you’re such an idiot. How do you not know what peonies are?”

Alexander picked the pillow up and tucked it under his arm. “Because I don’t look at flowers. If you want to talk about economics, then I’m your man. About botany? No. To me, there’s only three flowers on here: roses, lilies, and daisies. Wait, are violets flowers too or just colors?”

Leona sighed, placing a hand on her face. “They’re flowers too.”

“Shit, I know four flowers then! One more and I got a whole hand. Wait, add peonies!” Alexander began to count with his fingers. “Peonies, violets, roses, lilies, and daisies. Five flowers, five fingers, and one happy man.”

But there were two unhappy women.

“What?” Alexander glanced between them. “Am I ruining your K-drama night? Should I remind you that I’m cooking your dinner tonight?”

“Be nice to us, you jackass,” Althea said, scowling.

“Be nice. Really? Someone…” Alexander walked behind the couch and dropped his pillow on top of Althea. “Is supposed to be doing homework. And someone else…” Then, he leaned against the back, gazing cheekily at Leona. “Tagged along for a free meal.”

“Am I annoying you, Alex?” asked Leona, giving him her amber eyes.

Alexander laughed, shaking his head. “Not really, no. You’re welcome here at any time.”

“That’s sweet.” Leona smiled; it made his chest warm up.

“Of course, bin-dae sae-ggi.”

Leona struck him with a pillow.

[Author’s Note: “Bin-dae sae-ggi” or “빈대새끼” has the hangul for “bedbug”; it’s a phrase that refers to someone leeching off of others. In essence, Alexander told Leona that she was a parasite. If I got this incorrect, whoops]

***

Alexander shut his laptop and sighed. His desk was a mess: scattered notes, too many printed out lecture slides, textbooks banging against his feet, topped off with sore eyes from blue electronic screens. He winced, rubbed them, and checked his phone. No important messages or emails. It was almost ten and it was going to rain all night. Leona hadn’t texted him about leaving; she must be watching K-dramas still, losing track of time as usual.

So responsible she was, until you sat her down in front of a TV then all sensibilities washed away. Alexander teased her about it but he never minded. Leona’s company brightened the apartment; one time, he let Leona help him cook. Long story short, she brightened his day, Althea’s, and the entire floor’s as well.

Getting up from his desk, he grabbed his phone and left his room. Walking down the corridor, he heard the same show. It sounded like a low-key scene because for once in that show’s life, no one was screaming and no dramatic music played. Alexander vaguely understood what they said. Despite being part-Chinese, there was a lot of Korean in the house. He picked up a few words here and there. Which was what Althea and Leona thought; in actuality, he was learning Korean in secret.

This summer, Leona wanted to steal them away to Seoul for a couple of weeks. Since her aunt lived there, they would have the entire city for themselves. Althea took it upon herself to study Korean as well, often practicing it with Leona and getting the pronunciations wrong most of the time. It wasn’t so difficult for Alexander who knew Taihu Wu (Hangzhou dialect) and Mandarin; he spoke both better than reading and writing.

(He had joked that he was the smart one in the Shens. Leona scolded him for saying that and Althea always punched him for it.)

Leona offered to teach him Korean but he declined. When June hits, he wanted to surprise her, speaking so flawlessly that he might as well be a native speaker. Then, he’d gain the respect of her aunt and tease Althea for her broken Korean; that was the dream. Alexander chuckled to himself. He really looked forward to Korea. Just a few more months.

He gently rapped on the walls, trying to get the girls’ attention. “Hey Leo, it’s getting late and it’s raining. You heading out or planning to stay—?” An unforced smile grew on him, impossible to curb, “—staying it is.”

On the couch, in front of the table with two cups of tea—empty and almost empty—and two ceramic-clean bowls dappled with rice kernels and small pieces of cashews, peppers, and chicken, Althea and Leona sat arm-against-arm, sleeping soundly to rain’s piano-rattle and the soft voices melodying from the television. Althea rested her head on Leona’s shoulder, peacefully sleeping, and Leona protectively curled around her, caring.

Beyond the window was an Ordoian night and tiny dashes of wet grays darted the glass, racing down the surfaces in a gallant competition to the end. Beyond Ordo was Hangzhou, and for once it was far away. The rain was closer. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The cloudsong washed over Alexander, blocking out the previous noises of what came before. In the twilight, he stood contemplating and reaffirmed himself of the nature of homes. Wherever he smiled, unintended as though two invisible fingers pulled his lips up, there it was. Alexander was at home.

Alexander turned off the TV, fetched a warm blanket from the closet and draped it over so that their heads and feet were exposed only, and made sure everything was locked, cleaned, and ready for tomorrow morning. He prepared tomorrow’s breakfast because he planned to spoil them. Before he turned off the lights, he took a picture of them. Not to tease them, not for any nefarious intentions nor any jokes, but for himself.

He turned off the lights, whispered “Good night, you two.” and made way to his room. He cleaned his desk. He got changed into something comfortable, then laid on his bed. Alexander turned on his phone, turned the brightness down, but the picture made his eyes water.

Bringing his phone to his chest, it brought him greater rest than the rain.

He mouthed, “Saranghae.”

***

There was running water still. The Cosmos Caller hadn’t taken out the water systems. Yet. Cold water ran down Alexander’s arms, washing away the sickly red warmth on his skin. It washed into the metal sink. He found his face in the mirror.

Alexander tore away. In the red puddles skimming the sink’s fountain, there he was again, dimly seen, dimly there. He latched onto the metal-frame of the sink, tight, tighter, hands tensing. He wanted to let go but his body refused. So he held it tight, sickeningly tight, and the air was choked out of his lungs, and his heart was squeezed. The sink groaned, the steel croaked, and again the body refused to let go. The blood shone. There was a scream.

Suddenly the entire sink snapped, torn off of the wall, exposing the multiple holes bored into the concrete, and the empty sound of flowing water trickled in. Alexander looked down, right fist clenched, feeling the bottom pound like nothing else, and his throat was raw. His ears rang a little bit too.

His feet touched the fallen sink. He blinked a few times, then he sighed, lowering his head. “Fuck.”

No use trying to fix it now. He left the bathroom. To his right, Damien stood. For once, he didn’t have an asshole’s smile.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Alexander lied.

Damien frowned, scratching his neck. “I’ll go tell Jury.”

“Thanks. I’ll…” He paused. “I’ll be with Leo.”

“That’s fine. I’ll text you if something comes up.”

“Sure.”