We kept walking, the city swallowing our silhouettes, neon shadows dancing behind us.
It was already past eleven when I reached home. My heels clacked against the floor like
a drumroll to my own mess.
My head buzzed lightly, and the lights felt just a bit too bright.
You know what the best part of life is?
When someone waits for you… even when they're drowning in their own busy lives.
My puppies.
The twins.
Not actual puppies—but honestly, they might as well be. My baby brothers.
Dae-hyun was by the door, grabbing my purse, already crouching to help take off my heels. His brows furrowed like an annoyed dad, but he didn't say a word.
"Ahaaa~!" I collapsed into the couch and dramatically threw my arms around him. "Oh my God—why are you so cute?!"
I pinched his cheek like I was squeezing dough.
"You were sooooo cute when you were little. Always—hic—always following me like a duckling!"
He grunted. "Noona, stop—"
I pouted. "Now look at you! Can't even touch your hair anymore! Too grown up, huh?"
At that moment, Dae-yoon appeared from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wearing a floral apron, no less.
"You need to vomit," he said flatly, holding out a glass of lukewarm saltwater. "Otherwise, hangover will murder you in the morning."
"Wha—noooo," I flailed as he tried to pull me up. "Even you, Dae-yoon-ah? You devil!"
I pointed a finger at him accusingly as he half-dragged me to the bathroom.
"You always came crying to me—'Sister! Sister!' All day!"
I sniffled mid-drag. "Now you don't even call me sis anymore… Just 'vomit' and 'sit' like I'm a dog!"
Dae-yoon sighed like he was dealing with a toddler, but behind that poker face, he was smiling. I could feel it.
After I threw up my soul into the bathroom sink—and nearly my lungs—I felt… weirdly sober.
Fresh air, regret, and a cold towel on my forehead—Dae-hyun's doing, of course.
By the time I settled onto the living room floor, a tray had appeared on the table.
"Eat," Dae-yoon ordered like a general, setting down a bowl of juk—warm rice porridge with a drizzle of sesame oil and finely chopped scallions. Beside it, there were small side dishes—kimchi, steamed egg custard, and a few slices of braised tofu. Comfort food. Hangover food. Love-on-a-plate food.
"Seriously…" I muttered between bites, leaning dramatically over Dae-yoon's shoulder.
"You both shouldn't treat me this well."
He barely turned. "What now?"
I grinned. "I might never get married at this rate."
He blinked. "That sounds like a you problem."
"No, no, listen," I said, nearly flopping onto his lap. "You both… ruin me. I mean it. The way you care for me—cook for me—remind me to puke—who's gonna top this?"
Dae-hyun chuckled, reaching for another towel. "Your standards are a personal tragedy."
I let out a soft sigh, curling my fingers around the warm porcelain bowl.
"People chase money, fame, whatever… but just sitting here, with you both—eating this…"
I smiled, eyes glassy but calm. "Feels like I already won the world."
Just then, a soft shuffle came from behind.
Our heads turned.
Mom and Dad were standing at the hallway corner, blinking sleepily.
They must've been woken up by our bickering. Or laughter. Or love. Who knows.
But they didn't scold us. Didn't ask questions. They just watched us… with that expression. The one that says:
"Our kids are okay. We did okay."
And for a moment, the world felt full.