Chapter Text
Juwon’s first challenge of the day was not the mountain of dusty boxes piled up in Dongsik’s basement for inspection, but the ancient kitchen on the main floor level - ancient for his generation precisely, a time capsule straight out of the 1980s Korea, stuck in the present of this day. Like the rest of the Lee-house on the empty street in the calm and foggy Manyang, the interior of the kitchen was a golden brown, oak toned-paneeled scenery seamlessly connected to the large living room with its high-gloss veneered cabinets and drawers. The old mahogany clock that hung right next to Dongsik’s chaotic investigation wall, had begun ticking again after a long time - after finally closing the case of Manyang's mysterious murders, Dongsik decided to revive the clock with a pair of new batteries.
The place had a nostalgic rustic design that enclosed both western style and traditional Korean housing which reminded Juwon of his time in England where his secret cooking passion had bloomed for the first time in the charming kitchen area of his guardian. But here in a quite rural Korean household, the amber tile counters with engraved flowery patterns above the stove area were covered by a thin layer of dust and old grease, the faucet squeaked when turned on, and the gas stove clicked twice before it finally agreed to light up.
The dish washer was broken (“My dad used to fix it regularly when it refused to do shit, but it’s been malfunctioning since I was in Highschool, so...”, Dongsik had shrugged, insinuating that this device hadn’t run a cycle since he came back from the army…), and when Juwon opened it, he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
Anxious but prepared about what horror he would witness, he expected at least a rack of moldy old bowls and cups. But instead, a single package of instant ramyun tumbled right to his feet as if it was there to say ‘oh, hello handsome boy, do you want a spicy snack?’'.
The inside of the dishwasher was packed, no, crammed, with instant ramyun packets in various colors for different flavours, all of the same ‘taengtaeng’-brand - Dongsik’s favourite - some impressively well past their expiration date. At least five bottles of cheap soju rattled around among the noodles between a lonely can of Milkis and some untouched bottles of Cass Fresh. In the utensil tray lay a half-finished bag of fried dried squid. Next to them a bunch of other snacks; Doritos, soft yoghurt gummies, seaweed chips and Jolly Pong (‘does he actually eat all this stuff or are these for Jihun when he drops by…?’), a couple of disposable chopsticks and an almost empty packet of gochugaru.
So the dishwasher is a hidden convenience store..., Juwon thought, brows raised in surprise, blinking twice at the sight of Dongsik’s secret, well-camouflaged snack stash and he couldn’t help but think back to the moment when Dongsik had talked about these ramyun for the first time during his interrogation.
The way he made everyone look like a damn fool back then when he was asked why he brought ramyun into the mountains…just to reveal in the worst anti-climax that he eats them… raw. Wow.
What a hot mess this man was and the dishwasher alone proved that once again.
Closing the device’s lid, Juwon went over to check the sink. The hot water tap gave only the faintest hint of warmth if left running for a minute, but it would be enough to clean up the necessities.
However, one positive aspect at least was - and Juwon could feel it through his socks and slippers - that the ondol piping system worked fairly well as intended underneath his feet and that probably was the reason, why the water tap couldn’t provide more heated water on demand; the pipes of the old heating system were primarily fed with hot water from the boiler, which resulted in a suboptimal water circulation within the house.
Juwon leaned forward over the counter to catch a glimpse of the rainy October weather outside the window that had been sprinkled with rain drops.
They wanted to look at the moon today, but would that still happen with the unreliable forecast?
In the early morning, Dongsik had dug out a small box of Chuseok decorations from the hallway closet. Before she was taken to the nursing home, his mother Younghee used to put them up every year even when it was just the two of them left. A few faded japchae paper lanterns hung near the windows of every room, their colors a bit dulled down over the years but still catching the weak afternoon light of early October.
On the living room drawer in front of the window, around the Lee family photo, sat a pretty modest charye setup; not a full ancestral rite, just a persimmon branch arranged with warm, golden fairy lights for decoration and a few tiny offerings consisting of colorful bakery-songpyeon, a porcelain bowl filled with fresh apples and plums from the Munju market, a single brass candle and soju glasses for …five (?). Two other photos leaned against the branch, one of little Minjung in a glittery silver dress smiling and posing like one of those flippy Kpop stars, one of Nam Sangbae in khaki shorts standing at a river or lake in summer, holding a fishing rod, saluting and laughing carefree into the camera.
It wasn’t much, but Dongsik had insisted on it, murmuring something about ‘I’m not religious like my family but I’m not skipping the basics’ even if nobody else except for Juwon was going to join his little rite today.
There was something delicate and so incredibly careful in how Dongsik straightened an almost crushed hanji paper with slow movements of his calloused fingers that Juwon could hardly look away while he was dusting off a pair of living room shelves.
“Mom made me promise never to throw them away. I suppose she knew I’d try sooner or later, even though she always gave me the impression she’d given up on me on that respect…”, Dongsik had smiled with a glimpse of sadness in his eyes while putting a cheap LED tealight into the lantern before hanging up the next, one after another with the same care and fragility in his movements, until every corner of the living room glimmered with a small, artificial flame.
A few hanji paper lanterns made it out on the porch, those that were singed near the top.
“I’m not superstitious, but these just bring bad luck, so they have to get out.”
“That…makes you superstitious but okay.”
“Whatever, get them out, please.”
“Why? What’s wrong with them?”
“Take a look. They are so old, they were used with candles inside and burned at the top.”
“Candles…inside a paper lantern.”
“Yes, Juwon-ah, candles inside a paper lantern, that’s how things worked back then, and it was just as crazy as putting candles on a Christmas tree. These lanterns once brought the fire department to our house when I was six. That year, three of them went up in flames before we even started dinner.”
Juwon looked around to smile at the kitchen window now decorated with three small red and white lanterns, flickering with safety LED’s - not with cursed candles.
And he realized, despite the need for urgent renovation, this was a place where once a happy family gathered to eat and chat and connect, not only during Chuseok or Christmas. A place where Dongsik’s mother had cooked hearty and nourishing jib-bap, ‘mom food’, and an entire feast for the ancestors, for her loved ones.
Undeterred by the environment, Juwon rolled up his navy shirt sleeves and put on his apron before he surveyed the counter. Yesterday before closing period, he went to an E-Mart in Chuncheon and brought his own fancy groceries in a canvas bag: High-quality Italian pasta, canned San Marzano tomatoes, a bottle of Lambrusco, fresh herbs, ground beef, onions, garlic, and a block of real parmigiano reggiano. If he was going to spend a whole weekend helping Dongsik sort through decades of family history on Chuseok holiday - which was his initial plan - he was at least going to eat properly, even if absolutely nothing of his meal plans had anything to do with Chuseok.
What he brought wasn’t for a traditional Korean feast. He was bad at cooking Korean food, bad at Korean rituals, bad at Korean holidays, considering himself deemed ‘unworthy’ to touch such holy rites, so he did what he could do best instead, hoping Dongsik would still…somehow appreciate his effort, at least.
But there was a small, spontaneous change of plan. Dongsik insisted that he would take care of this cursed basement alone for now while Juwon cleaned up and cooked Chuseok-dinner instead ‘like a real malewife’. It was more meant to be a joke, because Dongsik knew he would just be an obstacle in the kitchen and Juwon actually liked to clean, cook and feed people (that he never admitted of course); their household roles as an unusual team perfectly aligned.
Nevertheless, Juwon couldn’t resist walking down the basement stairs every few minutes to check if Dongsik was alright, if he was emotionally capable of digging through the vast amount of family belongings completely on his own on a national holiday that was supposed to be family gathering time - knowing full well what had happened in this basement, knowing that Dongsik’s very own twin sister had been walled up here for over two decades.
Ingredients properly sorted and neatly organized on the cleaned counter, Juwon rifled next through the many drawers, searching for a cooking utensils and a usable pot but the options were…limited. A battered colander, an enamel saucepan with a loose handle. Behind a fragile staple of banchan dishes, he found a large steel pot that wobbled a bit on flat surfaces but definitely could hold enough water for the spaghetti. Before he closed the cabinet, his eyes caught the dark matte shine of a large cast iron pan with an intact patina that was a little bit dusty but otherwise been very well cared for by the owner.
He let water run into the pot to boil, then tackled the next challenge: the damn stove. Dongsik had assured him that everything worked as intended and Juwon trusted him on that. As expected, it hissed like a bristling cat when he turned on the gas supply, clicked, and eventually flared up with a small blue flame.
It worked, even if Juwon didn’t fully trust that rubber gas hose and the LPG cylinder stored under the stove and flinched a bit in nervous paranoia when he heard the flare up.
He started chopping onions and garlic, moving carefully in the cluttered space. A dent here, a burn mark there, the kitchen was obviously a lively gathering place in the past. Juwon tried not to think about how many of these tools Dongsik’s mother must have used years before the Lee family fell apart - and on top of that, he didn’t try to think who exactly was responsible for the tragic downfall.
For a moment, Juwon stood still, gently tracing the blade of a kitchen knife in his hand and listened. The house was mostly quiet except for the distant sound of Dongsik shuffling boxes in the basement and the soft autumn rain splashing against the windows. Occasionally, a silly snort or curse drifted up the stairs, always putting the trace of a sad smile on Juwon’s lips and he couldn't stop the sudden flood of dark thoughts occupying his mind.
Am I even allowed to use this kitchen? What would Dongsik’s mother say or do if she knew that the son of her daughter’s murderer was standing here in her kitchen, cooking spaghetti on Chuseok for her only child left?
What would she say if she knew?
Shoving the heavy thoughts aside for once - because Dongsik would insist to let them go - Juwon sighed and lined up the ingredients for the meatball tomato sauce, rolling the seasoned, minced beef by hand, practiced and with incredible precision so that every ball of course had roughly the same size. Soon the scent of garlic, fried onion and meat filled the house - hopefully all down to the basement, so Dongsik would stop organizing at some point and take a dinner break.
Even if he treated this place with respect now, it felt like Juwon had stepped into someone else’s memory when he noticed the old recipe snippets collected from several women’s weeklies stuck to the inside of a cupboard door. And he wondered just for a second what it might have been like to grow up in a house where dinner always started with the hiss of fried onions, the smell of gochujang sauce, the rattle of an old gas stove, the bright laughter of a family sitting together, chatting with a bit of everyday gossip.
With a splash of Lambrusco, Juwon deglazed the fried meat and onions in the pan, added the tomatoes and herbs and left the sauce bubbling gently on the burner, silently hoping the gas cylinder had enough gas left to fuel the stove for the pasta.
Time to go check on Dongsik.
He wiped his hands on a clean dish towel and left the kitchen, poking his head into the stairwell that led down to the basement.
“You need anything?”, Juwon called, walking a few stairs down until he could spot a part of that incredibly ugly terracotta-colored sofa. Oh, the memories…
From below, the sound of something heavy scraping across the floor reached his ears.
“A hug would be nice.”, Dongsik answered nonchalantly, though he sounded a little breathless as he peeked up from one of his boxes when he heard Juwon’s dedicated footsteps descending from above. “I’m kidding, I’m good, just sorted out old photo albums.”
He could have sworn that he saw a glimpse of disappointment flashed over Juwon’s face.
“There, if you go up, take that big box by the stairs right in front of you. It’s mostly broken stuff and random junk from my parents’ closet. Needs to go upstairs for the trash.”
Curiously, Juwon eyed the box standing at his feet; it looked deceptively innocent, but as soon as he squatted and tried to lift it, he realized Dongsik had filled it with enough weight to knock out an ox.
“Ugh. Are you trying to test my biceps?”, he murmured while he hoisted the box upstairs and maneuvered it through the entrance.
“Nah, I already know you’re a strong boy, Juwon-ah.”
The answer left Juwon with a slight pink blush on his cheeks.
Would’ve rather given that hug…
Back to the surface, he put the box down in the hallway. Once again touched by curiosity, Juwon opened the carton and peeked inside. Old VCRs and books, scratched CDs, a single slipper, tangled cords from several electric devices, a rusty camping cooker, half of something that resembled a sewing machine, dusty, broken fan blades and…photos. Lots of them.
Lee Dongsik and Kang Jinmuk as children playing in the garden pool, a small, pale note at the edge showing “August 1985”.
An adolescent, smiling Jinmuk holding an impressive flower bouquet in front of a catholic church.
Dongsik and Jinmuk as teenagers, the photo dated “1994”, two lanky boys in large shirts hanging out in the living room, nipping on soda cans.
Teenie Yuyeon hugging Jinmuk closely, her smile radiant as ever, a bundle of margheritas in her left hand.
A collection of photos of what seemed to be Jinmuk’s birthday, including a fudgy cake and presents.
All of them torn into half.
With a quiet sigh, Juwon threw the photos back to the pile of junk items, before grabbing the one with Dongsik and Jinmuk on the living room couch again. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of baby Dongsik nipping on the soda can, his youthful gaze so focused on the TV, looking tired but…oddly cute, young and innocent - and saved the image in his gallery, before he shoved the box aside with his foot to take it out later. Yeah, definitely trash.
Back in the kitchen that smelled warm and fragrant with the meatball sauce bubbling away in its battered old pot, Juwon gave his cooking creation a quick stir, added a pinch more salt, sugar and pepper, then he set about tidying up because…he promised Dongsik to help out and gave him his word that he wouldn’t be left alone with this house that had been haunted by chaos for two decades.
With a practiced move, Juwon snapped a pair of black nitrile gloves on, a range of cleaning supplies ready for use on the kitchen counter.
Cleaning this kitchen was less like a chore for Juwon and more like a treasure hunt because he actually liked organizing and cleaning, the results always gave a feeling of satisfaction and control. The wooden cabinets, though vintage but well-built, had gathered a few decades’ worth of forgotten items in the deepest corners.
Opening the one above the stove, Juwon nearly gagged at the sight and smell: an old plastic jar of rotten soybean paste had fossilized in the back corner, its label long faded to yellow and peeling off with a mouldy layer. Visibly disgusted, he gingerly tossed it in a trash bag, along with an opened package of instant coffee that almost seemed to crumble to dust at his touch.
In the farthest cupboard next to the dishes shelf, he found cans of milk tea with colorful labels that boasted a “Celebrate the 2000!🎉” sticker and a tin of breakfast spam with Japanese writing on the side. Most of the expiration dates were before Juwon had even entered elementary school.
Maybe I should consider donating these to a food museum, it could be educational…
A small, sad smile curled on his lips as he lined the ancient items up in the trash bag, imagining Dongsik’s mom hoarding supplies for family gatherings that…never happened.
Among the relics, there were stranger things like a thick, rectangular box labeled “청국장” cheonggukjang, wrapped in paper and string so old it crackled at Juwon’s touch and he could see that the block was once infested with vermin. Hesitating, he lifted it carefully with a grimace, unsure if it was still food or a primitive weapon, before it landed in the trash bag as well.
On the other shelf stood a nice ceramic jar with calligraphy painted on the side: “매실청”, maesil-cheong, green plum syrup, popular to sweeten tea or make homemade drinks. The liquid inside had gone dark, almost black and thick, an almost crystallized mass, but it still smelled distinctly of fruit, candy and summer, and because this one was made of pure sugar, it got greenlighted by Juwon to stay in the cabinet.
Upon further kitchen investigation, Juwon found a sealed bag of dried snack-anchovies and perilla leaves with no visible expiry date, all pressed together in an intact plastic container. Unsure what to do with them, too scared to lose consciousness upon opening the dried fish and checking if it was still fine, he left the container on the counter to let Dongsik decide if these anchovies were still edible.
As he held them firmly in his hands, he paused midway, eyeing the packages inside with more precision-
No.
No, let it go, this is irresponsible. He would definitely eat these like a stray cat, even if they are past their unknown expiration date and taste like nuclear waste.
Besides…
I don’t need him to smell like a rancid back alley fish market in mid August…
…and without a second thought, Juwon grabbed the anchovies container to toss the contents into the trash bag.
The last thing he found was a hidden container stuck behind a flour canister; his hand brushed against an oval tin, decorated with faded colorful flower stickers and a red ribbon around the lid. It looked different from the other clutter he had seen - cleaner, as if it had been placed with care far away from other particularly spicy and smelly supplies.
His fingers grabbed a slip of paper, yellowed with fat stains and curling from humidity at the edges, taped carefully to the top showing an elegant female handwriting in Hangeul: ‘When my Yuyeonie comes back.’
Eyes widening in shock, Juwon barely realized what he was holding in his hands.
From inside the sealed tin he could smell the scent of something gentle and sweet, maybe the remnants of old dalgona candies, some very specific rice cakes or even chocolate pralines.
He didn’t dare to open or discard the tin box, as it felt more than inappropriate, and he couldn’t stop letting a wave of sadness settle over him. No, this wasn’t just a forgotten snack. It was a mother’s desperate hope, preserved in a kitchen, waiting for her daughter's return.
Setting aside the elegant tin with extra care as if it was made of expensive porcelain, not even considering throwing it away, or accidentally damage it, Juwon wiped his eyes with the back of his gloved hand, the damn dust in this kitchen!– wondering if Dongsik had ever found this before…
And with one of the clean, wet microfibre cloths, he gently dabbed off the dust and stains, polishing Yuyeon’s tin of sweets that she never opened because she never got the chance, before putting it back on the counter with careful hands, letting it sit in the mysterious glimmer of the Chuseok atmosphere.
By the time he finished the other cupboards and found one or the other cooking and Korean food oddity that he had never seen before as someone who grew up with more western food supplies, the trash bag was full. After handling the vacuum cleaner and wiping over the rest of the furniture and the large window, the kitchen smelled and looked almost like new from the inside and outside - and as a side effect of passing the time with cleaning, the Italian sauce on the stove had thickened perfectly into a glossy red embrace around the meatballs.
Looks like I went a bit overboard…
Juwon could already hear Dongsik in the back of his head while tapping the fridge: ‘Aigoo…I can now eat from the floor!’
The pasta water was just about ready to boil when he removed the gloves and washed his hands in the lukewarm water. For the first time in days, he felt a little less like just an intrusive, unwelcome visitor, or the cursed son of Han Kihwan, the son of the corrupted man who robbed the Lee family of their beloved daughter. He felt a little more like he…finally was allowed to walk in, accepted in this house, despite the overshadowing tragedies that took place here.
By the time the pasta was swimming in the salted, boiling water and cooking gently, Juwon had made up his mind: if they were going to eat dinner in this house full of pleasant and painful memories, he was at least going to make it look nice - and the fact he had found some old tealights and matches in one of the kitchen drawers really came in handy.
Right next to the kitchen room stood a large, sturdy oak table that had been used by Dongsik as a dumping ground for all kinds of everyday clutter - now cleaned up and reclaiming its original purpose, looking dignified with a fresh wipe.
Juwon set two ceramic plates down on the counter, folded the forks into a napkin. No chopsticks. He didn’t even reach for them. Italian night meant forks, even if it was Chuseok holidays. Surely even Lee Dongsik could manage to deal with that, hopefully.
Yes, two forks. Because we are eating Italian pasta, not jjajangmyeon.
From the counter, he grabbed the Lambrusco; refreshing, sparkling, not too heavy for the meal. Candles? Of course there were candles. This was a Christian household. They went into two ceramic holders, their soft orange glow warming the dining area together with the delicate chains of lanterns from the windows. It looked… surprisingly romantic, even if Juwon had a hard time to admit it.
Yes, it does look…romantic, even if it’s not supposed to be romantic, more like…comfortable, …cozy.
Stepping back, Juwon nodded to himself. For once, Lee Dongsik would eat like a human being at his very own home again after two decades.
From the stairwell came the sound of a thump, then a really brash Korean curse that sounded like Dongsik was losing a desperate fight with a box or its content…or more painful memories.
“Two minutes.”, Juwon called down the stairs to the basement, half to the tomato sauce on the stove, half to the man who went so eagerly through an entire storage of family belongings despite the trauma.
Juwon took the spaghetti plates with a careful hand, twirling the noodles neatly into place before pouring an equal amount of sauce onto them, delivering the smell of cooked garlic and basil through the house - mindful to put more meatballs on one of the plates because he knew Dongsik liked his beef.
Before he went back to the dining table, he cracked pepper and shaved parmesan pieces on top. Perfect.
The candles flickered how they should, the ruby frizz of Lambrusco caught the light, shining with the soft sparkle from the lanterns. Taken away from the kitchen counter, the little cookie tin marked ‘When my Yuyeonie comes back’ now sat on the little charye altar next to the family photo, in a quiet and dignified offering, blessed with the love of mother Younghee.
With calm and precise hands, Juwon lit the candle on the altar before stepping back, his eyes on the glowing Lee-family photo.
Dinner was ready.