His efforts are rewarded with a taunting raspberry as Hwanin does a slow somersault midair. Frustrated, Seokga grabs a nearby stool, shoving aside the box of medicine perched on it. He steps onto the seat and snatches Hwanin by the ankle—a half-second before the stool wobbles and tilts beneath him. Pure terror seizes him, and as Seokga falls, he cradles his brother to his chest and turns midair, so his back takes the brunt of the impact. His teeth jar from it and the breath is knocked out of him but he doesn’t care. Seokga sits up, heart pounding, frantically scouring Hwanin for any sign of injury, fingers quivering with fright as he combs through the soft, fine hairs atop his brother’s head—terrified he’ll find blood, or a bump…

“He’s okay.” Hajun is crouched over the two of them, but he’s not looking at Hwanin. He’s watching Seokga, eyes warm. “Seokga, he’s okay. He’s okay.”

Relief has Seokga’s body sagging. He lifts Hwanin into the air, so he and the baby are eye level. “You are a terrible pest,” he tells the child, but his heart isn’t in it. “A true menace.”

Every time Hwanin comes close to being hurt, Seokga feels like he’s being flayed alive. Those dark blue, star-flecked eyes crinkle as Seokga—possessed by some inane impulse—kisses the top of his head. Ridiculous. Really, Seokga doesn’t know what’s come over him.

Somi makes an awww sound, and he cuts a murderous glance over to her until she stops.

She averts her eyes, and there’s the Somi he remembers. Her bravado is so easily disassembled. As Hajun grabs a box of medical supplies and says something about restocking the bathroom, Seokga climbs to his feet and looks at Somi.

“You’re trying to be like her,” he says once Hajun has disappeared, “aren’t you?”

There’s no question as to who “her” is. Somi’s eyes flash with a rapid blur of emotions: first surprise, then indignation and guilt, followed by other emotions he has no interest in trying to discern.

“The clothes,” Seokga sneers, “the personality. The books. I knew it from the moment I saw you. You’re trying so hard and failing so terrifically to be the woman you helped kill.”

Somi flinches. She’s a child playing dress-up, Seokga thinks in derision, and he can’t take it anymore. He’s tried, for Kisa’s sake, not to act like he did in the greenhouse. But he’s always only one step away from losing control, and his fear of Hwanin being hurt demolished whatever was left of his self-restraint. “Stop that,” she hisses, but her voice is ragged.

Seokga looks down his nose at her. “Stop what?” he drawls, voice freezing enough to encase a desert in ice.