The smell of fried eggs and toasted seaweed filled the apartment long before Jinwoo woke up. It was that kind of scent that somehow made dreams fade faster, warm, greasy, and alive with morning noise.
He blinked blearily at the sunlight slicing through the curtains. His blanket was twisted halfway down the bed, the fan hummed lazily, and his phone blinked with unread messages. But Jinwoo wasn't in a hurry. It was Sunday, and in his mind, Sundays were the only day when time should move slower than he did.
From the kitchen came the unmistakable clatter of utensils, and Sohee's voice, sharp as a whistle.
"Umma! He finished all the milk again! I told you to hide it!"
Jinwoo groaned and buried his face in the pillow. He could practically hear his mother's reply without needing to get up.
"Hide it? What are we, squirrels now?" Mrs. Han's laughter chimed through the air. "Besides, it's Jinwoo's exam week. Let him have milk."
"He's not a baby anymore! He's twenty-three! He drinks it straight from the carton!"
"That's why we bought extra!"
Jinwoo sighed dramatically and swung his legs off the bed. "I can hear both of you," he muttered, just loud enough.
"Good!" Sohee shouted back. "Come face your crimes, milk thief!"
By the time he shuffled into the kitchen, hair a mess and T-shirt crumpled like a paper bag, Sohee was standing by the fridge with her arms crossed, the classic posture of an older sister ready for battle.
Jinwoo yawned. "You could just buy your own carton, you know."
"I could," she said sweetly, "if you didn't drink all of mine last night."
"Correction, that was ours," he said, pointing lazily toward the fridge. "Communism, remember? Family resources are shared."
"Then I'm nationalizing your phone charger," she shot back, unplugging his cord from the wall.
"Hey—!"
Mrs. Han smacked a wooden spoon against the counter, not hard, just enough to draw attention. "You two are worse than stray cats. Sit down before the food gets cold."
Jinwoo slumped into his chair, while Sohee glared at him from across the table, holding the charger hostage like it was state property.
Breakfast was simple but comforting, rice, eggs, seaweed, a bit of kimchi, and Mrs. Han's unmatched bean paste soup. She set the bowls down one by one, humming to herself, her hair tied loosely in a bun, wearing her old pink apron that read 'World's Okayest Cook'.
"Jinwoo," she said as she sat down, "are you still planning to go job hunting this week?"
He hesitated, poking at his rice. "Uh, technically… yes. Realistically… maybe."
Sohee scoffed. "Translation: no."
He looked up, frowning. "Hey, I applied for three jobs last week!"
"Yeah? Online surveys don't count."
"That's freelance data collection, thank you very much."
Their mom chuckled softly. "Sohee, you should encourage your brother, not bully him."
"I'm motivating him, Mom," she said with mock pride. "Tough love."
"Feels like tax fraud disguised as love," Jinwoo muttered.
Mrs. Han hid her smile behind her spoon. Watching her grown children bicker over breakfast was secretly her favorite thing. It reminded her that despite all the changes, Jinwoo's uncertain career, Sohee's stressful office job, they were still her kids, still orbiting around the same kitchen table.
"Sohee," Mrs. Han said casually after a moment, "you're going to your friend's wedding next week, right?"
"Yeah. Down in Busan. It's a weekend thing."
"Take Jinwoo with you."
Jinwoo almost choked on his soup. "What? Why me?"
"You need to get out of this house. You've been indoors for two weeks."
Sohee leaned back with a mischievous grin. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. I could use someone to carry my bags and hold my clutch while I take photos."
"Ah yes," Jinwoo said dryly, "the noble role of unpaid family labor."
Mrs. Han sipped her coffee, unbothered. "You two will look nice together. People might even mistake you for a couple."
Jinwoo and Sohee froze in unison.
"Mom!" Sohee spluttered, red creeping up her neck. "That's so weird to say!"
Mrs. Han blinked innocently. "What? You're both good-looking. Just saying."
"Don't encourage her, Mom," Jinwoo said, clutching his chest dramatically. "I'm traumatized now."
Sohee threw a napkin at him. "Grow up!"
He caught it, smirking. "You started it."
Their mom laughed so hard she had to put down her spoon. "Aigoo, you two never change. Even when you're forty, I bet you'll still be like this."
"Not if I move out first," Sohee said pointedly.
"Not if I beat you to it," Jinwoo replied.
Mrs. Han smiled quietly. "I'll believe it when I see empty rooms."
After breakfast, Sohee stood at the sink, washing dishes with quick, practiced movements. Jinwoo leaned against the counter, pretending to help by drying a plate every five minutes.
"So," she said, glancing sideways, "you actually going to Busan with me?"
He shrugged. "Depends. Do they have free food?"
"Of course. It's a wedding, not a funeral."
"Then I'm in."
She rolled her eyes but didn't hide her smile. "You're impossible."
"Admit it, though," he teased, "you'd be bored without me."
"Ha. The only thing I'd miss is the silence."
He smirked. "You say that, but who texted me last night asking if I wanted bubble tea?"
"That was Mom's idea."
"Uh-huh. Sure."
Sohee flicked a bit of water at him, and he dodged, grinning. For a moment, the kitchen was filled only with running water, laughter, and the faint sound of music from the neighbor's TV.
Later that afternoon, Jinwoo was lounging on the living room floor, scrolling through his phone, when his mom came over carrying a folded shirt.
"This was in the laundry," she said, placing it beside him. "Why do you always forget to turn your clothes inside out?"
"Efficiency," he replied without looking up. "The detergent works harder that way."
Mrs. Han chuckled softly. "You always have an excuse, huh?"
She sat down beside him, tucking her legs under herself. "You know," she said gently, "you've grown so much, but sometimes you still act like my little boy. The one who used to cry whenever Sohee ate the last yogurt."
He laughed. "In my defense, she always picked the strawberry one first."
"She still does," Mrs. Han said fondly. "Some things never change."
There was a quiet warmth between them, the kind that didn't need words.
After a pause, Mrs. Han sighed softly. "I worry sometimes, Jinwoo. You have a good heart, but you hide behind jokes too much."
He set his phone aside and looked at her. "I know, Mom. I'm trying. Just… not sure what direction yet."
She smiled. "That's okay. As long as you keep moving, even a little."
He nodded. "Thanks, Mom."
She patted his knee, then stood. "Now go help your sister with the groceries before she yells again."
When he reached the door, Sohee was struggling with a plastic bag that looked way too heavy.
"Need help?" he asked, leaning casually against the wall.
She shot him a look. "You think I'll say no?"
He grabbed the bag easily, smirking. "See? That's why Mom said I should come to Busan. You need me."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You keep telling yourself that, hero."
They walked back inside together, the afternoon sun spilling through the window and turning the dust motes into little flecks of gold. Mrs. Han was humming again in the kitchen, and for a moment, everything felt comfortably small, like the world existed only within these walls.
That evening, after dinner, the three of them sat on the couch watching an old drama rerun. Sohee had her legs tucked under her, munching on chips. Mrs. Han was knitting something for her friend's baby, and Jinwoo was half-watching, half-scrolling through his phone.
On the TV, the lead actor was confessing dramatically in the rain.
Sohee scoffed. "Ugh, he's been crying for three episodes. Just kiss already!"
Mrs. Han giggled. "That's how they build tension, Sohee."
"Too much tension," she said, throwing a chip in Jinwoo's direction.
He caught it and popped it into his mouth. "See? That's teamwork."
"Ew! I wasn't feeding you!"
"You did, though."
"Gross!"
Mrs. Han burst out laughing again, her needles pausing midair. "I swear, you two could be a sitcom."
Jinwoo grinned. "Title: House Arrest, The Han Family Chronicles."
"Episode one," Sohee said dryly, "Mom regrets having children."
Mrs. Han smiled, setting her knitting aside. "Never," she said softly. "You two are the best things I ever made."
For once, neither of them had a comeback.
The room fell into a peaceful hush, broken only by the hum of the TV and the rhythm of shared breathing. The air smelled faintly of soap and dinner and the soft scent of home, that strange mix of warmth and routine that only a family could create.
Sohee leaned her head on her mother's shoulder. Jinwoo stretched out on the carpet, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
"Hey," he said lazily. "If I get rich one day, I'm buying us a house with a rooftop garden."
Mrs. Han smiled. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"You'll see," he said with mock seriousness. "And Sohee will be my maid."
"Ha!" Sohee threw a pillow at him. "Dream on, milk thief."
He laughed, catching it midair. "Guess I'll add 'pillow defense expert' to my résumé."
And just like that, the apartment echoed again with laughter, the kind that came easily, like a shared language they'd spoken their whole lives.
Outside, the city lights flickered on one by one, but inside the Han family's little world, everything was already bright enough.