VMINKOOK / THE ART OF BEEKEEPING

48

— PART FORTY-EIGHT.

The Park's Christmas tree is almost two stories high, and they barely manage to keep it in their house — it's in the hallway, impersonal, just for show. Elegant and cold, with it's frosty, white lights; silver baubles, glitter birds and snowflakes. The person they'd hired to put it up had to stand at the top of the stairs to put the star on top, and you couldn't see it unless you stood right at the trunk. It was like cold hands that spring from the earth, prying themselves from graves — walking-dead bones clawing their way back into the world of the living. So ice cold.

"It's a marvel." Jeon Junsu had remarked as the Jeon family had entered that afternoon, with sharp heels clicking, and silky skin gripping at golden boxes. They were bedecked in their best holiday attire; each one pale and decorous; red lips, black eyes, clad in suits of crimson and hints of sparkle.

Jeongguk was at Jimin's side as soon as he'd arrived, and his hands were cold as they had squeezed the other's — he felt like death, like the incarnation of  the Christmas spirit, heading more toward the spiritual, drifting from the warmth of the holiday. He hadn't lingered, but he was there.

Now, they're sat beside each other in the dining room, as they always are, reflections glacial in the shimmer of the long table, as the pale blue light leaks in, forcing them into a state of waking. Yet, today, they don't seem quite so awkward, and they're settled so comfortably, using each other for warmth, for affluence.

Jangmi is staring at them, though she doesn't make it obvious, they both can feel her. She's yet again forced to sit beside Juri, who's in no way as cheery as she was during their last dinner; the woman is sat, regal, completely still, as if she were asleep, propped up in that position.

"So you're set on economics?" Park Yohan questions the eldest Jeon sibling, who's got a special meal due to the fact he was watching his weight as always. As usual, the families had nothing better to talk about than business and work, even during the festive season.

"Yeah, if Hanbit becomes head of PJ Honey, I'm aiming to be a professor." He replies fruitlessly, and his shoulders are squared, his jaw sharp and daring, as his teeth try to snap down on his food — he's really good at pretending to know what he's on about.

The Park parents, Yohan and Seona, both look mildly amused by this — it was no secret the boy wasn't as intellectually responsive as the rest, and to strive for something like that, it made snooty people scoff. "How admirable." The woman declares, her thin mouth twisted up, pale gums showing.

"I could so see you teaching." Hanbit agrees, and he does well to sound a little more sincere than his mother. He's leaning across the table, engrossing himself in the ugly ambience, and his face appears a little rounder in the harsh light, his stomach rotund, peaking out of his shirt, like his father's, as if he'd been stuffing himself silly.

Jaewon smiles, dark and dripping with tension, and he may not be all that bright, but he can tell when he's being mocked, so he's caustic in the way he responds, "well, I'll admit, it's not quite a law degree, but it's something that could help people, hm?"

Hanbit seems pleased by how superior the other had made him seem, despite the vast exudes of irony in the younger man's statement, his grimy cheeks puffing up with the stretch of his grin. "Yes, and that is so honourable." He tells him, patronising, and his parents look proud.

Jeon Miran sets her features upon something a little hostile, but she's smiling, eating her Christmas turkey, carefully playing with the silver forks, her voice meagre as she inquires, "and how about you, Jimin?"

Upon being addressed, Jimin snaps his head up, and he looks embarrassingly surprised by the mention of his name. Jangmi is the only one that thinks to look under the table, her gaze scrutinising, and she spies how he's quickly pulling his feet away from Jeongguk's, untangling them. "Pardon?" He asks, eyes wide and dumb.