"I've stared at you enough, haven't I? But you, your body, it makes me want to do all kinds of sinful things to you. Before long, I imagine us going at it like bunnies in the storage room, but I control myself. Good things come with time, after all...
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"I'm a bitch and a boss, I'ma shine like gloss."
~D.C
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It's ridiculously easy to find my brother, but I suspect it's a conscientious decision on his part rather than an error. He's played games like this with me ever since we were kids, leaving bread crumbs worth of clues for me to search for him through the woods near our house, where I'd often get lost.
Each iota of dirt I tracked into the house would result in crossed fingers, and those fingers would eventually be used to fend off brutal hands that tore at my hair, left welts as big as my then-love for Seokjin. He stared on, a film of disgust on his face from the uncleanliness that was the existence of me. He hated when things were dirty, yet he always seemed to endure it in some masochistic joy when it came to me covered in filth. It was about power and control, and he knew I'd come back to him when he called the next time.
A mix of trust and my own hubris kept me from pitching my white flag, and so it would be a battle between us every weekend, seeing who would declare a truce first. We should've known then that we were beyond the fragile string of familial ties.
He always liked to create puzzles out of our surroundings, like a twisted mockery of family. So, what would remind him of his brother dearest the most?
I take a seat on my couch and let Yeontan lick my fingers as I think. The only thing he seems to care about that concerns our shared childhood is my mother and my house, but I decide to focus on the latter for now.
My home address 1222 Hillmount Avenue. Hillmount. Sounds like Hilton. Is he at the Hilton? I shake my head. No, too obvious. He laid out that trap very nicely, though. Think more high-class.
(122? 222? 12?)
(Numbers. 2nd. Latitude longitude? Street? 2nd Street?)
What's on 2nd Street?
Hampton Inn... Urban Wine... JW Marriott...
(Hillmount? Marriott? J for Jin? Worth a shot.)
Go through a little trial and error, and I find Room 122 at the JW Marriott on East 2nd Street booked under a name going by the alias—you guessed it—Jin, a nickname our mother used to call him. It's one of his more lazily thought-out puzzles, but it's his way of dipping his toes in the water, vetting me to see if I've forgotten his tricks.
But I haven't. I never will.
A short bike ride later (one of the perks about living right by South Congress—you can take the scenic route through the hike & bike trail all the way to downtown Austin) and I'm in front of my biggest lead. The outside is adorned in soothing, ambient lighting that looks more like a night-time lounge than anything else. The obsidian surface of the building reflects city life back onto the world below, and there's something so domestic about the whole scene that I have to stop and stare.
