Geoul was in a chair by his mother as she lay in an otherwise empty king-sized bed.

He is obviously in his late teens; his facial hair and chin are enough to make.him look older still.

He is heavy-set, courtesy of how much his mother had spoiled him once they’d finally settled in Greece. His arms, however, were deceptively muscular; this was courtesy of a set of training weights he’d stolen from his school.

Through a window to the bed’s side opposite him, semi-shut blinds are letting in only the sharpest blades of light. He kept it dark enough for his mother to sleep.

He had just sat back down after bringing her a cup of warm water, and as she shifted up to drink, hoped she hadn’t seen his momentary grimace as the sunlight hit her face.

Her skin was displeasingly sallow, even though she’d been eating well enough, taking antibiotics, probiotics, and even essential oils.

She sputtered somewhat as she drank, eliciting a nigh-instant response from Geoul as he made to catch the cup. She kept her grip, however.

“Mum, don’t cough. Hold it in and drink more.”, he says calmly in Greek. His voice is low and strong.

She shakes her head as she swallows, a smile spreading across her face as she looks at him. Seems she had been smothering a laugh rather than a cough.

“It’s not that, it’s just– you look so much like your father.”

Her understanding of the language seems perfect– not quite as fluent as Geoul, a Korean accent still exotifying it somewhat, but her words still carry a mother’s sweetness.

She places a hand on Geoul’s cheek, and he holds it there a moment.

“We even saw it when you were small; it’s why we named you how we did.”

Geoul smiles, abashedly averting his gaze.

“Geoul, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, mum?”

“Take me to a hospital.”

“What?” Geoul mutters, as he gets up slowly, her hand still in his.

“Mum, no.” his voice now carries a hiss of concern, mixed with disappointment.

“If I have it, kkul-gom–”

“You don’t!” he says, more firm this time. “And, if I take you to a hospital, you’ll only be surrounded by more sickness! I won’t allow that.”

His mother just looks at him as he hangs his head, still holding her hand. Her eyes look watery, her lips pursed.

Minute feelings of betrayal bubbled in Geoul. Had she just been buttering him up for that? Even going so far as to mention the man that had given his life for them both to be here?

Geoul is quick to leave the room once the buzz of a door-bell sounds a ways away, wiping moisture away from his eyes as he goes.

Their single-story house was not a shabby place; it was well-enough furnished and decorated, the wallpaper being a blue-brown stripe pattern of Geoul’s own choice. It even had two bathrooms.

At a point, his mother had been holding down three jobs just to pay rent for this place. Even past all that, she’d found time to spend with him. Considering all that, it was no wonder she got sick.

Opening the door, Geoul has to take a step back as he sees a person leaning right on the door’s sill. It’s Angosin; his breath is ragged, and he is clutching his chest.

Before Geoul can speak, Angosin says some things matter-of-factly in Greek:

“Your name is Geoul Kim. You went to St. Zub’s elementary while I was there, and were in a higher grade than me. I even followed you home once, saw you come in through this same door.”

Geoul’s shocked expression turns quickly to a stoic one. Seemingly ignoring what Angosin’s just said, he steps back and gestures for him to enter.

“You don’t look so good. Come in, explain on a chair.”

As Angosin enters, Geoul is sure to keep a whole six feet away from him.

Moments later, they are sat that distance apart just outside Geoul’s room.

For a time, Angosin is still clutching at his chest. Soon enough, however, he’s softened his hand and steadied his breath. His eyes still carry the echoes of some intense pain.

“So–” Geoul starts, “I do remember you from elementary, but–”

“You don’t go there, anymore. You’ve been attending high-school for one or two years, I know.”, Angosin interrupts.

“…yeah.” Geoul mumbles, shrugging off Angosin’s continued interrupting, as well as his stalker-esque statements.

“And, even in a new school, you haven’t stopped.”

At this, Geoul sighs through his nose. Raising his eyes from the floor to Angosin, there is a defensive hostility to his words:

“Stopped getting in fights, you mean?”

“Yes,” Angosin continues. “All throughout my time in school, I remember watching you do it, or hearing about it.”

Geoul’s eyes are back on the floor, now.

“But–” Angosin posits, “I also heard why you did it. That’s the bit that inspired me.”

Geoul chuckles a tad, to himself. “…inspired.”, he says as if surprised.

“Despite what your complacent teachers and fearful peers may have advised, shown or threatened, you still went so far as to beat another boy senseless.”

“…I was trying to get a friend out of a bad spot.”

“You saved a younger class-mate’s dignity, and did it with violence. And that wasn’t the last time you did that.”

There is a moment of silence, with Geoul’s shame radiating off his face to form a thick smog about the room.

“More recently,” Angosin continues, “You hit a teacher.”

At this, Geoul’s lips purse.

“More specifically– you believed her repeated harassment of a student for tardiness was becoming too much, and punched her in the gut before telling her off for it.”

“She had the class call Kelly a time-waster.” Geoul finally responds.

“She expected us all to just go along with it. I only decided to do something when everybody did.”

“You could’ve just told someone about these people, instead of hurting them., but you didn’t.”, Angosin says in an accusing tone. 

“You know,” Angosin continues, “someone might call that a tendency towards violence, or a disorder of some sort.”

Geoul sighs, mumbling something along the lines of “mmyeah”. “Heard that before.”

“But, I’m sure that to say it’s the fault of your family, or home life, is going too far.”, Angosin posits.

“No,” Geoul says, a grim look on his face as he brings his eyes back up to stare Angosin in his. “It’s exactly because of that.”

The sun is waning, an orange beam shooting through a window to silhouette him. 

Geoul elaborates: “My father. He gave his life to get us away from bad people, from North Korea, and he didn’t use words to do that. I’m never going to go easy on a person making this place like that place.”

He jabs a thumb at himself. “If I didn’t do something right then, these people would’ve gotten away with doing just that. Nothing was going to happen to them if I just called another adult. They’d make their excuses; they’d learn nothing. Then, they’d do it all again.”

“Whoa, there,” Angosin warns, bringing his hands up in a defensive gesture. “What’re you getting all flustered for?”

On a side of Angosin’s face, his lip curls into a small smirk.

Geoul takes a deep breath and lets it go. “You were calling me violent.”

“No.”, Angosin says, dismissively. “I was just trying to get you to admit you’re right.” 

“Right?” Geoul asks, confused.

“Right to do these things, to act so directly. I was trying to get you to admit that you’ve been acting for nothing more than justice. Not just to punish, but to do right by good people.”

Before Geoul can express his confusion, Angosin clutches at his chest once again, his face straining in apparent pain.

“Jeez!” Geoul calls, running from his chair to Angosin’s. “You looked older, but I didn’t think you’d be having a heart attack!”

“No,” Angosin says through unsteady breaths. He grips tightly to one of Geoul’s outstretched hands at the wrist. “This is why I came here.”

“An arrow from God did this to me. And with what it’s given me, I’ll be able to change the world. To save it in his name.”

Geoul’s nervous gaze is pulled to Angosin’s other hand as he draws it up, opening his palm to show him the arrow-sliver he’d drawn from Biskawaagan’s coat.

“And, I’ll be wanting help.”