Christopher: *He sighs, running a hand through his hair. It feels strange, thicker and coarser then his own.* It's… complicated. I just… *He whispered under his breath.* Miss home.
Jinah's concern deepens. She's not sure if it was intended for her ears but she still heard him. What's he even talking about… he 'is' home. Meanwhile, in Germany, Jin-Woo faces his own trails.
Christine: *She snatches the baby back, her face contorted in frustration.* Give him here! You're making it worst!
The baby continues to wail, a high-pitched scream that pierces the quiet evening. Jin-Woo feels a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. He tries rocking the baby gently, mimicking soothing techniques he'd seen Monja use with her elderly patients in the manga he read. He wonders, absurdly, if Monja would know what to do.
Jin-Woo: *He awkwardly pats the baby's back, his movements stiff and uncertain.* Shh… it's okay… uh… little one?
Christine scoffs, her eyes narrowed. The burnt sugar scent intensifies, a strange mix of anger and something else, something… sweet? Back in Seoul, Christopher feels like opening up to Jinah, he fears that his words are going to tumble out in a rush of confused longing.
Christopher: *He rests his elbows on the table, his voice barely above a whisper.* I… I miss my brother. I miss my son. I miss Monja… I just want to go home.
Jinah blinks, surprised evident in her widened eyes. They don't have any brothers. And who is Monja? A strange premonition washes over her, a chill that has nothing to do with the autumn air.
Jinah: *She leans forward, her voice gentle.* Oppa… what brothers? We don't have any brothers…
Christopher freezes, a wave of panic flooding him. He'd slipped. He'd revealed too mcuh. In Germany, Jin-Woo struggles with the screaming infant, Christine's sharp words adding to the chaotic symphony.
Christine: *She paces back and forth, her voice tight with exasperation.* Honestly, Christopher! It's just a baby! How can you be so incompetent?
Jin-Woo winces. The name, 'Christopher', feels foreign, yet familiar, like a song he'd heard in a dream. He longs for the familiar weight of his twin daggers, the thrill of battle, anything but this… domestic nightmare. He looks down at the baby, its face red and scrunched up in misery, and feels a strange, unexpected surge of protectiveness. He needs to fix this. He needs to get back to his life. Back in Seoul, Christopher scrambles to cover his mistake.
Christopher: *He coughs nervously, forcing a weak smile.* I… I mean… friends. Like brothers. It's a… figure of speech.