In the four years Yao was off for university, he was a ghost.
Every day, when he came back from school and began tackling his homework, Vicente never saw Yao. He almost never left his room, never spoke to any of the siblings, never smiled or joked or shared stories any more. It was like going to university had broken his spirit.
The only time Vicente saw Yao was during dinner. His older brother always had shadows under his eyes, his shoulders slumped with something more than exhaustion. That wasn't new, but the proud gleam in his eyes was gone, replaced by something dull that looked like defeat. Even then, he never got the chance to talk to Yao. The moment he set his chopsticks down, he was gone, back into his room to bury himself in schoolwork. He couldn't talk to him during the weekend, either — every Saturday and Sunday, Yao left the apartment complex before he woke up and returned after he fell asleep. Their stepmother remarked waspishly that he was probably consorting with gangsters to cheat his way through university.
It was like he'd lost his brother, the same one who'd taught him how to cook and complained about French with him, the brother who carried him to look at the nightlife of his hometown and told him stories in Mandarin, and saw him replaced by an empty shell of who he once was. Every day, Yao seemed to change more and more, until it seemed that he wasn't just a shell of himself, but an entirely different person.
By the time he'd reached the end of his second year in university, Yao had let his hair grow out, ignoring their stepmother's various attempts to get his hair cut and tying it in a short ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. Leon once joked that he looked like an imperial Chinese philosopher who sat by lotus ponds all day and thought about life.
Kiku graduated from high school at around the same time. He, unlike his stepbrother, was able to choose where he went, though Vicente noticed that he still picked a university close by. The conflict between Yao and his mother, which seemed like such a long time ago, was clearly still on his mind.
Their stepmother once lamented that she and their father had been spoiling Yao, buying him his own laptop for university and not saying much when he grew his hair out. Nobody said anything about how she'd always treated Kiku better — not kindly, only better. Even after four years, she treated Vicente with nothing but disinterest, passing him by at home like he was a ghost, never making eye contact with him, never speaking to him.
Once, while bringing a pile of laundry to Ling and Yao's room, Vicente noticed that Yao's side of the room looked plainer than usual. The shelves weren't as packed with books, his desk was less cluttered and, as he found out when he opened the musty drawers, he looked like he had far less clothes than he used to. But Vicente chalked that up to Yao losing things, which wasn't unusual, and said nothing about it.
Then more things started disappearing. More and more, until it was clear that it wasn't just Yao's absent-mindedness. Vicente had gone into Yao's room one day with another load of laundry, opened his drawers and found all but the very bottom one, which was filled mostly with tightly-sealed envelopes and taped-shut notebooks, empty. In fact, by the time Yao reached his final year of university, just a few months away from earning his degree, barely anything was left in his room.
But Vicente had more important things to worry about by then. He'd graduate high school soon, and he had sent out his university applications a while ago. June, when he'd take his public exams and figure out what to do for the rest of his life, was creeping closer and closer. Their stepmother would definitely disapprove if he picked a university far from Arlingdale, unlike Kiku and Yao, he thought. Or would she not even care? Did she even know he existed?
Hopefully, he was insignificant enough to her that she'd leave him to do what he wanted, though he wasn't sure what that was. Yao was studying accounting, as per their father's request, and neither parent had protested too much when Kiku announced he wanted to study literature. They'd definitely say something if he told them he had no idea what course to take.
Then May came.
Yao graduated a month before Vicente was due to, but his university graduation was in every aspect different from his high school one. He had no speeches to give, for one, and right after the ceremony, before any of the siblings or their parents could reach him, Yao disappeared.
When they got home, they found Yao's side of his and Ling's shared bedroom completely deserted — everything inside was gone. His laptop, his books, his clothes all seemed to have been taken away, and even his bedsheets had been taken off the bed. It was like Yao had never lived in the apartment.
Vicente tried calling Yao, but every call he made was met with an automated voice mail. Ling posted "LOST" signs everywhere, and Leon ran around town every day after school looking for him, but there was no sign of him. Wherever he'd gone, Yao was apparently determined not to let his family find him.
The disappearance had shaken them enough that their stepmother hadn't tampered with Vicente's university reply letters. He'd chosen a university in a city two hours away from Arlingdale that he got a scholarship into, picked a course that didn't sound too hard, and sent the reply before their stepmother could change her mind. But even that didn't take his mind off his vanished brother.
"What if he's dead?" Ling asked. "Or arrested, or sick, or grievously injured? Brother got sick of the way Stepmother was treating him, of course, and I bet he's run off and gotten himself into some twisted mafia battle across the nation."
"Twisted mafia battle?" Leon blinked.
"You never know with Brother! He's been so secretive these four years he could secretly be a spy for all we know. He's got the brains for it."
Leon stopped talking to her after that. Vicente, listening to them talk while he looked up secondhand textbooks on the family computer, wondered himself. Had Yao went off to find himself a job and a new home? Or was he couch-hopping and regretting his decision to leave?
They got their answer in July.
A very long text message was sent to Vicente's phone, so long that it took up all of the screen. It was addressed to all four of Yao's siblings, reading:
Jia Lin, Kiku, Jia Long and Yue Ling,
You four are probably very worried about me right now. If not, I feel slightly insulted. But anyway, don't worry any more. I'm fine. I'm in a city a couple of hours away from here, living in a small apartment and working odd jobs. The city's called Trofilos, and it's not bad. There's an art store here that Ling would enjoy, and the public library's huge, too.
I've saved up for this apartment since starting university, and all my old things from Arlingdale are there, I started moving four years ago. It's not much, but big enough to fit all five of us if we share. I'm not working to afford a bigger apartment, though. I'm opening a restaurant.
Yes, I've never cooked or learned to cook professionally. I can practically see Leon rolling his eyes now — I bet he thinks I can't do it. But I think this restaurant will scrape by, I'll be able to make something of myself without our parents' interference and so can you.
I don't want you all to end up like me — my future determined for me before I could make up my mind. Jia Long, Yue Ling, you two are still in high school, you can keep our parents from butting in on what you do if you stay with me. I know for sure that Stepmother would not approve of your taking creative writing or art. And Jia Lin, I know you're starting university this September. If it's close to Trofilos, maybe you can come along. Kiku, you're welcome to join us if it doesn't hinder your studies.
I hope you'll take me up on my offer. I have enough room for you four, and we can all work at the restaurant, earn a little more cash. I can't be the parents we needed, but I can try to be the brother who's a little better than them.
Best,
Yao
P.S.: Delete this soon, don't let Stepmother see.
After reading the messages, all was silent for a moment.
Leon was the first to speak. "Who sends text messages like that? If Brother wanted to write it in such a fancy way, he should've sent an email."
Ling stared at the screen like the message was still there. "We can leave? We can really just leave?"
Kiku's expression was one of disbelief. He was off in his own world as he got up and left the room.
Vicente's hands shook as he replayed Yao's words. Could he really escape this household where he was invisible and unwanted? Could he work, study, live like somebody who was desired and needed, who wasn't just a typical side character in someone else's story? It helped that he just happened to have sent his reply letter to Trofilos University, so he wouldn't have to travel too far from what he hoped could be his new home.
That night, Yao sent them the address to his new apartment and the spot he was hoping to rent to start his new restaurant. It was pretty far, the only way they could reach it without their parents finding out would be by train, and only Kiku had the money to afford the tickets.
Right before he and Leon were going to go to bed, Kiku went into their room and pulled a few banknotes out of his pocket, then handed them to Leon. He whispered something to Leon, gave him a rare smile and left the room without saying anything. The next morning, Vicente woke up to find Leon's bed empty. His favourite notebooks and novels were gone from his desk.
This time, Vicente got the message of Leon's safe arrival the afternoon he left. "Kiku helped pay for the ticket," part of it read, "if you ask, I'm sure he'll pay for yours too. Tell Ling I say hi."
He did, and Ling grabbed his phone to type her reply. "... hope you're safe, have fun, I'll join you two soon. By the way, the apartment looks really boring. Did Leon not bring his posters?" Were among her ending remarks. After she handed him his phone back, she said quietly, "can't believe those two would leave, just like that." She looked around his room, at the stacks of books balanced haphazardly on bedside tables and the rumpled, unmade sheets, the pieces of paper strewn everywhere. "Was it really that bad?"
She continued when she was met with silence. "Stepmother was horrible, yeah, and Father and Mother argued all the time. But I remember when I brought my friends over during the holidays, and I'm still proud when I look at the medals and certificates I have pinned on my wall." Ling smiled wistfully. "Plus, I still have three years of high school left, and I don't want to have to go through the 'new kid' thing again at a new school."
She wasn't wrong. Their apartment still held some good memories, even if the negative ones outweighed them. Vicente thought of the many hours he'd spent in the kitchen, experimenting with their mother's old recipes and helping Yao with the cooking; of dinners that weren't so bad, when everyone could get along; of snowball fights and petty bickering and exchanging advice. Maybe Yao would come back one day, fix everything their stepmother had done, make life be like those rare happy days.
He knew that was impossible, though.
Ling went into his room a week after Leon's departure looking apologetic. "I've thought about it for seven days now."
"What's 'it'?"
"Whether I should leave." She twisted her fingers, eyes sweeping around the room and looking everywhere but Vicente. "I'm still not very sure, but I'm certain about one thing. I think I'm willing to get rid of the few good memories I had here to make new, better ones in Trofilos. The key word here is 'think', though." Ling gazed out the window. "What if the restaurant fails? What if Yao loses all his money, and we can't afford rent anymore? What will we do then?" Her final remark was quieter than the rest. "I don't know if we should leave this secure home for one that we might be evicted from any day, even if it meant getting our freedom."
Her empty bed the next morning told Vicente that she'd figured out the answer.
The next two weeks were awkward. He and Kiku were the only two of the siblings left in the apartment, an elephant in the room their parents refused to acknowledge. They'd never put up search warrants, never asked for help. But again, it wasn't like anyone would notice the three disappearances.
On the thirty-first of July, at one in the morning, Kiku walked into his room and shook him awake, then handed him a train ticket. "I bought it this evening," he explained sleepily. "I thought I'd save you the trouble of buying it yourself when you get to the station."
He blinked at the ticket. "What? I'm not leaving."
"You look like a neglected dog in here. Always waiting for someone to notice and care about you, when there's nobody of that sort around."
"That's blunt."
Kiku shrugged. "It's the truth. You would do far better with Yao. Better than you'd be if you stayed here with Mother, at least." He set the ticket on the bedside table. "The train for Trofilos leaves at four. You'll have enough time to pack what you need and leave, so do it quickly. When I wake up again later today, I don't want to see you here."
Vicente rolled out of bed sleepily and stretched. "What about you? When are you leaving?"
"I'm not. If Mother finds out that I'm gone too…" he didn't dare finish the sentence. "I have two years to go until graduation. I can hang in there." Kiku wiped his eyes. "Now go. I promise I'll visit."
His stepbrother had definitely grown from that arrogant, quiet bystander from all those years ago. Vicente smiled at him as he began to pack. "Thanks, Kiku. And goodbye."
He packed quickly, not allowing himself to dwell on any sentiments that might make him want to stay. An hour later, he'd packed enough clothes, toiletries and other necessities that would probably keep him afloat for a while. Vicente carefully placed their mother's battered old recipe file at the very top of his duffel bag and zipped it shut.
All was quiet as he stepped outside his room. He put on his shoes, opened the door and took the elevator down, carrying the heavy duffel bag. Soon, he was standing in front of his apartment complex and staring up at the building. It had been his home, his sanctuary, his prison for ten years, and now he was leaving it behind.
He turned away and began to walk to the train station.