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everwhovian · 1 day ago

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There is something so tragic about the sibling bond In-ho and Jun-ho have

Ever since I got obsessed with Squid Game, their relationship stood out to me, and I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort and family and just imagining In-ho meeting his baby brother for the first time, giving him A KIDNEY and then he has to shoot Jun-ho and it's so tragic!

Anyways. I wrote something. Instead of studying for my exams... enjoy!

(a small glimpse into In-ho and Jun-ho's relationship as Jun-ho grows up)

masterlist | next part

what remains. | Hwang brothers

The room was dark. In-ho stood frozen in the doorway, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. He reached out, fingers hovering over the switch, but he didn’t flick it on. The only light spilling into the room came from the hallway. In-ho waited. His eyes adjusted to the dim glow flickering through the curtains, casting soft shadows over the crib in the corner. It was smaller than he expected.

In-ho swallowed hard. He’d known about the baby for weeks now, but knowing and seeing weren’t the same. This wasn’t just an idea anymore, some distant concept of a sibling. No, this was real.

He hesitated, still standing perfectly still in the doorway. In-ho could recall the voice of his mother, the disgusting tone when she told him about his father and his now stepmother. Growing up, In-ho had always known that his parents had issues, but seeing the living breathing consequence of those issues… the reason why his parents finalized their divorce…

He shook his head. He banished the voice of his mother, biting his own underlip to keep the traitorous words inside his mind, he didn’t want to repeat those words. The baby was not at fault for his parents’ issues. It was wrong for his mother to blame an innocent child.

He let the trap of his bag slip from his shoulder, slowly placing the bag down on the floor, before he dared taking a step into the room. It was so quiet. He took step after step, hesitantly, his footsteps barely making a sound against the floor. He stopped mere inches away from the crib, his torso bending forward until his arms rested on the wooden railing of the crib. He peered inside.

The baby stirred, his tiny hands curling into fists, his chest rising and falling with quiet, even breaths. In-ho stifled a gasp, taking a deep breath through his nose. He reminded himself that he had known about the baby – this half-brother – but standing here now, watching the rise and fall of a life so new, so fragile, made it real in a way he hasn’t prepared for. This was real. His half-brother was real.

And for the first time in his sixteen years, In-ho wasn’t sure what to do next.

He couldn’t remember what he had expected to feel. Maybe nothing. Maybe resentment, fuelled by his mother’s venomous comments. But instead, there was just… silence. A strange, hollow kind of stillness.

The baby. His half-brother. His father’s child. A stranger, and yet, blood. Something unfamiliar tightened in his chest.

He didn’t know how to be a brother, he’d never thought he’d have to be one. While he focused on the baby’s tiny chest, counting the quiet, even breaths, he wondered if that even mattered.

In-ho glanced at the small dresser next to the crib, recognizing the stuffed toy sitting on it. A tiny smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. It was his stuffed toy. The same well-loved duck In-ho had carried around everywhere when he was a toddler. In-ho had sifted through his desk months ago, when his father first acknowledged the existence of the baby, and had given the duck to his stepmother in lieu of a proper present. Now, the duck sat next to the crib, watching over the baby, as if a part of In-ho had been there all along.

His eyes drifted from the duck to a framed photo and next to it, a neatly embroidered blanket draped over the edge. The stitching was slightly uneven, like someone had done it by hand, but the name was clear enough: Jun-ho.

In-ho swallowed, unsure what he was even doing here, what he was supposed to feel. His hand hovered hesitantly over the crib before, without thinking, he reached down.

Jun-ho was so small, impossibly small. His face soft and peaceful in sleep. In-ho’s fingertips brushed against the warm, delicate skin, and then – tiny fingers curled around his own.

In-ho froze.

Jun-ho’s tiny fingers were warm and oh so small, but still holding on with surprising strength. He didn’t even know who In-ho was. He didn’t know what a brother was, didn’t understand the weight of the world, or the choices that had led to this moment. But none of that mattered. He held on anyway. Without question. Without hesitation.

In-ho swallowed hard, his throat tight. It was a strange thing to be trusted so easily. No one had ever handed him trust before. He had always had to earn it, to fight for it. But here was this tiny, helpless baby, offering it without a second thought. It was terrifying. And it was something else too – something he couldn’t quite name, something that made his chest feel heavy and hollow at the same time.

Jun-ho trusted him. Expected him to be there. And for the first time, In-ho realized just how much that meant. Because if this baby trusted him… maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t let him down.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 〇△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

At first, it was awkward. In-ho didn’t know what to do with the warmth in Jun-ho’s mother’s voice when she spoke to him, with the way she smiled at him like he belonged, like she wanted him there. It wasn’t something he was used to.

His own mother had never been soft. She had been distant, cold in ways that left a quiet, aching gap in his childhood – one that had long since hardened over. He had learned young that comfort was something other people had, that tenderness was a luxury he was never meant to expect.

But Jun-ho’s mother? She was different.

She cared. Really cared.

She never treated him like an outsider, never hesitated to make space for him. She asked if he had eaten, if he was sleeping enough, if he needed anything. She left out an extra plate at dinner without asking if he would stay – because she already knew he would. She called him son in passing, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Because it was easier to be distant. It was easier to stand just outside the warmth of their family, to tell himself he was only here for… he didn’t even know why he kept coming back to them. He told himself that it was because of Jun-ho, not because some part of him wanted to come back.

But then there were nights when he was dead on his feet, exhausted from school, from work, from everything, and his stepmother would press a warm mug of tea into his hands and tell him, “You’re doing a good job, In-ho.”

And something in him cracked.

Because no one had ever said that to him before. No one had ever looked at him like he deserved to hear it.

He didn’t know how to be her son. He wasn’t sure if he ever could be.

But she was still there. Quietly. Patiently. Loving him in all the ways he had never been loved before.

And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as alone as he had always thought.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 〇△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

The first time Jun-ho wobbled on unsteady legs, his tiny hands reaching out for something, someone, to hold onto, it wasn’t their father who caught him. It was In-ho.

It had always been In-ho.

He hadn’t planned for it to happen. It wasn’t like he’d woken up one day and decided to be the one to catch Jun-ho when he fell, to be the hands that steadied him, the voice that soothed him, the constant presence in his world.

Their father had always been good at disappearing, of slipping back into old patterns like a man following a well-worn path. His promises were always soft, always fleeting. I’ll do better this time. I’ll be around more. I won’t let you down. But he slipped through the cracks and made himself absent in a way that felt intentional, like an old habit he never quite shook. Falling back into old habits was easy after all. Stepping up? That had never been who their father was.

So, when Jun-ho took his first steps, it was In-ho who knelt in front of him, arms outstretched, waiting. It was In-ho who cheered when tiny feet stumbled forward, and who caught Jun-ho before he could hit the ground. It was his name that Jun-ho spoke first. The syllables clumsy but clear, unmistakable.

Not ‘Appa.’

Resentment burned in In-ho’s chest, sharp and steady. Because every time their father returned like nothing had changed. But everything had changed.

It was In-ho who caught Jun-ho when he stumbled, who soothed his cries, who stayed. And yet, Jun-ho still looked at their father with hopeful eyes, too young to understand that he would always leave in the end. But In-ho knew. He had learned that lesson long ago. And no matter how much he resented the man who should have been here, he swore that he would never be like him.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

But Jun-ho didn’t know that. He didn’t know what he was supposed to have, what he was supposed to be missing. All he knew was that when he lifted his arms, In-ho picked him up. When he cried, In-ho answered. When he reached for someone to hold onto, someone to trust… it was always In-ho.

And with every moment, every milestone, the role of ‘older brother’ blurred into something bigger, heavier, something that settled deep in his chest and refused to let go. He wasn’t just a brother anymore. He was something else. Something more. He was the one who made sure Jun-ho never went to bed hungry, the one who stayed up through fevers, who soothed nightmares, who stayed when their father didn’t.

He hadn’t asked for this. But Jun-ho hadn’t asked to be left behind either.

So, In-ho stayed. Because someone had to. Because Jun-ho trusted him. Because the moment he had reached into that crib and felt tiny fingers wrap around his own, there had never really been a choice.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 〇△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

In-ho built his life on his own. He put himself through university, became a detective, and earned everything with his own hands; his own effort. He never once turned to his absent father for help, never relied on his stepmother’s kindness, even when he knew she would have given it freely. Not because he didn’t appreciate her, but because he still didn’t know how to. He had never relied on a parent before. He had learned young that no one would catch him if he fell, so he made sure he never stumbled.

And he knew it hurt his stepmother. Knew she wished he would lean on her the way Jun-ho did, that he would let her be his mother, too. But the lingering thoughts never left him: “if he accepted her help, wouldn’t that mean he was taking her for granted?”

Wouldn’t that mean he expected her to stay, when he had spent his whole life learning that people didn’t? So, he kept his distance. He loved her in the only way he knew how: by never being a burden. And maybe that hurt her more than anything else.

When In-ho left for university, Jun-ho was only two years old. Small and wide-eyed, his little voice filling the house with endless questions and more often than not, it was In-ho he called for.

Leaving wasn’t easy. Not because he doubted his choice; he had worked too hard to get into university, had spent too long making sure he would never have to rely on their father for anything, but because of Jun-ho. Because every time he packed his bag to go back to school, Jun-ho would waddle after him, grabbing at his pant leg, his voice high and insistent. “Hyung, no go! Stay!”

And it nearly broke him.

He came home as often as he could, squeezing visits in between classes, taking overnight buses just to be there for a few days. It was exhausting, but the moment he stepped through the door and Jun-ho came racing toward him, arms outstretched, eyes shining as he shouted “Hyung!” – it felt worth it. Jun-ho would climb onto his lap, showing off new words he had learned, babbling about his favorite toys, his favorite songs, everything he had stored up to tell him.

But the visits never felt long enough. Before he knew it, he had to leave again. And each time, Jun-ho got a little bigger.

By the time In-ho became a police officer, Jun-ho was six already, just starting school, but still clinging to him whenever he came home. No matter how long he had been gone, no matter how much time passed between visits, Jun-ho’s face always lit up the moment he saw him, like nothing else mattered.

But the visits weren’t as frequent anymore. Work kept him busy, cases ran late, and sometimes, even when he wanted to, he just couldn’t make it home. And that was how, one afternoon, he found himself running late to pick Jun-ho up from school.

By the time he pulled up in his patrol car, the schoolyard was empty. Except for Jun-ho, sitting alone on the steps.

His little backpack rested beside him, too big for his small frame, his legs swinging idly as he watched the street. But he wasn’t upset. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t even restless. He was just waiting. Waiting for In-ho.

The guilt hit hard. Harder than it should have. He had tried to get here on time. He had rushed. But life, work, had gotten in the way, like it always did. And just for a moment In-ho compared himself to their father.

When he stepped out of the car, Jun-ho’s head lifted immediately, his face breaking into a bright, certain smile.

“Hyung!”

He jumped to his feet, grabbing his bag and running toward him without hesitation. No frustration. No disappointment. Just the absolute trust that, late or not, In-ho would always come.

In-ho crouched as Jun-ho threw his arms around his neck, squeezing tightly, as if he hadn’t just been sitting there alone.

“Sorry I’m late,” he muttered, ruffling Jun-ho’s hair.

“S’okay!” Jun-ho chirped, pulling back just enough to grin at him. “I knew you’d come!”

And that was what got to him. The unwavering belief in his voice, the simple, unshaken certainty that no matter how long he had waited, there had never been a doubt in his mind: his hyung would always come.

Swallowing the guilt, he nodded toward the police car. “Wanna ride in the front?”

Jun-ho’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.”

Jun-ho scrambled in, his excitement bubbling over as he settled into the seat, his feet barely reaching the floor.

As In-ho buckled him in, he made a silent promise to himself. No matter how much time passed, no matter how late he was – he would always come back. Because Jun-ho never doubted him. And he never would.

masterlist | next part

(edit [10/02/25]: I posted these scenes separately again cause I made a masterlist, and it's easier to organize the scenes chronologically like that. all next parts will be linked through the masterlist!!!)

So.... yeah. I apologize for any weird sentences. English isn't my first language, and while I do study English, actually writing non university related stuff in English is something I haven't done in years! Can you believe it?

I definitely have more little scenes and scenarios planned with In-ho and Jun-ho, like In-ho meeting his wife and Jun-ho wanting to become a police officer like In-ho. Just some cute family bonding stuff! And some hurt/comfort cause In-ho does give Jun-ho a kidney....

I think I will cross post this to Ao3 too! When I'm certain that I have every little scene I want for a first chapter: maybe up until In-ho's wife gets sick? And then the second chapter might be about In-ho's games and how he became the frontman.

#what remains hwang brothers #hwang in ho #hwang jun ho #hwang sibling #hwang bros #hwang brothers #hwang inho #inho and junho #in ho and jun ho #siblings #sibling bonding #squid game #squid game fanfic

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