♡ A story about learning to love, learning to hurt, learning to 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥 ― and most importantly, learning to be human. ♡
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 4x
Marino Hills, California in the mid-2000s is hypersensitive to the idea of change. It clings desperately t...
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THE WINTER OF 2006 Welcome to Korea
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Sometimes, healing takes the form of moving thousands of miles away from your hometown.
At least, that's what Jisung's parents think.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we hope you've had a comfortable ride. This is your pilot speaking. We are currently flying over Gwangju, South Korea, and will begin our descent shortly."
Jisung Han stirs in his seat as the hum of the plane's engines rumbles through the cabin.
"Please fasten your seatbelts and return your seats to the upright position as we prepare for landing."
The rhythmic drone serves as an unconventional lullaby, wrapping Jisung in a cocoon of drowsiness, almost lulling him back to sleep. With a gradual fluttering of his swollen eyelids, he begins to wake, wiping the drool from his chin with a lazy fist.
Ugh...
His eyes struggle to adjust to the bright daylight streaming in through the windows, his vision still a little blurred. It takes a few moments for his senses to fully settle in—slowly becoming aware of the sounds around him—the bustle of activity happening in the rows in his vicinity.
Jisung jolts up in his seat, eyes blown wide. Holy shit, I'm in Korea.
Korea.
He's never been more terrified.
Gingerly, he lifts the shade covering the window and glances out the oval pane, peering out to the endless stretch of city below him. It's a little scary—scratch that, a lot scary—to think that this is where he'll be living for at least the next year, virtually alone and without a lick of Korean under his belt. There's an indescribable feeling of melancholy as the plane glides across the skies.
A part of him wishes that it'd never land.
Jisung retrieves tuxedo-cat 'MiMi' from his lap, now wearing a dot of red on its white fur. He presses it to the window, wishing that he could share the overhead view with Minho. It's a calmant of sorts—pretending that Minho is right here, right beside him, reminding him that he'll be okay.
One day, he thinks to himself. One day, we'll see it together. Korea really is beautiful.
A sigh escapes his lips as the plane slowly descends, and it's then when a salted tear starts to roll down his face. There's no one he recognizes for thousands of miles. He's alone.
Alone, alone, alone.
It's a bitter pill to swallow.
The landing is rocky. Jisung can't tell if his stomach is the one rattling, or if it's the airplane. He squeezes his eyes shut and grips the armrests, trying to swallow the far lump in his throat as he listens to the wheels screech against the runway. The plane jostles as it comes to a sudden stop, and he doesn't realize how hard he's been clenching his teeth until they begin to ache.
