Paradigm

Chapter XXI

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. March 1998.

Kuala Lumpur was nothing like anything Seonghwa had ever seen. It was the complete opposite of the endless string of perfectly organized, homogeneous buildings of cities like Paris and Seoul, the only ones he was familiar with. Road traffic followed no apparent logic and blended into a mass of motley, colorful residential neighborhoods. The air pollution was thick, almost heavy even for the editor, who was used to large, congested cities.

San, despite his past as a globe-trotter, had never set foot in this city. Nevertheless, he was extremely at ease in this new environment. He overcame the language barrier without the slightest difficulty, and climbed into the locals' vehicles without hesitation.

As Seonghwa was questioning his life choices for the umpteenth time since leaving Paris curled up into a ball in the corner of a trailer attached to a truck that looked like it pre-dated his birth, his breath was taken away by the sight of San laughing out loud, his face turned towards the sky as the wind blew his black hair.

He was divine. And paradoxically, the editor had never seen him so human. He no longer bore the cold, hard mask he had been wearing in Paris when they first met. He almost felt like laughing when he thought of the first time Paul had taken his hand, and how surprised he had been that his hand was actually made of flesh and bone. The same man was now standing before him, just over a week later in a trailer stained with chicken feces, wearing a soiled white shirt soaked with sweat and overwhelmed by the most genuine joy ever.

Maybe the fatigue accumulated during his trip was taking a toll on him, but Seonghwa felt the sound of this laugh getting carved into his heart.

A few dozen minutes later, they found themselves back in the streets nearby their hotel after their very eventful afternoon. They entered a tiny stall renowned for the quality of its coffee, and drank together under the intrigued gaze of the locals. It was undoubtedly the best day of their trip. And perhaps the best Seonghwa had experienced in a while.

Coffee was delicious.

Or maybe it was not, but Seonghwa was too happy to notice it.

However, after an hour or so, San expressed that he was really exhausted and preferred to go back to the hotel to rest. The previous day's incident had weakened him a little, and he wanted to be in good shape the next day. The editor totally understood, but still wanted to explore the area a little himself.

When the author left for good, the editor suddenly felt uneasy being all alone in an unfamiliar place, in a country whose language he did not speak a single word of.

Still, he had too much pride to go back to the hotel so soon only because he felt intimidated by the city so he found himself a cozy little restaurant to spend the evening in and took a seat at a table at the back to enjoy a little peace and quiet. The menu was sparse, a sign that the house was cooking with fresh products. He was trying to roughly decipher the Malaysian titles on the menu.

Far too engrossed in his task, he did not notice the man sitting right in front of him without his approval. He was staring at him unashamedly.

Seonghwa flinched when he finally looked up from the menu, finding out about his visitor's presence.

The man looked to be in his early thirties. The editor could make out a skinny build under the black leather perfecto he was wearing. His dark hair was neatly combed and impeccably clean. His fine features made him quite attractive, but he was definitely not Malaysian judging by the lighter tones of his skin.

"Pleased to meet you, Park Seonghwa-ssi", he began in Korea straightaway. "My name is Hongjoong. Kim Hongjoong."

Kim Hongjoong. Hearing this name was enough to throw Seonghwa in a state of panic that rendered his brain unable to treat any other information than that he was in danger.