Chapter Text
For the record, Jae is completely aware of how ridiculous this whole thing is. He knew it was stupid from the first moment he toyed with the idea; he knew it was stupid when he started looking at flights to Seoul; he knew it was stupid when he finally booked a ticket after downing half a bottle of wine one particularly lonely Saturday night. And he knows it’s stupid now, strapped into a Boeing 777 for a fourteen-hour trip to the place he was supposed to leave permanently some twelve years ago.
He presses the seatback screen in front of him and checks the flight status: eight more hours until they arrive in Seoul. He groans, pulling the too-small fleece blanket up to his shoulders in an attempt to go back to sleep. Had he stayed in L.A., he’d be busy on his computer right now, sending out resumés and pretentious cover letters or working unpaid internships or volunteering at some unknown nonprofit for the “experience,” like the rest of his graduating class is probably doing. The uncertainty of that grind and the reminder that it was, in fact, what he had been doing for the past five months were the only things keeping him from regretting this trip.
“Maybe this vacation will give you clarity, give your soul the right push towards what you truly want to do with your life.” That’s what his best friend Brian told him when he first floated the idea. “This vacation will get me deeper into debt, is what it would do,” Jae tried to retort, but honestly it was hard to argue against Brian when there was nothing really better waiting for him in L.A., anyway.
And then there’s Wonpil.
Kim Wonpil was a friend Jae had growing up in Seoul. Their parents were longtime friends and, despite having opposite personalities, the two boys found common ground through their love for music and video games. By the time they got to third grade, they were practically inseparable. When Jae and his family left for America when he was ten, he and Wonpil made three promises:
- Jae will come back from America as soon as he saves up enough money.
- Wonpil will send Jae a present every Christmas.
- They will always be best friends for as long as they live.
The third promise was the one they broke first. Of course. They were two young boys who were going into puberty during the early years of social media. There was no Instagram, or Facebook, or Twitter, and instant messaging was a pain in the ass. And time zones – time zones were a thing too. And high school. It was a period of self-discovery and self-creation, of molding one’s identity into various shapes and sizes to fit into everyone else’s box. It was just a matter of time they grew out of each other’s.
Jae supposes he’s fulfilling the first promise now, however late and unplanned it is. It’s the second promise that confounds him.
During his first years in America, Wonpil would send him a knitted sweater every Christmas. At first it was Wonpil’s mom who knitted them. The sweaters were soft and comfy and a little too big for Jae’s lanky torso and when they came in the mail Jae would hug them for hours until the then-familiar scent of Seoul was gone. And then Wonpil learned to knit them on his own, and the sweaters began to be smaller, more fit to his frame, and less polished. They also exchanged letters and other gifts, of course, although the frequency thinned out over time, but the sweaters were a constant regardless of how far they drifted apart. Until one year when Jae was in university, he just stopped receiving them.
And now he’s here. Making do with a tiny blanket on a fourteen-hour flight to see his childhood best friend who may or may not even want to see him.
He groans another time and snugs the blanket more tightly. Maybe his decisions will sound more reasonable when he’s had enough sleep.
---
Jae checks into a cheap travel hostel and spends his first couple of days in Seoul sleeping his jet lag off and wandering aimlessly around the city. The place has changed so much since he last saw it and there’s honestly so much to see that’d probably never run out of things to do in the entirety of his stay, but by the third day he is once again tormented by the nagging question in his head. So he sets out one morning to find the address that his aunt sent him, just to get it over and done with. And maybe then he’ll be able to enjoy the rest of his vacation uninterrupted.
Jae always thought that Seoul is most beautiful in winter. He remembers looking forward to it as a child, sprinting out to the streets with Wonpil as soon as the first snow falls. He feels the same excitement now, inhaling the chill as he meanders through buildings and alleyways dotted with festive holiday décor. The address leads him to a tiny, two-storey property in Seongdong. Moon Blossom Piano Academy, the Korean signage reads. Jae spots a doorbell and rings it, wringing his gloved hands nervously as the door creaks open.
And there he is. A few inches shorter than Jae, clad in black pants and a black hoodie that’s a couple sizes too big for his small frame, curly hair sticking out in all directions. The domesticity of the sight catches Jae off-guard and he just stands there with his mouth open for three whole seconds.
“Uh.” Say something, you idiot. “Wonpil?”
The guy at the door blinks at him, once, twice, and Jae marvels at how his eyes are still as bright and youthful as they were at eight years old. A gust of wind blows his poofy hair out of his eyes and Jae sees recognition dawn on his face.
“Jaehyung?”
Oh… right. For a moment, Jae forgot he even had a Korean name. It’s been so long since he heard anyone say it out loud.
“Jaehyung! It’s really you! You’re here!” Wonpil opens the door wider and launches himself at Jae, hugging him tight without hesitation.
“Yeah, um. Hi.” Jae’s body freezes, not being used to his friends back in America being this comfortable with physical touch.
Wonpil misses Jae’s shock and lets him into the building, showing him around the tiny studio he uses to hold piano classes. The second floor serves as his apartment, so the place is practically where his entire life revolves around. “It’s not bad,” he explains. “This spot is near quite a lot of schools so I have plenty of students, and the rent is as reasonable as it could get in this area of Seoul.”
He also takes on wedding gigs every now and then, says it breaks the monotony of running the academy and forces him to get his introverted ass out of the house. “That’s pretty much it. I live a very small life, as you can see,” he ends, gesturing around his space.
“Do you do it because you like it, or because you haven’t been brave?” Jae quips absentmindedly, then realizes it probably came off as a rude remark. “That’s—sorry, that’s a line from my favorite movie.”
Wonpil just beams at him. “You’ve Got Mail, I know. I watch that movie every Christmas.”
Jae smiles back, relieved that his reference didn’t go over the other man’s head and that they still share the same taste in movies after all these years.
“So, how have you been, Jaehyung? What brings you here?”
“I… uh… I go by Jae now, actually. Just Jae.”
Wonpil lets out a light chuckle, sweet and melodic, like the lingering notes from a music box when a song ends. “Okay, Just Jae. Tell me everything.”
Jae fills him in on his own life: his first years away from Korea, learning English and trying to be as American as he could be, the highs and heartbreaks of high school, the wild, free, ambitious years of college and the misery that comes right after. Wonpil asks him why he took up political science in the first place and he comes up with nothing. Jae tells him about the months after graduation, about the hopeless job hunt and suddenly feeling like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do and even what he wants to do or the kind of person he wants to be, about how Brian told him he might find the answer through this trip. He considers bringing up the topic of the sweaters but figures it’s probably not the right time. It’s already too much information to be dumping on someone he hasn’t talked to in years, but Wonpil takes it all in, listening intently with his round eyes trained on Jae all the while.
Wonpil is silent when Jae finishes talking. He appears to contemplate something for a few seconds, looking around the room as though hatching up a plan and Jae half-expects him to shoo him out or politely excuse himself or something, but instead he just says, “You can stay with me if you like. While you’re here. My sofa converts to a bed and this place is probably better than whatever shoddy inn you’re staying at.”
“Oh no, I don’t want to impose.”
“Psh, don’t even start with that, Park Jaehyung. You know you’d never be a bother. You’re my best friend.”
Wonpil sounds earnest, like he always is, and Jae basks in the odd sense of comfort it offers. He accepts the offer and says goodbye as Wonpil’s student arrives, going off into the cold afternoon feeling surer than ever that going on this trip was the right thing to do.
---
Jae checks out of the hostel and moves into Wonpil’s place the next day. When he accepted his friend’s offer, he assumed he would be sleeping at the sofa-bed he mentioned, but Wonpil insists he take the bedroom instead.
Regardless, Jae hangs out in the living room while waiting for Wonpil to end his classes. Wonpil’s second-storey apartment is small but cozy, furnished with simple furniture and a few framed photos of Wonpil’s family and piano performances. He spots a guitar sitting by the corner and takes it as he settles on the couch. He starts strumming idly, fingers moving in a familiar rhythm despite quite a long period of inactivity.
“I didn’t know you still play.” Wonpil’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. Jae looks up and finds him by the staircase, leaning on the wall with his arms folded and yet another big smile on his face. Jae tries to remember if he used to smile this much when they were kids.
“Honestly? I haven’t played much since high school. Feel like college sucked out all the creativity out of me.”
Wonpil nods solemnly, although Jae doubts he understands what it feels like when he’s been doing music literally all his life. He appreciates the gesture, though.
“You still got it, though. That riff you just did was better than anything I’ve heard from the moonlighters I play with at weddings,” Wonpil assures him. He walks to the fridge and studies its contents before facing Jae again. “Beer?”
Jae nods with a smile and goes back to playing the guitar until Wonpil hands him a bottle, already uncapped. The two start to sip their drinks quietly, and Jae is pleasantly surprised at how comfortable the silence is, even though they have years and years of being apart to catch up on. The laidback mood emboldens him to breach the topic he set out to discuss.
“I actually have something to ask you. That’s why I came here,” he starts carefully, gauging Wonpil’s reaction. Wonpil cocks his head slightly to the side, urging him to go on. “Why did you stop sending me sweaters?”
Wonpil lets out a laugh – one of those loud, boisterous Wonpil laughs – and Jae feels something warm settle in his chest. He feels his cheeks blush as he looks away. Is it the beer? It’s probably the beer.
“You came all the way here to ask me that? I thought you’d outgrown them by then. And let’s be honest, Jae, we hadn’t been keeping in touch for a while I didn’t even know if you still remembered me.”
Oh.
“Oh. That makes sense.” Jae tries not to sound too disappointed.
He takes another swig of his drink and tries to process the implications of finally getting the answer he wanted. What now, then? He did fly all the way here to ask that question when the answer was, should’ve been so obvious. Although, if he’s being honest, he’s starting to think it was just an excuse he made up for himself to justify his impulsive decision to run away from the stump he was stuck in in America.
It’s Wonpil who breaks the silence.
“Tell you what,” he starts, eyes still trained on Jae as though studying him. “I can teach you how to knit while you’re here. That way you’ll have something to do when you’re bored and a new skill to bring back home.”
“That’s… that sounds fun, Wonpil, but you’re already letting me stay here for free. I can’t possibly bother you with another favor.”
“And so?” Wonpil shrugs. “It’s no big deal. I like having you around. Although…”
“What?”
Wonpil pauses then clasps his fingers slowly, dramatically, eyes turning even brighter with palpable excitement.
“I could use a guitarist for an upcoming gig.”
It’s crazy. It’s a terrible idea. Jae’s only ever played the guitar for himself, or when he’s with his closest friends. Just the thought of doing something he’s not used to in front of a crowd – and worse, the possibility of being bad at it – makes him anxious.
“Wonpil… I told you I haven’t played in a long time. I’ve never even played in public before.”
“It’s a couple of weeks from now, we have plenty of time to practice. Plus, the wedding will be held at a beautiful nature park in Gangwon. It would be a great breather from the chaos of Seoul. You don’t have anything lined up for the rest of your stay anyway, right?”
Jae considers the proposition again. He doesn’t know if it’s because of Wonpil’s optimism, or Wonpil’s ridiculously bright smile, or the prospect of seeing the Korean countryside during winter, but the idea actually doesn’t sound as crazy as it did a minute ago. Besides, what’s one day of trying something new? “Maybe this vacation will give you clarity, give your soul the right push towards what you truly want to do with your life,” he hears Brian prod him in his head. Jae was never the type of person who would take such a big leap outside of his comfort zone, but he figures if there was a perfect time to try being a little braver, it would be this instant.
“Alright, I’ll do it.”
Wonpil lets out a squeal and pulls him into a hug, and Jae forgets every single one of his doubts.