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In his twenty-five years of living and about nine years of drinking himself dumb (don't ask), maybe he has finally reached the edge of his alcohol tolerance, Sunoo thinks. He thinks, maybe, he's really done for this time.
The last thing he recalls was him, hiding somewhere in the hedge maze to finally down the bottles of whiskey he swiped from the bar while the rest of his so-called family bask in forced laughters and fake smiles, pretending they get along for the night all in the name of appeasing Halabeoji and securing hefty inheritances for themselves.
Same old, and as usual, Sunoo has half the mind to deal with this shit on his own, especially that his best friend and cousin Jungwon is not here to make things, if just a little bit, bearable.
He went out the manor and hid himself in the labyrinth as if he was back to being a kid, minus the chase from his grandfather, his hearty chuckles, and the bliss of being ignorant to the real nature of this bitter, bitter collective they call family. He kept walking and walking, chugging from the bottles he's hugging — four gulps for every step — until he absentmindedly passed through an ajar rusty gate adorned with ivy, something that if he was sober (which is never since the day he turned sixteen), would look suspicious, utterly out of place, and therefore questionable even for a curious person like him.
Now, in the middle of nowhere, under the mute glow of the moon, with no one as company but the slowly worsening pitter-patter of the rain, Sunoo has one nagging thought.
He's fucked.
"Oh, you're awake?"
Slowly coming to consciousness, Sunoo quickly evaluates his surroundings the best his groggy and hung over self can, and tries not to panic and scream at the man — surprisingly his age — that looms over his barely conscious figure. He was lying on a twin size bed in the corner of a small, homey apartment that looks awfully outdated — scratch that; vintage — for his taste.
The man, who has his palm on Sunoo's forehead, heaved out a sigh of relief, which, weirdly, was not weird for Sunoo. In fact, all these things happening right now was not weird for him at all, albeit maybe the fact that he does not know how he got there in the first place. The man has this calming effect on his surroundings, which is really helpful right now that Sunoo slowly realizes he's basically under the mercy of a stranger.
"Your fever has gone down, thank God," the man sighed again, "may I ask what you were hoping to achieve by drinking yourself crazy in the middle of a storm?"
He has replaced the wet towel on Sunoo's forehead so naturally you'd think they knew each other. Sunoo remained unmoving; whether calming himself or frozen in shock; we will never know.
Placing the now-dry towel back in the basin, the man continued talking. "I'm Jaan. Thank God I found you passed out by the rose bushes outside while I was checking the basin for rainwater. The storm was still gathering gusts by then. If I'd seen you any later, you would've frozen to death," he explained, "which brings me back: why were you drinking outside in the middle of the storm? That would really be reckless of you…?"
"Sunoo."
"Sunoo. You know what, I honestly do not care about your reasons. I was just checking if you could hold proper conversations now and you look like you could. Sleep more, I'll wake you in the morning for breakfast. Let's hope your fever has completely gone down by then."
And as if his words were law, Sunoo fell asleep.
When he offered to help with setting the table, Sunoo was firmly rejected by an Jaan in a white camiso and black apron ("No, you are a guest. Besides, you're barely recovering from sickness. Please do sit down, I won't take long now. I hope you eat runny sunny side ups?") and since he has no energy to argue first thing in the morning with a stranger to whom he's indebted, he decided to just follow what he said and waited by the dining table.
Mahogany, Sunoo recognized. His Halabeoji's manor is littered by the same wood anywhere you lay your eyes on.
Looking around, he realized it was actually a very cozy and spacey bungalow, albeit seeing wood in every square feet of the house. He wonders, is Jaan obsessed with DIY-ing? Because it certainly looks like the case.
"Here, have some." Jaan offers him a plate with two runny sunny side ups, a bowl of rice, some utensils ("Spoon, fork, sticks, knife… pick your choice, I'm not familiar with what you eat with."), water ("Hydrate, you certainly need it.") and a larger bowl for what seems like hangover soup.
"Thank you." Sunoo curtly answered, still refusing to give away as much as he can, but remembering to remain respectful. It's been a real, long while since he has thanked anyone.
"No worries. You can stay as long as you like, or go whenever you want to, just—"
He was halted by the loud door chime even before he got the chance to sit down to have his own breakfast. "Wait a while, that must be the paper. I'll just come get it."
Soon enough, Jaan was back holding today's newspaper, which he just placed on the coffee table.
"You won't read it?"
"I will, later. While having coffee."
"You drink coffee after breakfast?"
"Yes. Is it weird?"
"Not to me. My grandfather's like that, too."
"Hmm. Anyways, as I was saying, you're free to leave or stay whenever you get to it, but please do tell me so I can send you off. And oh! I remember. My house is a no-liquor vicinity except for the ones I made myself, so I apologize but if you do feel the need to drink, you have to do it outside."
“Understood.”
They spent the rest of breakfast in silence, with Sunoo's sips the only audible sound enveloping the two of them.
Sunoo sat on the sofa by the coffee table, waiting while Jaan cleans the dishes they used. He observed how the man literally lives in simplicity, an air of eternal calmness radiating off every part of him. This gives Sunoo an unprecedented feeling of change, a complete one-eighty from his usual chaotic and suffocating mornings when one of his grandfather's many secretaries comes to wake him up, coerces him to get dressed, and makes him go to the family company to do his job (which, as far as he's concerned, is to swivel his chair for 8 hours before he goes back to his pad).
"Sunoo? Would you like some coffee?"
"Pure black. One sugar."
"I got you."
Jaan shortly came to him carrying two mugs of hot coffee, "Here," before dropping himself down on the sofa, reaching for the paper.
"You collect vintage papers? I did not know they still print those."
"I do, but this is today's paper. The vintage ones come every Saturday."
"But the date says July 17, 1962."
"Yeah…? Today."
"Oh. Okay."
He felt Jaan’s eyes linger on him for a moment longer and soon enough, he spoke again.
"Hey, do you still feel sick? You can go back to sleep, you know. It's not like I'll do anything to you."
"Oh, no. I'm not worried about that. I'm fine, thanks for checking."
Though they were back to the comfortable silence of theirs during breakfast, Sunoo's mind has never been so noisy. Today should be July 17, 2022 — sixty years from today’s supposed date. He might be a drunk, but he still got the sense to remind himself of every passing day of his boring life. Now, this has either got to be a colossal prank somebody’s playing on him, or he's done some very weird thing to be experiencing something straight out of fantasy books.
"Do you believe in time traveling?"
"Wow. That's so random."
"Just… answer it."
"Hmm… let me think… I can't say that I do, since I basically have no specific opinion on that, but who am I to say it's not real? Besides, with things like that, people argue that there is no proof of something's existence. I say, there is no proof that something can't or does not exist, either."
"Huh. I guess that's good enough. I think I traveled through time."
Choking on his coffee, Jaan managed to let out a "Say what?"
"Backwards, specifically. I clearly remember the year to be 2022."
"Come again?"
"And if this is 1962, then I haven't even been born yet. I was born in 1997. That's 35 years later."
"Stop — You've gotta be kidding me."
"No, I hope to God YOU are just playing me right now."
"Wait, wait — okay, two things: one,you're really good at Math? And two, you're awfully calm for something as crazy as this."
"Well, I still have a lingering hangover so maybe that's what's keeping the panic at bay? I don't know, man. Maybe I'm in shock or something."
"Huh."
They stayed still for moments to pass, unmoving unlike the steam that slowly disappears from above their coffee mugs. Jaan cleared his throat before finally breaking the silence.
"Do you know how to go back?"
"Fuck."
"I thought so, too. Well, my offer stands nevertheless. You're free to stay or go, just tell me whenever. Good?"
Sunoo closed his eyes for a few minutes before responding, "Good."
The next few days passed by like a '60s film in its full, grainy color, which maybe it actually is? After all, Sunoo still has problems comprehending the whole fiasco that is his apparent time travel.
In the course of his 6-day stay with Park Jaan, Sunoo has learned maybe a whole lifetime of hacks that he otherwise would not have if this mess had not happened to him. He still has no idea how to go back to his time and so, decided that he should at least help Jaan around and try not to be a burden as much as possible.
"You do know I don't really mind, right?"
"Yep."
"So why do you still push yourself to chop the wood before I get home? I have, like, a whole storehouse of it at the back."
"You could just thank me, you know. I've never chopped wood in my life."
"Heol, are you a boxed and sheltered son?"
"Shut up."
For the most part, Jaan’s holding up on his I-don’t-really-mind game well, not making Sunoo feel the tiniest bit of insecurity as someone who unconsciously traveled through time and trapped in a year that did not have the comfort of instant food and internet. For a millennial, Sunoo is holding up his own well, too, and they managed to get through almost a whole week without blunders save for the occasional Sunoo trying to help out (like wood chopping) and Jaan ending up having to bandage the younger’s bruised hands. They have managed to work the age gap out as well, settling with just calling the other with their names and passing up on the not so evident 62-year difference between the two of them.
Apparently, Jaan was the town’s on-call. You need a lightbulb fixed? Call Jaan, he’ll light your house up in under ten minutes. You ran out of rice? Call Jaan, he’ll get you two sacks. Your daughter has a bad stomachache? Call Jaan, he’s buddies with the local pediatrician. It seemed that the whole of the town knew Jaan, and depends heavily on his presence. He was chummy with all of them — the kids, the elders, the officials — so when he was introduced as his cousin how many times removed, the townsfolk paid him no shred of doubt.
Despite seemingly having no fixed schedule (being on-call and all), Jaan has day goals, Sunoo learned. On Sundays (like the day they met), Jaan stocks up on water. Either by rain or by spending hours downtown, Jaan makes sure he has enough for the whole week by gathering them all from the pump downhill.
When he asked where the water from their shower comes from, Sunoo discovered that the water used in the house was sourced from a well on their backyard and could only be used for cooking and bathing, while the ones Jaan gathers from downtown were for his plants, his carpentry, his chickens, and the other things he takes care of for the villagers.
On Mondays, Jaan goes to the market. He goes to check the latest harvests, catches, whatever the townspeople offer in the culture of their local trade, he checks them out. This was Sunoo’s favorite part of his week, because doing grocery with Jaan meant the payment of favors, and Jaan goes home with a lot of freebies he actually refused but Sunoo kept in the basket, nevertheless.
Tuesdays were reserved for Jaan’s DIYs. For that specific week, Sunoo watched Jaan made homemade soaps and detergents, which he gave away to their neighbors after. That day, Sunoo realized, Jaan’s house did not smell like lavenders; the scent was coming off Jaan himself.
Wednesdays, despite being the middle of the week, was Jaan’s rest day. He lounges around his house, doing his normal chores; a cycle of cleaning, cooking, washing, until bedtime — sometimes, reading a book, other times, fixing his collections, and even wiping dusty vinyls and playing old jazz tunes on his well-maintained phonograph.
“Am I hearing Blue in Green?”
“Oh, wow. You know your stuff, huh?”
“Halabeoji’s got the same record. He plays it every night when he can’t sleep.”
“I like your grandfather’s choice in music. Do tell him that when you return.”
“Okay.”
“Also — dance with me?”
He would have liked to keep the memory for himself, but gatekeeping the two-day old nostalgia of Jaan asking him to sway with him in dim candle light felt like a disrespect to this fleeting moment of peace the two of them shared in the comfortable hum of Blue in Green in their living room.
Jaan woke him up in the middle of the night that Thursday.
“Sunoo.”
Half-awake, he just threw back a “hmm,” turning to the other direction from where Jaan was shaking him awake.
“Let’s go fishing! Come on, wake up!”
“Hmm.”
“I’ll wait for you outside, be ready in ten. I’ll just prepare our things.”
“Hmm.”
“Wake up now, okay?” Jaan’s voice was becoming faint, along with the sound of his footsteps. Even if his body was not used to waking up hours earlier than he was used to, Sunoo pushed himself to get up and get dressed against the chill of a late Thursday night, not willing to catch another sickness for the second time that week.
They reached a lake and were seated under a tree, the wind’s soft blow caressing their cold faces.
“Do we just sit and wait?”
“Yes.”
“This is kinda boring.”
“Hmm. I find it relaxing.”
“That, too. But what level of relaxation do you even need when you’re supposed to be sleeping already? Are the fishes even still awake?”
Jaan responded with a hearty laugh before saying, “Good point. You can go home if you wanna go back to sleep, you know the way, right? I just thought you wanted to see something.”
Huffing impatiently, Sunoo still stayed, and was glad to do so.
“Old man. I think like you.”
He never knew just how perfect nights could feel when fireflies surround you.
“Hmm. I like you, too, kid.”
“So, what are we doing this Friday?”
Sunoo was washing the rice, while Jaan was chopping chives for their breakfast that day. He was getting used to the type of life Jaan was living, and was beginning to contemplate whether going back was the best course of action especially that he was enjoying his days in the comfort of Jaan’s wooden home.
“Hmm, today, I have an appointment in the town.”
“Isa-ssi asking you to gather her flour sacks again?”
Laughing, Jaan clarified, “No, Sunoo. I’m getting the suit I had made from last week.”
“Suit? For what?”
“Tomorrow, you’ll see.”
“Sunoo! Are you ready yet?”
“Wait up! Just combing now!”
He heard the door of their bedroom opened, and was met by Jaan’s meeting eyebrows. “We’re riding the bike though! That’ll be messy again in no time, come on, we’ll be late!”
“And whose fault was that?” Sunoo challenged him.
“Fine — mine, but please do hurry up?”
“Fine.”
“Why are we wearing suits on a beach?”
“We’re going to a wedding.” Well, that explains the makeshift aisle on the distance, and the white chairs adorned with those white cloths with lots of tiny holes. They were currently walking by the coconut trees a little bit far from the shore, where the wedding is to take place.
“What? I did not know you had family.”
“Of course I have a family, where else would I come from? But no, this is someone else’s.”
“Whose?”
Sunoo kept walking towards the chairs, but Jaan held him by the arm.
“Stop, this is as far as we can go.”
“What? I thought we were invited?” Sunoo was just met with Jaan’s goofy smile, the supposed fun not reaching his eyes. “Jaan, are we gatecrashing this wedding? Just tell me, I’m great at this shit.”
“What? Sunoo, no. We’re just watching from afar. You’re here as my… moral support.”
“Whose wedding is this even? Don’t tell me you’re like, in love with the bride or something.”
Jaan’s hum was the only thing he received as some sort of response from the other.
They went home late that day, with Jaan staying quiet and solemn the whole time and Sunoo giving him quiet peace for once. He was reading one of Jaan’s book on the language of flowers when the other called out to him, his wine bottles on hand.
“Wanna drink?”
Sunoo did not think twice before obliging.
Taking a sip from his glass, Jaan let out a satisfied, maybe exaggerated, sigh. “That’s good. Hmm.”
“Are you really praising your own wine right now?”
“Why not? I did great on this one, did I not?”
“...You did.”
They were outside, drinking on the sitting deck while staring at a starless sky. Sunoo was considering whether to tell him that he knew who was getting married, but settled on keeping that detail to himself. He only knew him for days, but Sunoo knows Jaan was a good man.
“Your ex getting married, huh.”
“Hmm, you could say that,” Jaan replied with a light chuckle, a tinge of bitterness barely noticeable, but noticeable nonetheless.
“You have any wishes?”
“Hmm, maybe to see them again someday? They’re moving far from here, I heard.”
“How do you feel?”
“Empty. But I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, you will be.”
They drank, like the most of their time together — in comfortable silence — the rest of the night. Neither of them noticed when they fell asleep, not even bothering to cover themselves with blankets; the alcohol providing more warmth than necessary to keep them snug while they slept through the night.
“Fuck, Sunoo! Of all places! Ugh,” Sunoo heard his best friend’s complaining voice well enough that he snapped wide awake and found himself in the free space in the middle of his grandfather’s manor’s hedge maze.
“Jungwon.”
“Who else? Bastard, help me carry you? Of all places, Kim Sunoo. You pass out in this goddamn maze, you know I never memorized this fucker,” Jungwon kept cursing at him, obviously tired and annoyed at Sunoo’s antics but helps him anyway.
It seems like he was back his time.
Without telling Jaan goodbye.
“How long was I gone?”
“Six fucking hours. And not even in a good time.”
“What do you mean?”
“They brought Halabeoji back to the ICU. He got an attack last night. I flew back first flight this morning. And I learn you’re missing, look at that.”
Sunoo bent and picked his bottles up.
“How can you walk properly? You aren’t hung over or anything?”
“Are you really asking?”
“No. Let’s go.”
Sunoo should not have been surprised to see the lack of relatives looking after his sleeping grandfather. After, it was only him who really cared enough to stay beside his Halabeoji, and was the only one aside from Jungwon who cares none about the inheritance and all that bullshit their family kept fighting over behind curtains. He was beside the bed, staring at his grandfather’s sleeping face, while Jungwon was on the couch, typing some things on his phone, most likely reminders for his research team.
“I’ll go outside.”
“Catch,” Jungwon threw a lighter at him, understanding that he needed to smoke.
Sunoo threw the lighter back at his non-smoking cousin, “I’ve quit.”
“Since when?”
The hospital where his grandfather’s being treated was a private institution in the middle of the suburbs, built like a circular complex with an open space artfully covered with trees in the middle, looking more like a vacation home rather than a place of endless sanitized halls and last breaths.
He was looking over the ledge and watching the birds, when a rushing figure in a white coat crashes into him, knocking the wind right out of his chest.
“Jaan.”
“Oh, hi. You know my grandfather? Which way did he go?”
“What?”
“My grandfather, did you not see him pass through here? Goddamn, that old man. How can he run so fast at his age? Anyways, thanks! I’ll continue looking for him.”
“Wait! Doc…?”
“Park. Park Jongseong.”
“Jongseong. I’ll tell the lobby if I see him.”
“Nice! Thank you!”
Good thing. It was a good thing, Sunoo thought. A good thing that Jaan moved on from his grandmother and found himself a good life, and judging by his grandson, a good family, too.
That’s good.
“Is he gone?”
“What the fuck! Fuck, oh damn — you scared me!”
“Woah, there. Language, kid.”
There’s no mistake. He could be covered with wrinkles now, his hair might be all white now, but only one person could ever give Sunoo the same feeling of peace just by being in the same space together. Sixty years later, they meet again.
“Old man.”
“Hi, Sunoo.”
Sunoo did inform the lobby that he found the patient from Room 420, Mr. Park Jaan.
“Tell Dr. Park he’s in the ICU, with the orange-haired man,” Sunoo told the nurse, pointing at his hair, “that he saw earlier. Thanks.”
They caught up while walking, with Sunoo learning what happened with Jaan that morning he woke up outside, his visitor already gone.
His phone rang, so he excused himself for a while.
“My cousin told me Halabeoji’s awake. Do you wanna meet him? Tell him you like his choice in music yourself?”
“Oh, it would be my pleasure.”
When they reached his Halabeoji’s room, he was already sitting up and Jungwon was peeling him apples, which he eats while leafing through a familiar book about the Victorian flower language.
“Halabeoji.”
“Sunoo.” His grandfather acknowledged him, without looking up from his book.
“I’ve got visitors.”
As if piquing his interest, his Halabeoji lazily turned to him, and Sunoo watched as his grandfather’s face changed from usual boredom back to that life he only saw in him when he was a child.
“Jaan.”
“Shion… oh, love. How long has it been? I see I’m stronger than you are, even now.”