Work Text:
Heat was pretty much the standard when it’s almost October.
Not in Seoul though. In Seoul, by now, people have put on jackets as the leaves have partially faded. But here, it was piping hot, as Jun had expected. So was being scorched by humidity in an outdoor waiting bay.
He tapped his phone screen to check the weather again. Thirty degrees. No surprise there. Not that it bothered him, to be fair. Manila was always a good idea when Seoul was colder than expected.
It wasn’t his first time in Manila, and he wasn’t particularly sentimental about it. He’d been here on and off over the years for work. It was fairly familiar but also, definitely distant. Like some colleague from a different floor or department, where it’s always just an exchange of polite greetings in the lift or the hallway.
It wasn’t quite the afternoon yet, but the heat was already waltzing through his skin. In spite of that, even after disembarking the aircraft, he hadn’t bothered to take off his jacket. Not for any particular reason but he’d be in a car soon enough, so it saved him the trouble. There were more pressing things to think about than the logistics of jacket storage, anyway.
Jun stood outside waiting for the car he booked a few minutes ago to pick him up. He scrolled through his phone screen. Truthfully, he didn’t really care for the updates on his timeline. At this point, it was more out of habit than anything.
The car pulled up—a white sedan. It was clean, but definitely had been around for a few years. No more than five, no less than three.
“Sir Jun?” the driver asked, though it wasn’t really a question. He already extended his hand to reach for Jun’s luggage.
Jun nodded, handing the bag over. “Yes. Thank you.”
Jun slid into the back seat comfortably as the driver shut the trunk door down. As he entered, he immediately felt comfortable with the cold air from air conditioning.
“You alone?” the driver asked before pulling away from the curb.
Jun looked up briefly. “Yeah, just me.”
“Where are you from?” the driver asked, glancing for a bit through the rearview mirror.
“Technically, Shenzhen,” Jun replied. “But my family moved to Korea when I was young, so in truth I should say Seoul.”
“Seoul!” The driver’s eyes lit up. He slipped into Korean without hesitation. “Drove cargo trucks everywhere in Korea for twenty years.” He gestured to the car with a grin, “This is retirement. Driving for fun now.”
Driving for fun, Jun thought. What a concept. He could hardly imagine anyone doing that purely for the sake of retirement.
“So, what brings you to Manila in September?” the driver asked. “Nothing much to see this time of year. Except the occasional typhoons.”
“Work,” Jun replied succinctly. “There’s a project with the ADB.”
Jun didn’t offer more than that. Explaining what he does was one of those things he’d stopped doing a while back. People either pretended to understand or pretended to be interested in any form anyway.
“ADB,” the driver nodded, then eyed the map displayed on-screen. “Ortigas makes sense then.”
The driver flicked on the radio, and almost immediately, the car was filled with the sound of jingle bells, choirs, and holiday cheer.
Jun blinked. It was September. A few days later, it would be October, almost, but still.
Jun tried to wrap his head around it. He’d noticed it before, on other trips. In fact, he took a picture with a giant Christmas tree inside a mall once early in October. But the way Manila always rushed into the holiday season still surprised him each time.
“It’s the music, huh?” the driver raised.
“Sorry?”
“Christmas music,” the driver explained. “You’re wondering about it, right? Why is it on so early?”
Jun glanced at the pine freshener hung by the vent. That one made sense. The Christmas tree at the airport did not. “Uh... yeah. I was.”
The driver chuckled as he switched lanes. “All foreigners have that look no matter how many times they’ve been here. As soon as September hits, it’s Christmas. It’s just how it is.”
Jun didn’t mind it, really. It was just rather interesting. Like any other city, Manila had its own rules. It wasn’t codified but everyone just seemed to follow along. No one questioned the Christmas music in September, the heat at dawn, or the traffic that always seemed to stall, regardless of the second.
The car weaved through the grid that is the business district. The streets here were full of deals and number-crunching. The driver slowed to a stop in front of a building where everyone wore pressed shirts and sharp suits, even in the humidity and heat.
The driver turned to him with a polite smile. “We’re picking up one more. They’re going to the same place”
Shared ride, Jun remembered immediately. Inevitably, he’d have to make room for another passenger riding in the same direction.
Jun gave a nod as he adjusted his bag slightly to make space on the seat beside him. Soon enough his nose found a pleasant mix of vanilla, rum, and somehow tobacco but not smoke filling the rest of the back seat.
“Hello,” the newcomer greeted.
Jun glanced sideways, just for a second. He tightened his grip on his phone then responded to the greeting in Korean as he gave a polite bow.
The other man paused while his hand hovered over the seat belt. He wasn’t quite surprised that Jun spoke Korean. In fact, he was used to being greeted in Korean. Instead, there was some hesitation before he settled into the seat. He recovered quickly, though, as his expression smoothened.
“Jeon Wonwoo, right?” the driver confirmed with the newcomer.
“Yes,” the man responded in English in a reserved manner.
“Alright!” the driver responded as he switched to Wonwoo’s mother language. “All good?”
“You speak Korean?” Wonwoo asked. His tone was polite but admixed with curiosity. Afterall, it’s not everyday he encounters that in a foreign country.
“Oh yeah, lived in Korea for twenty years. Now, I’m retired and back home.”
“I see,” Wowoo said as gave a few nods.
Jun flicked his eyes to the window, though the tint was dark enough to observe the other man through the reflection. He was about Jun’s age—Jeon Wonwoo. What are the odds? He looked polished, clothes were well-ironed. His glasses seemed to be the kind people have to custom order.
He looked sharp. Someone who knew exactly what points to raise at important meetings, or at least, gave the impression he did. The satchel with the miniature gamepad keyring resting on his lap told Jun so.
Jun met Jeon Wonwoo’s gaze. Not directly though. Peripherally, as he checked for notifications on his phone. Jun thought he might have some opinions about his jacket or why he wore it despite the heat. But of course, the time to speak about it has passed.
“So, you work in that building?” The driver enquired.
“Just visiting. I arrived at midnight from Seoul,” Wonwoo replied.
“Midnight flight.” The driver gave a nod. “Must be tough. Did you manage to get any sleep?”
Wonwoo chuckled softly. “Yeah, I just slept through most of it.”
“Great!” the driver chimed in. “Knock yourself out the whole flight, and wake up before the immigration gates,” he said, steering the wheel into a corner. “It’s ironic though. The airport is too small for a country with no other way to get in except by flying or hopping on a boat.”
“If you think about it’s the same back home,” Wonwoo responded. “Get in through the airport or a seaport, get out the same way.”
“True,” the driver gave a hearty chuckle. “But at least Incheon can handle it.”
Jun let out a quiet laugh without much thinking, then quickly muttered, “Sorry.”
“No need to apologise,” the driver waved off. “It’s nice when people respond to chatter. Most of the time, I just deal with silence.”
“Oh, really?” Jun asked.
“Yeah. You wouldn’t believe how quiet most rides can be. But I think everyone has an interesting story. That’s why I like picking people up from the airport. You hear all kinds—some nationalities share more than others, others hold back. It’s not the same for everyone from the same country though.”
“I guess some people just have nothing to say.” Jun said as he remained focused on the window.
The driver hummed thoughtfully. “Could be. But silence doesn’t mean there’s nothing to say.”
“Not everything needs to be said,” Wonwoo added quietly.
“Maybe,” the driver responded as he honked at a motorcyclist speeding. “But it gives so much room for assumptions.”
“That’s the thing,” Jun remarked. “People start filling in the blanks, like it’s some sort of essay.”
“Oh, I get that,” the driver said, stopping at an intersection. “A guessing game of sorts.”
“Talking doesn’t guarantee a great conversation either,” Wonwoo threw in.
The driver laughed lightly. “Well, that’s true too. But at least when you talk, you’re not leaving it all to chance.”
The long avenue ahead had slowed to a near crawl. It wasn’t hard to see why the locals called it a giant car park of sorts though the driver didn’t seem fazed at all.
“Sorry for the traffic,” the driver said calmly. “The rush hour here never truly ends.”
Jun, stared at the pulsing brake lights ahead. “I figured. It’s not Manila without it.”
“Oh, you’ve experienced it before?”
“A few times,” Jun shared. “I learned about it the hard way.”
“How so?”
“I once forgot my earphones in my hotel room,” Jun explained. “Went back up to get it, passed by the turn to the lift, missed it by a couple of seconds, and suddenly my 30-minute road trip turned into an hour.”
“I know that well,” the driver chuckled. “The insignificant things that pile up. But at the end of the day, nothing is ever insignificant. Take a look at that, for example.”
Jun and Wonwoo followed the driver’s gaze. Ahead, there was a minor accident at a major junction, between a BYD and a Hyundai. Traffic had slugged down as drivers avoided it.
The driver shook his head. "Rushing too much probably,” he clicked his tongue and gave a small scoff. “Happens all the time. People forget their signals, or don’t even bother to use them, and this is what you get.”
He gave a few honks, asking to be let through. Thankfully, it was one of those times they yielded.
“It’s a public road,” the driver continued, “it’s not just you gliding along. There has to be some a kind of synergy, you know? At the same time, you have to rely on signals and signs otherwise, it’s just gambling.”
The driver pulled down the lever to activate the left-turn blinker. Expectedly, he made a proper turn as the road anastomosed.
“Alternate route,” he curtly explained. “Most people don’t know about this way. Not even the fancy map apps.”
Jun looked up from his phone. “How do you know it?”
“Figured it out by myself a few months after I got back,” the driver said. “Took a lot of wrong turns, ended up in dead-ends before I started getting it right. But that’s how it goes, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Jun muttered. He glanced at his fellow passenger, whose eyes were on the driver. But he seemed to be listening well, at least that’s what Jun thought so.
The driver tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “So, what brings you to Manila?” he asked, eyes tapping on Wonwoo. “I forgot to ask.”
Wonwoo gave his head a gentle tilt towards both directions before answering. “A project with ADB.”
Jun blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. ADB? He hadn’t expected that. Of all the cities, of all the projects, in the same place, on the same ride.
“ADB?” the driver echoed. “Funny. He said the same thing.”
The buildings grew taller, but the roads were clearer, although the car seemed to slow. It didn’t really, Jun just thought so.
The driver glanced between them with mild curiosity at a red light. “Worked with each other before?”
Jun’s fingers hovered over his phone, and there was a brief pause. It was a simple question, which had a simple answer. Yet, the answer itself felt anything but simple.
“We used to,” Wonwoo broke the lull of the air conditioner and the faint sound of Christmas carols playing from the radio.
Jun glanced up, only for a second though. Before his eyes flickered back down to his phone. We used to. That was true.
The driver nodded, content with the answer. He didn’t need more details, he took it face value.
“So,” the driver said once again, “either of you got someone waiting back in Seoul?”
“I don’t know,” Wonwoo finally answered. “I hoped so.”
“How about you?” his gaze flicked to Jun. “No significant other?”
“Not really.” Jun admitted though he delayed it for some measures. “I’ve been single for five years,” He paused then glanced down at his hands as he poured out the words. “I was always too busy.”
“Ah,” he said, turning the car onto another street. “Well, five years is a long time. But, hey—we’re here now, right?”
The car pulled to a stop at the driveway, outside a tall building which stood ahead.
You have arrived at your destination, the notification banner shared.
Jun exited the car first, got his luggage, as they both thanked the driver. Wonwoo stood there at the entryway, barely a metre away.
“Junnie,” Wonwoo said immediately. His tone was subtle, but it seemed more like a sigh. “It’s nice to see you.”
Junnie. He hasn’t heard anyone call him that in five years. In fact, only one person ever did. It was enough to pull out things from his internal archives. Enough to stir him a bit more alive.
“You too,” Jun managed to say as he looked straight at Wonwoo.
They stood there for a few beats, neither of them moving to enter the building just yet. Jun nibbled on his lower lip, hesitant to open his lips further.
“You still wear jackets even in this kind of heat,” Wonwoo pointed out.
“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” Jun responded.
He eyed the keyring on Wonwoo’s satchel. The same miniature gamepad he gave him, years ago. They kissed under the rain then. He hasn’t thought about that day for a long time now. It felt strange to see it now, still hanging.
“You kept that, huh?” Jun said as he fixed his gaze on the object.
“Of course...” Wonwoo responded. He swallowed after a pause. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Jun asked.
“For everything I didn’t say,” Wonwoo replied.
“I've had regrets,” Jun admitted, with a trace of a smile forming. “Like guessing too much.”
Wonwoo stepped closer. “Are you… busy?”
Jun shook his head. “I have all the time now,” he released with a deep sigh.
“Do you think we could talk? Just the two of us. Maybe over coffee?” Wonwoo hesitated, then quietly added, “I hope I’m not too late.”
Jun looked at him for a long second. Looking at him was rather inevitable. It has been five years, after all. Wonwoo’s eyes weren’t weary, just familiar.
“I’d love that,” Jun responded. He smiled. This time it was genuine. “And for the record, no. Not late at all.”