Chapter Text
If someone asked him what word held the most meaning for him, he wouldn’t have hesitated at all - it was clear and simple. Blue.
It meant a summer sky full of white fluffy clouds and colorful kites; swimming pools in rich neighborhoods. Blue sometimes meant the color of tears in cheap mangas sold by a street vendor near a bus station on his way to catch a ride to Seoul, it also could’ve meant the color of his favorite jeans. Also, blue was the color of pills he took twice a day and also the color of water.
In a way, you could’ve compared it to running blindfolded through a maze with its walls on fire. One slip in the wrong direction and he could’ve burned to ashes, only a translucent smoke left floating somewhere in the sky, an elemental force he wasn’t aware of possessing making a mess out of his body, coloring his eyes pitch black and tinting his cheeks drunkenly red.
And at the same time, it felt like a tidal wave washing over his entire existence, softly caressing his skin and tickling his feet before putting out all the fire he had in himself. You have too much water in you was what he heard once when he was a child, but he thought it referred to him being a crybaby, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But as the years were passing and he was still spending his summers breathing the salt scented air in the seashore, he sometimes would smile, thinking that maybe water held some other meanings.
Youngjae had always imagined first meetings of lovers to be somewhat special, magical even – the most ideal scenario of his contained some dramatic music in the background with both of them standing on the edge of a cliff where a cold wind would mercilessly make a mess of their hair. The second best was a scenario with calming indie music, both of them walking along the seashore, collecting seashells and longingly sighing while looking at the orange sunset before Youngjae would bump into the girl of his dreams.
He never gave much thought to the third scenario, mostly because it was too plain and boring – it was the reality. And in reality, Jinyoung wasn’t a girl standing on the edge of a cliff, as Mokpo didn’t even have those to begin with. He never understood the point of collecting things, the wind wasn’t making a mess out of his hair, and the radio at the reception offered only a hideous trot song that was probably released a few decades before they both were even born.
Jinyoung was an ordinary guest, one of the many that were about to flood the small city for the summer, running from suffocating heat and humidity in search of a place to stay for a few nights. Youngjae saw him standing in the hallway, all sleepy and confused as if the guest wasn’t quite sure whether he was in the right place.
“Just a moment, please,” Youngjae’s loud and strong voice echoed through the room after noticing the guy with only one backpack on his shoulders, concluding that he was going to spend just a couple of nights here, maybe three, tops. Upon hearing those words, Jinyoung’s stare shifted from the old paintings on the walls to the receptionist, who sounded kind of exhausted from the heavy workload and university finals that were over only two days ago. “I’ll be done in a minute or two.”
However, he wasn’t done in a minute or two, more like in ten or fifteen, but when Youngjae stole some glances from time to time, Jinyoung didn’t look irritated at all. Now he was leaning against one of the walls, carefully listening to the language the foreigners were speaking among themselves. It had that little something – one second it sounded like fluttering wings, another it felt like knives cutting against a chopping board, and then it turned into something similar to a flowing water. Before Jinyoung licked his lips as if he was going to try mimicking it, completely lost in the sea of alluring sounds, Youngjae waved him over and greeted him with a warm smile.
“How can I help you?” the receptionist breathed out in relief, glad that he didn’t need to twist his tongue in the most unusual ways speaking English anymore, because a native speaker of his mother tongue was standing right in front of him.
His enthusiasm, however, was met with a wall of deadly silence, as Jinyoung just handed him a copy of his reservation – neat black syllables on snow white paper, still smelling strongly of the ink from the printer for forgetful guests they had next to the front door.
“You’re going to stay here for the entire summer?” Youngjae asked incredulously after a few light taps in the self-made database saved on his laptop, making this entire process seem more sophisticated and professional despite it being only a small guesthouse in a small town.
People rarely willingly stayed here for more than a week and Youngjae thought that he could understand why – Mokpo really wasn’t the most fascinating city in the world, far from that, if someone asked his humble opinion. Even the sea used to lose its charms after a few days of aimless lying on the hot sand. The urge to get out of here to embark the journey to bigger cities wasn’t unfamiliar to him as well, so the idea of someone probably not much older than himself, spending three months here seemed incredibly weird.
Youngjae’s question was met with another streak of cold silence, followed by a slight expressionless nod, but he shrugged it off. Maybe the guy was tired, maybe he was shy around strangers. Or maybe he was simply an ass, Youngjae wondered after asking the reason of such a long stay and getting nothing in response yet again.
“Your passport, please.”
It was a regular procedure – making a few copies of the document in case something unexpected happened. His family learned this important lesson last summer, when a bunch of guys rented a few rooms with fake student IDs, what spiraled into an incredible mess left out of the rooms, a few useless visits to the local police station and tons of money spent on repair works.
Youngjae was used to lame mocking jokes about it, remarks like is this an immigration office or maybe you want to take our fingerprints too? weren’t an unusual occurrence, so he wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest hearing it again, but the guest gave him the passport just as wordlessly. So the receptionist was slowly becoming convinced that this Park Jinyoung, whose name he saw in the document a few seconds ago, was only trying too hard to seem cool and mysterious, which wasn’t something that went well with his appearance.
A bowl cut made Jinyoung’s features look soft rather than cold, his dark eyes were full of this weird calmness and his hands, tightly clutching on the straps of his backpack as if he was afraid of getting robbed, sealed the contradicting first impression of twenty-three year old Jinyoung, who came all the way from Seoul, according to the train ticket he had absent-mindedly given the receptionist along with the reservation.
“This is your card,” Youngjae started explaining the rules, which he had carved deep in his mind thanks to the countless summers of helping his parents out. “This works as a key for both the main entrance and your room. If you’re planning to go out during the night, we don’t have a curfew, but try not to wake everyone up when you decide to come back, okay? Breakfast is usually served around 10 AM in the dining room on the first floor and dinner is at 7 PM, but since you’re going to live here for a while, I’m sure one of my parents will come by to explain everything properly, as this is only the basic info. Any questions?”
When Jinyoung abruptly shook his head without letting out any sound again, creating an illusion that he wasn’t even listening, Youngjae only sighed, not really knowing what to do with this bastard, who couldn’t spare him a word during this entire encounter. If his personality was at least a tiny bit rougher, he could’ve just told the guest where his room is and leave Jinyoung on his own, but after a split second he said, “I will accompany you to your room, let’s go.”
Jinyoung nodded again, making it seem like it was a default reaction to anything he was told, facial expression unchanged as he took his card and passport, following the quick steps of the other. Youngjae was silently humming something under his breath, adding his own interpretations of English lyrics.
“You’re from Seoul, right?” the younger’s desperate attempts to hold a conversation echoed in the narrow staircase as they were climbing to the third floor. When Jinyoung didn’t respond again, what was something Youngjae was already starting to expect, he continued, swiftly navigating in the maze of corridors that smelled like old wood and sea salt, “I’m studying in Seoul. I come back here only for summers.”
Jinyoung was supposed to ask what university he was attending or where in Seoul he lived, but he didn’t and Youngjae started considering giving up, as the only sound he thought he heard the guest making was some sort of a sigh – a subtle, but clear indication that he was uncomfortable and slightly annoyed by this talkativeness.
“This is your room. Rest well, I know that the trip from Seoul feels like hell,” Youngjae sounded relieved when they finally reached the right door, quickly glimpsing at the clock on his wrist. “It’s 11:11 AM, they say if you make a wish during this hour, it comes true. Though I like to make wishes every time the numbers repeat, 12:12, 1:11, stuff like that. Just to make sure.”
The last words made Jinyoung’s lips twitch a bit, like he was about to smile for some unknown reason and the receptionist thought that maybe it was an indication that their new guest wasn’t a complete asshole after all. Maybe his silence was a result of a terribly early KTX trip that made his back hurt or something, maybe it was only a temporary morning grumpiness. But he didn’t have time to think about that any more, remembering that there might be other guests waiting. Youngjae quickly bowed in goodbye and ran all the way down the stairs back to his workplace.
Few hours later, he was drowning in work, trying to patiently explain the obnoxious couple from Daegu that the parking lot isn’t free of charge and that they need to pay a certain fee if they want to use it during their stay, or fighting the urge to rip his hair out when it seemed like he had lost a reservation, but it turned out to be a bunch of dumb giggly college girls mixing up hotels.
Youngjae was incredibly happy to finally collapse onto a chair to rest a bit when there weren’t any more guests to deal with. He rested his head against the refreshingly cold wooden surface of the counter and, contrary most to the romantic stories, his mind didn’t travel to the weird guest living on the third floor. Actually, for a while, Youngjae even forgot about the quite unpleasant meeting, sleep and homemade food being the only things he wanted for his upcoming lunch break his father generously extended to an hour and a half, much to his sister’s dissatisfaction. Being the youngest in the family always had some perks.
His long awaited rest, however, was short-lived, as he felt something disgusting and wet thrown at him. After raising his head with a deep frown etched in his face, Youngjae saw his sister, who came back from grocery shopping a few moments ago. Or at least he guessed so from the pack of lettuce that hit his head a few seconds earlier and now was mockingly resting on the table, next to his arm.
“Don’t sleep at work,” his sister chuckled, satisfied with her amazing prank. Youngjae made a face at her and threw the vegetable back, completely ruining it and missing the target.
“Mom is going to kill you, she needed that for the salad,” the young woman laughed, making her way toward their personal rooms. “Good luck cleaning, by the way, I don’t want to see any of this when my shift starts.”
Youngjae let out a series of curses under his breath for falling into this trap. “As if you actually work. You only keep reading those weird magazines online and call me every five minutes to do everything for you.”
His sister just snorted and Youngjae himself started laughing at this banter, trying to remember where he had put the broomstick after cleaning up earlier this morning. He hoped that after cleaning the green mess off the floor he could rest a bit more, but then his mother called him to the kitchen and he groaned, wondering what kind of trouble he was in now.
And he wasn’t wrong – his mother made him listen to a whole lecture about the ruined lettuce, but in the end he got a pack of potato chips and a can of soda to occupy himself with until lunch, so he didn’t complain that much.
“Also, dear, when you have time, take the bedsheets from the laundry room and bring them to 302, okay? I forgot it this morning,” only then did Youngjae remember that 302 was that strange guy’s room and sighed, doomed to experience another wave of silence.
“It’s that boy, isn’t it?” his sister asked, flipping pages of some magazine she bought and Youngjae noticed her intonation that sounded slightly off. “He should be here already, no?”
“That guy in 302? Yeah, he checked in a few hours ago. Seems like a pain in the ass, if you ask me.”
His mother slapped his shoulder in exasperation both for Youngjae cursing and badmouthing a guest, what caused him to hiss in pain and get irritated even more. “He didn’t even say a word to me, am I supposed to be happy about that?”
His sister sighed rolling her eyes, surprised by Youngjae’s stupidity he still wasn’t aware of, “He’s mute, dumbass, how do you expect him to talk?”