Chapter 3: Nam Taehyun, Nam Taehyun

August 2014

At nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning, Taehyun was called to the Executive Office of the President. He had a shocked expression painted across his face and his nerves were forcing him to remember everything he had done wrong over the past two decades of his life that could have earned him an invitation from the president himself.

He couldn’t think of any.

The only thing he might have done wrong is being awfully (some say brutally) honest with some of the customers he encountered in his part-time job.

But answering someone with a frank and candid “no, your tie doesn’t suit your polo” surely wasn’t grounds to be called by the highest ranking official in the US?

He wasn’t sure. He grew up in England so things may have been different there.

“Good morning, Mister Nam.” Finally, after much waiting inside the grand office, he heard the doors open and for a moment, his heart froze at the unfamiliar, authoritative tone of the man who took the seat across from him.

“Same to you sir.” Taehyun had to congratulate himself for not stammering as he subconsciously crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to lessen the fritters taking over his body.

The president unlocked one of the table drawers, pulling out a thin, white folder and scanning the contents of it briefly, “You filed a harassment report last Monday?”

Taehyun’s mind immediately went back to that day.

He woke up at eight o’clock sharp, took a bath and put on one of his nicest suits. He then ate some toast with tea and headed for his editor’s house to finally take the second stage of his book.

But what he did not expect to happen was for someone to be calling his name across the busy Washington streets. And to make the mistake of turning his head back, only to be kissed right in the middle of the road.

Taehyun blushed furiously at the memory.

“Yes, I did.” He finally answered, his eyes nailed on his knuckles. “But the police don’t have any files on him.”

“His name is Song Minho.”

Do I really need to know? He thought, bravely eyeing the president now. “I’m sorry but why am I here?”

“He has no records in any department and we can’t file a case on a technically dead person.”

“What?”

Taehyun stepped out of the office with a mixture of curiosity glazed with What the hell just happened?

Obama wanted to explain the situation more to him more but he was forced to refuse the suggested extension because his editor had been barraging him with text messages and phone calls.

He never, ever thought that he’d have the privilege of talking with the US president, more so reject his request for an extension and have the man practically beg for another meeting.

“Then I will send a representative from NASA to explain it in details. I am sorry to get you involved with this matter.”

At some point while they were talking, Taehyun was suddenly so lost that he had to make the president repeat what he just said for the past thirty minutes. Fortunately, Obama seemed to have already prepared for any lack of understanding from him and the second time around, Taehyun made sure he was all ears, asking important questions like:

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“What am I supposed to do then?”

“What is this all about?”

“…What?”

Taehyun sighed as he remembered the embarrassment. It is surely bound to happen again the moment he meets the NASA representative but what else could he do now other than to shake the thought away as he pressed the doorbell and waited for his editor to open the apartment door.

“You’re late,” Was what he was greeted with and Taehyun merely replied with a shrug of his shoulders and invited himself in the bronze-themed space. “Seriously though, why are you two hours late?  Where were you?”

Taehyun hung his overcoat on the coat rack, removing his shoes right after. “The Office of the President.”

“Yeah right.”

Taehyun sighed again as he sat on the sofa, “I am serious Jinwoo. I was called this morning for a private meeting with Obama himself.”

“Okay,” The older drawled, his interest clearly piqued at the news. “Tell me about it.”

The sarcasm in his editor’s voice told Taehyun that Jinwoo wasn’t believing him in anyway yet but Taehyun so desperately needed someone to share that morning’s incident with to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating things. And of course, his preference of silent isolation did not help him to make new friends (or any friends for that matter) so Jinwoo was his best option. “The guy who I filed a report on for harassment the other day, was basically dead.”

“Wait, what?” Jinwoo carelessly spilled some coffee on his kitchen counter when he looked back at Taehyun with big, questioning eyes. “You were hunted?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

And Taehyun went about what he understood while he was sitting across from the President. His brain whacked out of its wits as Obama told him that Song Minho was an astronaut back in 1964, a part of some Brainiac project Taehyun couldn’t really comprehend and was stuck in a time belt far from where he should have been – basically, NASA ’64 messed up and thus, this was their casualty – this Minho, with a free pass to just harass anyone and be a total ert because he was technically dead (following the seven years missing equates to death rule).

“By the way, this is all confidential information so don’t tell a soul.”

Jinwoo had taken the couch beside Taehyun to listen attentively, the coffee already forgotten on the counter. “You know,” Jinwoo said, smiling when the younger finished. “That is a good story to write, it will become a hit.”

Taehyun was annoyed for a moment, all sympathy for his hopeless harassment gone but then he reconsidered what Jinwoo had suggested, his nose did a little scrunch. “You think?”

“I’m an editor and promoter. Of course I know what I’m saying.” Jinwoo stood up again, going back to clean the mess he made in the kitchen. “By the way, why did the president himself entertain you? Doesn’t he have people to do that for him?”

“He does,” Taehyun agreed, nodding his head a little. “But he also said that no one knows how to handle ‘these kinds’ of matters so he handled it himself.”

“You should’ve taken a selfie with him or something.”

“My brain’s too drained out to even think about that.”

Jinwoo hummed in understanding and pressed the button of his coffee maker, “And that harassment case, I think it’s better to just drop it.”

“Why?” Taehyun asked with a hint of offended ridicule in his tone.

“I sent your work to the publishing house. Promotions are already in the works. A court case is the last thing you need for good publicity.”

Taehyun rested the back of his head against the sofa, “Seems like a choice.”

On his way home, like the thick manuscripts and scribbled notes from Jinwoo cradled in his arms, Taehyun’s head was still in a muddle from his conversation with the president. So that man was basically 73 years old. 73 years old.

But is that possible? He still looks like he’s in his early twenties and –

Taehyun’s eyes saw a pair of glaring headlights headed his way and he was stupid enough to just freeze on the side of the street as he saw a kid – around seven years of age about to get hit by the screeching car. His throat went dry as the terrified shout of a woman echoed in front of him.

In a split second, he saw a man in a black topcoat scooped the kid up and landed un