1980, nearing South Korea re-establishment.

I woke up with wet tears on my cheeks.

After seeing him again, in my dream. Except this time it felt..real.

It felt like—

He pause to contemplate the right words to describe his feeling before typing again.

—like deja vu.

He stare at the last words for a while before the stormy voice of his team leader break him away from it, “Alright, lunch break,” the elder’s command immediately release chaotic. The office room that was once fill with fingers smashing at keyboard keys and ringing telephones were now in an uproar with sighs of relief and fellow co-workers leaving behind their squeaky chairs. All but he remains motionless in his chair until the deep and raspy voice jump him, “Daehyun, you too,”

Once Daehyun nods and show that he understood, the elder got up from his own seat and left the now nearly empty room.

ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº

Last night.

Focus and at work, Daehyun sits under a rusty spinning, ceiling fan. Though it’s late, the weather’s heat is present.

Daehyun yawns and stretches his bare arms over his head before he naturally comb his messy, dark hair with his long fingers. The creaky chair beneath him made noises every single time he moved a muscle. A few years back the sound used to bother him, he even thought about getting a new chair, but evidently it became music to his ears. Behind a dim computer screen, he works on a report he has been meaning to submit three days ago while he waits for his honey to return home from work.

See Daehyun never sleeps without his partner in bed and next to him. It has been a habit ever since they  moved in together, which relatively was three years ago. Daehyun was twenty-five then and his partner, two years younger, was twenty-three. One can say they started off as drinking buddies.

Once midnight approaches, the somnolent lad became distracted by a certain buzzing flying about him. Damn it. He hates flies. Summer always brings them. But, how did a fly get in when he positively believe he didn’t leave any windows open? Daehyun is prepare to turn around and search for the answer but when the pressure of a hand press gently against his right arm he pause. Instantly right after he detect the weight of someone’s head, a chin resting on his left shoulder. Before he can become curious of who it is, he sees the profile of the one he has been waiting for.

“What are you doing?” the arrival asks.

Instead of answering Daehyun breathes, “Welcome back. I didn’t hear you come in,” his voice cracks a little for being too quiet for so long. Daehyun then hovers over the man’s hand around his arm, revealing a ring around his married finger. The intruder was none other than his precious husband, Jongup Jung.

With a weak but gleeful smile, Jongup replies, “Well, it’s not the first time I’ve had to tiptoe around my workaholic husband,”

A smile expands on Daehyun’s embarrassed face before he hides it against Jongup’s head, “Ah, I’m sorry,” they share a moment of silence before Jongup breaks away to clean himself up. Daehyun soon wrap up his progress and joins the pass out Jongup in bed. Carefully he pulls the covers over them and lean down to plant a soft kiss on Jongup’s temple. Steadily he reaches for the lights before laying down to face his partner. As he extends over to pull Jongup into a warm snuggle, he intake the clean and nice fragrance the male emitted. Shortly after he subsequently think to himself ah, it will be another good night tonight. And with those thoughts fresh in his mind, Daehyun soon drifts off into a deep slumber where his dream begin.

1960s, the Korean War

Stimulating through the land of heavy sand, quietly, is a green jeep with its windows taped and rolled up. Except it wasn’t exactly all quiet. Four passengers, men in sandy military wear, were singing an old war song and having a good giggle as they rebound off their seats. The driver, Himchan Kim, is a sharp looking fellow with well defined Asian features and gloomy black hair. He is wearing a pair of round sunglasses to keep the sun from beating against his eyes. Beside him is a muscular lad with his dark hair faded high. The man who most likely called “shotgun” Yongguk Bang is all gums as he bounce his head to match the others hype. In the back was where the party truly took place. The youngest with messy black hair had his hands and arms in the air as he sway back and forth. Singing along with him is one with more golden stars on his uniform’s shoulder pad. The last said of the punch have pure and softer features, and with a warmer-colored voice he took charge in vocalising the song’s lyrics with a stick in his hand, using it as a microphone.

Finally once their youthful energy die down so did the volume of their voices. As Himchan and Yongguk engage in small talks, as they normally do being best friends, the youngest of the four had fallen asleep and borrowed the shoulder of his backseat companion. Without a word, the latter stare out into the vast open space. Everything appears to be a blur except for when he follows a spot on the sand with his gaze and it would give him an idea of how slow they wer