Part I: Exordium Iterum

           The air inside the room was warm. Perfect for the cold weather that had hit Seoul and today in particular, being quite chilly. A bit of air condition and the warm breathing of a couple dozen students left no one cold in their college English 101 classroom.

           “Alright class, this is your final assignment having to do with Beloved: Find a novel to compare to Beloved in terms of themes, symbols, motifs, and history. This novel must be in connection to our history, Korean history, and lower-class injustice. Novels based on a true story, like Beloved, or memoirs are what you can choose from. I want an eight page essay exploring all these topics and more by December 16th. That’s three weeks. Plenty of time. That’s all, class dismissed,” announced the teacher, giving a quick bow before grabbing her lesson plan folder and leaving the room.

           “You gotta be ing kidding me,” Baekhyun sighed, standing up from his chair and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “No mercy before winter break. Of course. Eh, good thing Dad wants me to come home today to pick up some food Mom made.”

           Baekhyun easily glided through the crowd of college students surrounding him as he walked down the hallway and out into the cold November weather, smoothly pulling on his sunglasses to block out the sun’s glare, shining deceptively in the cold weather. He made his way off the college campus swiftly, focused on making it in time for the 1:15 afternoon bus. As focused as he was though, he did not miss the sweet tune of a guitar and the crooning deep voice that accompanied it somewhere to the right of him, making him falter in his steps. He recognized the unexpected Japanese lyrics. Whoever was singing was covering Masayoshi Yamazaki’s One More Time, One More Chance from an anime movie he had seen and liked. What was it called? Oh, that’s right! 5 Centimeters per Second.

            Unable to resist, Baekhyun turns off the path and cuts through the grass and walks past loitering students until he finds the owner of the voice. There. The young man was sitting on the bare ground, back against a tree, just a few feet in front of Baekhyun. Baekhyun, who was facing the young man’s back from this position, moves forward and around the tree until he’s standing a safe distance away, so as not to be all up in the young man’s personal space, and listens. The man that gained all of Baekhyun’s attention has his eyes closed, completely enthralled in the music he was creating, and unaware of the audience he had gained as he continued strumming his guitar and singing with that soft, deep, manly, for lack of a better would to describe it, voice.

           Baekhyun analyzed the man before him. He was handsome, for sure. His skin was a healthy tan, his fingers thin and long, his hair a rich, dark brown that looked soft and fluffy with slight curls, his eyes, though closed, Baekhyun could already tell they would be kind, from the way they crinkled slightly along with the easy smile he carried on his face. Even though he was sitting down, Baekhyun knew he would be tall from the mile-long legs that stretched out in front of him, right ankle crossing over the other. His clothing was simple and stylish, a black leather jacket zipped up and skinny jeans. What really caught Baekhyun’s attention was his scarf though.

           “Is that silk? Wow. And the color is such a pretty blue. His taste is so contrasting… Wow I like this guy’s voice…”

           Lost in thought, he hadn’t realized the singing had stopped and a pair of soft brown eyes had opened to the view of a young man standing before him. He didn’t notice that he was being quickly analyzed too. The man took in the short figure’s dyed bright red hair that he himself didn’t think he’d ever be able to pull off, the plain grey sweatshirt,  the sunglasses hiding the onlooker’s eyes, the dark skinny jeans that showed off his legs, the soft curve of his jaw.

           “Hello? Can I help you?” asked the musician.

           The deep inquiring voice drew Baekhyun back to himself to realize he’d been staring silently at the young man on the ground before him for God knows how long.

           “Damn it. How embarrassing,” he thought before quickly replying out loud. “Umm… I was just listening to your cover of that song… Your Japanese is very good… And so is your voice?”

           The last sentence came out sounding like a question as the man slowly stood up to tower over Baekhyun while also gently placing the guitar into the open case next to him.

           The man chuckled before smiling brightly at Baekhyun. It reminded Baekhyun of a puppy. A fluffy brown puppy. Maybe a Golden Doodle? His smile was warm and made Baekhyun feel at ease.

           “Ahh, thank you! For telling me my voice is good… and my Japanese. Otherwise I guess it’d for the other people around here, if my voice was bad… Haha, what’s your name?”

           “Baekhyun. Byun Baekhyun. Freshman. Born in 1992. Majoring in vocal performance,” Baekhyun quickly listed facts, at ease though still nervous for some unknown reason. “It’s because he’s really cute. Don’t lie to yourself.”

           The man laughed again. “Okay then, Baekhyun. Born in 1992. Freshman in college. You’re a singer? Maybe we could hang out? Sing some songs together?”

           The forward questions threw Baekhyun off. It apparently threw off the man himself, judging by the hand that reached to rub nervously at the back of his neck. He added a quick “If you want” before looking away.

           A beat passed before Baekhyun answered him, surprised at his sly response. “You have to ask for my number first.”

           The man replied quickly replied with an “Oh of course! PleasecanIhaveyournumber” as he fumbled to pull his phone out of his pocket before taking Baekhyun’s soft right hand into his own calloused ones to press it into his palm as bowed a whole 90 degrees.

           “What an awkward, polite doofus. Cute,” was all Baekhyun thought before typing his number into the phone handed to him, no password in place. Before giving it back he noticed the time. 1:13. “.”

           Baekhyun quickly shoved the phone back into the man’s chest, vaguely noticing how firm it was, before rushing past him and shouting “I’m sorry but I’m gonna be late for my bus! Text me or something!” as he left behind a man with such a cute confused expression on his face he really did look like a puppy.

           He arrives at the bus stop just in time as he waits for only a split second with the horde of people already there before the blessed city transportation rolls to a stop in front of them. Being late, he’s one of the last to get on, finding himself standing and concentrating on not pressing up against the girl in front of him as the man behind him, standing sideways, continuously bumps his elbows against Baekhyun’s backpack as he talks animatedly to the friend next to him, causing Baekhyun to steel himself to avoid falling forward. He wasn’t about to get his foot smashed on by the high heels she was wearing for doing something he hadn’t meant to do in the first place. No thank you.

           He gets through the long bus ride with the help of his earbuds and ancient iPod, eventually able to snatch up a seat for the remaining time and stare blindly out the window. Until, that is, he realizes something very important. He never asked musician for his name. “Son of a…. I’ll just ask him when we meet up somewhere. Oh good lord, how embarrassing it’ll be to have to ask that!”

He signed and shook his head in disdain. There was nothing he could do about it now.

When his stop comes up he gets off and heads down the street, bypassing a few of high school students skip-running past him.

           “Mwoya? Shouldn’t they be in school?” Baekhyun clicks his tongue and continues onward. “Not my problem.”

           He comes up to a gate set in a cement fence, his home behind it. Typing in the familiar 279211 was a cinch, sliding the cover back down over the keypad and pushing the metal gate in. Closing it behind him, he took his sunglasses off and shoved them in his backpack before walking up the stepping-stone path up to the house. The main door was open, the screen door’s window up to let in the fresh air, as well as the chill. He could hear sounds coming from the television on the living room as he reached the door.

           Stepping inside, he sees his mom sitting on the couch, intensely watching the screen showing a disaster scene surrounding a military man and a woman doctor crouching on the ground, the man tying the woman’s shoelace on her boot.

           “Descendants of the Sun? You’ve already seen this Mom,” Baekhyun stated. He wasn’t surprised by this. His mom absolutely loved Song Joong Ki, even once stating she wished he was her son. Baekhyun’s still pondering over how serious his mother was by that innocent statement.

           “I know, but it’s just so good! It’s so romantic and thrilling!” she gushed, breaking eye contact away from the screen to smile warmly at her son standing in the doorway. She got herself up to greet him with a hug and a smooch on his cheek that ended with an audible “mua” that made him jokingly push her away after briefly hugging her.

           Baekhyun put on the awaiting slippers on the floor in front of him. His mother must have set them out. How nice. As he did so his mother was yelling.

           “Yeobo! Come here! Your son is here!”

           “Just one second jagiya!” was the reply she got.

           Baekhyun heard his dad walking quickly down the hallway and saw him a few moments later, appearing with his spectacles sitting atop his head as he squinted at the figure standing in the living room before smiling.

           “Good to see you, son. How’s school been?” he inquired as he came up to give Baekhyun a hug before settling down in his wife’s previously-occupied spot on the couch. A quick look from his wife had him automatically moving over as she went to sit back down again.

           Baekhyun tossed his backpack onto the La-Z-Boy before responding. “Good, good. Nothing especially exciting happening. Expect I just got assigned an essay in English. By the way, can I check out your study for a book? It’s got to do with connecting a book we read to a book having to do with our history. I figured you’d have a few memoirs or something floating around in there…”

           He saw his dad’s eyes light up with glee. A true historian. “Nerd.”

           “Of course! Go right ahead! Books on people are usually in the third bookcase somewhere… though I might have some in the closet as well… Anyway, go look and see if you find anything that fits what you’re looking for,” his dad said happily, extremely pleased with his English professor in that moment.

           “Since it will take you a while to look through all those books you can stay for dinner!” exclaimed his mother, also happy because it means she’ll get to keep her son home for just a few hours more. She’s proud of him for going to college, for having a tiny studio apartment to call his own, for having a job. That doesn’t mean, though, that she doesn’t wish she had her goofy little boy singing songs from musicals and dancing back on those quiet days with nothing to do and no friends available to chat with.

           “Okay, sounds good. See you guys in while then, I guess,” Baekhyun said to deaf ears, parents already engrossed in the still-playing television show as they cuddled. He smiled at the display of affection, something he’d never let them see because some part of him still wanted to act like a twelve year old boy disgusted by the thought of love.

           He walked out of the living room and down the short hallway, wood flooring creaking comfortingly underneath his steps, as he came to stop in front of a wooden door. Professor Byun, Historian read the gold-colored metal plate.

His dad unnecessarily put it on his study one day, stating that it made him feel professional when he walked through the door, even when wearing plaid pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt.

Baekhyun pushed open the door to the sight and smell of hundreds of books, old and new, in the sense they recently came into his possession rather than they were recently published, on the bookshelves that lined almost the entirety of the walls, save for a small area given up to make way for an enlarged world map. Facing the wall to his left he found the third bookcase. Sure enough, names like Yi Sun Shin and King Sejong popped out at him as he skimmed over book titles. Important figures, yes, but they didn’t really focus on injustice. They were too well-known for Baekhyun’s taste anyway. He wanted to be much more original in his essay and his choice of novel. Which is why he also decided against Hwang Jini, a gisaeng from the Joseon era. He definitely could have made points about woman and injustice and all that good stuff using her but she was arguably the most famous gisaeng known. She had a television show based off of her, for crying out loud!

He continued skimming and rejecting books left and right. None of them were right. Not personal enough. Even the memoirs he found. Not right.

He gave up on the bookcase, slightly frustrated. He was picky, he knew that. A perfectionist. He wanted to find something original. He wanted to stand out. Maybe it was the singer in him, always wanting the spotlight, or just the need to have something no one else had, to make a unique impression on the teacher who wouldn’t be able to connect his name to his face. Who knows?

He just knew he’d find something in his father’s closet, full of precious historical artifacts and even a few heirlooms that were kept safe and sound in boxes so as not to be damaged besides whatever left over books that could not fit somewhere in his bookshelves. With that, he straightened up from his crouch on the floor from where he had been looking on the last shelf, brushing off invisible dirt from his jeans.

He made his way over to the door on the opposite side of the room and carefully pushed in, wary of any hidden boxes behind the door. Stepping inside he reached for and pulled down the string hanging from the single lightbulb fixture hanging from the ceiling, momentarily blinded by the unexpectedly bright light that blazed inside the bulb. His dad must have switched the bulb recently. Last time he’d been in here was for a high school report on a historical artifact, and the light bulb had been quite dim then.

In the small, cramped space he squeezed past the boxes he knew held the artifacts and other not-helpful-in-this-case historical items until he found ones marked in black Sharpie Books and Heirlooms, both having the additional writing of Use caution! Extremely delicate! as well. Deciding he might have better luck with the heirlooms box, he sat down in the small floor space available to him and gently opened the box before him.

His dad always liked to remind him of the heirlooms that have stayed within the family for generations, extremely proud of the Byun family for their resistance in selling theses precious, historical items in times of hardship, when the money would have been extremely nice to have. Baekhyun, not having the love of history his dad had, felt a bit indifferent about it, though he did recognize the importance of it all. Right now though, he was extremely grateful for his ancestors as he looked inside the box. There were bits of Styrofoam surrounding packages holding, hopefully, Baekhyun’s novel. He took out what felt like a cup of some sort and lightly placed it on the floor next to him. Next came out what seemed like a small, thin vase. Then what was perhaps a hair pin, followed by a tiny box of some sort, perhaps holding jewelry, from what Baekhyun could tell by shaking it just the slightest bit. Finally he picked up a thin, floppy rectangle. A book. Hopefully.

Baekhyun quickly but ever so cautiously unwrapped the brown protective paper to reveal what was indeed a book. It looked much like the books shown in the sageuk dramas his mother watched. A yellowy beige color with Hanja written in the top left corner, though there was also Hangul written next to it. It was a name. Bian Bai Xian. Ever so carefully opening the fragile paper, he opened the book cover to the first page. It was written in Hangul.

“Thank you Bian Bai Xian! I didn’t know who you were until five seconds ago but you’re my favorite!” Baekhyun thought to himself, truly thankful that it wasn’t in Hanja, otherwise he would have been out of luck. Or he would have to ask his dad, who did know Hanja, to read to him like he was five years old again. Like a little child. Bai Xian has saved him from that embarrassment however.

With that last thought leaving his mind, he began reading the story his ancestor left behind, perhaps just for him.