1 :  r e u n i t e d

Sitting on a small stool he’d brought from home, Donghae placed his bag on the gravel next to his feet, buried his face in his hands and sighed. He was a creature of habit, and each time he found himself wallowing in self-pity and turmoil he’d make his way to Jeongbang Waterfalls on a bicycle to clear his mind. It was the only way he knew how. He looked up and watched as tourists wandered around in front of the basin of the waterfall; couples taking sweet photographs of each other while their children ran around in glee, chasing and splashing in the shallow waters. He instantly felt sheepish for being so easily amused by the sight, his faint smile fading as quickly as it had come across his face. A sense of longing began to pool in his chest at the thought of never being able to feel the happiness they felt. His heart sank.

“I can’t keep living like this,” he muttered, taking out a sketchbook and a pencil from his bag.

By now he’d figured out that drawing was the only thing that could calm him, so he began to sketch. He took in every detail of the sight that unfolded in front of him, from the water cascading down the rocks, to the families exploring the waterfall. Moving to Jeju Island was a good decision on his part. He needed a long break from the stressful hustle and bustle of city life, and Seogwipo definitely made up for everything he had left behind in Seoul. The panoramic view of beauty only nature could provide greeted him each morning, the air was crisp and the sky was almost always a light shade of blue. It felt like a dream waking up in Jeju, and with each day that passed, he felt more and more comforted by said “dream”. Donghae was so absorbed in sketching that he barely paid any attention to the black car that had driven up the path near the waterfall, much less to the sound of footsteps inching towards him.

“What a nice view.”

Baffled at the abrupt conversation that he had been engaged in, Donghae looked up from his sketchbook, only to see a tall man clad in a thick brown jumper, tight black jeans ripped at the knees and black combat boots, standing before him with a gentle smile on his face. The man had auburn-coloured hair that was styled in a faux mohawk, pale skin, and an olive green jacket slung over one arm. Is it really that cold? Donghae wondered. Bet he’s a tourist. Instinctively, Donghae placed his book and pencil on the ground and rose from his stool to meet the man eye to eye.

“Um, yeah. The view is really lovely,” said Donghae, smiling thinly. “The waterfall is a—“

“I wasn’t talking about the waterfall,” the man interrupted. “I was talking about you.”

The man’s words sparked an invisible tension that, perhaps only in Donghae’s imagination, quickly enveloped the two of them. Donghae was taken aback by the bluntness of the handsome stranger that stood before him, but was careful not to to let it show. He stared at his feet, uncomfortable, internally counting to ten before cracking a smile. He felt intimidated by the sudden appearance of this random stranger who, judging by how he carried himself, seemed to exude a natural-born confidence, whereas Donghae himself had always been on the not-so-confident side. He was a klutz; an enigma that easily felt embarassed, and was all the more complicated because of his poor ability to recall any memory from before he turned twenty. That aside, he knew to never let his guard down, especially around strangers, for he was a lone wolf in this world and his own defence. He had been, ever since he turned twenty, at least.

“You’re not so bad-looking yourself,” flirted Donghae, grinning. The man smirked in response, looking Donghae directly in the eye. Donghae couldn’t help but to look away nervously. Faking confidence was only easy right up until anyone made direct eye contact with him. He hated giving anyone the power to read him, and he knew that his eyes reflected his vulnerability clearer than his actions did. He was so self-conscious that he nearly forgot the man who was now scanning him from head to toe.

“Are you okay?” asked the man, gently. His face had contorted into a look of concern, his brows raised, head tilted. Donghae’s eyes were fixated on the ground. He nodded diffidently, still unable to look him directly in the eye. The man sighed.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he apologised, pursing his lips. “I’m not very good at making friends.”

Upon hearing this, Donghae softened. There was absolutely no reason for him to turn down this man if all he wanted was a friend. Donghae waved a hand dismissively as if to refuse the man’s apology. There was no reason for him to apologise anyway, at least to him. He smiled and reached out his hand.

“No need to say sorry,” he reassured, waiting for the man to shake his hand.

The man quickly jumped at the opportunity, shaking Donghae’s hand firmly. He didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot and he knew this was his chance to redeem himself for making his newfound friend uncomfortable. He grinned widely, the gums of his teeth showing.

“I’m Hyukjae,” said the man, withdrawing his hand.

Donghae nodded in acknowledgment, grinning back. “Call me Donghae,” was his response. His eyes quickly glossed over the man, who now had a name, and without thinking, curiousity erupted from him in the form of a question. “Are you a tourist?”

Hyukjae laughed.

“No, I’m not.” He said, matter-of-factly. “Why, do I look like one?”

Donghae took a step back, sizing Hyukjae up playfully with his chin rested on a fisted palm.

“Well you sure don’t dress like someone from around here.

“Oh?” Hyukjae sounded surprised, maybe even amused. “What does someone from around here dress like, then?”

Donghae stifled a smile.

“I don’t know, but definitely not like—“ He wagged a finger in Hyukjae’s direction. “—that.”     

Hyukjae wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, or a snide remark at his dress sense. He decided to snap out of his thoughts and explain himself.

“I’m here on a business trip,” he started. “I saw you sitting alone, writing something and I wondered if you’d mind showing me around. I’m assuming you’re from around here, since you know so much about how the people from around here dress.”

Donghae grit his teeth, abashed. He couldn’t help but to wonder if he had come off as rude, but that was most definitely not his intention. He was well aware of his mischievous character, and how at times his words could come across as careless. Maybe he should be the one to apologise for his rash choice of words instead.

“I’m sorry abo—“

Before he could finish his sentence, Hyukjae crouched down, both picking up his sketchbook and distracting Donghae from the apology he was about to make. Hyukjae held the book in one hand and ran his fingers over the cover. The sketchbook was wrapped in a smooth, brown leather sleeve. Donghae’s eyes followed Hyukjae’s fingers; first they traced the shapes of the Hangul letters that formed his name embossed on the cover, then they split the book open to the page of his last drawing; the one he had been working on before he was interrupted by the presence of this auburn-haired man. Hyukjae looked up at Donghae.

“You drew this?”

Donghae hesitated. It was a sketch of the scene that had played out in front of him, of families enjoying the view, snapping pictures and wading in the plunge pool. It was unfinished, though, and for some reason, Donghae felt invaded, looking on as Hyukjae’s eyes glanced the sketch over and over. He had never shown anyone his sketchbook, mainly because the only times he used it was when he needed a canvas to unleash his creativity while his brain melted in dicomfort. He didn’t realise how long his entire being had been in screensaver mode until Hyukjae’s voice broke the silence between them.

“Draw me,” Hyukjae requested, gently pushing the sketchbook into Donghae’s hands.

“What did you—“

“Draw me.”

Hyukjae’s voice was firm, but his expression remained soft. As if on command, Donghae sat back down on the tiny stool he’d brought along and picked up the pencil that he’d left on the gravel. Hyukjae followed suit, sitting cross-legged in front of Donghae. He relaxed his shoulders, leaned forward, and smiled.

“Let’s see if you can copy my features accurately,” he teased. “Who knows, if you sketch me well, I might just hire you as an artist for my company.”

Donghae perused Hyukjae’s face at his own pace, subconsciously biting the top of his pencil. He noticed how Hyukjae’s features were a perfect balance between chiseled: his jawline was remarkably sharp and nearly symmetrical, akin to a doll made in a workshop; and soft: he had a high nose bridge that rounded at the tip like a button, and thick lips. Hyukjae tried to be a good subject for the man, staying as still as he possibly could manage, but he also wanted to know more about Donghae. He caved.

“Where do you live?” Hyukjae asked, careful not to move anything but his lips so Donghae could study his features.

Donghae began to mark the clean page of his sketchbook with his pencil, first forming the frame of Hyukjae’s face. His eyes darted between Hyukjae and the page of the book as his hand worked away at the sketch.

“I live near Sagye beach,” he replied, eyes still looking from the sketch, to Hyukjae and back. He was so focused on completing the sketch he hardly realised the look of pleasant surprise that had taken over Hyukjae. Hyukjae, on the other hand, smirked at this newly attained information.

“Sagye beach is very near where I work,” he shared, crinkling his nose. “Maybe you should drop by sometime. We could have lunch together and then maybe you could show me around.”

Donghae paused briefly, shooting Hyukjae a look as if what he had just said was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

“Why would I come to your workplace?”

“Because,” Hyukjae declaimed. “I own it. And besides—“

Just then, a voice called out from behind Donghae. Both of them turned, only to see a young woman with shiny black hair that curled and ended at her shoulders tottering towards them. She was dressed in a long, grey overcoat with faux fur lining its hems, and heels that must’ve added at least two inches to her height. Way too fancy for Jeju, Donghae thought. It was only when she called out a second time that Donghae realised she was looking for Hyukjae.

“Hyukkie!”

Hyukjae stood up, holding his arms out in front of him as if to embrace the woman upon arrival, except he didn’t. Instead, the woman grabbed onto his arms, steadying herself. She smiled ambiguously.

“We have to go,” she said, her voice quiet.

Donghae stood up slowly, observing the exchange between the woman and Hyukjae. As if she had noticed this, she hooked her arm around Hyukjae’s and beamed at Donghae. Donghae could feel her eyes skim over him like a laser even though he kept his head bowed, eyes on the ground. When did I become this unconfident prick? He wondered to himself as his eyes glanced over the three pairs of feet between them. Hyukjae reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver card case made of metal. He pressed a small button at the side of the case, ejecting a namecard. He handed it to Donghae.

“Finish up that drawing,” Hyukjae coaxed. “and when you’re free, call me. Let’s have lunch like I suggested.”

With that, the couple took off towards the black car that was parked on the curb a few metres away. Donghae, confused as he was that someone had even approached him in the first place, was now left behind feeling even more perplexed than he did in the beginning. He noticed the woman doing a double-take, asking Hyukjae, “Who’s he?” but couldn’t hear the response. Donghae was alone again.

Retreating to the car, Hyukjae sighed. Almost got you, he thought to himself. He pulled on the car door handle and boarded the car, sitting shotgun. He felt a little upset he had to leave his newfound friend so soon, but he knew that whatever interrupted the moment had to be urgent. As he buckled his seat belt, a faint smile crept onto his face. Glad I found you, at least.