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June 2016, in an unknown location

A man wakes in a forest, and alarmed but somehow not that afraid. He rises to a seated position, taking his surrounding in with sharp eyes -- he’s at the edge of the forest, it seems, he can see a clearing not far off between the trees.

If he squints, he can see a flat structure at the edge of the dawning horizon, but no activity. The image blurs before his eyes -- his memory remembers a thick column of black smoke rising from a ventilation shaft built into the ground beside the structure.

A memory, perhaps?

When he gazes towards another side of the clearing, he sees a fuzzy brown blur lining the earth, perforated by slightly taller postings. Buildings. Unfamiliar ones.

He pushes himself off the ground, adjusting his defensive stance to take a knee. He lies in wait, watching for any sign of movement.

It’s not a flicker in front of him that breaks the stillness first, but the crack of a branch mere feet from behind him. The man whips around, large eyes wide in fear and body immediately springing into a posture ready to attack.

Another man stares at him from wide, angular eyes, hands lifted in front of him in a defensive, apologetic, I-will-not-harm gesture.

Recognition flickers between the men, and two pairs of shoulders sag down in relief. They clasp hands, both at perfectly matching heights, and the sharper-eyed man helps the other one up.

They’ve never had need for names before, but in this new, primitive world, they need something that will help them survive. What was it that the others watching them from those tanks named their Entities? The others had a language, they used words, and some were repeated more than others. They could borrow names. They could forge a path in a new world.

“Xiumin?” The now-standing man croaks out some unfamiliar sounds, throat nearly choking at the strangeness of use.

“D.O.?” The branch-cracker replies in a higher-pitched, but equally unpracticed voice.

The two commit the sounds to memory. Xiumin is the first to gesture towards the clearing beyond the trees. The only thing that separates them from the conditions of their escape from their confinement and the horrific fire is one session of sleep -- they both know that their survival depends on their next few choices.

D.O. nods, and the two set off in the direction of the unfamiliar buildings, leaving the barely-familiar structure in their memories.

----------

The fuzzy brown blur they chose turns out to be a collection of bland buildings cordoned off by what looks to be a wire barrier of sorts -- ominous coils of sharp edges top the barrier.

Only fools would find that friendly, regardless of their unfamiliarity with a foreign planet.

D.O. and Xiumin exchange hesitant looks. Then D.O. looks down at his hands, then back at the barrier. He his head, then tries an experimental motion.

With a disgusting creak, a section of the barrier distorts and separates. D.O. pulls with his hands until the barrier has a breach enough for the men to slip through. Xiumin gives him an approving look, and they proceed. With careful thought, D.O. moves his hands once more and the barrier reseals itself with the same metallic screech. They move deeper into this unknown are, coming up by one of the taller buildings before a bright light shines at them and forces them to shut their eyes to keep the pain out.

---------

“STOP!” Someone screams, but the two men standing in the spotlight don’t seem to understand. Hands in front of their faces to shield their eyes from the light, they continue pressing forward.

A sergeant looks desperately at a fellow armyman, and both men give panicked shrugs.

“I said stop!” The first one screams again, and the other one waves frantically at the watchtower to lessen the intensity of the light so the two men can see what’s going on. Then both retrain their rifles at the strangers.

The two men finally stop advancing, pulling up short and staring at the guns pointed at them. They somehow don’t seem very scared, despite all of the soldiers waiting for orders on handling the two.

--------

D.O. glances sideways at Xiumin after taking in their situation. He senses fear, aggression, the hints of hostility. He can tell that Xiumin has come to the same conclusion.

Interesting.

His brain struggles to remember something he kept hearing in the middle of the flames, words that were repeated over and over with desperate, emotional pleas. A word like that might help them now.

His throat is dry as he tries to form the sounds, and when he begins the first ring of humans creep in closer. Maybe to hear, maybe to attack -- but D.O. has to try.

“Help,” he says hoarsely. “Please,” and repeats this louder a second time. Xiumin jumps in, mimicking the sounds D.O. makes.

These words, these sounds, whatever they are -- they make the metal devices in the humans’ hands lower before one single person jogs over to them indoors.

----------------------------------------------------

Early Winter 2016, Seogwipo City, Jeju

The onset of winter bothers you.

Winter isn’t all bad. You like winter activities just fine, and curling up with a hot cup of tea is always much more lovely in the winter than at any other time of year.

The onset of winter bothers you because it means more confinement, less space. It means being cooped up in smaller areas or rooms for the purpose of retaining heat -- it gives you less freedom than the warmer months. It provides less escape from the things at home that grate upon your soul most.

In the early weeks of your work at the lab, it had been completely fine -- the facility had artificial lighting enhanced with sufficient lumens to keep the body sharp and alert as if it were summer, and winter didn’t exist that many feet below the surface. The facility temperatures were carefully controlled, and you had your living quarters all to yourself.

Here, though, stuck in a situation where you can’t go back to your old line of work (which was far more lucrative), you can’t just up and leave, not when a non-human life depends on you. The problem is when that non-human tries your patience with that contemptible machine sitting in the living room of the tiny apartment you’re forced to share for your joint survival.

You didn’t have problems the first few weeks Baekhyun started playing games. The CDs were fine, and you thought the Sims helped reinforce some of the things he’d been learning about life on Earth. No, that wasn’t the issue.

It all began when Baekhyun discovered online gaming.

With other people -- presumably teenagers in PC cafes all over the country.

And then he discovered netizens. And colorful language. And then he somehow convinced you to borrow a headset with attached microphone from work for him to use with the games at night.

You make it a point to dump your bags on the center table after work, glaring at the mouse Baekhyun clicks so ferociously on, and immediately head off to the bedroom to put at least a wall’s distance between yourself and his hyperactive shouting. You initially didn’t have the heart to tell him just how horrible his behavior is; he’s had it bad enough already, perhaps even aliens needed to blow off some steam by cursing out teenaged opponents online.

But now?

Even in a survival situation, it seems, patience can wear thin.

-------------

Baekhyun isn’t an idiot. He’s met more humans as the days get shorter and colder, primarily from short walks around the neighborhood to keep his muscles from totally becoming mush (too much time in a tank put him on rather precarious ground in that respect), so he thinks he’s getting quite good at picking up human cues.

He knows you’ve been a bit more terse coming home. Whether it’s the tedium of your unfulfilling hotel job or something else, he’s been getting the feeling that his favorite thing on this planet may now be one of your least favorite things. He stalls a bit, finger hovering over the mouse as he senses you pass breezily through the living room only to escape into the bedroom within seconds.

That’s it, he thinks. He has to be of more help to you than a sous chef at dinner or a housemaid for the apartment during the day. Baekhyun considers getting up to speak to you, to ask about what sorts of other things he can assist you with, but movement on the screen catches his attention. His eyes narrow.

He reads the message and jams his finger into his chosen push-to-talk button before letting loose a shouted string of obscenities at the jackass who taunted him.

Asking you what he can do to help can wait. This kid has to go down first.

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January 2017, Seogwipo City, Jeju

“Are you alright?”  Baekhyun asks when you return home from work one night, days after the new year holiday. Usually you go into the bedroom to nap or decompress for a bit before emerging to ask him to help you cook, but today you just slump to the floor of the living room beside him, a look of defeat on your face.

“No,” you barely manage to reply. With great effort you lift your fingers and drop a thick envelope onto the central table.

Eyebrows knotted together in confusion, Baekhyun turns from his computer and his floor-desk to pick up the envelope. He peers inside, eyes widening at the stack of bills stuffed inside.

“This is… a lot of money!” He smiles. “Did you earn a bonus?”

You shake your head from side to side, the motion of your head against the floor giving you minor relief from the headache that blossoms within.

“No,” you repeat. “I got laid off. Turns out I was hired so quickly because we moved here during peak busy season. Now that the holidays are over, only essential full-time staff are able to stay hired.”

“Oh.” His face falls, and you look up at him. It’s an odd sight. From the upside down angle, his face is strange and distorted -- but somehow your brain still registers it as beautiful. Part of you wonders if all extraterrestrials from his planet are incredibly attractive, or if it’s just their sample of the population that happens to have devastatingly good human looks.

You sigh, pushing yourself up at last to sit beside him. You cross your legs and shift in your seat on the floor pillows, before slumping over the table to rest your tired head on your arms.

“I guess it’s time to look for another job. But Jeju is quieter around this time -- with less tourists, there’s less business. I don’t know what I can find. Regardless, it’s still cheaper and safer to live here than it is in Seoul, probably -- I don’t know. I’ll have to figure something out.”

Baekhyun bites at the inner corner of his lips in concern.

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The halmeoni landlord is the one who cooks in the shared kitchen the next few days, clucking over you when you try to help and scolding you to take a rest.

“You’ve worked so hard,” she insists. “You deserve it.”

When you protest, it’s her assistant chef Baekhyun who sends you a glare and a ‘tsk’ next, and you take the hint by receding into your unit on her lot.

The little grandma watches approvingly as Baekhyun slices a variety of ingredients for her and slides each one into the merrily bubbling stone pot. It’s doenjang jjigae on the menu today, and Baekhyun has found it quite pleasant to learn recipes and work alongside the kind landlord.

She nudges him with her hip when all of the chopped ingredients are in -- from here on out, there’s less heavy lifting or repetitive cutting motions required, so she can take over. She takes the ladle from him, stirring the stew contemplatively, before she decides to speak.

“Are you thinking about getting a job yourself, my child?” She asks sweetly, eyes never leaving the steaming pot.

Baekhyun looks at her in surprise. He’s been pondering the idea for months, but he doesn’t know what he can do here on Jeju to help you. The jobs he knows about, he learned from the children’s Korean books (doctor and teacher and scientist and taxi driver -- all with colorfully illustrated diagrams to match). He figures he can’t really do any of those things -- not yet, at least. From what he can tell, he’s severely underqualified for each of those roles, unless there’s a sudden demand for lessons on extraterrestrial life.

“I have been,” he murmurs, sidling up to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he, too, watches the ladle in the pot. She comforts him with her gentle guidance.

The halmeoni smiles up at him warmly, sliding her arm around his waist as best she can manage at her short stature.

“I thought so. What’s preventing you from taking the jump?”
 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I watched her cycle through so many odd jobs before she found the hotel one, and I don’t want to disappoint her by failing through each job I find. There are still vocabulary gaps in my Korean, and I’m afraid I’ll cause her more trouble if I’m exposed to huma-- superiors -- and have to fit standards they set.”

The halmeoni gives him a raised eyebrow. For months now, Baekhyun has shared a little bit with her each day -- oneoff thoughts mostly, but sometimes a little glimpse into his concerns. She’s noticed him slip and use the word ‘humans’ a few times to refer to people. It’s a bit odd, certainly, but when he came to her lot as a handsome, mid-20s-looking mute, she quickly learned not to make assumptions about him.

“You’re not really from around here, are you?” She asks him with a small, knowing smile, and Baekhyun looks shocked. His body tenses by her side and his grip around her shoulders tightens a bit, before he forces himself to relax.

“No,” he all but splutters. “I’ve never lived in Jeju before.”

But she just keeps smiling that gentle smile, a twinkle in her eye. “It does seem that way,” she murmurs, and returns her gaze to the pot.

Maybe she thinks he’s one of those gyopo Koreans, born and raised overseas sometimes without a of Korean language on their lips. Surely that must be what she means? But Baekhyun wonders what that knowing look in her eye means.

“Relax,” she laughs lightly. “I don’t care where you’re from or how far away home is for you. What I want to say is that anyone can learn to contribute despite their failures or foreignness. You have incredible value, my child -- she can see that, and I can see that. Don’t let the fear of the strange or unknown hold you back. Take a look at what skills you’ve currently earned and find a way to make them even more useful.”

He nods timidly, squeezing her shoulders as his response.

“There,” the halmeoni nods, looking confident in her dish. “I think dinner’s ready. WIll you go call her?”

Baekhyun smiles, bending down to kiss the little grandmother on the cheek (something he watched a human child do in the streets to her own grandmother a few weeks before) and does her bidding.

-----------

A few days later, after recovering from the last few months of your job and taking a well-deserved rest, you tap Baekhyun on the shoulder and ask if you might use the computer for a bit. He logs off immediately, but sits inches away from you as you open a browser and type in a popular job search website. Baekhyun watches intently, chin almost resting on your shoulder as he strains to read off the screen.

“Everything alright?” You muse, not terribly offended by the intrusion of space and more amused at his curiosity.

“What is that?” He asks, eyes scanning over the words quickly. “Are you applying to jobs through the internet?” 

“Exactly that,” you bite your lip unthinkingly as you nod and scroll through the listings. You pay no attention to the man by your side, but Baekhyun watches your lips with interest as your motions draw his gaze. It takes a bit of effort to drag his eyes away and back to the screen, but he successfully does so after blinking a few times and shaking his head to clear his mind.

Weird. He’s never had his subconscious take the wheel and direct his attention to anything so intimate as another person’s lips. To make things doubly weird, he’s never felt his heartrate spike so quickly in reaction to an emotion he didn’t know was possible to have.

He doesn’t have a word for how he feels right now -- nothing in his own home planet’s vocabulary can help him, either. Baekhyun coughs lightly, awkwardly. And then he leans forward again, eyes affixed to the screen in determination.

--------

Eventually you grow tired of your job search after attaching your resume to some part-time job listings and hitting ‘Submit,’ so you surrender control of the machine back to Baekhyun before heading for a shower. Baekhyun scoots over quickly. He immediately mimics the steps he watched you take a few hours prior, opening up the browser and typing in the first few letters of the same job search site’s URL. It autofills quickly and clicks on the link as soon as his eyes recognize the letters.

“Skills, skills,” he mumbles to himself. Baekhyun taps at his upper lip in thought with a slender finger, then nearly bangs his head forward onto the keyboard in frustration.

“Aaah!” He snarls, annoyedly shaking his hands through his hair. “What sorts of skills can I possibly offer that would make money on this dumb planet?”

He thinks back to what the landlord said. Something about skills he’s already acquired, and making them more useful. Well, he can crudely chop vegetables for home chefs’ soups, but he figures if you can’t get a job in the prep room of a national fast food chain, he definitely can’t -- you’re the (marginally) better cook between the two of you. He can sweep yards, he supposes, since he did that for the landlord back in the autumn, but fat chance getting a job like that in the dead of winter.

Skills. What skills has he acquired?

He makes anot