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June 2016, in an unknown location somewhere in Gyeonggi-do

He wanders aimlessly, dressed in oversized, plain garments thrown at him by the person helming the flying device that brought him here a few days ago. He’s scrounged some food here and there from piles nearby buildings, but even he can tell that this food isn’t exactly of the safest quality.

But surviving like this isn’t bad, so far. At least the sun is high and the days are warm. Still, he knows he should find shelter sooner rather than later.

Maybe that doesn’t have to happen today.

No, today he is drawn to a chaotic, but pleasant blend of sounds coming from a short distance from where he is. He walks up to a rather elaborate facility, architecture quite unlike most of the structures he’s seen so far, and tries to peer into the facility’s boundaries to find the source of the sound.

It’s a loud clang that startles him, makes him nearly jump out of his skin, and sparks fly from some of the wire-looking things hanging from tall wooden posts that line every walking path he has encountered so far. Hm, it’s not just one clang, but several, in some sort of melody that somehow works together. He can’t quite tell if it’s ominous or cheery or a mix of both, but judging by the lack of response from anyone around him, he figures it’s a benign sound.

But the sound he initially searches for intensifies after the clanging ends, and he peers through a set of tall metal bars lining the facility to see a ragtag group of tiny human beings tearing across the facility to scamper into the elaborate structure. He looks down at himself -- his garments, slightly torn and rather then, look quite similar to the miniature versions on the bodies of the small humans. Older humans wearing some of the strangest things he’s seen since being broken out of his tank follow after the tiny humans -- they are dressed in all black save for a splash of white circling around their heads.

One pauses and looks at him curiously. He has never been the type to hide, and no instinct to run overtakes him. He curves his lips in what he hopes is a winsome expression, and the human responds in kind with the skin around her eyes crinkling.

“My dear, are you a lost one as well?” She asks him. He can recognize words from the tidbits he’s heard over the past few days of listless wandering, but he’s not sure what they mean when strung together like that. In his tank, he only remembers sentences that sound like “check their monitoring devices” or “need another coffee,” and recalls what these phrases mean, but without formal understanding of human-speak, he struggles.

One thing he can, in fact, understand, is the tone of the human’s voice. It rises at the end, which he’s learned is an indicator that another human is likely to respond with a “yes” or a “no.” “Yes”es seem to be more positive than “no”s, so he opens his mouth and tries to form a ‘yes.’

It doesn’t seem to come out right as the human looks at him with a confused smile, so he settles for nodding. That seems to be a universally recognized human gesture.

The woman smiles and opens the gate for him, ushering him inside. “Do you have a name?” She asks, as they walk up the path to the large, intricate doors of the building.

A name? He thinks he might have been given one while in his tank. “Chen,” he says, and somehow the word comes out sounding reasonably like what the humans at that first facility said about him over and over again.

“Chen. That’s a lovely name, but it’ll be a bit more difficult to add to paperwork. Keep that name, hold it close to your heart, and we’ll provide you a legal name to use. Do you have a last name, lost soul?”

He thinks he knows where that question is going, and no, he’s not entirely sure what the last name is, so he shakes his head.

“I see. That’s much like our children here at the orphanage,” the woman muses, a soft look of pity in her eyes. “To be alone for so long,” she murmurs, eyes taking in Jongdae’s apparent adult age and tattered clothes. “They all inherit the name of Kim, so we’ll lend that to you as well.”

He smiles again.

“Well, Chen” the woman says, pushing open the door for him. “The noon bells just rang -- would you like to join us for a meal?”

He knows that word, ‘meal.’ He’s wanted one of those for a while now. He nods fervently, and the woman smiles warmly.

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Late Winter 2017, Seogwipo City, Jeju

A strange sound awakes you mid-morning one weekend, and you turn in your futon to find Baekhyun under a pile of blankets, headphones on and plugged into your phone.

“Baekhyun,” you groan, rustling on your bedding and getting up. “What are you doing?”

But the man only curls up into fetal position in response. His eyes are glued to your phone, and he clutches it as if his life depends on the device.

“What?” You rub at your eyes, clearing your throat before shuffling on your hands and knees to see what mischief he’s up to.

Oh. Not mischief.

Baekhyun, you find, has discovered the art of the Korean drama. And to his benefit and detriment, he seems to have found a difficult act to start with.

“Are you… crying?” The closer proximity gives you a better look at his face. His eyes are puffy and red, and you’re not entirely sure if that’s from the dramatism or from what seems to be a binge-watching all-nighter that he’s pulled. “Wait, what part are you at?”

You wrench the screen away from him to look at it yourself. Oof, your phone battery is dangerously low, but thankfully it’s a weekend and you can just charge it. So he certainly was watching this drama all night and -- oh. You know exactly what scene he’s on, having remembered the pain of enduring it when it first released on small screens a few years ago.

“Why can’t they be together?” Baekhyun laments in a tiny voice, sniffling all the while. “They’re clearly in love, this is so stupid, why does it have to be like this?”

“Just keep watching!! You’ll see,” you tell him cryptically, and he shoots up to a seated position.

“Wait. You’ve already seen this? Tell me what happens.”

“No, Baekhyun, part of the fun of watching a drama is going along for the ride that the show writers are trying to create. Especially for a title like ‘99 Days My Prince.’”

He glares at you, a sight that is intensified by the severe lack of sleep in his eyes. “Tell. Me.”

“I will not! And charge my phone when you can.”

Baekhyun grumbles and flumps back down onto the cushions, and it’s not long before you hear him sniffling again.

-----------

He emerges from the bedroom some hours later, having finally finished the story. You look up from your book and snack of fruits, a smirk creeping up your lips as you take in his emotionally wrung-out husk.

“You okay there?” You ask, extending the bowl of freshly cut fruit to him as a sort of breakfast. Or lunch, now.

“No,” he says quietly. “Human emotions are, truly, quite powerful.” Baekhyun sits across from you at the table, all but melting into the seat and into the floor.

Yeah, you guess they’re pretty powerful, you think. The thought hasn’t really crossed your mind before -- that’s just how people live. Lives are messy and there are a billion things your brains have to process each day, so it’s only natural that the more acute emotions are the ones that get noticed. Even if in fictional form.

“Why, are things not like that on your planet?”

He shakes his head, groaning as he tosses and turns on the floor. “We have emotions, but they’re not like this. I don’t quite know how to describe it -- human emotions are familiar, in the way that I might see a word in a dictionary and recognize it. But they’re not intense back home. They’re just things we notice and process, either to make our work more effective or to get about our day better. For example, if we notice that we’re feeling happy, we make it a point to share that with each other -- if we feel curious, we go to the archives to go learn something. If we feel affinity towards something, we interact with it. But it doesn’t really ever go beyond that.”

You just look at him, tilting your head to better see the puddle of the man on the floor. “We operate like that too, you know.”

He shakes his head again, his bangs falling backwards towards the floor in crazy angles. “It’s not the same -- we don’t experience that many feelings, much less conflicting ones or strong ones, at the same time. The characters were happy and in love but also sad and hurting and stubborn -- how do your brains handle that kind of disconsonant load all of the time?”

You shrug, stabbing another piece of fruit and munching on it thoughtfully. “I dunno, we just do, I guess. It’s what makes us human. Our lives aren’t perfectly organized on the outside, so why would our minds be like that on the inside?”

But Baekhyun just groans. “It huuuuuurts,” he whines, scrunching up his body and worming towards you, before opening his mouth expectantly.

“What?” You look down at him, not understanding.

“Food will make me feel better,” he suggests tentatively, and you get it. You shove a giant piece into his face, and Baekhyun bolts upright before he chokes on it.

“That’ll teach you to watch emotionally taxing television shows without eating or sleeping,” you roll your eyes, before picking up the now-empty bowl and heading for the sink.

Aliens. It was easier and easier to forget Baekhyun wasn’t from outer space most days, but in some moments it was clear he still had many how-to-human lessons to learn.

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

April 2017, Seogwipo City, Jeju

As luck would have it, Baekhyun’s discovery of Korean television works to your little group’s favor. It irks you somewhat, to know that Baekhyun’s obsessive hobbies help him find truly interesting jobs while you have to do odd part-time gigs that are nothing like your true calling. But it is fascinating to watch him develop as a person, and that kind of unique, eclectic growth is always hard to find.

His beta-testing job earns him decent money, enough for the two of you to begin a modest savings account and actually start paying the landlord rent (she insists she doesn’t need it, but she finds ways to use the money by upgrading some of her furniture and kitchen appliances).

Even so, you don’t rest easy. If you want to move out and eventually buy a place (buy a place? For you and Baekhyun? It’s a weird thought that you put away for now, electing to believe that homeownership is just something that you’ve picked up as a societal to-do without much thought over who to share that home with), or even get out of the stressors of working only part-time jobs, you need to get something full-time. When the hotel starts looking for contract workers, you immediately head back.

This time, you negotiate a sort of deal -- do well through the holiday season, get instated permanently with opportunities for promotion after.

The cafe is sad to see you go, but business is only moderate and the manager says she can manage without you for some time. You feel bad, leaving at a time where you could have helped her design a new menu before the first wave of tourists arrive, but she only smiles at you with understanding as you turn in your apron on your last day.

Baekhyun arrives to pick you up before that evening’s grocery run, grinning at your now-ex-manager as the bell above the door announces his arrival with a merry jingle.

“Baekhyun!” She exclaims, running over to give him a big, squishy hug. You’ve noticed over the past few months that he has this magical effect over people -- they’re drawn to him like moths to a flame, and he burns brightly with affable energy.

“Hey,” he laughs -- one of the purest sounds you’ve been privileged to become familiar with. “Sorry you’re losing her here.”

“Aw, that’s alright,” your ex-manager says, ahjumma-batting his arm. “I’ll find a way. I’ve been thinking to do more tourist-friendly activities to list online, like coffee roasting classes or little community events held here at the cafe. There aren’t many local performers, of course, but it’s just an idea so far.”

He pouts, taking a sip from an iced tea she shoves into his hands. “Pity this isn’t Seoul, with all the famous actors.” Then Baekhyun launches into his routine of impressions, learned from the hours and hours he’s invested into watching various dramas and movies. Your eyes can’t leave him as he morphs his face to precisely deliver famous lines from memory. The man is a chameleon with an excellent memory. Must be the alien genes, you think.

Baekhyun watches your ex-manager’s expression carefully, changing his next celebrity impression based on her delighted, tears-in-her-eyes reactions to his antics. It’s a sight to behold, and you realize that this is exactly why people are so drawn to Baekhyun. He sets moods. For someone with intense bewilderment at human emotions, he’s very good at responding to them and bringing joy to others.

Including you.

In the middle of his favorite impression, his eyes drift to where you stand against the counter and make contact with yours. If you’re not kidding yourself, you think that his smile grows a little more at one side of his mouth and that his gaze softens slightly, before he cracks up and engulfs the tiny woman in his arms.

You’re totally kidding yourself. You raise your eyebrows to try to reset your facial expression, then move away from the counter to get your bag. But you make the mistake of looking up.

Baekhyun’s eyes are still on you, over your ex-manager’s head. You don’t register whatever she’s saying as she clamors on about his talent and wit, because the world sort of falls away and you feel locked into this connection with Baekhyun. He smiles again, this time distinctly so -- and with nobody else in the room and your ex-manager smushed against his chest, this smile is clearly for you.

Your mouth goes dry and your brain short-circuits, but thankfully your human social instinct presses the corners of your mouth up in a response that satisfies Baekhyun. He chuckles and looks down, squeezing your ex-manager once more before releasing her.

Then she ahjumma-slaps him on the arm again. “Wait! I have an idea about that community event!”

… And so Baekhyun gets his first performer’s gig on a makeshift local variety live show.

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June 2017, Seogwipo City, Jeju

You miraculously hit your first year after The Incident with much greater success than you imagined you would. Honestly, you had no idea what would happen after the fire -- you partly didn’t expect to survive this long (or at least survive without BoA saving your at some point).

But today you stand behind the hotel’s front desk counter, in a new contract position with an almost-guaranteed full-time job in a few months. Your new bank account, technically registered under your landlord’s name, is small but sound, and Baekhyun (your ward) speaks fluent Korean and has his own job(s).

Truly miraculous. You started this whirlwind year as a terrified ethical genetics researcher in a lab coat, with a mute extraterrestrial in tow. Time, indeed, heals all.

“What a happy surprise!” A semi-familiar voice jolts you out of your reflection, and you jump in your heels before bowing in the direction of the door.

“Good afternoon, sir,” you immediately say, running through the script you have for every guest who walks in. “Welcome to WE Hotel, one of the finest wellness resorts and business facilities in Seogwipo. How may we improve your stay in Jeju?”

The man draws up to the counter and parks his carryon beside him. “I’d say my stay has already improved since you’re here,” he smiles, and you recognize him as one of the friendlier clients from the summer before.

“It’s you!” You gasp, bowing again before reaching out to shake his hand delightedly. “Thank you again for that generous gift earlier this winter -- totally uncalled for, but it was very sweet of you.”

“Think nothing of it,” he grins, then frowns as his phone rings. He holds up a finger apologetically, and you gesture at him to tend to his business.

. What was his name again? You had memorized it during his stay last summer but if time heals all, time also fades memories. Fast.

You remember his name being long and complicated, something lyrical from a Southeast Asian country. A bellhop steps up with a cart, lifting the man’s baggage, and you quickly read the name “Chittaphon” from the luggage tag before the bellhop looks expectantly at you to give him the room number.

Fingers flying over the computer, you quickly type in his name and tell the bellhop the number, then hurriedly print out his room keys and spa passes.

Chittaphon walks back towards you, still speaking into his phone in fluid English, before a final “Mmhm. Mmhm. Yeah, yeah, sounds good -- I’ll talk to you later.”

“Mr. Leechaiyakul, these are your room keys and spa passes. Will you be needing the business facilities during your stay?” You hold out his items, and he takes them before leaning over the counter.

“Ten!” He exclaims. “No need for formalities. Don’t you remember? You mentioned that you had gone to grad school the last time I was here, and we determined that you’re older than me. It would be amiss you referred to me as a Mister when I should be calling you noona instead.”

You squint, trying to remember why you would have told anyone that you went to grad school. Your fake identity here is Ae Ri, derived from your codename -- and Ae Ri is a middle-class woman struggling with part-time jobs in Korea’s resort town, NOT an academic.

“Did I?” Your voice comes out suspiciously high-pitched. “I might have been talking about a friend.”

“No, you definitely said grad school. We were talking about my line of work when you mentioned you’d done something similar back in the day. You know, my family’s hospital business? Medical research?”

You can almost feel yourself paling -- how could you have been so careless? Time to make up something to de-identify yourself, quick. “Ahhh, right. I never graduated though -- it was too hard and I was racking up too many expenses. That must be why I mentioned it.”

Ten looks doubtful, but he lets it slide with a boyish grin.

----------

This morning, Baekhyun wakes up and showers, only to dry off and find that his skin is looking a little lackluster and parched despite the oncoming summer humidity.

So he sets out for your hotel, spa passes in hand that you’d been gifted when you were laid off your seasonal job earlier in the year. You’d given him a few after you noticed him putting a body scrubbing cloth into the grocery basket one evening, presumably after he watched some jimjilbang scenes in a drama. “Take it,” you’d told him then. “The hotel’s spa is really nice and relaxing, and you can get a body scrub that will make you feel like a whole new person when they’re done.”

“Someone does it for you?” He’d asked, a little taken aback, but the thought of fresh, radiant skin was enticing after seeing so many skin care advertisements on television with boybands caressing lotion bottles.

So today he whistles in the warm air as he walks up the hotel’s driveway and in through the front doors -- only to stop short at the sight of a rather handsome young man chatting with you at the counter.

He knows you’re good at your job, but the guy is leaning in a little close, right? Baekhyun had seen enough TV to know what that body language was -- flirtation. He ducks behind a luggage cart as the bellhop pushes it into the lobby, then finds a lounge chair within eavesdropping distance. He turns the chair to make it face away from the counter, and sinks down as low as possible in order to avoid detection. He must learn what the man is talking to you about.

“So, what was your name again?” Ten smiles. “I’m so bad with names with this schedule -- I haven’t forgotten you, though, so pardon if it’s a bit rude of me. You’re just saved to my memory as the best thing to happen to WE Hotel -- but that’s not something you can put on a nametag, which… is missing for you.”

You chuckle slightly at the man’s enthusiasm -- but mostly because you’re relieved to be off the hook for forgetting his name, too. “It’s Ae Ri,” you say, looking down at your vest when he mentions your name tag. Shoot, it was probably still in your locker in the staff room -- good thing he tipped you off, so you can grab it before your manager comes by and notices. “Thanks for that, you just saved my .”

He raises an eyebrow. “Ae Ri…”

You smile, cocking your head and waiting for his next words. Then you realize he’s waiting for a last name. “Oh! Uh,” You try to recall what you’d put on your paperwork. “Byun. Byun Ae Ri.” When you started assembling fake identification materials for you and Baekhyun, you just stole the last name BoA had given him so many months ago. It would make it easier for you to travel together and answer questions if asked; you could claim him as your brother, or distant relative… or something.

Ten reaches out his hand again. “Nice to meet you again, Byun Ae Ri. I’m hoping you have daily shifts for the next few days.”

“Glad I can help,” you bow, and Ten almost turns to leave before he bumps into another man walking towards the counter.

“Aeri!” An unmistakable voice rings out, and you look up in surprise.