Kyungsoo sits patiently on a thin, steel stool; feet dangling uneasily with his mouth slightly open in the morning's crack.

His drawn fingers count to eight, as two has a pen in a neat balance of clockwise tricks and locking bones to end the endless fluidity. The sudden rough play of dust and heat was unwavering; brushing through sensitive cheeks at its epicenter. The airport sounded deserted, with only the music of an old radio tuning in to rusty and rasp noises that permanently dwells between life giving and undeniably awakening.

He planted his back on the wall, counting the time remaining in his digital wristwatch goal. Other than the temps, the date says Monday of January 7, 2014; just by his plain, squinted eye stare straight at Casio soul, the date seemed it was worth of sentiments. He shifts and distractedly looks over the big bright blue slabs of paint by the grey wall of a small building afar; the demeanor unnecessarily caught his sight by the big name 'Maria' planted in forty degrees, nineteen seventy three. The man believes that it should be fading by now, but he keeps thinking that his co-workers might be repainting it over and over again with no apparent reason. Probably at night, when he's asleep.

It has been three hours silent, and the staffs were expecting the travel plane to arrive earlier. Ears knew that there was a delay, and so does the mouths that tries to keep in place. Though it is considered as a normal day at the area; the most isolated place in Africa still beholds the reason for their tourism. Looking far from the concrete runways and knitted metal fences, it was indeed a paradise. Flat land represents a line that showcases the marvelous display of acacia formations and wildlife silhouettes in dream drawn sunsets, the gradient transitions of greens and pale browns; wooden glory and dried leaves that reflects to teal waters was the environment's loved quintessence.

Other than the glamour of vintage Hollywood songs that were playing, Kyungsoo listens to the chirps of the wild birds and to the chirps of the other people by the landing point; picturing them by the usual way of when their legs are closed tightly, the one with little gaps; atop were porcelain plates and half peaches that cures dry throats, dry minds. Sometimes maybe some are constantly snapping their fingers to their own tune, lines of electrical cords plugged in their ear holes, and stubborn old books below their feet just for the beat. But all sums up by the shade of the roof; sunglasses’ framing all jaws of all ages in wrinkling foreheads or not; because Kyungsoo thinks Koreans theoretically hates the sun.

Kyungsoo stands up after, glancing over the control room as he received a gesture that the plane was about to land. He claps his hands for three consecutive times, and everyone stands up just like they know what to do. He fixes himself in position; clearing his throat, terribly hard and fast as possible. The loud sound of the airplane touching down got the hang of the excessive volume, increasing by each distance it breaks; smooth machines and roller foots began dropping down as the windy radiation hits the surface. He immediately falls back to the wildlife crew's Pinzgauer 710, sliding inside the skin toned armor and leather.

Kyungsoo is a tour guide. It was a wholehearted choice and he knows he had lived for it. By graduating in a course of wildlife conservation; through textbooks and rebutting picture aids of lions, patriot names of his own field and crushes and vices and love for the second largest continent. It was a dream. A dream to see gazelles raging in vertical directions, proteas blooming at each and every morning during bunny chow breakfasts, zebras marching as that hypnotic living art, and sometimes a hint of that searing urge to hear hyenas laugh from a distance. His knowledge was beyond and lengthened as his passion, which is why he wanted to share it to people and show how great things are in a savannah.

"What did the control say about the number of visitors?" Chanyeol asks, who was the man on the steering wheel that cracked a wide sunshine grin on the rear view mirror; eyes shifting between Kyungsoo and the road.

"You should watch the road." He balks, trying to fit himself away from Chanyeol's view.

"You should put on a smile." He revolved. Kyungsoo huffs. "It has been two days since we didn't have tourists. You were the one who always gets hyped."

Kyungsoo sighs, agreeing to that fact. He is indeed happy, but just the sudden noise of ramming heavy wheels against rocky, dry soil brings him back to memories that shouldn't be remembered.

"Are you─" Chanyeol was about to ask, but as he gets a view of Kyungsoo at the mirror again, he was looking down with avid eyes. The driver inhaled and exhaled; the sound of his breathing was as loud as the rampage of the vehicle. He didn't want to assume that Kyungsoo was still stuck on the same problem, and he wanted to comfort his friend. But nothing would bury in deeper if he'd just let it go away. Maybe it will go away somehow.

But Kyungsoo wasn't really sad. He was instead troubled because there were certain points that were spinning around in nervous motions that sits close and would explode by any minute. He was troubled because something was about to hook by his fingers; something he was waiting for a year now. He then draws out something from his pocket in a single, heavy breath; pap and textured small piece of paper, white was the base but the folded edges were stained in bronze, gleaming in tenuity and longing slashes of broken ink. He uncurls it open, wiped it flat on his lap and read it even though it was the nth time he did.

"Hi, Kyungsoo. I'm sorry if all I left is a stupid note. I had to catch my flight and I won't be able to drag my baggage all the way to the airport if I'll be writing you a novel. I wish I could. But, I promise to return. We will meet again. 0108, SVN. See you soon."​

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