:　bed & breakfast

@kim hakkun. Wash, washed away, were every little bit of resounding, closed-door knocking grasps he still had with reality when the brown door of the bed and breakfast flunked open. How could this gaze that viewed the same male, dressed in ragged, distressed loose jeans and childish tees, differ now compared to a decade ago? Once, they held up proudly at the sight of the other with pure, unadulterated crinkles of joy in the corners. Yet now, Laon’s gaze was unfocused, dispersed like the burst of a dying star — a huge ball of built-up anticipation that died like its many expectations.

With a landscape like Hanbit, one would think there were many places he could raise his gaze to, but Laon kept them down. The warmth of Mrs. Kim’s hands only felt like a static spark, a cold burn against thin skin. Her warm embrace was no better.

“It’s great to see you again, Mrs. Kim,” Laon whispered, pulling away from the welcoming hug he truly did not deserve. A criminal should only be treated like one.

Mr. Jeong shook Hakkun’s hand with familiarity like he wasn’t just a new addition to the life in Hanbit recently, and Laon wondered how long he had been staying there — did Hakkun ever leave like he did?

“Oh, ‘might be the all the rain talk, but the road’s empty except for ours, and this guy slept all the way here. With how he looks right now, you wouldn’t think he made something out of himself all the way in Paris.” His father patted his back, laughter escaping his lips as he pointed at the ruffled hair at the back of Laon’s head.

The adults chattered away like yesterday’s news was that important and the weather the next big gossip. Mrs. Kim smiled at him, and her gaze flickered for a second to her son. “We should take this inside. Laon must be hungry from all the travelling, and we just so happened to have something prepared. A cold drink and some snacks would do, right?”

Without a second for a group agreement or disagreement, Mrs. Kim her heels and headed straight to the lovely building. She kept on calling for Mr. Kim, announcing the arrival of their dear friend and his son, and only turned around to tell Hakkun to usher the guests inside. Laon’s father was only seconds after her when he spotted Mr. Kim on the porch, an old friend from old times. Too many things to tell each other about, yet none new in the web of time.

It was only appropriate that Laon followed suit; nothing much he could do, for the truck keys were with his father, and he’d definitely raise a few brows if he were to walk away now. And so he did, walking a few steps slower than Hakkun, the grasp of guilt clutching onto his ankles acting like invisible weights as his gaze now fell on the broad expanse of Hakkun’s back.

@jeong laon. A familiar blue truck crawled up the road towards Hakkun’s only home, making Hakkun squint out towards it in the beating sunlight. He had been trimming one of the hedges around the side of the house, his mother just to the side, pulling out the weeds from her garden. Despite her age (which really wasn’t that old), she heard the truck come down the road before Hakkun could even see it over the bend of the hill. He raised his hand to cover his eyes, the sun still somehow too bright for Hakkun to see details about the oncoming truck.

It was the Jeong’s truck. Since Hakkun returned from Seoul, he wasn’t sure how to react to the Jeong family. They were old family friends of the Kims, and they treated Hakkun as if he was their own son, just as his family did with…

Looking towards Mr. Jeong’s face, his eyes, it wasn’t something Hakkun could easily get used to. And with the oncoming truck, an extra head in the passenger seat. Hakkun tried not to think anything of it; the Jeongs had /two/ sons, and Mr. Jeong was no stranger to helping out a fellow Hanbit native home from the city whenever he would go; no one in the small town really was. Yet, Hakkun knew better. He knew better than to tug at the possibilities he had earlier experienced, his own pocket of hope, of a saving grace.

The truck had stopped in front of the Kim’s Bed and Breakfast, affectionately called A Lull In the Sea. This business had been in the family since before the war. Hakkun’s father adored the business just like his father did. Just like Hakkun did. The adoration for the B&B, and by extension, Hanbit, had come to the surface, the ocean of Hakkun’s mind's dark waters starting to sway as the wind picked up. What had bobbed up from the surface were the memories of more than 10 years ago, summers near the water and winters spent in front of the fire next to someone Hakkun thought was his friend.

With the tide coming in, Hakkun dropped his clippers, and his mother stood with a bright smile as she walked to the front of their front yard, Hakkun close behind her. Hakkun could see clearly, through the windshield, an unfamiliar, familiar man, just like the truck parked in their driveway. Aged but charming, they were full of memories that Hakkun could recall from what felt like his past life. Remnants of a calm sea.

Hakkun’s mother called out for Mr. Jeong, an affectionate first name basis, as the two shared a friendly hug. “Hajun, honey! Come out here!” She called then, cupping her fingers around to project her voice into the house. Her eyes turned to Laon, hands reaching out for the man’s, holding them tightly in her firm grip. “Ah, look how big you’ve gotten. I remember when you were just a scrawny little thing.” Hakkun could see his mother’s eyes start to well up, but she held it back as she hugged Laon.

Hakkun didn’t want to look at Laon. Instead, he looked at a much older version of him in Mr. Jeong. “How was your trip?” Hakkun said, shaking hands with Mr. Jeong. He disregarded Laon completely. “Hope that little bout of wind didn’t affect you guys earlier.”

@kim hakkun. The brush of the salty air across his cheek felt like a welcoming gesture from Hanbit, yet Laon couldn’t help but feel sick curling in his gut.

His father’s old truck purred as they drove through the neighbourhood he had left behind more than a decade ago. The paved roads that wind down the streets in the hillsides of the town were long broken underneath the weight of time. The colours of the painted buildings all washed out, leaving only dusty white, a reminder of the Hanbit’s championing days he knew years ago.

Nine thousand three hundred seventy-eight kilometres, and at any point, he could have turned around, purchased a ticket for a roundabout, hijacked the airplane, become a criminal, brandished back to France and stood trial for years. Anything just to get himself out of the deal he made with his father over a phone call one evening, like many other evenings where he had wanted to quit his job at one of France’s most sought-after sit-down bakeries.

As he disembarked from the long-haul flight, the weariness from traversing multiple time zones hit him like a ton of bricks. The jet lag after hours of flying was all it took for Laon to sit quietly in the passenger's seat of the waiting car, his eyes closed in an attempt to find solace in the darkness behind his eyelids.

His backpack, containing all the essentials he had brought with him, was clutched tightly in his embrace. The weight of it felt reassuring, a tangible reminder of the familiar despite the disorienting fatigue that had enveloped him.

Hanbit wasn’t anywhere close to the big commercial airport either, and thus, Laon had slept out on the chances of fleeing from his father’s grasp. Before long, when he had opened his eyes, he was in Hanbit, the town he had left behind.

Laon watched as a flock of seagulls carried themself with the wind, head leaning against the window glass. The truck was quiet except for the buzzing of the radio, announcers his father’s age reminding the listeners that heavy rain forecast would begin this weekend up until the following Friday. ‘Don’t forget your umbrellas and raincoat, folks. You wouldn’t want to be drenched from head to toe. Colds in the summer are brutal!’

And as a circle of ads rung through the radio speakers, Laon let his mind be coddled by the view Hanbit offered up until a mere second ago. For a moment, he thought his eyes were deceiving him.

There was the flag pole that could only be seen at the top of the hill in the small seaside town. The same pole with two raised flags that had stood for, ‘I wish you a pleasant journey.’

Only one home housed such a pole, the same flags he had always seen walking up the hills to meet up with a childhood friend when he stayed in Hanbit many years back. He recalled the laughter of youth, the adventures they had embarked upon, and the shared dreams that had spun beneath the fluttering flags. Laon only felt the growing sickness in his stomach as his father’s truck rumbling came to a purring halt. “Let’s go and meet Mr. Kim and Hakkun.”