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The airplane flies over a familiar landscape, a clear sky leaving room for the bubbling, uncertain feeling of home .
Matthew finds his heart lies in two places when he refers to it. He also finds that no matter how many twelve-hour flights he took nonstop between Seoul and Vancouver, Vancouver and Seoul, he always ends up missing the other. His love is split between two cities, divided by the Pacific Ocean, by money, by time. It’s split by countless factors that keep him running to the other country, searching for a full sense of belonging, only to turn right around and repeat the dash all over again.
It was a fruitless lifestyle, so after years of wasted days in airports and reconnecting just to say goodbye, Matthew finally settled down. He took one last plane to his hometown and tried to force his roots into the Canadian soil.
Several winters passed, the snowy, chilled weather much harsher than Korea’s. He distracted himself with work, taking care of his parents, hanging out with friends. But his job started to feel tedious, his relationship with his mother began to turn sour, and his friends held themselves at a distance, distrusting of his promise to stay.
Matthew was kept awake at night, dreaming of those rich meals only Korea could offer, a language that rolled off his tongue more honestly, and a culture that flourished where Canada’s couldn’t.
Despite these fantasies about returning, he stood still for a long time, even as his roots began to retract and pull fully out of the ground. He swore to everyone he wouldn’t leave, he swore to himself he would remain in Vancouver.
However he was lost in his own home. He was disconnected and drifting farther away, his mind and body nearly always separate, each in a different country.
Matthew took a moment to open his eyes, and found that his home had become just a house. He still kept the memories it held close to his heart, but they were a sign of the past, and he couldn’t see a future.
So he left.
He gathered up his few belongings, exchanged the farewells his friends always knew they’d hear, and boarded the next flight to Seoul.
—
He misses everything. From where the plane started its engine to where it landed.
Matthew wants to turn around, but he’s scared to start that cycle again. Back and forth. Seoul and Vancouver.
It’s been two weeks since he arrived, back in the outskirts where spring blooms without tourists to trample its flowers. He hasn’t contacted anyone he used to know. Doesn’t feel like he reserves any right to slide back into their lives. Matthew longs for them, but tries to reacquaint himself instead with the dirt, the speckled rays of sun through leaves, the crispy jeon on rainy evenings, the smell of petrichor after the sky clears.
It’s a small effort, but it steadies him for the time being.
After the first couple of days, Matthew decided to familiarize himself with daily walks through the local park. He now winds through large beds of yellow canola flowers and purple magnolia. Deep brown benches dot the path every so often, mostly empty except for the occasional ajumma and small family. Matthew wonders if maybe they could be his new companions, someone to pass the time with who didn’t expect him to abandon them.
He’s mildly fearful that being alone will catch up with him. That something worse than simple loneliness could take hold. He’s scared that one day he’ll be laying in bed, staring at a ceiling he doesn’t even recognize, and rather than getting up after a few hours, he’ll just stay there forever. At least he would find one place he’d never leave.
Matthew is fully aware of his tendency to desert one life for another. He hates it, but he doesn’t know how to stop. It isn’t the thrill of travel, but that never ending search for home. Maybe someday he’ll find it. Hopefully soon.
The path leads into a small clearing, wide enough to fit one solitary bench surrounded by a dome of cherry blossoms. The boundary of flowers has turned white and pink, matching the gently swaying branches above.
He takes a seat.
The sun glows from the spaces between trees, an unsure height in the sky that could represent either sunrise or sunset. Matthew wipes a stray petal off the wood and watches as it floats softly to the ground.
Everything seemed to fall at some point. Ending quickly like a dropped rock, or slowly, like a gently drifting feather. Matthew’s tired of things ending. He wishes there was something beside himself that stayed constant throughout life.
He closes his eyes, feels the sun hot on his head, smells the strong fragrance of flowers, hears the footsteps of passersby.
“Ah, excuse me?”
He turns around at the voice, looking up at the man standing beside him.
Wait.
The other’s eyes widen, and he combs a wide hand through short hair.
“Matthew?”
Oh.
A small gasp escapes his own mouth. Something notches in his throat but he manages to get out a single word. “Gunwook.”
He looks different, his hair back to its natural black as opposed to the dyed purple from years ago. His air has a newfound confidence to it, something more inherent and mature than before. He’s different, but he’s still Gunwook, and at the moment, it means everything.
“You—I—” Gunwook stops, eyes narrowing slightly, a pensive look shadowing his face. “Can I…sit here?”
Matthew picks up another fallen petal, spins it by the stem between his fingers. When one thing falls, it makes way for something else to rise. Sometimes, the latter was something you thought was already gone.
He doesn’t hesitate to move over, patting the new spot beside him. “Of course.”
Gunwook sits down and just stares at him for a moment. Matthew stares right back, taking in every little detail. The mole beside his eye is—of course—still there and, if he’s not mistaken, those are the same earrings Gyuvin gave him for his twentieth birthday.
“I can’t believe you’re back.” He admits. “Since when?”
“Roughly two weeks ago.”
Gunwook frowns. “And you didn’t text me? What about Hanbin or Taerae?” Matthew looks down at the array of fallen petals on the ground. Gunwook sighs. “They don’t know either, do they?”
“I’m sorry. I meant to, I just…” Matthew pauses. They’ve always been forthcoming with each other, and despite not having spoken for years, it feels wrong to end that.
He takes in a breath.
“I was scared.”
Gunwook’s eyebrows furrow. “Why?”
“I wasn’t…I wasn’t sure if you’d want me back. You know, because I left so often.”
Gunwook isn’t reluctant to take his hand in his.
“I don’t care about that, Matthew. If I could have you back for just one day, I’d do it. Any of us would.”
Wind rushes through the trees.
“I know we’re both a bit different from the people we remember, but I’ll care about you no matter what. Okay?” Gunwook squeezes his hand tighter.
“Okay.” Matthew whispers.
“I know you feel the same.”
Matthew nods and squeezes back.
They let go and he looks up at the cherry blossoms. The branches are going to be bare soon with April coming to a close. Matthew is sad to see them leave, but happy to have been there when they bloomed, having arrived just in time to watch the flowers grow. He hopes he’ll stay around long enough to see them blossom once again.
“So, how was Canada?”
“Ah.” Matthew bites the inside of his cheek. “It was…good. At first.”
Gunwook raises an eyebrow.
“Well, I came back for a reason.” Matthew laughs dryly. “For the first couple of months I was really happy to be back. Everything I missed was suddenly at my fingertips. Old friends, family, my favorite restaurants. The stuff you get homesick about.”
Matthew hesitates, searching for the right words.
“But, then I realized how out of place I was. I thought it was just a matter of fitting in again, getting used to my old routine. But things were off . It was like that for a while and only got worse.”
Gunwook hums. “Why did you stay so long then?”
“I…don’t know. I felt like everyone was just expecting me to leave again, and I wanted to prove them wrong.”
It sounds dumb finally saying it aloud, but Gunwook just nods without judgment.
“Was it the same when you were last in Korea?”
Matthew thinks back. “Not as much, but the feeling was still there.”
It was hard to live with, and is something he knows won’t go away now that he’s back. He’s aware the thought is more his own than anyone else’s, but it’s difficult to convince himself of that.
Matthew shakes his head.
“What was it like without me?” He asks, watching a cloud move over and past the sun.
“Absolutely terrible.” Gunwook complains, putting on a dramatic pout.
Matthew laughs, but sees the flicker of something honest peak through the other’s face.
“I missed you.” Gunwook says.
Matthew’s smile wobbles with regret.
“I did too.”
Neither of them clarify, but both know just how much the other means it.
Matthew can’t believe he convinced himself Gunwook wouldn’t want to see him again, that none of his friends would. He’s glad fate, or coincidence, or whatever divine force is out there, decided to intervene.
He watches as Gunwook tentatively opens his mouth to speak. He looks worried and unsure.
“Did—” He exhales, his frame relaxing. “Did you know I liked you a lot? Back then, I mean.”
Oh.
Instantly, Matthew knows he means something more.
There was never a question of if or how much they cared for each other. But that guarantee was always platonic. And right now, Gunwook means something romantic—a topic Matthew was always too scared to breach.
What if’s tumble into his mind, erasing and rewriting the past, the possibilities that could’ve been had Gunwook said this years ago.
The answer to his question however, is no. If Matthew had known Gunwook returned his feelings then he never would have left Korea alone.
Instead of saying that, he asks something else, opening their past into the present, testing the possibility of something more.
“Do you still?”
Gunwook bites his lip and hesitates before his shoulders tense once more and he reroutes the conversation. “Are you going to leave again?” He asks.
Matthew frowns, but lets him.
“Honestly? I don’t know.”
Gunwook turns back to him. “Stay? For me?” He wets his lips nervously. “A–and for Hanbin, and Hao, and Jiwoong, and everyone else.”
Matthew smiles sadly. “I’ll try. I can’t promise anything, but I will try. I don’t want to leave again, I just…I feel like I’m torn between two places I love.”
Gunwook nods. He doesn’t really understand, but he’s trying, so Matthew will too.
“Thank you.” Gunwook says, then he’s standing up and holding out a hand. “Want to walk?”
Matthew grins and takes it.
They meander through the winding paths bordered by a variety of flowers. Matthew wishes he knew more about flora so he could try to explain the choice in arrangements, analyze the beauty of the azaleas and daffodils. Instead he knows nothing, which honestly isn’t too bad. Beauty isn’t always something that needs explaining. Sometimes, things just are.
He smiles up at Gunwook.
The other is describing one of the chaotic New Year’s parties Matthew missed. He’s not fully listening, only catching the occasional name and storyline. He wants to focus on every little detail and capture the moment before it slips away.
Gunwook finishes up his story with an exasperated sigh.
“Anyway, that’s how you learn to never trust Yujin with fragile items.”
“I can’t believe I missed it.” Matthew laments. “And his 22nd birthday. Last month, yeah?”
Gunwook nods. “You should be glad. That was even worse.”
Matthew laughs softly as they pass a young couple.
“Your own birthday is coming up, right?” Gunwook mentions, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Wow, almost a month exactly.” He turns the screen so Matthew can see the date.
“I’m surprised you remember.”
Gunwook flashes him a grin. “I would never forget.”
He pockets the phone.
“Turning…27, right?”
“Yeah.” Matthew smiles. “And you’re, what, 24 as of January?”
“You remember as well.”
“I would never forget.”
They turn past a small white gazebo surrounded by verdant bushes that sit flush with the structure. The tip of the roof kisses the golden dusted sky, piercing a stray cloud.
Once again he tries to focus on each feature, inking the picture in his mind.
Matthew wants to treasure everything.
He looks to his side.
An old feeling swells within him and Matthew notices something he hasn’t felt this vividly in a while.
He wants to treasure Gunwook and never let him go.
Matthew also observes something new.
He wants something more honest between them, specifically a truth to the things they were too scared to say aloud.
This clarity brings an odd confidence over him—something he wants to make use of before it disappears. Maybe Gunwook is still too scared to address it, but Matthew isn’t. He has to be candid.
“Actually.” They wind back around to the cherry blossom clearing. “I liked you too.”
Gunwook’s steps falter, but they don’t stop.
“Really?”
Matthew hums. “How could I not?”
“Oh.”
Walking back past the magnolia and canola flowers, neither of them say a word. He lets Gunwook process, think over the ‘what could’ve been’s. He gives the other time to say something more, but nothing comes out. So he continues.
“Don’t you want to ask me if I still do?”
A group of sitting birds flutter away as they get closer, but one stays, peering at the two of them. Gunwook clears his throat.
“Do you?”
“Of course.” Matthew states, matter-of-factly. “I could never stop loving you.”
His voice is calm, but his heart beat is powerful and fast inside. This could change everything, or it could change nothing. Matthew can take a flight back to Canada—attempt to put down his roots once more. At least he’s had this short time with the other. It may never be enough, but it’ll get him through.
Gunwook doesn’t falter this time, instead coming to a precise stop.
“I couldn’t either.” He admits. “Three years has done nothing to make my feelings for you go away. I don’t think they ever could.”
Matthew’s eyes widen. Now it’s his turn to be stunned.
“Oh.”
Gunwook’s tongue peeks out and he lifts a hand to Matthew’s face. “Can I?”
He watches the other for a second before rushing forward, and suddenly they’re both melting into each other. Their lips don’t collide, rather meeting as softly as two petals that refuse to part. The kiss is soft, holding back years of built up passion, but the small release left is still strong and fervent. They move in tandem, a soft dance between two intertwined flowers.
It feels like everything, and he sears it all into his brain.
Matthew pulls away only when a lack of air starts to burn his lungs with more pain than pleasure. They stare at each other, eyes wandering, mouths opening and closing, unsure of how to react.
Gunwook blinks his glassy eyes rapidly and pulls Matthew in for a hug.
“Please don’t leave.” He whispers, fingers gripping Matthew tighter.
“I’ll try.” He says again, because even if he’s found love in a place he thought it’d been lost, he hasn’t found his home.
Gunwook pulls away, but keeps his hands on Matthew’s shoulders.
Matthew looks at him again and realizes something else he’s missed.
Oh, how stupid he’s been.
“If you leave again, maybe you could go to Busan instead. Or Beijing, or maybe Tokyo. Stay close by, you know?” Gunwook rambles, eyes wandering anxiously.
The sun is still at that unsure height in the sky that could represent either sunrise or sunset. Matthew chooses to believe it’s the former, that this is the start of something new. He had been between Seoul and Vancouver, Vancouver and Seoul, trying to pick apart which one was his home. But it wasn’t the cities that were calling to him.
“Gunwook.” He interrupts, and the other pauses, scared of what he’ll say next.
The world looks brighter than it’s ever been now that Matthew finally understands. He feels anchored at last, at ease in the place that he belongs to.
Or rather, the person.
Gunwook.
His home.
Matthew breathes in and locks eyes with the other, certain in his next words.
“If I leave again,” He says. “It will be with you."