Chapter Text
They are in their thirties. It has been ten years since they tied the knot behind the plum blossom tree in their university courtyard. It was the best they can do in a country that denies the existence of their love. Just a plain red string tied to their fingers to seal their union, more of the symbolism than anything. Two years later, they gifted each other the wedding rings they finally had the funds to purchase.
Both rings feature a gleaming silver band carved with intricate patterns. On one shines an amethyst, cut into the shape of an octagon. Its vibrant purple is a reminder of the fields of lavender they used to play in as children, out in the countryside where their parents can’t find them. It was where they got stung by bees for the first time, where they picked flowers and gave them to each other, tied stalks around their fingers in lieu of rings.
The other silver band hosts a rounded moonstone so pale and ethereal that it seems to glow in the dark. It summons memories of the stars and the waning and waxing moon. Even when one served their mandatory military service and the other attended lectures on campus, they looked up at the same sky, the same stars, the same moon, and they thought of each other.
It was perfect at the time.
Everything was new. Buying a house to live in together, situated on a quiet street, with their own little front yard and a balcony on the second floor where they created a patio for lazy Sunday breakfasts. Adopting a lively cat who trotted down pavements when they take it out for walks, who played with their adopted puppy, the two animals tussling and romping about the living room. Going to work and making dinner for each other and meeting outside for drinks and a fun night out. Taking trips to Jeju and Busan whilst they saved for a longer one to Hong Kong.
They eventually took it three years ago, when the stars aligned, and their bank accounts wouldn’t weep after the required deductions. It was fun, taking the plane and crossing customs for the first time, walking down the street where everyone spoke a different language, scary but exciting. They bought many sweets and souvenirs, brought them home and distributed them to their friends and family.
They were two young souls navigating the world together since birth, gravitating towards each other as though they were a planet and its moon in orbit. But that was the problem. One was the planet. The other orbited around the other till it splintered, cracked, and shattered.
How did it come to this?
They were tired. Tired of reminding the other to wash the dishes in the basin. Tired of indulging the other in action movies while he prefers noir detective films. Tired of dancing around each other, walking on eggshells, afraid of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and waiting for him to explode.
Worry plagues them at night, with a hint of annoyance, disgust, anxiety, fear. Eye bags became common, and a silent fight ensues at night on who gets the larger share of the blanket. One used to give up, and one is used to the other giving up. But no longer.
All good things will run their course and come to an end. Some earlier than others.
*
This trip was booked five months ago. A holiday to the far reaches of Western Australia, a road trip going north from Perth and up to Shark Bay. It’s their third time on an overseas trip with just the two of them and not colleagues. A rare occurrence in their ten years of “marriage”, the last two times being short two-week trips to Japan and Malaysia.
It would be too expensive to cancel it now, even if their relationship is unravelling at the seams. The obvious solution would be to go together, in a dramatic final goodbye before taking their separate paths at this junction in life.
Till sits on a cushy seat at their boarding gate in Incheon airport, his thumbs flying over the buttons and joystick of his Nintendo Switch 2. It was a costly buy that Ivan didn’t approve of, but Till wanted it, because he wanted to play the Switch 2-exclusive games on it. Like Pokopia. Ivan isn’t a big fan of gaming. He wouldn’t understand.
Speaking of the devil, Ivan plops down on the seat next to him. He went hunting for a convenience store to pick up some candy. He gets motion sickness on planes, hence the need to suckle on something during taxi, takeoff, and landing. He opens the cap of the tube of M&Ms and pops one into his mouth.
“Gimme one,” Till says automatically.
“Get some yourself.”
Till does not get an M&M. Ivan doesn’t seem to care, staring out at the sea of people bustling about the shops: the group of Chinese tourists talking loudly as they pass, the trio of Westerners perusing power banks in an electronics shop, the lone woman in a sunhat browsing books in a bookshop.
Till doesn’t know when Ivan became so prickly. It was a trend, he supposes, from a few years back. It started with disillusioned expressions and rejection of his advances, citing exhaustion as his main reason. At first, Till thought it was a phase. Ivan would snap out of it eventually. But it persisted until it became a habit to stop asking him for things or favours.
“Passengers with seat numbers 30 to 50, please board the aircraft.”
The voice over the speaker is so fuzzy that Till almost misses it. They’ve really got to fix the audio system in this place. The message is repeated again in English, and Mandarin, and Japanese. People rise from their seats, carrying their haversacks and day packs, their suitcases and briefcases of all manner of shapes and sizes.
Till peers over at Ivan. “What’s our seat number?”
Ivan stands, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder by a single strap. He spares Till a glance, but it seems to carry more condescension than anything. “You’d know if you checked beforehand.”
Till bristles. So much for trying to start a conversation, to inject some sort of cordiality into their trip. They haven’t even stepped foot onto the plane and Ivan’s already acting like Till owes him the world. Besides, Ivan always knows their seat number. Why would Till bother and waste his energy if that’s the case?
Till follows Ivan, digging his crumpled boarding pass out of the deep pocket of his navy fleece jacket and unrolls the ball of glossy paper before reading it. Ah, 45B. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Just four syllables.
They scan their boarding passes and head down the gangway to the plane. Ivan strides ahead, not even glancing back to see if Till’s following. Till struggles to keep up, silently cursing Ivan’s long legs. He’s been walking at his own speed lately; he used to adjust his pace to match Till’s, because Till has shorter legs and would be jogging if he tried to keep up with Ivan.
The flight attendants greet them, and Till grabs the airline-issued earphones from a basket just outside the doorway. They are ushered down an aisle, towards their seats: 45A and 45B.
Ivan slips into the window seat with nary a word. Till opens his mouth to ask, but Ivan merely puts on his earphones and shoves the jack into the port. Till has been entertaining his antics up to this point, but Ivan’s moody dismissal of him is seriously pissing him off. Annoyance bubbles up in Till, but he’s determined not to sink to Ivan’s level. Fine, if he’s going to be like that, then Till will mind his own business too.
Thankfully, the third seat next to them remains empty. Till puts his phone on airplane mode and slots it into the pocket in the seat in front of him. He leans back against his seat, and he taps the screen to search for a movie to watch. There’s one he’s been meaning to watch the last few months, but Ivan never found the time to watch it with him. It’s a superhero movie about a boy with pyrokinetic abilities, who was chosen to join an organisation of superheroes so that his powers can serve the greater good instead of being used for evil. It’s not a novel premise by any means, but Till likes formulaic stuff, from blockbusters to B-movies that serve to scratch that itch.
“I’m going to watch Fyre,” Till says, prodding Ivan’s shoulder. “You wanna watch it too?”
Ivan shakes his head, turning so that he’s staring out the window. He’s listening to one of the plane’s album: a Chinese one by singer Jay Chou. Till’s never listened to his songs, only heard one or two that he can bop his head to, but nothing more than that. He prefers Korean and English songs, whilst Ivan always liked Japanese and Chinese tunes more.
Till eases back into his seat, starts up the movie, and he gets comfortable.
*
The flight takes approximately ten hours, from ten at night to eight in the morning. Till watches a grand total of two two-hour movies and sleeps the remaining six hours. A shake of his shoulder awakens him, as does the glare of sunlight through the window. The plane has landed—he must have completely slept through the pilot’s announcement of their arrival and the jolt of the landing. The aircraft taxies to gangway, whilst the metal corridor rolls into position on the tarmac.
The plane comes to a stop. The seatbelt light blinks off. The aisles become a bustle of activity as people reach for their bags in the overhead compartments, dragging out suitcases and haversacks. Till reaches for his small backpack stowed under the seat in front of him. Ivan is already prepared, his bag snug against his back.
They leave the plane, headed down the gangway and towards the airport. A rush of cool air greets them, whistling in through the small slits where the gangway connects to the plane. Airport workers greet them in a language that Till can hardly understand. They smile and wave, and he smiles and waves back, uttering greetings in Korean and bowing his head.
The signs are all in English, but at least the symbols are international. He reaches into his pocket, searching for his phone, when—
It’s gone.
Till pats his pockets, hurriedly grabs his bag and tears it open at the zipper. He rummages through his things, his jacket, his headphones, his passport, his umbrella, his boarding pass. But no phone.
He was sure he had it. He was posting on social media back at Incheon Airport. He definitely had it with him when he boarded the plane. He—
“What’s wrong?” Ivan asks, his voice expressionless.
“I lost my phone,” Till says, panic pitching his voice higher. “It was… I had it with me on the plane. Then when I came down…”
“You mean this one?” Ivan slips a phone from his pocket, the latest model of the Samsung Galaxy series. Till’s entire body sags, melting into a puddle, the fire of anxiety extinguishing.
“Oh my God, I thought I’d never see it again.” Till reaches for it, but Ivan holds it just out of his grasp.
Relief turns to irritation. What’s Ivan playing at now? What’s so difficult about handing over a phone?
“You left it behind on the plane,” Ivan says. “It was in the pocket in front of you.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I got it back, right, so it doesn’t matter.”
“You do this all the time. On the train, on the plane, on the ferry. You misplace your things and expect me to find them for you. And whenever I do, I never even get a word of thanks.”
“Okay, okay, fine. Thanks, okay? Don’t be so uptight about it. Now, give me my phone back.”
Ivan narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t sound sincere to me.”
Already, they’re attracting a crowd. Till shrinks at the gazes on them, from both Koreans and Australians alike. When Ivan puts it that way, he’s in the wrong, but Ivan really shouldn’t be creating a scene like that! Not in a foreign country.
Till lowers his gaze, scuffing his feet. “I’m sorry, and thanks. For finding my stuff for me all the time.”
Ivan seems to be satisfied, because he hands Till his phone back. Till snatches it, immediately checking to see if his data roaming is active, since he bought the e-SIM card just yesterday. It’s his first time using it, since his colleagues tout it to be more cost effective than a regular roaming package from SK Telecom.
Upon activating the e-SIM, his messages flow in. From his friends, notifications from his social media, from shopping apps screaming at him to buy their goods. Till is far too busy scrolling through his messages and snapping a shot to realise that Ivan has already walked ahead.
*
They find each other at the luggage conveyor belts after clearing customs. Till pants as he runs up to Ivan, his panic receding now that he sees a familiar face.
“You didn’t wait for me,” Till accuses.
“You were busy.”
“We’re in another country! I could have gotten lost, or… or… I don’t know. Kidnapped! I don’t even speak English!”
“I don’t speak as well as you think I do either.” Deadpan yet snarky at the same time. That’s what Ivan’s tone has become, and Till isn’t sure he likes that. Maybe they should have just cancelled those plane tickets and hotel bookings after all. They haven’t even stepped a foot out of the airport and it’s already turning into a disaster. He wonders whether Ivan would be black-hearted enough to abandon him in the wilderness, leave him to be at the mercy of the weird spiders and snakes of the outback.
“That’s not the point,” Till growls. Ivan deigns to answer, instead returning his gaze to the luggage belt as the colourful bags pass them by.
Till spots his bag—a beat-up suitcase decorated with stickers of places that they have been, from all over Korea, from Hong Kong, from Japan, from Malaysia. And he’s determined to get another one from Australia to add to his collection. He grabs it by the handle and drags it off the belt, the wheels smacking against the floor as Till’s arms lose strength at the last moment. He rolls it over to Ivan, who’s grabbed his black suitcase, identified by a white ribbon tied to its handle. It’s sleeker, less dirty than Till’s.
“Let’s go,” Till says. “We gotta call the car rental company.”
They step through the gates leading out into the wider Perth International Airport. The smell of coffee permeates the air, brewing from a café just outside. People huddle around telco stands, buy drinks from vending machines, and queue at rental car booths. English, Tamil, Mandarin, French, and various other languages fly about. Till marvels at the scale of internationality.
“What’s our rental car company again?” Till asks. It’s Ivan who booked the car, after all.
“It’s Ace,” Ivan says. Till remembers Ivan poring over the rental car sites, searching for the cheapest ones that serve their needs. They considered Alamo, Avis, Budget, Hertz, and more, but eventually, it’s Ivan who settled on Ace.
Ivan pulls his phone out and types the number in. He puts it to his ear. There is a moment of silence, before Till says, “I’m gonna go get a coffee. You want anything?”
Ivan shakes his head, and he makes a shooing gesture just as the line connects and he starts spouting a bunch of English that Till can’t hope to understand. Till meanders over to the café, leaving his suitcase with Ivan. He peruses the menu, recognises the words for Americano and Macchiato.
“Americano, one,” Till says, his pronunciation certainly very off.
The woman manning the counter spews out a string of English. Till stares at her, blinking confusedly. She wrings her hands, and she gestures to the register, at the number on it. The Americano costs six dollars. Till isn’t good enough at math to convert that to Korean won in his head to decide if it’s too expensive or not, so he just pays the six dollars. Ivan gave him a wad of cash before leaving, just in case he needs to buy something.
“Thank you,” the woman says, and Till grins in response. He is handed a buzzer, and he steps off to the side to wait for his coffee. Leaning against a wall, he notices a display case of pastries on the counter. Cinnamon rolls, chocolate croissants, lemon meringues. He should get something for the both of them, because it’s already nine a.m.—Korean time, of course; it’s eight a.m. in Perth—and they haven’t had anything to eat since dinner the night before at Incheon Airport.
It takes a second round of queueing, and the woman exclaims something about seeing him again. Till points to the pastries this time—a cinnamon roll for himself, and a chocolate croissant for Ivan. Ivan loves chocolate. He gets chocolate for everything: ice cream, dessert, and even coffee in the form of mocha. He chews on the sweet and crispy skin of his roll, the other paper bag held between his fingers as he moves to find Ivan.
Ivan watches him from the entrance, their two suitcases right next to him. He’s finished his phone call, it appears.
“Here,” Till says, holding up the bag with the chocolate croissant. “Have some breakfast.”
“Oh, thanks.” As listless as ever, but it’s better than Ivan ignoring him outright. Ivan takes the croissant from him, the paper rustling as it passes between their hands.
“So, where do we go now?”
“They’ll be sending a truck to pick us up. Turns out their office is a little far out from the airport. Look out for a truck with the word ‘Ace’ on it.”
And so, their adventure begins, in an unfamiliar land and a splintered relationship barely held together with string, duct tape, and sheer willpower.