After an unexpected transfer in her career, a young singer is swept into a whirlwind of life-changing events surrounding new romance, intergenerational friendships, and the music that intertwines it all.
Inspired by true events.
(( COMPLETED )...
We took our time, exploring each other all over again, handling each other with care. He needed to be taken care of just as much as I did. Maybe even more.
"사랑해," I whispered in his ear. Hearing me speaking in Korean immediately pulled his lips from my neck and brought his eyes back to mine.
"I love you too, beautiful..."
We must have spent hours in that bed, completely losing track of all sense of time as we carried each other through wave after wave of ecstasy. I can still feel it all... His hot breath warming the plane of my stomach as he trailed his lips down towards my heat; and the way his fingers twisted into my hair while he rocked his hips into mine.
If there were ever a moment where nothing else mattered - this was it. It didn't matter what we'd been through, or what demons had been hiding in our pasts. What mattered was that despite it all, we were still here, still madly in love... still one.
We slipped into a restful slumber tangled in each other's arms that night. Exhausted from the long wedding day and all of the excitement, it didn't take long to drift off, with neither of us waking again until morning.
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Yoongi and I both grumbled and looked at each other with groggy eyes when we finally woke up. The sun was bright as ever and neither of us were ready to crawl out of bed.
"Nnnnnghhhh..." he groaned and tugged me into his arms for a bear hug, closing his eyes like he was going to just go back to sleep.
"Babe..." I giggled, "We have a plane to catch."
The flight was quite long - the longest I'd ever been on by far, but after nearly a twenty-four hour flight, plus a long layover, we finally arrived in Daegu, Yoongi's hometown in South Korea. We flew over with his family members who were traveling back from the wedding.
His grandparents insisted that we stay with them, but Yoongi and I opted to get a hotel room instead. That said, it didn't stop us from spending a lot of time at their house, having dish after dish of food placed in front of us. His relatives couldn't speak much English at all so Yoongi ended up doing most of the translating, with only his cousin occasionally contributing when she was around.
One night they took us out bar crawling, playing Korean drinking games as we stumbled down the street. Yoongi was a pro at it while I on the other hand had a harder time keeping up. I lost track of how many soju bottles I'd finished before I was hanging between Yoongi and his uncle, an arm draped over each of their shoulders as they helped me down the sidewalk to a bench.
"I've never seen you so drunk..." Yoongi laughed, "This isn't American drinking, babe. Maybe I should have started you off a bit lighter. Come on. Let's get you back to the hotel."
His halmeoni (grandmother) called the hotel room a handful of times, making sure she didn't need anyone to send over some soup for me, but Yoongi just took care of me himself, bringing me a cool towel for my forehead and picking up some ramyeon and tea for me from the lower level convenience store.
I'd never felt so well-cared for in my life. Each day, he showed me another part of his childhood, and introduced me to new foods and cultural things. He hesitated at first, but decided to take me across town to see the cafe where his family would always visit during their trips to Daegu. I could feel his palm sweating, so I traced his knuckles with my thumb, trying to comfort and center him. I reassured him that there was nothing to be worried about and that I wanted to see everything he wanted to show me; even the painful parts.
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I saw Yoongi's face turn paler than normal as he looked past me and stared at the wall. I set my tea down on the table between us and turned around to see what he was looking at.
Hanging on the wall was an elegantly designed poster with beautiful lettering. I couldn't read any of the Hangul but I saw a woman sitting at a grand piano, turned to the side with a familiar gummy smile on her lips.
Before turning around to look at him, I reached out for his hand and squeezed his fingers softly.
"Is that...?" I started as I turned just in time to see his dark eyes turn glossy.
He nodded and swallowed hard, "Yeah. That's my mom. It says that she's performing a Concerto Friday night..." I don't think he believed it himself. He almost couldn't say the words at all, but finally I heard his voice, almost as soft as a whisper as he uttered the realization out loud, "Faye, she came back to Korea..."
