The plain glides down in a steap but steady motion. The waiting tires meet the restful runway with force. The wind and bounding of the missive vehicle disturbing the calm air outside, and the sleeping bugs whose homes lay deep below the track. The rumbling vibrations are commonplace and frequent around here, the airport well travelled.
You are drivin into a resting point, the motor stilling as its movements are replaced with the rushing of people. Bags are grabbed from over head, and passengers que to get off after a long, stressfully mind numbing journy. You wait, a sense of peace finding you as you loom upon the outside world, your new home, Korea.
As the chaos resides and your mind clears away the pleasent fog, you stand, taking your bag from above, and work your way out of the tunnel. It is a long way before you reach the open again. Glass windows and large rooms allowing for light and space to greet you in their open arms. You carry on, not stopping to marvel at the brilliant architecture but instead appreciating it as you move. You come to a stop at the conveyor belt for international luggage and stand there a few minutes. Your mind drifts off with the circulating of the bags, the simple satisfaction of perfect, repetitive motions.
As a person stands beside you, a little to close as the area crowds, you are drawn back to realise that your bag had been going in endless circles. Stepping forward, you grab it and pull it's heavy existance close to you before it can once again pass you by.
You extend the handle, and it rises like the sword being drawn from the stone, and pull the mighty weight behind you with ease. Wheels are a godsend.
You glance around in attempt to locate the exit and are initially unerved by the exessive presence of a foreign language sat upon all the signs. A language that you were going to have to get used to. You breath out to calm yourself, your shoulders rising high before the force leaves your chest, nose passing it along as your eyes flutter closed. You regain yourself and look for a door, or a sign that has the english word for exit and an arrow. You were going to worry about other things later and just conquer this step for now.
Your eyes roam around, drifing from english to korean, to person, to sign, to dog- ooo dog outside the window- back to english, and finally you see the word. Green and white and running man - the recognisable exit sign we all know and love. You walk towards it and are on your way to the big glass set of doors as your eyes land upon more english. An english sign. An english sign held by a man. An english sign saying, '(y/n)'. An english sign saying, '(y/n)' held by a man you did not know. Well you walked over anyhow, no real trouble or danger. I mean you were in an extremely public place that even had security gards scattered in such a frequent pattern that they may as well be decorations embedded in the architecture.
You walk up, meeting his eyes and smiling as you close the distance. You tilt your head, "um. I am (y/n). You are?"
He smiles and places the sign under his arm, pulling out a buisness card and bowing slighty as he spoke his name and company affiliation. His english was great and you smile as your mind makes the connection that Bacchantes must have sent him to pick you up and take you to your new abode.
"Nice to meet you," you return. You bow slightly before extending a hand to take his card. You were about to offer a handshake but decided to stop yourself.
"This way please," he says as his hand gestures towards those doors. He moves to take your luggage and you think, 'wow, so polite,' and thank him.
Outside the wind bites you and you shiver slightly, looking around as you wonder where to go next. Noticing your questioning gaze, the man leads you over to a big, deep green car in answer. Popping the boot as he places the bag inside. You wait for a moment but decide to open the back door yourself and glance in, stopping as you see the amount of space. Massive. Woah.
He asks you to enter so you do, sitting against the soft and bouncy material that melds to your shape. You nod in suprise at the satisfaction of comfort, the door being gently closed for you.
You blink, you were feeling really special. No one had treated you like this before, no one had need to. I mean, you guessed it was just in this guy's job discription, but boy was this some fine treatment.
He gets in and sits before the wheel, gently pushing the car into motion.
Off you went through the streets of Seoul. Big buildings, strange roads, many people, lots of intricacies, things that were unkown to you, to the world from which you came.
You ogle at the sights, at all you saw and all you wanted to see, and bearly mannage to stop yourself from bouncing and rocking back and forth in excitment.
You have a dumb, massive, grin on your face as the car progressed steadily. And then it stops and the grin falls. You wanted to keep going. But alas, the man comes around and opens your door. You step out onto the stone pavers and look around. You are in unfamiliar territory so you just stand like a lost goose, eyes wide as your head moves back and forth.
The man, who had gotten your bag as you stood in silent disorientation, coughs quietly to gain your attention. You smile as you turn to him, "yes?" you ask, not sure of anything really.
"This way," he says as he tilts his head to the side in indication. You just nod and follow. Walking with quick shuffles of your feet as your head stays straight, aligned with the man before you, but your eyes continue to wander.
He stops and you rear back inorder to prevent a collision. You both are standing in the enterence way to a building. You look at the roof above you, stone, and at the walls that lead to the dark wooden door before you wondering, 'uh, when did I step into an enterance way'. Well only a few moments ago actually, when you were to busy walking along besides buildings and glancing about to notice your own body turn and follow your guide into this cosy little corner.
He pulled a set of keys from his jacket and lifted them up to open the door. When it was swung open and you moved your head to the side to gain sight, your jaw dropped. To the floor.
You stepped inside with astonishment as the luxurious furnishings and open air, the delicate architecture and the beautiful setting, were all overriding the connective wires of your brain.
Oh, a connection made it through. Your mouth, still open, worked up and down like a chatterbox, "are you sure we have the right place. This is a bit nicer then what I was expecting". Ha, a bit, you were a broke asssss studient on a scholorship expecting three or like seven roommates in a dorm, not this life of elegance, opulance even. Would a scholorship even cover this? Like really?
Looking at your baffled face the man could only reply, "ah yes. The key did fit, did it not?" You recalled and could then only nod. I mean it did fit. But they could have also made a mistake with that. That was a posibility, probably not a very plausible one, but one none the less.
He let out a silent chuckle but soon regained his professional composure. It was quick, so quick that you didn't even notice the change.
"I will show you around," well seing as it sounds like he knows the place, he probably wasn't mistaken in bringing you here. But still. Fancy.
And it only grew more fancy as he led you from the enterence and lounge to the kitchen. And those overridden wires in your brain cause an explosion that leaves your thoughts destitute. What a beautiful kitchen. You were gonna cook so many cookies here. And it was big too, with an island bench and accompanying chairs, double fridge and two ovens. Two? Well more cookies the merrier I guess.
But as you fantisise about cookies and the wonderful, beautiful, marvellous kitchen, you think, 'ha, these rooms are so big. Where are the bedroom and bathroom, ah and laundry area?' You really wanted a washing machine because you didn't want to have to go out every time you needed to do a load of washing, and the machine wasn't in the kitchen so you were hoping it would be around somewhere. But then you wonder where that somewhere would be, cause you know, most of the space on this floor was taken by the rooms you had already explored plus the dining room that extends from the kitchen area- convenience. There seems to be only a small amount of space left, and now you were worrying about the small nature that the other necessary rooms may hold. And you pout, not wanting a tiny room that would only fit a bed. But then the bright side hits you smack bang in the face, 'who needs a big bedroom when you get this whole place to yourself? Hello, wake up and smell those daisies'. You had a point. You didn't need a big bedroom, that was only good for when you wanted to be away from others and relish in your own company, but here, it was all a place to relish in your own company. In a private space away from others. Heck, you could sleep on the couch if you wanted to.
Then you notice you are being looked at and decide to send a smile to signal the man to continue. You walk with him to the other side of the lounge, he grabs your luggage as you go and says, "now to the bedrooms and more private places".
Following him to a point just past the enterance, a little corridor you had not seen leads you to a staircase. A staircase? Two stories then.
Up the wooden panels that stretched, grew up into each other, you go. Up and up and up until you stop on a ledge that lands on the second floor. And then you notice that more steps lead further up into the building and you are left in a state of disbelief. This beautiful place has more to offer?
Your bag is left to stand by the rails as you continue inward. Entering into each room the main either flicks on the lights or draws the curtans open to let nature's lightbulb do its thing. And when it does, well lets just say the view below, of the bustling street, is one hell of a scene.
You are directed to a bathroom, neat tile patterns, full bath and cabinets, that is connected with a door to a laundry. Wahoo. And the laundry room itself is equiped with a washing machine, big troth, and bonus; a dryer. It also leads to an outside balcony and has a clothes line tucked into the corner for when you wanna dry your clothes naturaly and a nice day permits you so.
And we are walking. Out into a room with couches and a TV and space, among other things. 'Another lounge?' You question. And then pass it to a bedroom. It was at least as big as your one back home, probably bigger. And you are happy with the space. It held dark hues of gray, spaning from the walls to the bed linen and carpet. Contrasting white furniture to meet in a marvelous duochromatic colour scheme.
You go and sit upon the bed, "woah, what a nice room. I like it. Glad about that. I don't think I could sleep in a room that didn't agree with me," you expose. And down you flomp onto your back.
He tilts his head, "you are mistaken (y/n)". A light shake of his head sends his hair out of place, "This is not your room but instead one of the guest rooms".
You sit up, "only a guest room?" You question. Then hear what he said, "only one," you accentuate the one as your tone rises, "of the guest rooms?" He simply nods and leads you onto the next.
It equalled the first in size, located just down the corridor, and matched it in its well suiting design. Although this room was decked in blues, of various sorts, and lighter shades of purples.
You look around and merely hold a hand to your head, 'such a nice place. Were you really going to live here? What other surprises where there going to be?'
You had to ask, "it is only these two guest rooms, right".
He shook his head and you can only sigh. Why did you need so many rooms. You didn't know anyone here, and it just means you are going to have to do more cleaning. He leads you further down the corridor and into another room. This one was a tad smaller but still was spacious, bed, wardrobe and all. This one combined the colour schemes of the others, pastle blues and purples meeting dark greys in a melody of smooth connection.
You just glance around, deciding to save further observations of the remaining rooms for later. You were tired and as such asked to be lead to your bedroom. Up the stairs you walk. Well you would at least be getting exercise, though weren't sure if you would make it up here every night and would probably end up camping out on the couch quite frequently. And you are kinda glad that it wasn't you who was carrying your, by no means light, luggage. Though it didn't look like he was struggling; more like it was just a grocery bag full of bread, eggs and toilet paper being carried on a pleasant stroll home. He must be quite strong then.
He leads you to a single door in the middle of the space, pointing out that four smaller bedrooms are situated on either side of yours. You quickly do the maths, 'ah. That plus that equals that sooooo seven. Seven guest rooms?' You think. You rack your brain for why on earth you would need so many guest rooms. Well maybe this nice place just happened to have that many rooms and they just happened to chose it for you. Oh well, you could always make one of them into a study or art room or something.
Then he opens the room and in you follow. He places the bag gently down by a big(er than you need) wardrobe. But, you know, the big ass, crisp, clean wardroab at the side of the room is not what takes your attention. No, the furniture that takes the cake, and then smashes it into your face, fillings of shock and bewilderment seeping out into your features, is the bed. The mammoth, gigantic, huge bed that is in the middle of the room. What? Were they expecting you to starfish and quadruple in length as you slept? Did they think you some mystic creature capable of such a feet? Surely they must, otherwise what reason would they have to give you that massive thing. How did they even get in here?
To confused to try and even think you just leave your shock, shoving it under the bed, the monstrosity that it is, and simply turn. With a pleasent smile plastered on your face you thank the man for his efforts and aid.
He kindly tells you not to worry about it and hands you your keys. You both head downstairs, exchanging goodbyes as he leaves your wacky new home.
For a few moments you just stand there wondering what to do. You glance in the direction of the kitchen but decide you don't have the effort, and likely ingredients, to cook. Nor were you all that hungry. So you just head back up those endless steps and over to your room.
You approach the bed, unsure of how to enter, before just flinging the covers back. You wiggle in and lay along one edge, thinking you needn't take up all that space just because it was there. You aren't a greedy person.
You fling the hefty, soft, silky, covers back over and are almost suffocated as you lay there. Not having the effort to move again, you just let them take your breath away, waiting until you grow use to their impactful and sheltering weight. Eventually you not only grow accustomed, your breath evening, but also fond of the presure that the blankets provide. It was a comforting presure. A reasuring presence that grounded you in the vast expanse of the unkown, luring you lovingly into the night's lustrous sleep.
***
A/N
These chapters are getting to be way longer then my first ones 😮🤔 also I think they are less discriptive? Or like less weirdly discriptive? Idk, they feel different to me.
🖤💜🎩