In Only Seven Days (janiel)

Monday

Monday, the start of my holiday,
Freedom for just one week,
Feels good to get away...

In the morning, Jaeyeol usually doesn't take as long as he did today to get up.

Not that it's in any way voluntary. Work, to say it plainly, is time consuming and exhausting. Responsibility does, and will always, take precedence over his bodily necessities. Sleep can wait. Food can wait.

But as he opened his eyes that one Sunday morning, wearily rubbing them with the weight of a thousand years on his wrists, the disconnect finally succeeded to sway him.

As much as he's been told that work is of utmost importance—as much as he's been lectured, had the concept drilled into his head—he never managed to fully believe it. Hell, he's reaped the effects of his uninterrupted effort before, and he's understood his limits.

Everyone— Everyone , no matter how much they might deny—needs a break. And it just so happens that for the first time in months, he was able to clear enough time to take one.

It was at the kitchen table when he got the call from his secretary, as his butler served him a plate of—whatever it was, Jaeyeol didn't see.

"Good morning, Mr. Hong," they began, reading off their list. "I'm calling to inform you that I've successfully rescheduled your Friday meeting and week's appointments...You have a week free before you must return to your work on Monday. Have a nice break, sir."

"Thank you." Jaeyeol mutters to the person on the other side, sparing them the annoyance of overusing language. Listening to people talk is a pain. Why partake in the same activity he hates so much to withstand?

Although, it is a bit irritating that it took them this long to confirm...Tomorrow marks the beginning of his official vacation.

Upon finishing breakfast, Jaeyeol cleans up and hops on his laptop.

'I can buy a ticket to Daegu...or Busan. Maybe Busan. I haven't been in a while.' He scrolls through a clean, expensive sort of website, searching for a train leaving the next morning. It's too short of a notice to contact his friend, Jinsung, for a private jet, and he really would rather not talk to his father about using his...besides, trains aren't bad. Especially when riding in first class. He may have high standards, but he knows when to lower them to fit convenience.

Jaeyeol leaves his laptop open and wanders over to his dresser to pack his things.

'Clothes for seven days...extra clothes in case of trouble....toothbrush...socks, hair product, facial wash and care...' he counts, examining his selection pulled out of storage. Taking these things and carefully filing them into a suitcase, he sighs. Monday's tomorrow. Hopefully this trip will be relaxing. God knows he needs it.

***

Jaeyeol fits himself in his seat and gazes out the train window, tapping a satisfying rhythm against the glass of the window as the low, hungry humming of the train drowns out his complicated thoughts and anxieties of yesterday.

The serenity only lasts for so long, as his mind begins to wander towards the outside world. What's going on out there, anyway? He pulls out his phone and takes a quick look through his timelines and home pages of his social media pages.

There's not much, really. The president made a typo yesterday, some playboy idol's scandals and persona were proven to all be fake, and apparently, a new species of jellyfish was found in the depths of the Gulf of Mexico. Nothing useful or particularly interesting.

His friends haven't made much commotion either. His Instagran feed is usually pretty stocked with the going-ons of their lives. Well, whatever drought they might be going through, he hopes that it lasts. At least they won't be bugging him so often anymore.

A rumbling under his feet ensues, and a new song in his headphones begins in soothing tandem. Jaeyeol closes his eyes, mentally preparing for the trip ahead of him.

The last time he went to Busan was back in high school. It was only his first or second year, and he had been living along with his old butler that his father ordered to take care of him. Funny that he maintained such a control over his son yet never made an effort to love him.

That was the whole reason he went to Busan in the first place, right? It was spring break or something, and he had nowhere else to go. His parents didn't want to see him, and his siblings were off somewhere else, minding their lives.

Jaeyeol finds a smile twitching on his lips. At least now, he never has to talk to any of them. Independence is sweet, albeit painful.

He used to have dyed blond hair, and he never talked back then, back in high school. If he knows himself well, it was probably done as a sort of rebellion against his father, against rule, against authority. The school never exactly cared anyway: He was scolded once in the beginning of the semester for that, back when he was still just a taciturn kid with a hatred for circumstance.

'But it's not like that proved anything,' Jaeyeol recalls, amused. He was forced to dye it back eventually, once graduation day approached.

'Anyway,' He resigns himself to staring out the window, 'That was forever ago.'

As the ride continues, gurgling happily underneath him in a pleasant rhythm, Jaeyeol takes a sip of his orange juice and opens up his laptop. He's got a few hours before any movement is to be made.

***

After checking into his hotel, Jaeyeol turns towards the sun setting behind him and takes in a relieved breath of cold air, coughing as the freezing temperature stings his lungs.

It might be cold, but the chill is little compared to the happiness that forms within his soul. There's a little restaurant—more like a sort of tea shop, actually—that he used to go to as a kid. Well, maybe not this one in particular, but many like it.

Jaeyeol takes a seat in a chair near the entrance as he picks up his menu and scans the selections. These sort of places bring out little trays—a varied selection of sandwiches and finger foods and the like.

These sorts of places were his favorite as a child. Miniatures and delicate objects made of porcelain always fascinated him. They still do, in fact. How could a mere object be so precious?

The waiter arrives and Jaeyeol orders, whispering each word.

***

After dinner (whatever sort of dinner you could call the aforementioned finger foods), Jaeyeol winds up back in his hotel room, sighing as he runs water for a bath.

'The weather app says it'll be nice out tomorrow,' Jaeyeol recalls, strolling over to the glass pane that overlooked the beaches of Busan, in their glowing heat and iridescent expanses of water. It's just as beautiful as he remembers it, when he last paid a visit six years ago.

Glistening waters, flipping themselves into waves that fly in a roaring rage, yet crash silently against the sugar-white sands, plowing everything in their path before their infantry retreats and regroups back into the same glorious mass that it was ever since the beginning. He's always been in love with the beach.

There had been a time, back when he and his family were not yet the successful bunch they are now, when they lived in Incheon. There had been beaches there too—although not as remarkably stunning. As a child, he spent days of his life by the beaches. Water was like a second nature, and the gritty sand under his feet a constant reminder of the life that he breathed.

Such a sensation would most likely never be recreated. Nevertheless, Jaeyeol wants to attempt to bring it back anyway.

'Maybe tomorrow,' he resolves, glancing outside, his eyes lingering on the methodical patterns of the waves in motion. Something is coming. He can feel it. It's just a matter of time before he figures out what.

The bathwater running from inside the bathroom catches his mind. If it weren't for the fact he already began it, Jaeyeol might have forgotten the bath and gone down to the beach right then and there. There was something waiting for him down there, and he's dying to know what.