Begin Again | Namkook

Begin Again

Seoul feels suffocating.

Its streets are lined with apprehension, regret, and unfulfilled promises strewn in golden wisps uttered exactly one year prior. It is the anniversary of Namjoon's latest novel — RM's novel — one with accolades rivalling those that writers could only ever dream of. Yet as he watches the sun sets in coral threads against a deepening sky with a crystal glass of champagne loose between the pads of his fingers, such success feels misplaced. His mind holds contracts at its forefront, the scrawl of his signature an assurance of more to follow, but as his eyes turn to a blank document before him, nothing has felt quite right. He has tried — endlessly — with eyes housing dark stains and crimson laced between his irises, but the pages remain blank and drafts are balled in tight fists as tears flow hot against his cheeks in a salty cascade that burns with each sob. His management is tired and his publishers grow frustrated as progress has stalled for a year, and Namjoon wonders if Seoul is perhaps the worst possible place to find the inspiration that he so desperately needs.

How can his work revolve around love? He thinks, sipping the last drop of wine that fizzles against his tongue as the sun finally dips below the horizon to its rest. How can his work revolve around love when it is the very thing he has never experienced? The one thing he has never sought after, as nights become the backdrop to the press of keys against a keyboard and days turn to editing mistakes with sleep-laced eyes and a coffee in hand. However, he has longed for nights with the presence of another, someone to press kisses against his lips as the moon cascades pale tendrils against their faces. He has longed for what he writes, love stories with endings as sweet as honey, as beautiful as the prettiest rose in a pristine garden, and as soft as the wisps of clouds that adorn spring skies. Each time he does, the world bows to his feet, falling in love with each character hand-crafted from parts of what he so desperately wishes for bound against leather spines and thin parchment. And perhaps it is the reason Seoul sparks little inspiration as all of what he has used has dried up such as the brown leaves that fall from weathered trees in late autumn, their prime having long gone and eventually succumbing to their fate to wither against the earth.

As wine takes its course in his veins, he finds himself booking a one-way ticket to the place that resides at the back of his mind when nights grow lonely and meetings turn commanding. The place where coffee replaces liquor, deep breaths replace dark circles that find rest under his eyes, and the weight feels that little lighter as the sea breeze gently nips a chill at his cheeks. It is simply better, no longer reliant on ways to meet deadlines as they find themselves barely as a thought, and his mind clears just enough for the words to begin to form and his passion once again ignites. It is perhaps a rash decision yet one he has been holding in his mind as months seem to merge into one and fatigue settles in lines against his forehead, and as the night is spent packing bare essentials into a small suitcase, the burden of his prose lessens.

He takes little items, a few t-shirts and shorts as what lies in the small cottage is all he had left last time in a promise to return. He had bought the run-down house a few years back as his debut novel exceeded expectations allowing him to fulfil all he had ever wanted, a house in a place to ease his thoughts; to escape to whenever the world rested against his shoulders and fatigue found its way into his bones. It is a place he calls home that overlooks the ocean on a small cliff, and after restoration, it houses just enough for Namjoon to remain comfortable. It is a far cry from his large apartment in Seoul, yet it holds more of his being than luxury ever could. It's safety, serenity, a sanctuary that only the salted air of the ocean could ever evoke, and it's all Namjoon longs for.

Seoul is suffocating and Namjoon finally has reason to breathe.

—

The train journey is quiet as his headphones rest within in ears and sleep comes and goes in soft waves. The times his eyes open, he reads, and when slumber consumes him, his dreams fall ever-sweet. It takes a little over four hours to reach the small village and settle into the cottage, quickly cleaning its surfaces before he fills a jug with water and places it in the fridge for later. He folds his clothes in the small drawers at the end of his bed and slides the suitcase beneath its frame before all but jumping beneath the covers.