#hurricane season is terrifying and i hate it but i also have some very vivid memories of sitting on my porch with my dad the times we stayed

[sophluorescentmusing]

2,104  Namsaek Sea Village, Choseungdal Region

The sun beats down mercilessly upon his back, as if it knows it’ll soon be shuttered behind walls of thick, grey, rolling storm clouds. Sweat plasters his shirt to his back and shoulders, it drips down his armpits and pools against his lower back. His work-gloves are smothering his hands and his boots are becoming so slick with sweat that he wonders if he’ll soon slip his way out of them and off the ladder.

At least this is the last of the windows they need to shutter in anticipation for the coming storm. Besides, Baekhyun’s doing harder work than he is—wrangling all of the cattle into the nearest storm dome available to their village. Or, if he’s finished with that, he’ll have made his way onto one of the neighboring farms to either prepare those evacuated farmhomes for the storm (so the evacuees have something to return to), or assist others who have stayed to weather it out with preparing their own land.

He’s more socially adept than Kyungsoo, after all.

As if on cue, the sound of the rumbling, rattling engine and cargo bed of Baekhyun’s farming truck reaches him. It’s faint, he’s probably still on the road that runs lower on the bluff, closer to the sea, but near enough that it won’t be long before Kyungsoo sees the faded, steel blue cab crest the road and come trucking over his way.

Kyungsoo resumes nailing another board across the window glass. The dull thudding of the hammer becomes as second nature as the sound of the breeze running through the dune weeds, or the sound of trees rustling, of distant dogs barking, perhaps even the seawaves crashing down to the shore. 

The truck should be coming into view now. 

Kyungsoo grabs another board up, begins nailing it down. It’ll be the last one, and then their home will be as adequately prepared for the hurricane as it can be. He doesn’t look over his shoulder, not even when he hears that storming engine turn off, nor when he hears the rusted door screech open and shut with a thud. He does laugh, though—giddy affection bringing a smile to his face. Baekhyun’s home. 

“She’s looking mighty fine,” Baekhyun singsongs, stealing an accent from one of the old American Westerns they found at a film shop in New Busan. “Is that the last window?”

Kyungsoo grunts something that sounds like affirmation and finishes pounding the last nail into the side of the house. He takes a moment to rest his hands on the top of the ladder, and then, starts to climb down (he was right, his feet are slipping in his boots). 

Baekhyun’s waiting on the porch. He’s got one of his arms pulled through the bottom of his t-shirt, exposing his side, and is just as similarly sweat stained and sunburned from the difficult work out in the fields. Just beyond him, the blue farm truck sports a load of essentials—like petrol cans, a tool box, and some sandbags for the sheds and storage areas down below their raised foundation. 

“How’re the neighbors?” Kyungsoo asks, finally making it onto solid ground. He begins folding up the ladder, but it’s Baekhyun who picks it up and turns it horizontal. Kyungsoo makes to hold the door for him. 

They finagle the ladder inside. Baekhyun sets it down on the kitchen floor lying flat. Later, when the power goes out—the solar panels shutting down to make the gridlines safe for those who come out to do repairs—one of them will end up tripping on the ladder, of this Kyungsoo has no doubt. He ought to prop it up somewhere else now, before the injuries of later, but he can’t bring himself to bother.