#mystical forest with fog and that beautiful cottage!

[happyheidi]

(via)

#mystical forest with fog and that beautiful cottage! #cottagecore #nature #naturecore #cottage #cabin #cabincore #forest #forestcore #mythical #mystical #goblincore #overgrown

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: The Cottage

CS AU: The Cottage

A/N: This is a I’m-sick-in-bed drabble that was inspired by this post from @write-it-motherfuckers. Will there be more to this? Maybe. Possibly. I’ve got some ideas. But who knows.

Unrated for now… we’ll see where it goes / ~1300 words 

~/~

The people in the village thought her insane for purchasing the cottage; not that they didn’t already think her insane. She’d always been one step off of the norm, keeping to herself for the most part and seeing the world through a lens no one else seemed to interested in viewing. A lens that let her see the cottage in a way that, perhaps, none other ever had before. Situated right on the edge of the forest, the quaint little cottage had been empty for quite some time, and for good reason.

No one dared go near the forest.

Everyone knew of the dark creatures that were rumored to lurk there, the mystical elements that cast a foreboding veil over every cluster of trees, every sweeping branch and quivering leaf. The forest was quiet in the way fear was quiet. A silence one felt in their bones as it thundered in their ears from the pounding of their heart. Entering the forest was something even the brave dared not boast of. No one in the village had ever set foot beyond the tree line, nor had she, but the forest had never affected her as it had the other villagers.

To Emma Swan, the quiet of the forest wasn’t that of fear, but of tranquility. She felt no foreboding in the way the trees swayed even on windless days, or the shrouds of fog that collected along its floor. In the swirls of mist she saw the beauty of refracted sunlight as it streamed through the canopy above, in the same way she found intrigue in the chitters and snaps that sounded from its depths, though no animal had ever made itself known.

Emma was fascinated by the forest, always had been, but had never set foot across its border. She had enough prejudice against her from the village as it was, and the pull of the pines and sweet berries she could make out from the boundary line wasn’t enough to warrant more consternation from her neighbors.

The cottage was, though.

Abandoned homes weren’t unusual in their village. People took any opportunity they could to leave the area, even if that opportunity required that they do so at a moment’s notice. Not all vacancies were due to the promise of better, brighter futures, though. Some folks simply… vanished. Like those who had once inhabited the cottage.

It had taken Emma years to save up the funds required to purchase the cottage from the village elders; even if it was priced far below its value, given its location. They had tried to dissuade her, and at one point she’d feared they would flat refuse to sell the property to her, or to anyone else. Asking for a night to consider her proposal, she’d spent those long hours in the gardens of the cottage, wishing and hoping for the council’s approval. Envisioning what she would make of the home if she was granted the honor of becoming its newest owner. Not that such a place could ever be owned, not truly. The cottage might fall under the purview of the village borders, but Emma knew, could sense the truth.

The cottage belonged to the forest.

During those long hours, she hadn’t simply cast her dreams to the fates, she’d been petitioning the true powers behind the cottage’s proprietorship. Any one passing by would have thought her a crazy person for the way she’d rambled aloud with all her plans for the property, to say nothing of her madness for being so close to the forest at night. Her enthusiasm over the hopeful possibilities her words wove through the atmosphere around her had remained even as her eyes and body became heavy with fatigue. Knowing she hadn’t had the energy to trek back to her lodgings within the village proper, Emma had nestled herself onto the moss covered stone bench, located within the back gardens with a perfect view of the forest beyond the garden archway.

Waking the next morning had been a startling experience. Not because she’d woken up in the garden, and realized she’d spent the whole of the night just yards away from the archway that connected the cottage to the forest, but because… she hadn’t. The dingy walls of her hovel had loomed oppressively around her as she attempted to blink away the fog of sleep in order to recall how she’d gotten there. Pulling back her threadbare covers had revealed a layer of warmth, provided by a magnificent coat of black leather, embroidered with fine heavy thread and other embellishments, the likes of which she’d never seen before.

A note was found tucked away in one of the red leather trimmed pockets, which simply read:

You should take greater care, love. The forest can carry quite a chill at night. Something you’ll have to mind if you are to be our neighbor.

There was no name to accompany the elegantly scrolled message. No way of knowing who the coat belonged to, and who it was that had carried her back to her bed. No. They couldn’t have carried her all that way. It was much too far. Surely, she had been brought by cart or mule? When she held up the fine leather to examine its craftsmanship more closely, the scent of its unique signature filled her sinuses and brought forth a faint memory from the night before. A memory of strong arms cradling her against a hard chest. The contradiction of pine and salt, sea and earth, with notes of leather and masculinity all wrapped her in a blanket of security as a steady gait rocked her back into oblivion. A sharp knock at her door pulled Emma from her memory. Another message was delivered into her hands with the news she’d hoped and prayed for.

The cottage was hers.

No assistance had been offered in transporting her belongings, not that she had many, but it hadn’t mattered. Emma’s jubilation had made light work of the toil, and once the key had turned in the lock, and the front door swung wide for the first time in decades, any sense of lack she may have felt was quickly dismissed by the impossible wealth of possessions that greeted her.

Emma stood just outside the threshold of her new home, slack jawed with wide eyes at the sight before her. Furnishings of stunning quality, with no evidence of any decay from the passage of time they had to have endured, filled the cottage. Lush carpets covered the stone floors. A comfortable settee sat in front of the fireplace, flanked by chairs upholstered in the same soft yet sturdy fabric. Not a speck of dust could be seen, not a piece of debris or corner cobweb defaced the property. Despite the distinct lack of staleness in the air, Emma wasted no time throwing open the large windows at the back of the house and swinging the back door as wide as the front to allow the breeze from the forest entrance.

Each room offered new gifts. Items of fine quality and craftsmanship without being ill placed in the quiet humility of the cottage decorated every corner of her home. Emma couldn’t help but laugh and spin about in her excitement, a smile she’d only ever worn in correlation with the cottage adorned her lips before she caught the lower one between her teeth.

Who could have done this?

A gust swept through from the back of the house, forcing a previously overlooked folded piece of parchment from the mantle. It fluttered on the swirling breeze before falling open when it came to rest on the floor in front of the hearth. Emma could see the same elegant scrawl that had penned the previous note flowed upon it. With trembling hands, whether from the adrenaline of excitement or something else, she couldn’t say, she lifted the missive from the floor.

I felt a housewarming gift was in order. I hope you find everything to your liking, but if not, please feel free to place whatever might displease you on the bench in the back gardens, and it shall be removed from the premise for you.

Welcome home, love. I hope you’ll be happy here.

A word of advice, though… Best to not enter the forest through the archway, or stray too close to it at night.

Affectionately,

Your New Neighbor

Ch 2 - The Archway

#cs ff #cs fic #cs au #cs drabble #cs prompt #captain swan #myster #intrigue #supernatural forces #maybe #the cottage #words by hollye

[tallyrunning]

The Huntsman and His Swan

Once upon a time, there was a young huntsman.

He lived with his old mother in a little cottage by a hill near a forest.

One day, he set out to hunt a swan for the young prince of his kingdom for there was going to be a ball that evening and the prince wished to have a roasted swan for his guests to eat.

So the huntsman went out into the forest, with his shotgun slung around his shoulder and his thick woollen coat on his back, for it was a chilly autumn morning.

Dry leaves crunched beneath his heavy boots and the air smelled of earth and pine cones. He breathed it in deeply, letting it fill his lungs and then exhaled in a puff of white clouds.

He knew, that most swans were gone, leaving their homes behind and had flown to warmer places to spend the winter. They wouldn't return until the warmer weather of spring.

But, he also knew that there was a little lake, deep in the forest, hidden behind thick bushes, where a colony of swans resided throughout the whole year, seemingly unfazed by the colder temperatures, the autumn winds, snow, and ice.

And that was where he was headed.

As the huntsman walked, his eyes peeled for the thick brush, the sunlight beamed down onto the frosted path and brought the huntsman's attention to the suddenly thickening fog.

The bushes ahead, off the path, sparkled with an eerie ice, perfectly undisturbed. The only thing in sight in the denser-growing fog, the blue-green bushes drew the huntsman off the path, as if by some bewtiching call.

Quietly, the huntsman crept through them.

There they were, the swans, majestic, floating on the stillest lake the huntsman had ever seen. The water did not so much as ripple, and there was a stillness in the air that made it feel as though time itself had halted, just here.

The huntsman raised his shotgun and took aim at the nearest bird. He fired and hit. Swiftly and simply.

The air remained still, but the other birds scattered in surprise as the huntsman leapt out of the bushes and sloshed through the lake waters to retrieve his prize. As he touched the bird, beaming with pride, a bright light from above the lake suddenly shone down onto him.

"You have slain a pure bird of my lake, ripped a piece of my heart from the waters," a booming voice called. "I have sacrificed what is sacred, and so you must. You have destroyed a symbol of my devotion, a keeper of this timeless pond, and so will be destroyed your ability to love."

Clutching his swan, the huntsman felt a chill encase him, and the water below his knees rippled as the bright light dimmed and the fog around the lake dissipated. He knew he had made a grave mistake, for he now carried a curse - the worst of curses' kinds.

He did not tell his mother of the lake or his bane. And yet his day seemed to go on just the same. His partial taste to his mother's sweet cakes and his admiration of the colours of the forest wavered none. His hands remained patient as he helped his old mother bundle the swan. 'What,' he thought, 'does it mean to not love?'

Afternoon came, and when the pale sun reached its peak in the sky, the huntsman set off from the cottage in which he and his mother lived. He slung his pack over his shoulder, the pack bulging from the bundled swan, and he slipped a kerchief into his coat pocket.

The prince's castle was just abroad the town, sat up on a hill. The huntsman carried his prize with equal pride and disquiet. 'The evil do not love.' He recalled his mother's words, back from when he listened to her folk stories as a young child. 'If I cannot love, then my evil could harm the prince,' he thought, halting in his tracks just halfway up the castle hill.

But the huntsman would never harm the prince. He happily followed the prince’s royal orders. He was proud to work to bring food to the table. He was good to his old mother, caring for her as her age slowed her. He admired the beauty of the country.

None of this had changed since the huntsman had been cursed. He chose to devote himself to others, to be good, to love. But if he could not feel it, and yet he was still good (and not evil), then had he never felt love at all?

Hollow resonating bells chimed for two hours past midday. A carriage bumped the huntsman's pack as it rattled along next to him, up the hill, and the huntsman was startled out of his thoughts. He began to climb the hill again, clutching his pack.

The huntsman received twenty gold pieces for his troubles, one of which he handed to the beggar at the town outskirts. As he handed the coin over to him, the old beggar clapped his shoulder and beamed a wide smile.

"You have shown great piety, young lad," he said in a raspy voice. "You must hold a lot of love in your heart."

The huntsman stiffened, his thoughts changing again to the timeless lake of swans. He shook his head. "My ability to love was destroyed," he said.

The old beggar's eyes twinkled and he smiled a knowing smile. "An unbroken heart does not a saint make," he said, before ambling away down a nearby alleyway.

And so the huntsman returned to his mother in their warm cottage by the forest, and the prince enjoyed a wonderful ball with a heavenly roasted swan.

The huntsman never again found the thick blue-green bushes that led to the enchanted swan lake. Cursed also he was; he never felt love again.

But, the people of the country and the huntsman carried on.

The End.

I was inspired to write this piece in response to a contest prompt where we had to continue the classic tale of Swan Lake with our own spin on things.

Swans are common symbols of love, and killing one in this story became symbolic of killing love. This became a piece of flash fiction with a focus on nonamory.

What I wanted to show was that feelings are separate from actions. Agency can trump emotion, and can trump love. It is your choosing to be good that makes you good, not some mystical universal capacity to be in a loving exclusive relationship. Many nonamorous folks struggle with dehumanization, and I wanted to show that nonamorous people can still be kind individuals, worthy just by existing.

#writing #fiction #nonamorous #aromantic #folklore #swan lake #fairy tale #folk tale #contest prompt #writer #original #non amorous #aro #love #curse #flash fiction

[thedefinitionofbts]

Autumn: My Old Story

↳ 나의 옛날이야기

Part of “Tell me of an Eternity” { Autumn | Winter | Spring | Summer }

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Werewolf!Jungkook

Words: 9.5K

Description: Tonight, tomorrow night, and the night after, he’ll wait for you forever.

The faint crackle of the fireplace is the only sound drifting afloat the peaceful atmosphere of the taciturn room, flames emanating from the pile of logs mesmerizing the gazes of all those gathered around, growing and fading like the waxing and waning of ocean tides pulled by the moon.  

Sitting on a rocking chair in the comfort of the old-fashioned living room, in the familiar company of your grandchildren, you bask in the calming ambiance of the night, a tranquility numbing enough to lull you into unadulterated slumber. But the bold voice of a small child pulls you away from your oncoming doze.  

“Grandmama, tell us a story” Your young granddaughter eagerly requests, tugging at the hem of your blouse. Her clear doe-eyes were dripping with enthusiasm as she peers at you gingerly, waiting for the response she hopes to receive.

You smile down endearingly at the youthfully innocent child, brushing her silky hair tenderly with your trembling hand. “Oh alright, I guess I do have one interesting story that has yet been told.”

It’s a story you should have forgotten long ago, one that is tucked away in the deepest layer of your vanishing memory. But there was something about the way the moonlight was elegantly flowing through the glassy panes of the open window that makes you take a deep, sedative breath, reminding you of something that had long been lost to time and this mysterious universe. Shifting your gaze toward the direction facing the dark forest outside, trees densely packed only a few meters away from the quaint little cottage, you nostalgically begin recalling the age-old tale.

“I was young like you when I moved to the forest covered oceanside…”

…

  “Honey, come help me with the boxes!” You hear the sound of your mom call from upstairs. Quickly dropping the roll of tape you were playing with, you scramble to your feet and run to her aid.  

It was one of your earliest memories. The time when your small family of 3 had just moved to a new house, one that was built by your father who was an expert carpenter and had always fantasized of living in a house built with his own hard fought labor. It was a relatively isolated villa, located where no other homes could be seen from miles around, facing the vast blue sea on one side and nested beside an endless forest on the other.

“Mom, I want my room to be painted pastel blue” You request, after helping your mother unpack until the sun was beginning to set below the horizon in the distance, leaving the colorful gradient in the sky to appear as if it was pulled straight out of a painting.

“We’ll get your father to do that.” She replies, smiling proudly down at you and satisfyingly around at the furniture and decorations you had just helped her set up.

At the time you didn’t know why your mother was so adamant about moving away from the life she had always known, but you suspected it was because she had grown tired of living the fast-paced life of the ever-changing city and wanted to settle down in a more peaceful place where she could paint to her heart’s content. As an aspiring artist, surrounding herself with picturesque natural scenery was a way she believed would allow her to reach her artistic potential, and there was no doubt in your mind that everything inspirational around your new home will eventually be captured splendidly on canvas.

You loved your mother’s paintings because they always revolved around landscape imagery, utilizing it as a metaphor for the mind and psychological states of being. Her art conveyed emotions that your age at the time barred you from understanding wholly; nevertheless you still thought they were beautiful. 

“Mom, what are you making for dinner?” You inquire just as your stomach makes a grumbling noise, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since lunch on the drive over, and you were too busy up until now to snack on anything.

“Something very special to celebrate the start of our new lives.” She announces, as you follow her down the stairs, hoping down each step of the staircase in buoyant delight.

Sitting by the windowsill as your mother prepares dinner, you turn your attention to the gradually elongating shadows cast by the trees in the woods, initially not noticing anything particularly strange. The sun was no more than a dwindling glow in the distance just as the darkness was beginning to saturate the foreign land in serene waves of haze. But upon squinting your eyes and making a closer observation you think you can see the figure of a small child, half hidden behind a tree in the distance. You don’t ponder over it initially, thinking it must just be your imagination combined with the exhaustion associated with unpacking for the last 5 hours.

“Honey, dinner’s ready”

You snap back into reality at the ballad of your mother’s sweet voice, blinking a few times before answering her with a response that you’ll be right over. The delicious smells wafting over from the kitchen were enough to take your mind off of whatever imaginary realm you were getting lost in. Taking one more look back at the very spot you were staring at through the window, you see that there is, in fact, nothing there.  

  …

  But your curiosity eventually gets the better of you the very next day.

The forest behind your new home is both spellbindingly enchanting and grippingly terrifying, with the first light of dawn gradually illuminating the dewy vegetation. The morning air was crisp and clean, temperature typical for those of transitioning autumn days. You can see the faint fog of your warm breath lingering in the still air as you breathe out. The crackle of dried leaves and the snapping of brittle twigs beneath your feet was becoming more apparent with each step you took into the woods.

With anticipation mixed with notes of apprehension churning in the core of your stomach, you aren’t quite sure of what exactly you were hoping to discover. The vastness of the unacquainted area was more than intimidating, but the fact that its beauty and mystic had lain untouched was enough to draw your undivided attention.

Enthralled by the bright colors of the fallen leaves, the flowering spikes of pinecones large and small, and the blinding sunlight filtering through the splayed out arbors of half empty branches, the warm hues of the evanescent scenery leaves you with the tranquil remnants of the summer than had just passed. You’re almost able to find peace between the growing excitement and faint hint of unease, but that finely tuned balance doesn’t last long before you hear the sound of someone moving behind a bush eerily near the place you were standing. 

“Hello?” You call out, whipping your head around to the source of the sudden noise, you can feel your heartbeat gaining momentum and rising to your throat. “Is anybody there?” 

And that’s when you see him, a little boy who looked to be about your age.

His face looks too flawless to be natural, skin smooth and silky with ethereal eyes large and gleaming like that of a majestic doe. You can’t quite read the expression conveyed by his face. It was a mix between curiosity, interest, and some emotion that seemed non-human, but not exactly artificial in any way. Oddly enough, you get the feeling that he was glad to see to you; maybe it was the slight upturn of his lip or the delicate tilting of his head to the side, but you don’t get hit with the fight or flight response that your peripheral nervous system would normally give.   

“W-who are you?” You manage to voice, albeit shakily, but the boy did not seem threatening, and you pray that your instincts are not wrong by telling you to stay and not make a run for it while you still had the chance to.

He doesn’t respond right away, opening his mouth and closing it like he wasn’t sure how to make out the words. Did he know how to speak? You wonder, but just as you were just about to ask, he clumsily voices the syllables that kept getting caught in his throat.

“J-jung…k-kook” He stutters, as if he had to search for the right response because he wasn’t sure of his own name.

“Are you lost? Do you live here?” The questions proceed to tumble out of your lips before you’re able to catch them.

He looks at you, tilting his head again, but to the other side this time.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer those. I realize we’re both still strangers.” You apologize, scratching the back of your neck and flashing him a timid smile. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Jungkook.”

At the sound of his own name formed with the tenor of your voice, he smiles, large eyes now crinkled at the edges and nose slightly scrunched into a small nub.

“Y-Y/N” He repeats, smiling again as he hears his own voice call out the syllables that had just originated from your mouth and drifted over to his eardrum.

You eventually learn that Jungkook cannot speak, or at least not the language that you are able to. Who he is and what he is, is completely shrouded in mystery, but the fact that he’s a lone boy out in the wilderness leads you to believe that he may in fact not be human. And you convince yourself that the only way you can learn more about him is if you teach him to communicate with you in your tongue or at least in a way that you can understand.

At the tender age of eight, you were far from experienced at teaching languages. You had attended a public elementary school in the suburbs of the city you were born in up until you moved, and now being home schooled by your artist mother, you gather all the knowledge you’ve acquired up until now and attempt to transfer it onto Jungkook. A feat that is easier said than done. 

Surprisingly, it was a relatively natural process, akin to how children from various countries pick up languages just by being thrown in the right environment. Nevertheless, it was almost hopelessly frustrating in the beginning stages because even the most basic form of communication was as daunting as an arduous journey.

“Age” You repeat slowly, enunciating the short word as clearly as you can.

He stares at the movement of your mouth, eyes softly widening and drooping as he attempts to interpret the meaning conveyed by the word. Parting his lips, he begins to form a response.

“T-time” He murmurs, eyes landing on yours, pleading for confirmation. You slowly nod back, thinking that it’s not exactly what you were looking for, but the two were somewhat relevant, right?

“Your time” You say, hoping to inch him towards the right direction.

“84 moons” He says, glancing up at the sky and then back at you.

“84…” You voice, wondering whether he was referring to days, months or years. “Days? Months? Years?” You inquire, before realizing you’re probably getting ahead of yourself again. It was unlikely to be days or years, but then again, you wouldn’t be surprised if the measurement system for creatures like him were completely different from the mundane ones you as a human were familiar with. 

He does nothing other than tilt his head to the side once again, causing you to let out a weary sigh. This was going to be much harder than you had predicted. 

The seemingly impossible task of teaching Jungkook how to communicate with you is made more promising when you realize how quickly he is able to absorb new information, his memory was almost unmatched by anyone you had ever met before. He is able to retain knowledge in unprecedented amounts, piecing together relevant material and separating them in accordance to application. You also find out that he has a real talent for expression through various art forms such as shapes and abstract drawings.

As an experiment out of pure curiosity, you make it a mission to sneak some of you mother’s art supplies and used canvases to see if Jungkook wanted to learn how to paint. Astonishingly the word “learn” would not even come close to describe what he actually did.

“Light” He says, showing you the finished piece of night contrasting with day. You are absolutely amazed at how professional the painting looked, almost vaguely reminiscent of your mother’s own paintings but conveyed more of a spiritual emotion that you found difficult to pinpoint.

“The sun?” You inquire, reaching out to touch the yellow circle bursting with dazzlingly radiant rays, placed high above the dark green forest canopy.  

“Moon” He says again, pointing at the other sphere reflecting against the dark ocean waves on the other half of the picture.

“Full moon?” You trace the rounded edges. You assume he’s trying to tell you something he does not have the words for, but your meekly young mind was unable to comprehend such complexities at the time.

  …

  With the winter soon approaching, you quickly become aware that his cloth covered lower body is not going to be warm enough to protect him against the piercing winds and frozen nights of the cold season. You wonder if supernatural beings like him ever get cold or if they don’t feel the same sensations human do. Whatever the case, you figure it can’t hurt to provide him with more clothing options.

Telling your parents that you were growing to like oversized male clothing that was both comfortable and casual was not exactly a walk in the park, but luckily they didn’t think too much of it, not even bothering to question your changing tastes and most likely figuring it was part of the natural process of growing up. 

So that’s how you end up dressing Jungkook, for the next few years in fact.

He was growing quickly, body maturing and muscles becoming more and more defined with each pass of the season. His chiseled features made him look both more human and more supernatural simultaneously. His previously dark irises were lightening to a greyish blue hue and his pitch-black hair was transforming into more of a chestnut brown shade. Before you knew it, it was already the seventh winter that you had spent with him.

“Y/N!” You hear the familiar husky voice call from behind. Turning around you’re hit flat in the face with an oncoming snowball, it’s fluffy ice crystals bursting upon impact and falling back into the severed pieces it was originally composed of.

“Jungkook!” You shout frustrated while scrambling to get him back for that sneak attack. Quickly bending over, you gather a sufficient amount of the freshly fallen snow and squeeze the substance tightly into a ball. Smirking and standing back up, you’re eyes dart around to see where he had run off.

Nothing but the untouched white expanse can be seen, the icicles hanging down from the frozen branches are stationary, and not even the chilly breeze can force them to sway.

“Jungkook?” You call out, voice echoing in the emptiness as the seeds of panic beginning to sow.

A momentary pause, and then a pair of sturdy arms wrapping around you body, locking you in an embrace that forces you to drop the snowball clasped in your hand.

“Miss me?” You hear the comforting voice whisper in your ear, warmth from the lean figure back hugging you tightly, searing through the thick cloth of the matching coats dividing both of your connected bodies.

You let out a defeated smile. “This is so unfair.” You whine. “Why can’t you just let me get you back one time?”

He chuckles, vibrations cast as a low rumble that emanates from his throat.

“Ok, I’m all yours.” He says, opening his arms and stepping in front of you.

You grin at him mischievously, pretending to bend down and make another snowball, making sure the crunching sound of squeezed snow can be heard. You glance back up to see that his eyes are closed as he waits for the pending hit of semi-solid ice, but before he has a chance to ask what’s taking you so long, your tender lips are already connected to his. Even in the frigid air, his skin remains scorching hot, a good couple of degrees higher than your own. It was like a full taste of the burning summer sun in the middle of a winter storm, analogous to a cup of hot chocolate just warm enough to sip but not swallow in large gulps.

Jungkook’s eyes flutter open in disbelief, not registering how an oncoming snowball was replaced by the tender touch of gentle lips, moistened from the natural oils of your homemade lip balm. But the second of shock does not last long because you begin to wrap your arms around his neck, parting your lips to instigate a deeper kiss in which Jungkook more than gladly accepts, moving his own lips in rhythmic sync with yours, passionately and hungrily. He’s so caught up in the moment, kissing you into oblivion, that he forgets to pause and allow you to breathe.

“Woah” You gasp, pulling away to catch your breath. “Human remember?” You grin, nudging him in the shoulder.

“Oh, right” He breathes, scratching the back of his neck as a rosy tint blossoms on his cheeks.

You recall the first time you saw Jungkook transform exactly four years ago. It was a crisp winter day similar to today, only it was late in the evening and the mystical full moon had replaced the glittering sun. You had snuck out of your house when both of your parents had fallen asleep, wondering why Jungkook kept insisting there was something he wanted to tell you but could only do so under a clear starry expanse.

It was that day you found out what he was, finally getting the answer you needed for the unwavering confirmation that he was indeed not of your world. His silky body of fur reflecting the luminescence of the imposingly circular moon would have been terrifying had it not been his pleading eyes that begged for you to not leave him.

Jungkook was a werewolf, unlike any that you have heard from made-up stories or seen in fictitious movies. His revelation explained the source of his superhuman strength and intelligence, as well as his innate gift for an art of expression that was not fully comprehendible by beings in the realm of the mortal. He was the spirit of the forest, obligated to watch over the area for an eternity.

  …

  Along with the unending changing of seasons, and the aging of your naturally limited lifespan, you know your years of being together with Jungkook were slowly reaching expiration. In just three years you would be heading off to college, leaving the forest-lined ocean side that you grew to love so sincerely. Three years sounded like a long time, but once you realize that it’s less than half of the period that has already passed between you and Jungkook, you aren’t as accepting of its unfulfilling form of consolation.

“What happens if you leave the forest?” You inquire one particularly frigid winter morning. You were taking a walk with Jungkook, admiring the rolling hills encased by smooth ivory sheets, the sunlight casting strips of chromatic aberrations onto its untouched surface.

“I can’t.” He replies simply, stopping in his tracks to stare at the large snowflakes that are beginning to fall from the sky.

“Will you like disappear or something?” You proceed to prod, making your way to his side and examining his side profile as he basks in the daylight, breath foggy in the cold air.

“I’m supposed to return to my home one day.”

Your eyes widen as your own breath hitches in your throat.

“Why? When is that? And where?” The questions were pouring out again, an intrinsic habit of yours that you’ve had since you were young.

Jungkook turns to look at you, eyes as glassy as the gemstones floating in midair.

“Whenever I choose to. And it’s somewhere very far away, I’m not sure if I can explain it with words.” He scratches his head innocently. “I can draw a picture of it.” He offers.

You smile. “No, that’s ok, I probably won’t be able to interpret it anyways.”

He tilts his head. “You sure?”

“Yeah”

The sun was still shining high in the cerulean atmosphere, making the sparkling rainbow crystals look like airborne diamonds. You continue to walk along side Jungkook, gripping his hand tightly in between yours. Even though your hand was much smaller than his, you had gotten used to the way they seemed to fit perfectly in their own way, despite the mismatch in size.

“So if you return to your…home, will you ever come back here?” You ask after a long period of comfortable silence had passed between the lengthening trail of footsteps in the snow and the thick rows of evergreen trees coming back into view.

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away, and you wonder if he’s reluctant to answer your query.

“I think if I go home, I won’t be able to come back here anymore.”

You furrow your brows, wanting to ask why, but realizing it would be futile.

“So…” Your voice trails off, reaching a minor blank in your confused mind.

“I’ll stay here as long as you want me to.”

Time spent in the winter wonderland of seemingly endless adventures in the snow covered landscape and the taste of intricately unique flakes of frozen crystals on the tip of your tongue were coming to another inescapable close. 

When the snow begins to melt and the first signs of spring are sprouting from the ground, Jungkook takes you back to the place he’s been taking you every spring, a part of the woods that had been converted into a special sanctuary of sorts, over the years you had been there with him. It was the safe haven where he had gifted you the most unforgettable piece of art you’ve ever seen while smiling at you beneath the fluttering leaves of a blossoming tree.

The sound of the rushing water brings back every sensation you felt on that cherished day, filling the world with the scent of grassy meadows in rare clearings and wild flowers bursting with the colors of the wind.

“Jungkook, I never fully understood the meaning of that painting you gave me,” You confess, watching the translucent water cascade over jagged rocks and sandy shores as it made its way out to the glittering sea.

“The one of you?” He questions back, dipping his own hand into the water of the stream connected to the roaring waterfall displayed in front of you two.

“T-that was… m-me?” You voice back, astonished.

Of all the things you suspected that painting to be, that fact that it was actually a portrait of you had never crossed your mind. You clearly remember thinking the pink and blue flower was just a metaphor for the inexplicable beauty of life, the way it stood out in a flamboyant meadow of hundreds of other flowers, ones that you could surprisingly name off the top of your head. There were even other plants thrown in the mix, all of which could be found around the forest.

“You can think of it as a parallel to the moon amongst the starts in the night sky.” Jungkook explains. “Only flowers and earthly elements are subject to fleeting lives.”

“So you’re saying I’ll eventually die?” You raise an eyebrow, purposefully trying to slip past the other side of the meaning he was trying to convey as to get him to say it directly.

“The centric flower in that painting is much more beautiful than the moon. I think the moon itself would view it in awe.” He sighs with a dreamy look in his fluttering eyes.  

“But that flower will one day die.” You protest. 

“And still the moon will continue to shine its light on that spot in the meadow.”

  …

  Summers were always heartwarmingly blissful, filling the air with the musky scent of mossy bark in the morning when the sunlight filters through the thick canopy and drying out to a floral fragrance of flourishing shrubbery and seeded plants. The calm salty breeze that blows by tells you you’re sitting on a cliff over looking the ocean that extends towards the curvature of the earth. You open your eyes to the scenery that you’ve seen countless times, and yet it never fails to make you shudder in excited chills that crawl up your spine.

“I wish there were words to fully describe this,” You murmur as you lean back against Jungkook’s sturdy, heated chest, firmly secured in his gentle embrace.

“There are,” He hums. “just not in this world.”

You smile, as you turn around to face him, unprepared for the temperate curvature of his nose and his gleaming eyes reflecting the rainbow gradient of the twilight painted sky. Even though you’ve come to recognize every inch of his ethereal appearance, you still have a hard time believing he is real.

“Rub it in won’t you?”

He laughs, the sound of his familiar chuckles emanating as low rumbles from his vocal cords.

“I like it that way.” He says, returning a smile that is a bright as the sun’s last rays peeking over the horizon. “Sometimes not being able to express something explicitly makes it more remarkable.”

“Like back when you couldn’t speak in my language?”

“I’m just glad I was able to understand you, and that you stayed to teach me.”

You nuzzle him playfully. “What other choice did I have?”

“I’m glad you didn’t run away.”

You lift your hand to caress his cheek, fingers gently brushing back his fringe ruffling in the wind. It takes you a few seconds to notice that he’s still staring at you, lips parted in a daze-like manner, cheeks flushing a rosy coral hue, and boyish gaze causing you to momentarily forget he’s not human.

 On days you are not sitting by the ocean, you spend them rolling in lush green grass, creating sculpture-like corsages out of the multiple species of vibrant flowers dispersed on the flourishing hills and steep mountainsides, arranging them with leaves ranging from shades of chartreuse to emerald.

Now perched on the highest branch of the largest evergreen tree for miles around, you wait for the pending rain that is already making its presence known through the humid air but never actually condensing to form the droplets that fall from the sky.

“I’m leaving soon” You finally break the news you had been hesitant to reveal to Jungkook the summer before going off to college. In your defense, the acceptance letter had come in the mail merely a week ago, so you technically didn’t hide it from him for that long.  

His ears perk up at the sudden information. “Leaving...?” He repeats, the sound originating from his vocal cords trailing off as it ended in a query.

“I have to attend university in the city” You explain, “It’s part of the human lifespan. We go and receive higher education, so we can eventually get a job and make a living.” Its sounds dull and lackluster, even to your own ears. You wonder if Jungkook will also think the system the human world runs on is strange and senseless, especially since you’ve never exactly gone into any of the details of society outside of the isolated home you grew up in.  

But what surprises you is the response you receive from Jungkook. You were expecting a series of whys, whats, and wheres -Why do you have to go? Why do humans need jobs? What does making a living entail? Where is this city? Because it only made sense and it was only natural for him to do so, especially the way you were throwing this new information on him so suddenly and being so cryptic about it at the same time. But Jungkook doesn’t ask you any of those questions because he only cared about one thing.

“Will you come back?”

You’re left stunned for a fraction of a second, looking at the way his eyes are fixated on your own, the stars in his speckled pupils flashing in a way that is so uncannily reminiscent of the first time you saw them sparkle. It was that look of pleading, that beg of please don’t leave me that’s never voiced, never conveyed concretely, but only lingers subtly on the windows to his soul.

“Of course, I’ll come back every summer.” You smile, brushing off the fact that deep down you knew you would have to part from this place permanently one day. But until then, you would continue to make these precarious promises because you weren’t strong enough to face the hard held truth.

At least not yet.

So you end up spending more summers with Jungkook than any other season, mostly because the other three seasons where already booked by your college classes, and you had promised to go back to him when the leaves turned green. You’ll always remember summer as a blissful period, roaming the grass covered hills, diving off cliffs into the cool ocean waters, and gazing at the endless landscape atop the tallest of trees towering over the forest.

  …

  But as all good things do, those blissfully timeless summers come to their inevitable end, and you are powerless to things outside of your own control. And even though summer was always a promising season, a time you had looked forward to each and every year, the last summer you spend with Jungkook is not as magical as the others; in fact, it is quite the opposite.

Your mother falls sick soon after you graduate from college, a disease that does not take her life in one fellow swoop but instead saps the life out of her in painfully lagging millimeters of dripping honey, the gradual fall of a feather from a distance as high as the furthest clouds in the earth’s stratosphere.

Twenty years. The doctors had said. She had twenty years left in this world, but she would need to be hospitalized often, something that wouldn’t be possible if your family continued to reside in the wilderness.

“Hurry up, we’re leaving soon” You father calls from downstairs.

“Dad, can I just get a last look at the forest?” You call down, heart beating frantically as you watched the rain pour from the thickly gathered clouds.

“Why would you do that? It’s raining.” You hear his voice shout back. “I have no desire to be in this place for any longer than I need to.” The hatred your father was harboring for this home was evident in his voice. Ever since your mother fainted for the first time, an event that you had not personally witnessed because you were away at school, he has been wary of the surrounding area, claiming that there were angry spirits residing in the forest. You couldn’t blame his illogical notion completely because it was evidently born out of the pain and anger he he had to face, and seeing how frail your mother had become, you can only imagine how frightening it was for your father at the time. 

“Honey, just go.” You hear your mother murmur weakly from behind. She had walked into your room unnoticed. “I’m going to stay a bit longer to try and finish this last painting before we go. I’ve been attempting to complete it for years, but just can’t figure out how to fill in the last part.” She pauses and smiles wistfully. “I’m afraid I’ll never get the chance to after I leave this place.”

You smile at her and mouth a muted thank you before rushing down the stairs and out the front door.

It might have looked more intimidating if it wasn’t daytime because even with the liquid trickling from the sky, the lush green forest stood unwaveringly veiled in the light mist. The humid air was beginning to settle stickily on the surface of your skin, breeze feeling warm and moist upon entering your lungs. Your eyes gloss over the view of the lined tree trunks, soaking in the scene that had made the most permanent of imprints in your ephemeral memory. It was a place you had come to know inside and out, and yet you still swallow hesitantly as you trek towards the ever-thickening foliage.

You didn’t have a speech prepared, your thoughts were loud yet indiscernible, all jumbled into an untamable frenzy that did not match the calm pitter-patter of water droplets on fresh green leaves or the sentimental calmness that last farewells should provide.

The rain was beginning to come down harder, chaotic sounds growing in frequency. The ground was getting softer and squishier, mud under your shoes sticking relentlessly and gradually weighing you down. Your mind was receding into a sort of numbness that drowned out your surroundings much like the rain itself.

“Jungkook!” You shout, squinting through the water that was blurring your vision. The umbrella you were holding was absolutely useless at this point, the liquid falling in sheets made it impossible to see further than a couple of feet in front of you. Luckily it was still relatively light out, as night would have casted the stormy area in complete darkness.

“Y/N!” You hear a familiar voice calling from the distance.

You turn to see the figure hidden under the thick canopy of a nearby tree, its branches curving down to create a secure space under the rain.

“I came to tell you I’m leaving. My parents are leaving. I’m-“ The words spew out rushed, but you aren’t able to finish before Jungkook has pulled you into a warm embrace that is both strong and gentle just like him.

“I know. I know you have to go.” He whispers, chest rising and falling against yours.

“I don’t know if I’ll…” You try to force yourself to say it, waiting for that twenty seconds of courage to hit you so you could just get it over with, but it never does, not when his heartbeat is so close to your own, and his soft cheek is rested against your shoulder.

“It's ok, I’ll still be here.” He says, pulling away from the hug so you could see the words conveyed by his eyes.

“But I-I-” I’m not coming back. “Jungkook” You don’t know why, but whispering his name was easier than voicing what you otherwise should have. Pathetically hoping that the look in your eyes would convey to him what you didn’t possess the strength to say. But you weren’t as skilled as he was with nonverbal communication, you weren’t an ethereal being with otherworldly artistic ability, and you didn’t have all the stars in the universe contained in your eyes.  

And before you can open your mouth again, Jungkook’s lips are already connected to yours, that familiar warmth spreading from his succulent flesh like wildfire across the damp surface of your clammy skin. The shock of his touch making you drop your umbrella, raindrops evaporating as they trickle onto your exposed skin that is now surging with the heat extending from Jungkook’s body. His movement is calm and tender, slow and patient, delicate and controlled because he knew you were human.

“I’ll try to come back” You as gasp as he breaks away from the kiss, eyes swelling with oncoming tears. It’s a promise that made it’s way out of you throat in the spur of the moment, one that you yourself knew was a lie.

“I’ll wait for you.” He flashes you a faint smile as you turn to leave.

“Good-bye, Jungkook” You shout back as you begin sprinting back to your house, not allowing yourself to look back because that would only hinder your resolve to leave.

“I always will.” He says, so softy that you can’t here him from the widening distance between the two of you.

 And just as your story had begun in the earthly autumn, it also ended when the colorful leaves atop the forest canopy shed for the fifteenth time.

 …

 “Did you finish that painting?”

 “Unfortunately, no I didn’t.”

 …

  As the home of your childhood diminishes farther and farther into the distant past, leaving you with an insatiable yearning that you always made an effort to disregard, using the changes occurring in your life to distract you from that raw aching stubbornly attached to your heart. An aching that would always leave you watery eyed and inconsolable.

The transitory projection of the world is ruthlessly inflexible, never pausing to wait for those who fall behind or those who long for a past with different outcomes. No matter how much you long to preserve the evanescent nature of reality, the flowers that blossom in the spring or the rushing of the waters that eventually turn to ice, you still find yourself racing to catch up to a destiny that was decided since the beginning of time. 

And it had been an event much like those rooted in fate itself that in your last year of college, before the turbulence of that fateful summer, you had become friends with a fellow undergraduate named Kim Taehyung. Although you were nervous to befriend him at first, not exactly the most socially adept student on campus due to growing up in the wilderness, he was more than eager to meet you and get to know about your interesting life. He was handsome, and also somewhat of an outcast like you because of his eccentric mind that some found off-putting. But being the extroverted social butterfly type he was, your friendship developed quickly, starting from the first day of class when he professor had paired you guys up randomly to work on a semester long project, and the rest was just history.  

He stuck with you through your mother’s illness, through the years your father never gave up on a cure, throwing everything he had into searching for various treatment options, and the times you would come off detached and grief stricken for reasons unknown to him. He assumed it was just because your mother was sick, and you had continued to allow him to believe that that was only thing bothering you. 

Strangely enough, you never told him about Jungkook. You never told anyone about the boy you grew to love more than the way the ocean’s wave crash against the shores in tingling rushes that surge through your nerves, more than way the sunlight that filters through the speckled arbors of lush green trees lights up your entire world, more than the transitioning of endless seasons changes into chromatic rainbows that cause you to gape at nature in awe. And even when you eventually married Taehyung ten years later and came to raise two beautiful children with him, you kept your longest held secret for so long that it eventually turned into a distant memory, one that you slowly persuaded yourself couldn’t be differentiated from a dream.

“Mom, what’s the matter?” You move closer to her bedside, taking her aged hands within your own. Daily visits to the hospital after work were becoming a staple in your own settled life, besides taking care of household chores and making sure your children were keeping up with school, the visiting room at the clinic had become your home away from home.

“Oh, it’s nothing really.” She sighs, turning to face you and reaching up to tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“There’s clearly something bothering you.” You frown, waiting for her to respond. Her speech had become slurred, movements lagging, and now completely bed ridden, you knew her days on this planet were expiring.

Her eyes were almost transparent as she gazed at the glow of twilight out the window.

“Remember that painting I never finished?”

You pause, attempting to recall the specific piece she was referring to.

Despite never finishing her most prized painting, one that she had been working on for the years you were away at university and the same one that she had attempted to complete the last time she stepped foot into that house hidden by the forest, she requests to see it one last time, a dying wish that neither you nor your father could refuse.

Which is how you found yourself going back to that house by the forest-lined ocean, twenty years later.

  …

  The drive up to the old house is just as bumpy as it had been 35 years ago, on that mildly vivid day in early autumn. The tracks of your car tires are stumbling over the mismatched pebbles on the rocky road and the sunlight is disappearing behind that line where the sky meets the sea. As the clearing of the wide front lawn comes into view, you have a hard time not being anxious of what you could possibly find today. Coming here at night not being the best of ideas flashes by as a passing thought, but there was little you could do about the long drive.

Your husband, Taehyung, had insisted to come with you, after hearing that your father still refuses to go back to the place where he was reminded of so much sorrow. But to you it remained the magical place of your childhood, a place that you had grown to be so dearly fond of, so you convince Taehyung that you would be fine, and that you wanted some time to think alone. Which was entirely true, but there was also someone in particular you wonder if you would be able to see again, even if it was just a faraway glimpse or just a silly wish you were still clutching onto but could finally put to rest after today, because another part of you hoped more than anything that he had moved on and forgotten about you.

Pulling up to the old, now dilapidated building with unhinged window frames and chipping paint, you pray that your mother’s painting has not been stolen or ruined by natural wear and tear like the house itself was. After all, twenty years is a long time to preserve such fragile objects.

Lifting a hand to tentatively unlock the door, you notice that the lock has long been worn down. You pause out of early apprehension, wondering if someone had broken in and was still inside. You hold your breath, listening carefully to any suspicious noise only to be met with eerie silence. Judging it safe to enter, you take a cautious step forward, raising your lantern to illuminate the room enough for you not to trip over your own two feet.

To your utter surprise, the floor is scattered with canvases. Not empty ones, but filled with images painted with shapes and figures both abstract and real, their beauty visible even under the dim glow emitted by your lantern. You begin to get the feeling that these were not your mother’s artwork; they were too indescribable, too otherworldly, and all too familiar. You decide to continue up the stairs to your mother’s art room, reckoning she kept her coveted painting in there, but you can’t help but reach down and pick one of the chill inducing portraits up, the face engraved on it spellbindingly breathtaking. It was like looking through a magically timeless mirror, because the person staring back at you was an alteration of the you from 35 years ago.

A creak of the floorboard snaps you out of your trance, causing your body to stiffen and your eyes to immediately dart around the room. The growing panic is slowly replaced by a surge of bravery when you see a dark figure at the corner of the confined space. The shapes of his features are just as you remember them; even though it has been twenty years his youthful appearance has not changed in the slightest.

Initially you are skeptical of your eyes, thinking that your age has finally caught up to you and your mind was playing illusory tricks on you. But the excruciatingly heartfelt look in his eyes, those that seem to contain every ounce of his ethereal being, the same ones that you were met with on the life defining day when you were only eight years old, are impossible to mistake. And the spark of a familiar plead in them keep you steadily rooted to the ground.

“Jungkook?” You murmur in disbelief, shivering from the skin crawling anticipation gripping your lungs.

“Y/N?” He answers with a twitch of his ear. You cautiously walk up closer, the flickers of the flame inside your lantern faltering as he steps out of the shadows to meet you.  Meticulously examining his unchanged figure, you hesitate to reach out, fearing that he’ll disappear upon contact. He really does look exactly the same as the last time you saw him.

“You waited for me?” You breath out, eyes frantically looking around the messy room once again, the truth of why he was still here hitting you like a gust of strong earth shattering wind.

“You said you would come back” He responds, declaration refined enough to penetrate the silence between stars.

“But I-I” You’re too stunned to form a coherent thought. You wanted to say you only said what you did back then to make the departure less depressing, that those were merely words of consolation, like the white lies family members and friends tell to each other, that you weren’t actually planning to ever come back, and that you didn’t think he would actually wait for you. Not for this long.

“W-what if I didn’t?” You manage to voice instead.

“But you did” He confirms back innocently, unaware of any of your racing thoughts.

“But what if I didn’t?” You ask again, this time more stern as an uncalled for frustration tangled its way into your tone.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, only staring at you with lost eyes conveying nothing but confusion because he was unable to comprehend what you were asking.

“I’m here to find a painting.” You announce stoically. “And I’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning.” You feel the air still, almost regretting sounding so harsh, but you needed him to realize that today was a mistake and you weren’t supposed to meet him again.

He wasn’t supposed to wait. 

“The one with a void?” He asks as he trails behind you up the stairs.

“Yes, the unfinished painting my mother left behind.” You reply, wondering if he knew where it was.

“I finished it,” He says, making you come to a halt.

“What?” You snap back. “Jungkook, you’re-“ You were about to scold him, but then realized he wouldn’t know not to mess with something that was clearly discarded at the time. “Nevermind, just tell me where it is.” You sigh.

Jungkook makes his way over to the corner by the window, bringing you the covered canvas that had been resting against the wall. You lift the edge of the covering, glancing to make sure it was the right painting, but not bothering to view the entire piece as your mind was too focused on how to get through the night and leave by dawn. Your mother didn’t have many days left, and you don’t want this trip to end up in vain.

“I’m going to sleep” You announce, before you had actually given the statement a reasonable thought. This was the part you hadn’t anticipated, the part about not having an actual bed or blanket to sleep on. The temperature was dropping as the night grew older, and although your car was an option, you will most definitely wake up sick the next morning unless you left the engine running, and you needed to conserve gas for the long drive tomorrow.  

“Here?” Jungkook murmurs, most likely recognizing your dilemma.

You mentally curse your forgetful mind for not planning this out thoroughly. Searching for a response, you hastily decide that you’ll just lie on the ground, catching a cold the next morning was inevitable at this point no matter what you did anyways.

You lay awake with your back towards Jungkook. You didn’t know if he normally spends his nights in your old abandoned home, but it was clear that he wasn’t leaving tonight. You close your eyes and try to lose yourself to slumber, but you can’t fall asleep, no matter how many sheep you attempt to count, and the fact that you were shivering did not aid the situation at all.

“Are you cold?” You hear his voice question from behind. So he hadn’t fallen asleep either. Does he even sleep anyways?

“I’m fine” You reply, curling up more tightly into a ball.

“You’re shivering,” He says back.

You hear a shift of movement and the light touch of his hot hand on your arm. You fight the urge to turn around immediately, wanting to leave the impression that you had moved on with your life and he was nothing but a past that you had long let go of.

“If you’re doing this because you are angry at me, I’m sorry,” He whispers, the words slicing into your heart like the edge of a blood stained sword. The reality of everything has always been impossible to ignore, but only now are you choosing to face it square on.

“Jungkook, you don’t have to apologize. If anything, it’s my fault.” You confess, biting your bottom lip to prevent the tears from spilling over. “I shouldn’t have made that promise to you. I shouldn’t have lied.”

“But you didn’t” He says rather emptily. “I chose to stay.”

“Jungkook” You repeat. “Human, remember?” You use the same words you did every time you had to remind him that your life was fragile and fleeting, in an attempt to show him that you could never be the one to stay by his side. Not for an eternity. “Do you not see how old and weak I’ve become?”

His grip on your arm loosens, and you feel his touch leave the surface of your skin. You think he’s realizing you’re not the same young lady he had known twenty years ago, and he’s finally planning on letting go of whatever thread he was gripping onto.

“The you that I see has never changed.” He murmurs.

You feel your heart stutter, harden façade breaking down before you even had a chance to call for reinforcement. Jungkook’s mind was always running faster than you could keep up with, much like the unremitting flow of time itself. His voice was sincere, just like it always was, a purity that no human could ever grasp entirely.

Finally giving in, you slowly turning to face him, who was lying closer to your trembling body than you had thought. Facing his untainted moonlit eyes, you momentarily get lost in them once again, sinking into the yearning of staying like this forever.

You scoot in closer as he reaches out to you once more, nuzzling your face into his warm chest. He wraps his strong arms around you just like he always did back then, the heat of his body wiping away every last goosebump on your matured skin. It felt just as good as it did ridiculous, knowing you had a husband and two children back at home, and yet no one in your life knew about Jungkook. It felt even more absurd to realize you were going to leave him forever once the sun rose tomorrow and yet you were still relishing in these last moments with him.

To say that you had never wished he were a human would be the biggest lie of the century. Truthfully you had wished upon many stars, gazed up at countless clear nights in hopes that some miracle would happen and that you could turn into a spirit too or if he could join you in your world, any scenario where you wouldn’t be separated by the deepest chasm between two domains of existence.

But that would never happen, and it took you years to finally accept the hard held truth.

“This is the last time. I don’t want to come back, and I never will” You say before finally drifting to sleep. You eyes don’t stay open long enough to hear his response, but you believe you’ve made yourself clear and pray that he trusts the lie you’ve forced yourself to tell.

 So the next morning, when the first signs of light filters through the dusty windows, you slip out of Jungkook’s arms, glancing at his peacefully sleeping form one final time. You almost want to touch his face, just to feel the heat of his being connect with yours one last time, but you hold back, grab the painting you had come to retrieve, and return to the life you were actually meant to live.

  …

  You don’t have the strength to stop the flooding of tears as you drive off, away from that place your heart is so reluctant to depart from. A part of you wants him to wake up and rush out to stop you from leaving, but it’s so outrageous you’re laughing in between your streaming tears. You’re thankful that your driving alone in your car because this way, no one can hear your ugly cries and you can let everything out before you’re back in the company of friends and family.

You make a promise to yourself that you will indeed never return to this home, knowing that going back would only strength Jungkook’s resolve to wait for you and cause all of your words to lose credibility. And because your word was the only foundation you had now, the only reliable bargain your powerless being has the ability to uphold, you bite back the urge to turn around and try your hardest to erase you memories of him, hoping with the permanent soaring of time that he will eventually do the same to you.

Making it back to the city by late afternoon, you bring the painting to the hospital the next day, entering the sterilized private room that you had been spending most of your time outside of work and family in. 

There’s a dragged out pause as you watch your mother uncovers the canvas she had wanted to see. The trembling of her tired eyes makes you wonder what on earth had filled the previous void, and you’re almost afraid she’ll be disappointed that it’s been ruined.

“Honey?” You hear your mother’s voice for one of the very last times.

“Yes mom?”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Her smile, although weak and expiring, speaks volumes of gratitude and peace. “I couldn’t have done a better job myself.”

You slowly walk over to her bedside, viewing the painting for the first time, not knowing what to expect. You vaguely recall what the unfinished product had looked like, the piece was originally a depiction of a meadow-like space, ordinary yet bizarre, a metaphor for that which is inexplicably ghostly yet physically tangible, but with a vacant, white spot in the middle, the precise part of it that had been left unfinished.

As your eyes land on the completed landscape, your breath catches in your throat, heart freezing in mid-beat. In place of the meadow’s void is a pink and blue flower, one that you are more than acquainted with, and one that does not perceptibly exist in this world except in the mind of its creator, representing an enduring beauty that the moon itself would shine towards for an eternity.

  …

  “And you never saw him again?” Your granddaughter’s despondent voice catches your attention as you finish your story, pulling you away from the dream-like world of your surprisingly vivid recollection.

Looking back down at her, you smile, unaware that a single tear has already escaped your eye. 

“Grandmama, why are you crying?” She questions, quickly reaching up and wiping the moisture from your aged cheek with her tender palm.

“I-I’m sorry” You apologize, not knowing what had gone over you. It had been years since you last visited that childhood home by the ocean, and you had long chosen to let that timeworn past fade away in your memory. But you can’t seem to completely forget about him, not until your memories are completely wiped clean at least. “I must just be getting overly sentimental.” You respond, delicately brushing it off out of habit, but your granddaughter’s inquisitive nature is hard to elude.

“Do you think he’s still waiting for you?” She suddenly asks, eyelashes battering slowly and watching the change in your expression ever so attentively.

It’s a question that you’ve always avoided asking yourself, one that you’ve continuously evaded throughout the countless years of your fading life. A subject of fictional uncertainly, which you’ve convinced yourself that you are partially unsure of where the answer lies, but even with the perennial passage of time and the everlasting cyclical turning of the seasons, somewhere deep in your heart you’ve always known.

“Perhaps. Perhaps, he still is.”

...

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