#the fate of flowers < -- new tag

[hereliesbou]

I AM GOING TO INFO DUMP ABOUT MY LATEST TWOMP AU AND YOU CAN EITHER JOIN ME IN MY FANDOM INDUCED DELIRIUM OR IGNORE ME LIKE AN ANNOYING STREET PREACHER.

I suffer from, "i like to put my guys in any and all kinds of situations" syndrome. It's chronic.

Anyway: The Harbinger AU (is what im calling it for now) I started thinking about this au today on my walk, so don't expect a complete idea. Just stuff I need to scream about. 😭 Anyway, the au- it's like this gloomy, apocalyptic, four horseman inspired type of deal, where Argos, Mr. Plant, Mr. Flower and even Thorn (he's a part of all of my au's and has been for quite some time now and im not sorry, i'm very attached to him) are all these beacons of death and destruction and the sole reason for their existence is to bring an end to all life. But they don't know it. Not right away at least, and it takes them a long time to put all the pieces together cause that would be one hell of a conclusion to come to right away. All they know is, for as long as they can remember, strange and awful things happen all around them all of the time. They are like conduits for bad luck, just spreading it like a disease to everyone around them at all times and they've always been helpless to stop it. The bad shit they cause for people starts out small and always out of their control. Family members experiencing financial crisis, friends always getting hurt or in trouble around them, people losing things. But the longer people spend around them, the more the misfortune snowballs until it rolls up into a tragedy. "School bus driver passes out at the wheel, collision with oncoming train. Students on board and no survivors." "Local high school evacuated due to dangerous chlorine related incident. Swim team in critical condition." "Small town man kills entire family, leaves cryptic message on living room wall and commits suicide." Etc. And the older they get, the worse the incidents become. They start to effect things on a grander scale and start to realize they can do things people shouldn't be able to do. Manipulate people and the world around them in unnatural ways, like a maestro guiding their orchestra. And at first they try to use this to help people around them, to try to prevent tragedy from striking, but it never seems to work. Always the same outcome. Misfortune after misfortune, followed by some horrible disaster, like fate was sending a message. Trying to let them know. I should clarify also, that all four of them, Argos, Mr. Plant, Thorn, Mr. Flower, experience all of this alone up to a point and only find each other a little later on in life, with some slight exceptions. I like to think Mr. Flower and Mr. Plant find each other in the midst of one of the many disasters they cause. Some kind of trauma bonding perhaps, and they slowly begin to realize that one does not effect the other the same way they effect everyone else. They are immune to each other. And so they remain together. And of course Argos comes in similarly to cannon, absolutely obsessing over Mr. Plant. He's still captivated by the man but I also think he's drawn to him for similar reasons to Mr. Flower and Mr. Plant. He is different. He is unbothered. he is safe. They both are. In fact, I think they're all drawn to each other. Even Thorn blows into the area coincidentally and stumbles on these guys, fully expecting to make trouble for them, but it never comes. And how curious that is. I'd like to think that the four of them are meant to destroy the world together, and that the everyone would be much safer if all of them never found each other but again, they don't know that. What they do know, is that they're finding people who they can't hurt just by being around. For once, they're finding people who won't resent them for their presence and the dread filled pall that hangs over them. And as they cling to one another and learn more about the other, they realize they're all experiencing the exact same thing, and so they all set out to find out if there's a way to stop it, thereby officially and unknowingly, setting in motion the end of all things. This is all I have so far since i just started chewing on this idea today. But i've half wondered about what kind of outcome this would actually end in.

Will there be an end to all things? Or will there be some kind of happy ending? I dunno. I love happy endings as much as I love tragic ones, and as much as I love thinking about the four of them being able to continue on with their lives normally instead of having to worry about stuff, I also daydream about an outcome where they learn their roles and just hang their heads and accept it, thereby becoming active participants in the end of the world. At least they'll die together. I feel like this is one of those au's where you could just easily replace the character's with all original ones lmaoooo. I have a few of those types of stories, but I'm way too attached to these guys to do it. orz Besides, i don't have it in me to make something out of this anyway, so it'll stay in my head until i'm hit with enough energy to do more than just daydream about it.

Some other fun ideas I've played around with for this au include:

Abilities based on their insecurities. I have this other au i've been obsessing over since I joined the twomp fandom, which was like... July sometime? Last year. And we're a few months away from my 1 year anniversary, yay!!!

Anyway, obviously my main focus for that au is Mr. Plant and Argos, but also Mr. Flower and Thorn are also central to the whole thing, and a huge part of the focus for that au is everyone's relationship with each other and the shit they deal with.

In short, the four of them work thru things together and it's messy and it's angsty, and there's drama and distrust and betrayal and murder, etc. etc. you get the picture. I've kind of taken those ideas about them and transferred some of them them over to this au.

Point is, each of them struggle with a lot of things, but there's always one main thing that's like the eye of the storm. The cause of everything else wrong with each of them.

For Mr. Plant it's his dislike of people. It's more of a distrust in the au. Distrust of others, distrust in himself to be able to be around others. So he just avoids. Stays where he can't be seen and bothered until he absolutely has to be somewhere.

And so when things go from bad to worse and Mr. Plant starts to develop unnatural abilities, they feed off of his need to stay in the dark. To stay out of sight.

Like being able to fuck with electricity and even your vision. He can also teleport a little bit. But like- you know the first twomp episode where the narrator is like, "Sometimes Mr. Plants like to be watched, likes to be seen and sometimes he doesn't" (paraphrasing) and he like jumps from the bed to be directly in front of the camera? More like that.

Thorn is similar in that his abilities are meant to conceal in a way. His problem is that he feels he can't measure up. He's got standards set for himself that are far too high, and they're all based on expectations set on him. But he's too proud to admit when he needs help, so he puts on an act all the time. Boastful and loud and always grinning. And always making promises he can't keep.

He's all smoke and mirrors, and so smoke becomes his weapon. The cloud of illusion and confusion. His cigarette smoke will leave your head spinning and unable to tell up from down or if what you're seeing is real or not.

Poor Argos has abandonment issues, everyone around him dying or running away from him. He is unlovable and everyone tells him so in some fashion or another. So he clings to people, obsesses, watches them, learns who they are and what they want and molds himself into their preferred person.

He's become so good at watching and learning and discerning that he can manifest all of one's deepest secrets and desires into a third eye on his subject's forehead, and all he has to do is look into it and everything is laid bare for him.

The downside is that this often leaves the subject in a ruined state of mind, hysteria, severe paranoia, stuff like that.

Mr. Flower's is a very special one, and one that doesn't get used often.

He doesn't like it.

I've always imagined Mr. Flower as the straight man of the group in any au. Always the voice of reason, always trying to make violence a last resort. So i felt this ability he has would be absolutely fun to give him.

I imagine that everyone here- Argos, Mr. Plant, Thorn and Mr. Flower, would eventually come to have issues with other people in some way, given the situation they're in. They've lived a lonely existence up until they found each other. Scared to hurt people, scared to be ostracized, wanting to belong but not wanting to cause problems. Maybe it's caused them to eventually give up on others. Maybe even push people away.

I imagine Mr. Flower being the worst offender for that type of behaviour. To the point where's he's driven someone close to him to commit suicide. And it's always hung over him, always haunted him, always weighed on his mind. For Mr. Flower, it was somehow the worst thing he's ever done to someone despite all the bad luck he's given people, because this felt like the one thing that didn't have to happen.

At least with the bad luck, all that had been completely out of his control. But the suicide... The suicide was directly his fault. All the ways he'd hurt that person, the things he'd done and the words he'd said to them. Until it was too much and then they were gone.

And so i've given Mr. Flower the ability to force people to kill themselves just by speaking it. But the kicker is, he has to know their biggest insecurity to do it. But once he has it, their life is in his hands.

And he hates it.

The way I've always interpreted Mr. Flower is being this tired and high strung kind of guy. He seems rough around the edges, but he's not mean. He's actually very kind and gentle but he can be a bit naggy. He's a worry wort. He and Argos have a lot of similarities in my au's, with the difference being that Argos struggles with overwhelming violent emotions when sufficiently pushed and Mr. Flower does not.

Among other things.

ANYWAY

I like the idea of each of their issues and abilities somehow resembling and/or complimenting one another to further drive home how intertwined they all are. Four separate fates bound together.

Or some silly thing like that.

Anyway, this last part is not set in stone. I'm just babbling. But it's a fun idea even if it gets scrapped later. But if you made it this far then... uh... would you like a pepsi?

#it's almost 2am as i'm writing this #and maybe i'll regret this later #tis but silliness tho #all for fun #i dunno if i wanna tag this #i'll leave it to fate to decidet #if it gets noticed or not #now i'm going to level my astrologian in ff #because what is sleep even #byeeee #if you see spelling mistakes #no you don't #shhh #i'll worry about it later #tw suicide #suicide mention #edit: eh fuck it #twomp #mr flower twomp #argos twomp #mr plant twomp #twomp oc #vbou sillies #making new misc tag for myself #i need to sleep

[miss-wanna-draw96]

Well... I have read the news about Alex Kister and, I can't believe I'm saying this but...

I'm gonna rewrite the Floral Fate AU because I don't condone to what Alex had done. Will I post TMC stuff? Most likely not

I'm gonna redo everything, and I might as well take down my TMC art. The Floral Fate will most likely be called something else and I'm changing everything about it. I truly mean everything. What Alex had done is not right, and I don't support him anymore. Please understand

I'll also be taking down the chapters of the AU so I can rewrite them. See you all

#the fate of flowers < -- new tag #im gonna have to redesign everyone #can't believe that a creator that i look up to has done this #im beyond hurt and disgusted #my heart goes out to the victims

[lotus-n-l0ve]

CRIMSON LOVE OF THE CURSED KING

— Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader

She Is A Wild Flower In A Rose Field.

*⁠.⁠✧ SYNOPSIS : When the selfish merchant, F/N L/N, sacrifices his illegitimate daughter to the King of Curses for his own desires. Y/N starts to work for Sukuna. With every passing day they come closer, with every late night meetings, a feeling develops in their heart.

*⁠.⁠✧ WARNINGS & TAGS : True form!Ryomen Sukuna, historical au, husband!Sukuna, wife!reader, sacrificed!reader, master-servant au, cursing, offering au, use of y/n, kissing, blowjob, pet names, a lot of questions, misunderstanding, ooc!Sukuna, not proofread, 6.2k words.

*⁠.⁠✧ — NAVIGATION // JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

➥ Heart Divider's by @cafekitsune

DO NOT PRESS [READ MORE] IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE. MINORS DNI, IF YOU DO THEN IT'S YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.

Amusement is what Sukuna felt as he watched your adorable little figure sneak into the garden like a thief, looking left and right like a cautious cat who has stolen its favourite fish. Sukuna sat by the window on the second floor, blowing from the kiseru.

You still remained a mystery to the King of curses even after months of being here. Sukuna was known for wrecking havoc and destroying lands with a flip of his fingers. Kings and people from far away shiver in fear, when the monster will come for their neck next.

The kings and nobel heads offered him mountains of wealth and copious amounts of women. Sukuna never denied them but what he did with all that wealth or women was never known. To your misfortune or luck, your father, the infamous marchant, offered you, the illegitimate daughter, as the king's concubine. Then it was up to Ryomen Sukuna whether he would make you his queen or just another maid.

You were escorted to the estate in a carriage and then inside the shrine by none other than Uraume themselves. You didn't see nor hear from the king at the beginning of your stay here. Though you were made familiar with the other sacrificed maidens. Their fate was just like yours, sacrificed to the curse by their kings, fathers or even husbands, just to save their own life.

Every one of them was different from others. Some quivered when they even heard the name of their lord, while some were filled with rage for him. On the other hand some had developed the emotion called love for him. You waited everyday for him to decide your fate. It's not like you could run away from here. The estate was surrounded by dangerous curses who would kill you without a second thought.

Your days are spent like any other there. Waking up in the morning, then doing whatever work Uraume assigned you to. You were not still allowed to go outside yet so grocery shopping was not one of them. By the time the sun went down and the moon shone in the dark sky, most of you were permitted to go back to your own room. Only a few remain as per their schedule. You honestly like how your days were going but encountering Sukuna was inevitable.

It was three weeks after that you first came across the man, sitting by the inside pond. His back leaning on a round pillow. One hand held a book while the other had the wooden kiseru. The moonlight blessed down on him. Your feet stopped at the door. As he lifted his upper pair of eyes from the book, yours snapped down to your feet.

"I didn't know you would be here at this time, Master Sukuna. I'll take my leave." You bow down and turn to leave only to come to a halt when a deep voice sounded from behind.

"Stop right there." Sukuna watched as you paused before eventually turning around to face him. Sukuna beckoned you to come closer with two fingers, "Come here."

You walked up to him idly. Sukuna observed you from top to bottom. Just because it didn't seem like it doesn't mean that Sukuna doesn't know what goes on his property. He knew one and every person who worked for him. You were a new face he hadn't seen here before.

You stopped two hands length away from Sukuna, "You needed something, Master Sukuna?"

He hummed, pointing to the low table with his eyes, "Tidy up the table."

You tidied up the thin night kimono you hand on and sat down beside the table. You started with organising the books. Sukuna blew on the kiseru.

"You are new here." It was more of a statement than a question. His upper pair of eyes focused on the inked book but the stare lower pair weighted heavy on you.

You nodded your head, "Yes, Master Sukuna. I was brought here two weeks ago ………as an offering."

Offering huh? More like a sacrificed goat.

Sukuna scoffed inside. Of course this was not new. People of high status kept throwing slaves under Sukuna's feet like they meant nothing. More than half of his servants consisted of those offerings. Now Sukuna himself was not a gentleman, in fact he was far from being a gentleman but even he sometimes felt for their pathetic life. Sukuna would have rather died than being sacrificed for their selfish desires.

"Is that so? So, who were you offered by?"

You could hear the mocking tone lingering under his breath. If he tried to hide that, he did a terrible job but you doubt he was trying to hide it. You could not help but snort as you thought about the one who was behind all this.

"It was my father, Master Sukuna. He's a merchant from the West."

Sukuna saw no traces of sorrow in your expression as you talked about your father. As the matter of fact, your face was numb as if you don't care about him or your circumstances at all.

"You don't seem very upset with your situation." Sukuna carefully closed the book and dropped it in his lap, now just holding the kiseru. His all focus shifted on you and it made you feel a little jittery.

You stacked all the books away thinking to yourself, upset? You were far from that. Rather, you were liking your days here than you ever did at your father's house. Here, no one bore any hatred for you for your background. Your father wasn't here to remind you how much he despised you. Neither was his wife, who felt so jealous of her husband's affairs that she felt the need to torture you at every point of your life. Nor were your half siblings here who like their parents never hesitate to hurt you whether verbally or physically.

Others would call you crazy that you would rather work the vicious monster than your family but the uncountable faded marks littering on your body agreed with you.

You dared to raise your eyes to meet his', "I have no reason to be upset, Master Sukuna." With a small but content smile you put the brushes back in their place, "I am done. Now, may I go back to my chamber, Master Sukuna?"

"Hmm? Yes, you are dismissed." Sukuna waved you away.

You bow down one last time before leaving the room. Sukuna watched as you disappeared into the dark. Usually when people are brought here, they weep and sulk around. It takes them months to get over their pitiful state. And here you were, smiling as if nothing had happened in just two weeks. Nothing could be hidden from the King of curses but he could not figure out the void in your eyes. Too bad, Sukuna loved a worthy challenge.

After that night meeting Sukuna became weirdly frequent with you. When you were in the kitchen, Sukuna would drop by to order someone to bring him snacks. If you were cleaning the shrine, you would see him roaming the halls. If you were mending the garden, from the corner of your eyes, you could see him sitting by the window on the second floor, smoking kiseru or reading books.

But most frequently you met by the pond, where you met for the first time. At night when you could not sleep, your feets would always led you back there unconsciously. First few nights when you saw him, you tried to excuse yourself saying you didn't want to bother him but then he stopped you and let you sit there, just enjoying the view or sometimes reading a book. After some time it became a habit that you came to relish.

Who could have imagined that Ryomen Sukuna could be a comforting company? You two didn't talk but that did not bother either of you. Until one night.

Sukuna sat in his place, leaning on a round pillow, while you sat a little away from him by the table. The thin black kimono you had on did nothing to help you against the cold breeze of night that twirled with your open hair. Maybe, you should have worn something thicker. Your body shivered, goosebumps raising over your skin. As you wrap your arms around yourself, you feil to hear the rustling noise of clothes moving. No long after a black haori was held in front of you.

You followed the hand holding it and saw Sukuna deeply emerged in the book he had been reading from last night. He grumbled without looking up, "Take it. You have been quivering all night like a reed in the wind."

You could feel heat raising up your cheeks in embarrassment. Like a reed in the wind of everything? You muttered a quiet thank you under your breath which was loud enough in the silence of the night and took the warm haori from his hand. You wrap it around yourself and bask in the warmth of the fine fabric. You picked up the paint brush again, twirling it in the red liquid, you started placing strokes on the canvas.

"You are Y/N L/N, illegitimate daughter of F/N L/N." Sukuna commented.

Your hands stopped for a second before resuming to colour the canvas, "Yes, Master."

So he did a background search on you. Not like he needed to. Your father made sure to write a three page letter, singing praises of Sukuna that you handed to Uraume, hoping to find it disposed of in the garbage.

Sukuna chuckled, "Your father really believed that he could get me to be his puppet by giving me his illegitimate daughter?"

You were not sure who those scornful words were for. Your father for being so delusional or you for being a result of a wedlock. You would not put it past him though. He was after all the strongest of them all.

He didn't say anything for the rest of the night as neither did you. It was the dawn when he finally went back to his chember, leaving you for yourself. You waited for the footsteps to get fader before you also organised your things to take back to your room. Your room was on the first floor at the very end of the hallway. You didn't take much time to get ready for the day that was awaiting for you.

Night drawn upon, the moon dominated the night sky along with the millions of stars. You waited by the pond side for Sukuna but he didn't come. This was unusual, he was always here before you but today there was no sign of him. He was in the shrine that's for sure, you yourself delivered his dinner, though he was not in the room at that time.

Without his intense looming presence, you felt empty. Even his silence produced a comforting atmosphere for you which you missed dearly. You waited for him, one hour, two hours that turned into three hours but there was no sight of him. Sukuna was not entitled to work according to you after all you were just a mere peasant to him. But you could not help the disappointment heavy on your heart.

At last you got up with a sigh. Might as well get some sleep instead of dying of boredom. With a lamp in hand you started walking towards the library on the second floor to put the book at its place before going back to sleep. As you walked up the straits, out of nowhere a maiden ran past you, crying. You frowned your eyes wondering what on earth happened.

Standing at the top of the stairs, your eyes fell on the massive door of the master bedroom, where Sukuna resided. Many questions played in your mind. Did something happen to Sukuna? Or did Sukuna do something? You hated to admit but the first question worried you more than any other. Were you okay as long as Sukuna's fine even if it meant someone else's hurt?

You stopped in front of the shoji door, fidgeting with your fingers before you knocked on it twice, "Master Sukuna?"

No answer came from inside so knocked again, calling for him. Seconds later his deep voice answered, permitting you to go in. You took a deep breath before sliding the door open. Entering, you closed the door behind you.

Sukuna sat on the bed, the smoking pipe in his hand as usual. His chest on full display and red silken sheets hiding his lower half. Your eyes, unintentionally, cattled over the black tattoos that were inked on his body, from the smallest on his face to the strips on his chest. For being a monster, Sukuna seemed to be the favourite of God. Like God has centuries to create perfection, to you at least.

"What brought you here?" His lips curled into a smirk.

You quickly averted your eyes when you realised that he had caught you gawking at him like a shameless woman.

You clear your throat, "I-I saw someone running down stairs, crying."

Sukuna's face morphed into an irritated one, "So, you are here to see if I was the one that hurt her?"

"No, I wanted to check if you are okay." By the end of the sentence your voice reduced to mare whispers.

Now that you were saying it out loud, you noticed how ridiculous you sounded. Who on earth can dare or even think about hurting Sukuna. It was next to impossible. Well Sukuna noticed too because he was laughing like you have cracked the best joke of the century. You might have as well.

"Since you appear to be perfectly fine I'll take my leave. Good night, Master Sukuna." You were rushing out even before you could finish the sentence.

The door slammed shut behind you as Sukuna listened to footsteps running down the stairs, almost tripping on the last step. Sukuna wiped tears away from the corner of his eyes.

"O dear Y/N." Sukuna mumbled as he took a puff of kiseru, "You think that puny creature can land even a scratch on me?"

Though she knew how to piss him off real well. Sukuna thought back to the events that took place in his bedroom before you appeared. Sukuna wanted some good cunt to take out his frustration on. Like usual, Uraume made the arrangements.

Sukuna got up from the bathtub, water gliding down his muscular body. Quickly he wrapped a towel around his waist while he used another one to dry his hair. Sukuna was annoyed to say the least. Maybe he had gone quite soft nowadays because otherwise where do these peasants get the audacity to think that they can use Ryomen Sukuna?

Past days have been good for Sukuna. The reason? He has no idea. Or maybe it's those late night meetings with a curtain someone that kept his mood better. After all he anticipated the time when everyone would go to sleep and you would stumble upon the sitting area beside the indoor pond.

Your hair was always open, covering over your back. They always tempt him to just run his hands through them. He'd to clench his palms to not give in to his intrusive thoughts. Are you waiting for him tonight as well? How long will you wait for him? Are you thinking about him? Do you think about him like he does about you?

Sukuna walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed before finally addressing the girl who was kneeling on the ground a few metres away from. Her head was bent as ordered.

"Are you just going to sit like a useless doll?" Sukuna threw away the towel he was using to dry his hair, "Crawl on your knees here, pet."

Sukuna patted on his left thigh as two of his hands supported him as he leaned back a little. The kneeling girl got on all fours and started crawling towards him. Her back arched a little too much, putting her boobs and ass on show through the sheer kimono. She got between spreaded legs, sitting on the floor. She looked up at him with a cy smile as she slid her hands up his thighs.

She grabbed the hem of his towel and tied the knot, pulling it off. Cold air hit his two dicks making them twitch. The girl took one dick in her hand, giving him long strokes and giving kitty licks on the moist tip.

Sukuna grabbed a fistful of her hair, "What are you waiting for? Do what you came here to do."

Sukuna shoved his dick in her mouth, making her gag for life. She quickly calmed herself and started bobbing her head up and down. She hollowed the inside of her mouth, taking all in. Her small hands stroked the other one, giving them both the same amount of pleasure.

Sukuna threw his head back, groaning, as her tongue traced the throbbing vein wrapped around his cock. Images flashed in Sukuna's mind. Images of you kneeling between his legs instead of this no name girl. How good you would look taking his cocks like the good slut you were. Your mouth would puff up with his cook while your hands would work on his other one.

"F-fuck……. So good, you goddamn slut." His grip tightened as the thrusts became rougher and rougher. His red tips hitting the back of her throat. Tears swelled in her eyes in pain and pleasure.

"Y/N…… Y-Y/N, princess." His eyes rolled back as his hot cum shot in her mouth and chest. His hands released her hair, glancing down, disappointment filled inside him as he saw another girl instead of you.

"Master Sukuna, Who the hell is Y/N? I am Ayame." The girl cried out, "How could you call me by another girl's name?"

Her loud cries added to his annoyance. Before she could understand, Sukuna had grabbed her jaw in a tight grip, sneering at her, "Listen here you bitch, you are just a mare whore to satisfy me. Don't even try to cross your lines. You are nothing but a toy for me to play with, even that, you can't do right." He jerked her away, "Now scram."

She didn't need to be told twice. Her admiration for the king had clouded her mind, that she forgot his true nature. He was a notorious monster, not some prince charming. In a blink of an eye she was running for her room, completely ignoring the girl on the stairs.

Sukuna sighed, shaking his head. Too much drama in one day. At least your flustered face was worth it.

Water showered from the watering can on the flower plants in the garden. You carefully watered every plant. It was early morning, you wanted to finish before the sun hovered over the head and dried them dead. As you came to an end, you saw something rushed past from the corner of your eyes. It was so fast that you almost missed it.

You dropped the can on the ground and marched up to the bush that it hid behind. Parting the leaves, you came across possibly the most beautiful bunny you have ever seen with the most beautiful white fur.

"O my gosh! You baby." You gushed over it but that only seemed to scare it more as you saw it stepping back in fear. You saw the white fur on its left back leg wet with blood, "Don't worry you poor little thing, I won't hurt you."

You slowly brought your hand over it's head to pet but the second your hand was about to touch it, it sprinted off in the jungle behind the shrine.

"Come on, don't run away from me." You shouted as you ran behind the rabbit.

But it didn't stop, going farther into the forest and you ran behind it without any idea of direction. You don't know how long you ran for but soon your legs gave out and you found yourself slumping down under a tree, out of breath. Minutes passed before your racing heart came to a steady pace. You looked around and reality hit you hard. You had absolutely no idea where on earth you were.

You got up from the ground and started walking from the way you came from. It was half an hour when you finally accepted that you were lost. Panic bubbled in your heart. There was only high greenery wherever you looked. Not a single idea what way you came from.

Damn you bunny! And damn you stupid Y/N!

But you didn't stop. You walked and walked till the forest became dark and the moon came up. Everything around you had covered itself into black. Big shapes taking the forms of the terrific monsters. Goosebumps arised all over your body, in cold and fear. Ironic. You feel comfortable with the King of Curses but here you are, getting scared of silhouette. Your steps got wobbly and slow.

À rustling noise came from a bush and that injured rabbit hopped out of it. You shriek in fear, stepping back without seeing and before you know you are falling down the slope. Your body rolled down on the ground, twigs scratching and digging in your skin and all you could do was cry in pain. At the bottom you slammed on to a tree. You felt like all the air had left your lungs.

Tears burned your eyes and sobs erupted from you uncontrollably. With the help of hands, you brought yourself up to rest your back on the tree. Blood ran down from the cut on your forehead. Your body was aching for some rest, fighting for its life to stay away. You felt utterly hopeless.

Will anyone even notice that you've disappeared from the shrine? Will Sukuna notice that you didn't go to the usual meeting spot tonight? It's as if you had gone back to those days in your father's house. Where no one loved you but everyone loved to take their anger out on. At the crack of dawn when you went back to your little room, your body would feel like hell with all the new marks added on your skin.

When your father disclosed the news that you would be offered to Sukuna as a peace offering, you didn't feel an ounce of surprise. You had already accepted your misery. Maybe it was the result of your previous life's sin that you would meet your end by Ryomen Sukuna. But what shocked you was that your life with the cursed king was thousand times better than you had back home. Though you aren't sure if you could call that home.

Sukuna may be known for his cruelty but you would not think twice if you were told to worship him, consider him your god. He was your god. You could live your whole life being his loyal priestess. But what does he think about you? Are you as important to him as he is to you? Or are you just a toy for his entertainment? Well play toys are replaceable. Like the girl from the previous night, he's got many.

Your eyelids became heavy and the dizziness hovered in your mind. Much to your resistance, the world around you disappeared and your body slumped against the tree, unconscious.

Back in the shrine heavy footsteps thud on the wooden floor, Sukuna's huge body moved down the dimmy hallway, eyes glaring into nothing. Behind him, Uraume followed with a poker face but a storm was going inside their head. Sukuna stopped at the end of the hallway and threw the door open that slammed against the hall. Few panicked screams came from other rooms but Sukuna paid no mind to it.

His jaw clenched as he found the room empty, no sign of you being there. His eyes flared in anger and hidden disappointment. So, you finally resorted to running away? Was your life that bad here? Or did you just hate him that much? Sukuna doesn't remember doing anything that will lead to taking this kind of step.

"Uraume." His voice roared in the hallway, "Since when is she missing?"

"We noticed her absence this afternoon, Master Sukuna."

Sukuna threw them a glare, "And why was I not informed?"

"You ordered us to let her do anything she wants so we didn't pay much attention there." Uraume looked down, ashamed, "I'm sorry, Master."

"If I don't find her, you'll be more than sorry." Sukuna grunted before walking past them.

Soon there was a crowd of curses in the manor. Sukuna ordered every one of them to find you before sunrise and inform him. Sukuna sat on the throne, waiting for any news of you as he reminisced over the moments you two spent together. When he first saw you standing on the doorway, moonlight made you glow. You reminded him of that myth, moon princess.

Or those times where you showed no fear, hatred or disgust for him. When you saved the best looking fruit to serve him yourself every night. When you coloured the blank canvas with his palette. Those nights when you dominated his dreams, from the filthiest to the fluffiest. When you looked at him with nothing but pure affection that made his heart flutter. Then why? Just why did you run away?

The door opened and Uraume hurried inside, "Master Sukuna, they have found Ms. Y/N."

In an instant Sukuna was out of the door and into the woods led by Uraume. Questions played in his mind. What state were you in? Were you okay? Were you hurt? Did any stupid curse spirit attack you? Uneasiness filled him from inside the more he went deeper into the woods. How far have you gone?

At last he caught the gimpels of your slumped body. Sukuna crouched down in front of you, sliding off the strands stuck to your sweaty forehead only to realise that you've fainted. His eyes ran over your wounded body, at that moment he wanted to punish you for putting yourself in this position more than anything.

Silently, Sukuna slid one hand under your knees and one underneath your back and picked you up. Sukuna went back to the shrine with you in his arms.

When your eyes opened, an unfamiliar ceiling came to your view, too fancy to be your room. You frowned your eyebrows. What were you doing here? Then everything hit you from the previous day. You were not in the forest. That meant that someone had found you and brought you back here. Who was it?

You sat up on the soft bed, letting the blanket rest around your waist. Looking around, your eyes fell on the man sitting on the tatami mat with his back turned to you. His huge build and pink hair, hard to not notice. So he's the one who saved you? Again?

Your heart swelled up in happiness. Was he worried about you? Has he personally gone out to look for you? Did he miss you?

"Master Sukuna?" You called before you could understand. His back visibly stiffened but he remained still. Did he not hear you? You call him again but this time he roughly stood up and left the room. Confused is what you were with his actions. You wondered if you did something wrong. Seconds after he left, Uraume entered with a tray in hand.

They placed the tray on your lap, "Ms. Y/N, please drink some warm soup. You'll feel better."

Uraume said and took a seat beside the futon, on the tatami mat. Just as you were about to refuse, your belly rumbled embarrassingly loud. In the embarrassed silence, you picked up a little bit of steaming soup in the spoon, blowing on it and then drinking it.

You noticed that you were not feeling any kind of pain and there were no cuts or bruises on your body. After that fall you were sure that you would have at least one broken bone.

Uraume saw you inspecting your arms and they answered your unasked question, "Master Sukuna healed you."

You muttered a soft 'hmm' and silence engulfed you again. It was awkward, especially because the all put together Uraume was fidgeting with their sleeves.

You kept the tray aside with the empty soup bowl, "What is it, Uraume-san? You look anxious."

Uraume dropped their head on the floor, "Have we done something wrong that you had to take this kind of step? If so, please punish us."

Their sudden action sent you into panic mode, "Wait wait wait, What do you mean?"

"Master Sukuna is deeply hurt by your attempt to run away. Please don't punish him for our mistakes." Uraume answered.

Run away?

You threw off the blanket and grabbed them by their shoulders, bringing them up, "Uraume-san, I am confused. When did I try to run away?"

The next words that came out of Uraume's mouth sent you in a spiral. How they misunderstood you going missing. They also mentioned how hurt and angry Sukuna was. That explains his attitude just now.

You palmed your mouth, "O my lord! That's… um.... it's not, where is Master Sukuna? I've to clear this misunderstanding."

You ran out of the room, ignoring Uraume's shouting to not strain yourself. The first place you looked for him was the library where he spent most of his day, drowning himself in the poetic world of other's imagination. Unfortunately it was empty but there was a pile of books left on the table as if someone had tried so hard to read but just couldn't concentrate.

Next was the throne room but it also devoid any sign of him. Where could he be? What place would he go to? Then it clicked. That place. Where you first met him. Where you enjoyed the serene silence of the night. Where you slowly but surely fell for him. The indoor pond.

As you neared the place, muffled voices became clear. Deep raspy voice of you King and a higher pitched feminine voice.

"............. Please Master, I've surrendered myself to you. Why can't you see my love?" Tears streamed down Ayame's porcelain cheeks as she stared at Sukuna's back. Even while sitting down he almost towered over her petite figure.

Sukuna grunted, feeling irritated but otherwise decided to ignore her existence. If it was any other time, she already would have been sliced into million pieces. But at the moment, neither he had any wish nor any energy to put someone in their place.

The whole night Sukuna spent staying by your side and healing your wounds. In the process he discovered all the fading marks on your body when the maid changed you out of that dirty attire and onto a more comfortable blue one. Sukuna had a faint idea who might be the cause of those bruises. Of course who else other than that greedy bastard of your father.

It took every fibre in his body to not go on rampage and find that fucker. Sukuna wanted to give him the slowest and the most dreadful death anyone could even think of. But patience is the key to a satisfying result.

"Master Sukuna, that girl doesn't even love you. She didn't think twice before pulling that stunt."

Sukuna groaned in annoyance. Can't this girl just shut up for once. Ayame knew that she was crossing the line or may have crossed it long ago, it might cost her her life but today was her chance. If she could show him just how much she loved him and deserved his love, she might get to be with him for eternity. She could turn into a damn cannibalistic curse for him.

She gulped down the fear and approached him, "I love you, Master Sukuna, way more than that ungrateful girl could ever—"

Just as she was about to place her hand on his shoulder, a pair of hands grabbed her wrist in a painful fist. The huge one belonged to Sukuna while the one underneath his was much more skinny to be his. Both Sukuna and her eyes followed it and they saw you standing there but you were only looking at Sukuna. He instantly withdrew his hand back and got up, standing at the edge of the pond.

You jerked her hand off, "I do not appreciate anyone talking bad about me behind my back."

"You've got some nerves to say that after the atrocious stunt that you have pulled the night before." Ayame gritted words out between her teeth.

"Don't act so over smart. You don't even know what actually happened. I would never……" Your voice softened, "I can never do that."

Ayame scoffed, "You think anyone will believe your bullshit? If you really didn't try to run away then what were you doing that deep into the forest?"

"I don't owe you any explanation, whoever you may be."

"I'm Ayame—"

"I don't want to know." You ignored her fuming face and walked up to Sukuna instead, "Master Sukuna—"

"Ayame." Her face lit up with hope as Sukuna called her name but that soon turned into disappointment with his next words, "Get out."

Ayame took her leave with an already broken heart. Sukuna went back to being silent again, giving you a chance to explain yourself. You wait for the door to close and give you the much needed privacy but that never happened. You ignored that too.

"Master Sukuna, I didn't try to run away, it's a big misunderstanding." You explained everything, each and every small detail but you were not sure if he even believed you.

His back still faced you, Sukuna remained silent for some time before finally saying something to you, "Why should I believe you? For all I know all this might just be an excuse from you so that I don't kill you."

Sukuna's mouth worked without any thoughts, "Maybe you really intended to get as far away from me as possible. All this time that you spent with me was to make me let my guard down. I was shocked when you said that you aren't scared of me, that might have been a lie too right?......."

It hurt you to see him doubt you and your unspoken relationship. As you tried to interrupt him, his bombarding voice stopped you. Even you were starting to feel frustrated with the situation. At last you let frustration take over you.

In just three steps you were standing in front of the king of curses. You wrapped your arms around his thick neck and got on tiptoes, then your lips crushed on his rough ones. Sukuna didn't react instantly but then his stiff body relaxed. He reciprocated the kiss with much more passion. A hand tangled with your open hair while another rested on the middle of your back. Two hands wrapped around your waist and rested on you ass.

His tongue explored every corner of your mouth. Your hand sneaked up on the nape of his neck and twisted in his pink hair. Sukuna moved, taking you along with him and you followed blindly. Then you felt yourself falling and hitting the cold water of the pond.

You yelped in surprise, "Master Sukuna!"

Your fingers dug on the fabric over his shoulder in death grip. Sukuna kept a firm hold around your waist as he removed the hair on your face that was blocking his view. Water clung to him, making him appear more appealing than ever.

"You cannot live without me?" Sukuna said as his lips curled up in a smirk, using your earlier said words to tease you.

However the smirk was wiped off his face the next second when instead of shying away, you pulled him close till your breast was squeezed against his chest, "I, the loyal servant of the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, can not live or even think of living without my King."

"You are getting bolder these days." Sukuna whispered under his breath and you reciprocated it with, "The effect of you, my King."

Sukuna wasted no time devouring your lips in his. Both soaking wet from the water, you let yourself be lost in each other, exploring each other's body. Clothes shredded, bodies entangled, and two cursed souls became one. Ayame stood outside, her back leaning against the wall as tears streamed down her cheeks and neck. Maybe she truly didn't deserve him.

Thus began the crimson love of the cursed king, Ryomen Sukuna.

"Come here baby, I brought you your favourite fruit, peaches." Sukuna watched as your kneeling form gushed over the white rabbit who hopped out from behind the tree, taking the peach and feasting on it without any care, "Eat fast before anyone sees you here."

It was the same injured one that had caused chaos in your life months ago. You found it wandering in the garden after that passionate night when you gave yourself completely to Sukuna. Sukuna sometimes wonders whether he should let you know that he already knows about him. But seeing you hop around, scared of him finding out is too entertaining.

"Y/N!" Sukuna called from the second floor.

"Bye bye baby." You shoo-ed the bunny away in fear. Sukuna could barely suppress the laugh as you sprinted inside the shrine, "Yes, Master Sukuna, I'm coming."

Yeah, he definitely should not.

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© 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐔𝐒-𝐍-𝐋𝟎𝐕𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to LOTUS-N-L0VE. do not plagiarise any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.

#ryomen x reader #ryoumen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x you #Sukuna ryomen imagine #sukuna imagines #sukuna imagine #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #lotus writes

[miserycanary]

PERSISTS IN DELUSION ᡣ𐭩 previous ⤶

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & reader 

synopsis: you've left and what was left of Ghost (pt.2)

tags: I really don't know whether to tag this as fluff or angst 

The clock hanging by the wall ticks persistently like a bomb waiting to break Ghost’s delusion that you’ll come back. Ever since that night, he has spent his time like a literal ghost. Barely eating, barely moving, barely living without you. 

With each heavy step that he takes toward your shared bedroom—now bare—the pain in his chest drags him. “I’m home, baby..” he gruffs at the presence he tricked himself to think was still there. Dropping his things by the door, he moves so slowly and plops himself at the mattress that is now cold.. Like how it always was before you came into his life and warmed his whole body and soul. 

Ghost isn’t a crier. Never was. He took all the beatings from his father without letting a single tear fall. He didn’t shed shit when he had to force himself out of the grave he was put in alive. Not even when he left with no family and had to witness that moment with his own eyes. Ever since then, he has swore to heaven and earth that they will never take anything from him again. Depriving himself of anything that could tie him down emotionally.

Then suddenly there was you in all your glory.

Face painted similarly to his as you hand the kids celebrating Día de Muertos candies. Ghost never thought he’d take a step back in this country but as if tugged by fate, he found himself surrounded with the similar decorations that started his nightmare. Yet all he could zero out on was you. And that moment, Ghost knew that heaven and earth were snickering at him, mocking him for what he swore long before was now forgotten. 

As the crown dissipates, he takes all the scuffed pieces of his heart. “That’s a pretty flower,” he grumbles. He sees the way you flinch at the sudden person, turning around to see his towering self. Simon wasn’t stupid and he knew how intimidating he looked and expected you to be scared. His apology is already at the tip of his tongue. 

“Thank you! Do you want it?” He stills, blinking at the unexpected reaction. “O-oh, yeah, thank you.” You, on the other hand, expected the giant of a man to take the delicate flower with roughness, even expecting some petals to fall yet he took it so gently. Simon plucked the stem from your hand, placing it on the wide expanse of his palm and leaning lower to expect it. “Pretty..” he mutters, and you almost agreed if not for the way he said it with his eyes on you. 

Time passed and you guys were intertwined, lives and love exchanged throughout the two years he was with you. 

Ghost fully expected you to run when he first told you about himself, but you stayed. You tore down his walls with patience and care, showing empathy for what he has gone through but never pity and that made him fall deeper. Now Ghost would be lying if he said he has relationship experiences but he knew that if he doesn’t take this opportunity, then he’d lose you before he even had you (he lost you either way). 

But what could he do now? What’s done has been done. He could learn about a relationship all he wants but who matters the most to him is gone. With a new profound energy, he pulled himself up, opening the drawer beside him. He shuffles through the pile of things before pulling out what he was looking for. Sighing, he opens the box and stares at the engagement ring. 

Taking you for granted was not his intention. When you started to cook him meals, take care of the dishes, and everything else, he thought this was the norm. His duty was just to spoil his pretty girl. He never found anything wrong with the dread and exhaust that paints your face everyday because he was used to the heavy weight and assumed everyone was like that. You never complained, so he thought everything was fine. 

And he never wanted to snap back at you. He knew all about the sacrifice you did and gave for him, and how much you went through just to stay with him. He watches your eyes dim each time he tells you that you guys have to move once again or how broken you were when he found you at the hands of someone who wanted him dead. Loving him and being loved wasn’t easy but you did it with no complaints. 

Now he had to go out and be stupid, letting you slip from his fingers just because he couldn’t carry his weight for some measly housework. The very next day that you left the house, staying somewhere who knows where, he bought a dishwasher and hired a cleaner. Try as he might to do the housework just to please you, he knows that his time won’t allow it. So, he tried his best to work around it with the hopes that you’ll come back, but where were you? 

He has called your number multiple times after giving you enough space but no calls were returned. You were coming back to him, right? You won’t leave him, right?

You’ll still love him, right? You will. Ghost smiles softly to himself, kissing the ring while a shy tear slips. “You’ll look so pretty with this ring, darling…” he whispers to the presence that he tricked himself was still there.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: this is so long overdue. Sorry for the person who requested this because it took me this long!! 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open! 

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

#canary’s melodies #canary’s symphonies #simon riley x y/n #simon riley cod #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #ghost #cod fanfic #task force 141 #tf 141 #cod angst #cod #call of duty #modern warefare 2 x reader #simon ghost x you

[hwaightme]

Panacea

(masterlist)

🌊pairing: poet!seonghwa x doctor!gn!reader 🌊genre: fluff, slice of life, slow burn, healing, strangers to lovers, comfort 🌊summary: what do a poet who lost his inspiration and a cosmetic surgeon who lost their empathy have in common? when you make an escape from the city to a memory-filled cottage on the edge of the world, you meet park seonghwa, a poet who, after growing fatigued of shallow critique and unwanted attention, is on a search for true beauty. you, a surgeon who cannot bear to hear nor assess another patient , abhor its twisted definitions. as the seasons change, storms abate and your paths entangle, you discover a new, unparalleled kind of beauty. 🌊wordcount: 32.8k 🌊warnings/tags: semi-edited, attempts at sijo (forgive me), discussion of beauty standards, mention of surgery/clinics, weather imagery, nightmares, discussion of life and death (jokes relating to death), talk of oc death, urban/rural comparisons, isolation, burnout, philosophy, judgement of media, seaside, cliffs, dialogue + inner thoughts, perspective switching, falling in love, loving another's mind, talk of what is 'real' beauty, food (incl. meat), eating, cooking, implied anxiety, implied impulsive thoughts, sneak into home, lmk if anything else 🌊author's note: happy birthday, seonghwa, wishing for you and for atiny alike to have a cherished panacea and a love brighter than the stars <3 hope you enjoy, all reblogs and notes appreciated~

🌊playlist: 'unreal unearth' and 'unheard' by hozier, 'dark corners and alchemy' + reason to live by mehro, love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey, okinawa by 92914, yeti + village song by paris paloma, exhale inhale by aurora, butterflies by tom odell, house song by searows, cornflower blue by flower face, icarus and apollo by ripto, the view between villages by noah kahan, my love mine all mine + i'm your man by mitski, when i c u by pomme

⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆

Art. Expression, embodiment, eternity. The world was art. From how the leaves trembled in the wind to how the water rippled, from a heartwarming smile to an earth-shattering glare, everything could be immortalised with an inspired, skilled transition. A perception of the eyes or the heart or the mind could be turned into anything from what might have been virtually nothing. Internal palaces, interpretation, innovation all were crafted and translated through art, onto canvases - trillions of brushstrokes, onto countless pages - trillions of priceless words, onto generations - wisdom and creation passed from one to another, all throughout history, leaving no stone unturned. To study and perceive art was to learn of the beauties of the universe, with beauty being a reflection of both aesthetics and terror. Such was life, and it breathed through the arts. From the beginning of time all the way to the modern era, art was a human’s true loyal companion. And even after the human would pass, art remained, loyal, vigilant, forever telling the tale that was cast onto a medium. One does not create art, one breathes it.

This is exactly why when an artist cannot create, it feels as though air has been knocked out of the lungs, a boulder weighed down on the chest, and the priceless essence of inspiration’s air could not be further away - a lost soul sinking into the hopeless abyss. The world grew darker and darker, until it fell silent. The artist, the art - a relationship of worship and boundless adoration, but also that of treachery and misery. Such was the fate of the one who stepped onto the thorned path of creation. One such humble human who, unlike a myriad of others, stumbled into the realm by accidental interest and longstanding innate passion, and due to the spontaneity and retained connection with the self had achieved relatively impressive success, was none other than Park Seonghwa. The poet. The visionary. The artist. Blessed with the spoken and written word, craftsmanship in rhythm and rhyme, grace in prose, he was a promising rising star in a progressively shallow world. As the consciousness melted into brevity and emotionlessness, he fearlessly dived into what made the soul, picking it apart, analysing it, and pouring the golden threads onto paper. An observer, he loved the colours of nature with all his heart. Every season, every day retained a magnificence for him which he tried to depict and incorporate in his work. Both experimental and traditionally sound, his “studies of daily life miniature wonders”, as he called his poetry, resonated.

But, as known far and wide, resonance brings expectation, and Seonghwa could not escape it either. Invitation after invitation, interviews and talk shows, signings if he was lucky to find a group of those truly interested in his craft; events all came clawing at him, tearing at his energy and soundness of mind until there was barely anything left, and even then, the droplets remaining were only thanks to his suddenly rediscovered harshness, followed by a series of declinations and digital disappearances. He made people feel, and in turn, the people felt like he owed them. The so-called success, or, in other words a nightmarish scrutiny that he could never foresee in the midst of his art, did not come without unrelated commentary either. From his attire to his physique to his facial expressions during public events - and on the occasion someone would recognise him on the street: his neutral, perfectly relaxed face, were all now considered to be public property. He could not breathe. Seonghwa’s hand shuddered whenever he would lift it in an attempt to write, aching, a nervous tremor turning into an earthquake the more he strained himself.

It was an impossible venture. Everywhere Seonghwa looked, everywhere he went, there were eyes and opinions, louder than his mind could ever be. The wind was no longer whistling a melody, returning to an indecipherable cacophony. The strawberries that the poet had purchased in the super store on the way to the edge of nothingness, where he was staying, were no longer sweet, crimson warnings left to rot in a bowl on the windowsill as he scurried from room to room out of fear of being spotted from the outside. There should be no one where he escaped to - an ancient cottage that belonged to a relative whom he had never known, but had spontaneously gotten close to out of necessity - was it a cousin?… leading to a spot where nothing ran, life was but a stillness, obedient to the sun and rain, lifting sorrows with the fog, falling into a slumber with the blanket of the pitch black night. In an effort to avoid the crowds and the rashness of his own potential future actions, Seonghwa had made an escape to what he would call ‘the void’. Forest, barely a hamlet to house civilization in the distance, sea. Infinite expanse of grassland, cliffsides, seagulls ceaselessly patrolling the skies. Within the first few days he had already forgotten where he was, and where he had come from. Such was existence without inspiration and purpose.

Rise and pretend to follow rhythm. One word on a page, floating towards abandonment. Ink drying. Lukewarm tea descending into the mouth of the sink. Swaying tulle, the only reminder that there was movement. Seonghwa collapsed onto the cream-coloured sofa, his dark tresses which had gotten considerably longer over his period of hiding after the astonishing battles with too many opinionated ignoramuses spilling over a throw pillow. He shut his eyes, a dull pressure behind them and of his temples becoming more pronounced. When was the last time he had a truly restful handful of hours of sleep? It would be bold to assume that he could answer that question. He could hear the creaking of the fence gate outside - the construction had a mind of its own, having sagged under its age and the salty air. Now, one of its corners sometimes dragged along the gravel path leading from the cottage out, and to the vistas of a tumultuous seaside. No one in sight except himself, and even then, Seonghwa avoided mirrors, terrified that he, too, would begin to repeat the utterings voiced to him again, and again. Black tar that stuck itself to his brain. He rubbed his temples, pinched the bridge of his nose, massaged his forehead, knowing full well that whatever he was planning to do was futile. There was no cure to this kind of sorrow. Only time. Fatigued from deliberation and heavy dread that plagued him, reducing function to nil, Seonghwa drifted, only the echoes of a suppressed catharsis haunting him.

It was a lulling ripple. Susurration of the shimmering waves, languidly guiding the timid moonlight. As the wind picked up, so did the infinite blanket of deep midnight blue, decorated with threads of pure silver. The whispers soon transformed into a harmony of echoes, filling the air with a chilling premonition. The quietude – the chosen one, to be sacrificed to the orchestration of natural disorder, a cyclical necessity. There was no rule, no need. Only the endless expanse of the living, breathing, turbulent waters. A storm. A roar engulfed the atmosphere, and all that dared oppose the metamorphosis. Imminent destruction of aquatic grace, devolving into a nightmarish, ghoulish madness. Reminiscent of a clamour, the waves crashed against your consciousness, persistently, repeatedly, threatening to tear away at your cranium and pour over into your lungs, taking ownership of your paralysed form.

Seonghwa struggled to catch a single breath, heaving, and yet running on empty, a shallow, superficial hint of oxygen lumped in his oesophagus. An unforgettable burning – his eyes, his nose, his lips, all enslaved by the agonising salt that penetrated their protective membranes and made him shriek as it buried itself in his cooling bloodstream. Seonghwa was losing to the elements, succumbing to the fatigue that was seeping into his aching, overstrained limbs. On the verge of giving up and letting go of the spirit that had driven him to struggle in the first place, he tried to shut his eyes just as he had done to his art, praying he would be let down slowly.

In futility and a sudden moment of clarity, the world went silent once more, only with a soft bubbling to accompany as he descended further and further down into the dark abyss, bidding farewell to the omniscient, looming and cruel sky. He was unsure whether what he was experiencing was a hallucination or a reality, however he distinctly felt gentle arms wrap around him, and pull him close to the body of another being, cradling his drowning form. The young poet allowed himself to relish in the sensation, lest it be the last, ignoring the light that was approaching once more. It was impossible to assume for it to be anything except the path to divinity, and for the trusted guide of the currents to be a guardian angel, carrying him through the sea to his final judgement.

The foreign warmth unwound Seonghwa, and he was in a blissful state of somnolence. Nothing existed except him and the sea that embraced him, sheltered him from the squall above the surface. The state was reminiscent of an embryo, yet to experience the harsh realities, beatific and unaware of what was to come. A mysterious stranger, a figure of grace made of sea foam, erasing his terrors and returning him to the terrestrial realm where he belonged. The sea, bewildered and endeared with his feeble mortality had bestowed mercy upon him - a foreign act, and yet it turned into a saving grace from the treacherous domain. He was not a being of the prejudiced, ravenous ocean. As his back felt the wet sand beneath, and a pressure on his chest, expelling water that was ravaging his lungs grew stronger, he was more confident in his livelihood, despite having lost his breath, his sight, his hearing. Nothing existed except a storm somewhere far from him, and a brutal stinging of salt that consumed the arteries. The liquid trickled from his frozen lips and down his cheeks, absorbed by the grains that were already sneaking into his hair. The pressure was getting more intense, bordering on unbearable. His ribs, subdued by agony, were begging for relief. His mouth opened in a silent scream, a hand shot out into the darkness. A snap. A crashing of a wave.

Seonghwa jolted awake, feeling his chest and looking around. The window, which had previously been left open only a crack, had swung open fully, and the tulle had flown out with what had to be an oncoming gale. A drumming resonated from the inner walls of the house, one which he decisively ignored and let it be consumed by the chaos outside. Leaning over to take a cautious peek, the young man rapidly discovered a downpour that was soaking the thin, white material - a flag begging for forgiveness from nature. He hurried from the sofa, almost stumbling over his feet and the carpet, careful to not slip on the puddle that started to form below the sill, on the aged floorboards. Cursing under his breath, he fought against the creaking wood that was ruthless in wishing to hold the window in place, until, in a final fit of frustration, Seonghwa pulled wildly, nearly tumbling back as the frame slid into its rightful location with a stubborn shake. He hit the curved iron handle back into position, noting how even more of the white paint on the frame had chipped off, and the wood beneath was starting to show signs of potential rot. Since he was merely a guest, though it was nearly approaching half a year that he had been residing in the cottage, he would have to call someone in his family about this, wouldn’t he? A stray finger glided over the damage, and he pondered how long it had been since the wear and tear had started. Who was it that left this cottage to abandon, for people who were virtually strangers to occupy for a temporary retreat?

He placed a hand to his chest, feeling the beating of his erratic heart, not yet calm from the nightmare. Curious, how the sea had crept into his mind so strongly. The guardian and the destroyer of the surrounding grounds. A mirror of the skies with a presentation and strength of its own. Undoubtedly scornful of his hollow presence - an artist who ceased to create. What could be more tragic and distasteful? He pulled at the loosely woven white sweater that hung loosely on his body, pinching the white sleeveless tee underneath when he spotted a speck of dust, or was it a grain of sand? He raised an eyebrow, trying to contain the particle between his fingers but failing to do so as it rolled down until it disappeared against the floor. Right, he had cleaning to do. He shook his head and led himself to the kitchen, where he grabbed rags, a bucket, some supplies to aid him in fixing up the attacked corner of the living room.

With an anxious swiftness, Seonghwa took down the translucent curtain and wiped the floorboards, the wall, the window sill, sighing at the scenery outside. Steely grey skies and thunderous clouds the colour of smoke and ash, diagonal rain rendering it almost impossible to see the rocky cliffs and hills that otherwise highlighted his vista. Waves took on a hue that was reminiscent of a mixture of emerald and onyx, with thick streaks of foam the colour of melancholy. Rocks, eroded and reshaped by the waters, were splotches of black in the landscape, and the tall grass - golden and green from the tedium of perpetual beatdowns by the sun and the storms, brushstrokes that blended with the speeding droplets. He paused. How marvellous it was, to become one with the sky. A connection to the heavens as it weeped, mourning the mortal motion of the earth. He squeezed the rag feeling the clouds’ tears well up between the digits. Surely, if he had been saved in his dream, there was hope? Seonghwa tilted his head, still, ensnared by the scenery outside, not too dissimilar from what had been his unconscious battle. The sea saved him. His beloved nature, void of humanity, of quotidien illness innate to every being. Those graceful hands, sending him in a spinning dance through the grand depths, a soothing drowning. Blind to the temporary, he had the pleasure of consuming eternal presence. Perhaps this was a sign, and not a horror that he had lived through.

After wiping the last of the moisture and taking the items back to the kitchen, he ambled back to the room. There was nothing stopping the waves. Untouched - not by the fishermen who he would see from time to time, not by the adventurers tourists who wanted to take in the views of the rising sun, not by those who, at least on paper, owned the neighbouring lands. Everyone was subordinate to the sea. Including himself. The dream was a call. It had to have been. He put a palm over the centre of his ribcage, the bone whispering what had unfolded a mere few minutes ago. The intensity of what reminded Seonghwa of an exorcism was nothing short of a twisted blessing. A shy smile crept onto his lips as the cottage took the brunt of another gust of wind and spears of rain and a ghost of a plank somewhere in the house groaned. Or perhaps it was the cottage itself, mumbling a greeting to its waking occupant. Swaying of the history contained within the building, time in every chip of paint, in every brick.

There was not much to fear in the sea’s cradle. In the middle of nowhere, with only himself and the coming autumn to keep him company, Seonghwa sensed the ebbs and flows of his soul start up again. He raised his hand to eye level, stretching it out until the fingers were splayed apart and the palm was flat and facing the floor. Much to his unexpected delight, it remained steady, obedient, attuned to his present musings. His legs led the way, guiding him to a door that was located almost under the stairs. With a click of the handle, the room he had made his office and study was revealed. An antique lacquered mahogany table, much too large for the space available, had been a formidable foe for the last few months, and now, was shining a different colour. Seonghwa ran a hand over the intricate detailing of its edges as he pushed the matching chair back. Glanced up, took in the scenery on the other side of the window - much smaller than the one he had fought against, but allowing him to behold the memorable landscape nonetheless.

Gingerly, he pulled at the iron hook of the top drawer, revealing a black, leather bound notebook and a pen - his favourite, from the little shop down the street where he lived in the city. Glossy chrome silver, ergonomic, and made to be a medium for the arts. Seonghwa noted the dryness in his throat, and adjusted the collar of his sweater absent-mindedly. It was easy, right? Just pick up the pen, take out the book and open it, sit down and- and what next? He paused, hand hovering over his tools. What was next, indeed? Flutters of ideas like fragile butterflies suspended in the mind palace, wishing for transition into the world of the living. Could he do it? Upon asking himself the question, he swore he heard the sea roar louder, and the cottage creak in response. With a shake of the head, he decided. Enough was enough. He had to try - it was now or never. He fell into the seat, holding his breath as he clenched the pen, letting it dig into his skin - a lethal blade. A blank page scrutinised him. On instinct, he decorated it with ink, flowing into the barren landscape, introducing himself.

천둥과 회색 바다, 갈매기 울음소리 (the thunder and the grey sea, the crying of seagulls)

폭풍은 심장의 리듬을 만든다 (the storm makes the rhythm of the heart)

입술과 볼에 소금이 행복한 추억이다 (the salt on the lips and cheeks is a happy memory)

The rain was still pouring when Seonghwa woke up again, having resorted to resting his fatigued body on the same sofa rather than carrying it upstairs. It was quieter that way, without the tears pouring directly on the roof above. Having dipped his fingertips back into writing, and dabbling in a more liberal interpretation of sijo, he was spent, as though he had gone through a war, crawled under barbed wire to find his own reflection on the other side. The poet ran a hand through his locks, still messy from the tossing and turning that he had undoubtedly done while asleep - at least this time he had no dreams, even if it was exactly through such a manifestation that he had discovered the urge to try and revive his calling and skill. He checked the time, the antique clock on the other side of the room idly ticking away regardless of what happened around it. Early dawn, and yet the surroundings remained immersed in grey. He stretched, not caring for the wool throw that he had used as his blanket sliding down to pool on his lap. A strain in his neck - he tilted his head to stretch the sleepy, insubordinate muscle, wincing as he seemed to have struck a painful point of tension. It was time to rise with the rainclouds. Seonghwa shuffled into his slippers, the chill creeping across the floor discouraging him from forgoing the action, and grabbed the throw, folding it on reflex.

One foot in front of the other, eyes still half-shut, the walls served as guides towards the staircase, and the wooden handrail was a direct lead that let him doze as he felt for each new elevation. The rain pelted the skylight that shed some light on the stairs, the thrum an intense melody. And to think that it was sunny and warm - the epitome of summer, only a mere few days ago. Well, he said few days, but that was more a liberal interpretation than anything. Stuck on the edge of early spring, the seasons had passed by him at a menacing pace, summer, autumn, winter all blending into one monstrous creature. When he reached the second floor, something prompted him to pause. Seonghwa squinted, focusing on the door at the far end of the corridor, more specifically, the decorative woven carpet that was hanging off a neatly hammered nail right into its centre - ornate, depicting a lighthouse scene that had instantly made the young poet wonder if there was one in the vicinity of the cottage. But it was not the carpet itself that momentarily disturbed him, but rather the angle at which it was hanging. Over the time of Seonghwa being in this property so far, he had already done his fair share of cleaning and adjustments, as one would expect, but not a single time did he see the item move off the centre of the thread that was hooked onto the nail - perhaps only when the door itself was used. Since Seonghwa had selected a room that had windows that looked in the direction of the fence gate and main entrance, rather than to the side and towards the cliffs, he had no need to enter the darkness, only for general upkeep. What had made the item move? Raising an eyebrow, he approached the door, creaking of the floorboards accompanying him. No sound from behind the door. Only the heaving of the house that saw many storms in its day. A chuckle involuntarily escaped him as he adjusted the carpet - he must still be under the impression from the dream, that must be it. Everything was suspicious; but that was how he usually got when he was in the depths of ideation. Sensitive, responsive, one with the world. Patting the rough fabric, he turned, making his way to his quarters.

The decor was simple, minimalist, with echoes of nautical and rustic themes. A tiny model of a sailboat in a bottle, displayed on a slab of wood that must have been cut and taken from the forest nearby. A laundry basket made out of a rope so thick that Seonghwa assumed that it used to be on a ship before settling in the cottage for retirement. White sheets, with a line of pale baby blue chequered fabric running through the very top, marking its direction. Matching chequered pillows - large, soft clouds stuffed to the brim with feathers, perfectly made. The bed had been left untouched by him that night, and remained in suspense. He ran a hand over its edge, feeling the soft fabric. Carefully, he placed the throw at the end of the bed, and turned towards the double wardrobe - well, he was being rather kind to call it that. Not quite a single, not quite a double, the piece which looked to have been made by whoever had been the owner of the land a while back stood proud, without any particular definition. It served its purpose, and was happy to do so. From the carved patterns around the handles to how the doors easily swung open, this piece of furniture was nothing like what he would see in the city. It contained love, care. Was one of a kind. Perhaps that was another issue he would have to take care of, should he return to the metropolis soon - change his interior. There was enough standard decor for him to turn into an automaton. An apartment like everybody else’s. Enough space, but no room to breathe - existing only to live up to or fulfill expectations.

He changed into a pleasant neutrality - in fact, most of the clothing that Seonghwa had brought with him retained a quality of muted bliss. Beige and cream, black, white, shades of grey, a few patterned pieces containing navy, diluted pinks here and there, he wanted to blend into the scenery. Shake with the tall grass. Stretch his arms out and embrace the sky, floating towards it. But for now, a white shirt would have to do. He made a couple of small adjustments while looking at the mirror that hung above the cabinet directly at the end of the bed, flush against the wall, flicking the dangling silver earring that he had left in since yesterday, used to napping with the accessory. A couple of brushes with the comb he kept on said cabinet, and finally, the look was manageable. Knowing he would be careful, Seonghwa decided to wash up before continuing on with his day; more adventuring around the house, down the stairs and off to the side past the kitchen. He stared at his reflection, dismissing the hints of stubble that were beginning to show themselves - as if anyone would care if he scrapped shaving altogether. No one except himself. The rest of the steps he could not skip over, diligence and habit taking back the reins. Routine, but in the house so far removed from places where routine was king, it was reassuring.

Soon enough, there were scrambled eggs on a plate, fork lying to the side, and a steaming cup of black tea in his hand as he flicked through his midnight musings. Not too bad. Certainly not the best. At least not to him. His hand was rash, his thoughts unclear, his rhythm lacking. It had to be better than this; the voice of judgement returned to him and struck him like lightning, only this time, the current of the bubbling waves dampened the effect. Why was it that he began to sound like those he grew up and returned to listening to? So much running, and to return to the same vocalisations? Enough. He set the notebook down, and took a sip of the still hot tea. Clarity, that was what he had to practise. Since he was alone, he had no other opinion to fear, and could work on his reconnection with art to his heart’s content. Seonghwa was lucky enough to not be tied to anything nor anyone in particular, and the continuously rising popularity of the songs he had worked on as a poet and lyricist a little while ago ensured that if need be, he had financial cover.

A stray thought about the outside world passed him. Did he still matter, or was he gradually being forgotten? One wave after another, one artist was bound to surpass another. Such was the harsh reality. His breakfast was cooling as he stared at the pristine table cloth, mulling the notion over. Time ran differently here, that much was certain. Could that mean that out there in the city, centuries had already passed? What was he missing? A mild panic started to rise in his throat, and on instinct he stood up, foregoing the rest of his meal in favour of a stroll within the confines of the walls but not before grabbing the tiny black notebook.

One step, another, and soon he fell into a rhythm, traversing the territories of the kitchen, dining and living room area, ambling into the miniature office space, back out again until he was retracing the same patterns, writing characters on the floor with each footfall. He was ink, combatting resistance to absorption into the primordial canvas, towards artistic immortality. Seonghwa wanted to push himself at first opportunity. He had to write, had to provide the listening curtains and chairs with fresh prose or poetry, whatever came to mind and was reasonable first. He was Park Seonghwa, for goodness sake. It should come easy. The months were just a pause like that when one holds their breath. Each day a microsecond. The shake, starting from deep in his upper arm and trickling lethal poison down to his wrist and fingers, started to give signs of its awakening. No, it could not be! The poet stopped, not dissimilar to how a car would stop at the edge of a cliff. What was happening to him? The book found recluse from his spiritual agony above a fireplace, one of the elements of the house Seonghwa had had no reason to experiment with, not being bothered by the howling cold drafts. Toying with the edge of his sleeve, he succumbed to pensive disorder, eyes locked on the unassuming object.

"Not today then…" the utterance melted into the ambience, "fiendish creature."

Determined creaking of wood and its crash jolted him off the spot, and Seonghwa was almost pulling himself up the stairs. The house was old enough to need repairs, but this could be major, and all the more disastrous if the rain bled in. Heart jumping out of his chest he skipped steps, alarm bells ringing in his ears. He had been submerged in his philosophies for so long that he could have easily missed some more complex deteriorating hazard of the cottage, particularly since he never had to even consider such a thing back in the capital. Maintenance, checks, security… all automatic and managed by someone he would never see, while here, he was the one responsible. He, the pseudo-owner for the coming season, had to see the outcomes, and admonish himself in the mirror should anything go wrong, which was probably one of the reasons why he preferred to not use the object more than necessary. He turned his head side to side, to the skylight, behind him, all for nothing. Only the drizzle, and the decorative carpet, tilted. Like it had been pushed on purpose. He inched towards the door, looking for any shadows that may fall through the crack at the bottom and stretch outwards. Stopping right in front, he put an ear to it, while pretending to adjust the piece of fabric. Nothing, or the house was keeping secrets from him, too. Fed up with the mystery, he yanked the handle, and then gave it a violent twist and push, all to no avail, meeting a secure lock. Did he accidentally lock it the last time he had been in? Seonghwa could not remember, but the curious appearance of this issue was more than inspiring. The storm was playing tricks on the poet again, whispering devious tales in his ears. A late night fog, he descended to the ground floor in search of his weapons to carve the enigma, not hearing the sigh that carelessly escaped through the keyhole.

차가운 강철 바다가 겨울을 삼킨다 (the winter is swallowed by the cold steel sea)

모래는 신성한 행위의 비밀을 간직한다 (the sands hold the secret of the sacred act)

장난꾸러기 봄은 또 무엇을 가져올까 (what else will the mischievous spring bring?)

⋆✧. you .✧⋆

It wasn't that you were tired per se, it was just that if you were to spend another day doing what you had been doing, you would make it a personal goal to destroy the world. But you were smarter than acting on the manic rage that lapped at the shoreline of your consciousness, and so you did what any good citizen would do and removed yourself as cleanly as quietly as possible. On paper, there was nothing wrong, and a sabbatical did not seem to be out of order, especially considering the hours you had been putting in for the last few years. Some of your longer-term patients did have to be reshuffled of course, but you did not mind that one bit - they would not be haunting you anymore, at least not for the time period of professionally approved evaporation. There was no greater joy than shoving your identification badge into a drawer and ridding yourself of your scrubs for longer than a few hours. 

Bare essentials in a rucksack and a train ticket was all you needed, and once you arrived at your safe haven, it would be piece of cake to hitch a ride from one of the farmers you had befriended - who knows, maybe this time around you could get on one of the fancy new tractors. When the prospect of returning to your favourite place was feeling more real, you could not help yourself but turn back to your tendencies of being a dreamer. It was always more delightful to live in the clouds to the rhythm of the sun’s rays rather than to a beeping of the heart monitor. You could almost imagine the journey, the beauty of it all.

But that turned out to be the farthest from the washed out reality that was possible. Somewhere around two thirds of the way to your sacred destination, right around the time when a toddler - evidently born and raised in the urbanscape, had finally stopped whining about going to some place where "there was nothing", and dozed off, huge storm clouds started to roll in from the direction of the coast. Just peachy, especially when your destination was a cottage that might as well have its address quoted as 'the sea'. But you were not made of sugar and could stand a couple of angry raindrops on your waterproof jacket, and besides these problems were ones you much preferred to deal with, unlike the constant barrage of everything at once back in the concrete cage. Less yammering, and the words that were exchanged in the country were compact, concise, meaningful. No beating around the bush or claiming ownership of other people's business, so long as you didn't interact too closely. But that was what the distance between the beloved cottage and any more major settlements was for - the most secure barrier of them all was time and energy, and very few would want to waste that on an extra trip that would be entirely fruitless. 

A couple of droplets was an understatement as your soaked clothes were quick to tell you. Thanks to the unusually strong storm for this time of year there was no way for you to get to your asylum easily either. No one was out, and no good person would let even their work dogs out in such weather. You, however… you could not care less about it, or about anything except getting to the cottage for that matter.. Some sacrifices were worth it. And so after getting to the tiny village thanks to the same family with the toddler since it was on the way - the last remotely reliable collection of society before natural and non-human wilderness, through sludge and torrential downpour you tread, practically having to feel your way forward since the downpour painfully obscured your vision. Your feet knew the right path at least, and after you had donated the last of your social supplies to those metropolitan holidaymakers for your own benefit, with every metre you conquered you ended up striding faster and faster. Until you saw the lights. They could only mean two things. Either Old Man Yang came back to life and was perusing his grounds like Old Hamlet, or there was a guest. As much as you wanted the answer to be the former, it was obvious enough that the occupant was somebody else. Not that you were too bothered. You knew this house like the back of your hand, and were aware of how to get in and out pretty much unnoticed. Plus, it would not be the first time you would be doing so. Most people limited themselves to a couple of rooms, fearing that they would be overstepping should they actually ‘make themselves at home’ - a huge advantage for you when it came to climbing in. Little did they know that they would make Old Man cuss them out for their timidness if he were still around.

The first step was to avoid the front gate - a flimsy construction that had been installed without much skill nor effort, and so performed what you would generously call the bare minimum, only just holding itself together. Slanted and chipped, the fencing was in an abysmal state, off-putting, marking anyone who needed to stay at the cottage as truthfully desperate. You smiled bitterly - what a realisation. You continued on your way to the other side of the plot, barely guarded by a bush fence and the occasional appearance of proper stone fence pieces. This was mainly for show, to mark that the owner, or well, previous owner of the house was aware of what was ‘standard practice’ around these parts. Outward aesthetics was something that you had grown to despise over the years, hence why the tongue in cheek mockery of it in this construction spoke to your soul, and made the haven that much more homely. It was good to be back. 

You navigated to the back of the house and ducked to squeeze through the hole on the wall. Much to your fortune, the room that was the speediest to access from a stealthy climb onto the shed located to the side of the building and a couple of shuffles of boxes was empty, though shockingly clean. It was obvious to the naked eye that the bedroom was visited quite regularly, at least to keep things neat and dustless. You nodded to yourself as you took off your shoes and clothes, shoving them in an oversized plastic bag that you had packed, originally for future laundry, now as a way to keep the items from bringing the rain indoors. The cold air hit you in one swoop, sending a series of shivers over your bare body. Hopping to the chest of drawers, you haphazardly went over the contents of each one until you found the towels, wrapping yourself in the largest one and throwing another onto the floorboards, roughly shoving it over to the puddle that still had formed under the bag. Once satisfied with the half-hearted drying, you changed into a fresh and remotely warmer set of clothes and hopped under the covers, drowsy and worn out from the impromptu hike and battering from the violent skies. 

Just as your eyes started getting heavier and heavier, and you were losing yourself in the sound of the rain against the roof - a favourite of yours when it came to forgetting the nonsense you had to work towards back in the capital, the creaking of the footsteps jolted you from the somnolent fall and back to high alert. Was the guest brave enough to venture onto the second floor? Really? You concluded that they were comfortable using one of the other bedrooms, and that they were alone - the latter was a commonality among the guests of Old Man’s home, however, so that conclusion did not take much work. The steps ceased to resound across the corridor right behind the door, leaving shadows through the creak below. You froze and inadvertently held your breath, waiting for the guest’s next move. It was not that you were particularly scared of the potential interaction, but you did not want to deal with the terror that they might experience of having a random stranger appear in a house that was in the middle of nowhere. To a person ‘not in the know’, your presence would be more than horrifying. And so to do the other party, and your sleepiness, a favour, you stayed put.

More shuffling, a tug on the decor on the other side of the door - so sensitive that it probably shifted because of your jumping about, and in what must have been a quarter of an hour, maybe even less, the guest disappeared downstairs. The rain had gotten lighter since the time when you had just arrived. Rustling. Pots and pans clinking against one another. Opening of the fridge - so the stranger was making breakfast. You grinned into the bedsheets and snuggled into the warmth. How you missed this place. Its sounds, its welcoming nature, its beauty that defeated all definitions of the word. There were no standards that you needed to abide by while safely by the sea. No roadblocks, no arguments, no regrets or shame on people’s faces. Perhaps this was another reason why you did not want to interact with the guest - that would mean you having to stare at them, and goodness forbid you would be unable to turn off your work brain and end up micro analysing them. No, you needed to sleep that off. At some point while you were drifting in semi-consciousness the pacing that the stranger had commenced had stopped, and a concerning silence washed over the property. Eyebrows furrowed, you lifted your upper body. When no other sound came, you slid out of the bed, too curious to try falling asleep now. One step, another and you were already turning the door knob, cautious to push the door discreetly. You listened. Creak, sigh, so they were still-

That deep and smooth voice? So the guest was likely male, okay stay calm. You tried to reason, but the phrase kept replaying in your head, and you found yourself being ashamed to admit that, at least from this distance, the tone was more than pleasant. Perhaps you should try introducing yourself - at least to have a conversation. What were you thinking? This was someone who you did not know, someone who could be dangerous, who could attack you - no, not today, not ever. At least not until you were to run out of crackers, apples and water in your bag. Rapidly, you reversed into the living room and without a second thought, shut the door like you normally would. Clearly, you could not think straight after lateral human interaction as almost instantly you heard chaotic shuffling from downstairs. In one last strive to protect yourself you remembered the key to the door that was located on a tiny table set right by the wall to the right. One swipe, one twist, and you launched yourself into the bed in an effort to hide and minimise any movement for when the man arrived. And just in time, because just under quarter of a minute later, the stranger was back, and was attempting to enter the room while you were damning your curiosity. It was comical how the only thought that crossed your mind was the hope that if you were to cross paths with him eventually, that you would not have to cut your getaway short and go back to the heartbreaking world of expectations, regrets and erasure. Perhaps it was selfish to say, but here, in the cottage, you could live for yourself and think for yourself for once and not feel as though you were overstepping.

At some point between then and the moment you realised that the rain had stopped, you had fallen asleep, missing the entirety of the morning. You were gazing at the walls, the light from the window, the silhouette that your items strewn about on the floor, with different eyes. A revival. You were finally home. And that was when your own behaviour hit you; indeed, you were home! No matter who that other person was, you knew the ins and outs of this house better than anyone else, and just listening to the man walk around was enough to make the conclusion that he was definitely a newcomer. Probably was here for some weeks, maybe a month at most, but that was not enough to be aware of the creaks in the stairs or where all of the emergency supplies were located - the shed had been left untouched all this time, as you had spotted out of the corner of your eye. He was being cautious. Not quite living. Well, at least he was being respectful.

You patted the bed and slid out from under the covers with a stretch. The hints of sunshine were protruding through the clouds, transforming the views from your window into an infinite stretch of dewy, silvery green and a glistening and bashful blue, protected by the rolling behemoths of cloud up above. For once, you were looking forward to the coming day. You pushed yourself off the bed and stepped closer, now having the fence that you had recently infiltrated the cottage through in your sight and beyond it - the same gorgeous grassland that broke into a shallow, albeit fragile dockside. Technically, it was still part of a long series of cliffs, revealing limestone and chalk and iron from all ages, but that was a two or three hour walk down the coastline. Here, those titans were friendly pets that you could easily scale and hop down from. Nonetheless, they did a brilliant job in separating the marine from the earthly, reminiscent of the mythical division of the mortal and heavenly realms. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a certain someone treading that legendary midpoint, dressed in a simple shirt and wide, skirt-like trousers. You leaned onto the window sill, well aware that it was not going to do much in helping you discern the details that made up the enigmatic figure, but you were going to pretend like you were confident in your assumptions about the aesthetic appeal.

Dark hair, falling to somewhere close to the shoulders, tall in stature, of a thinner build, or at least that was what you guessed when the figure turned to step closer to the edge. They were holding something in either hand, and whatever it was appeared important, but the distance concealed such tiny details from you. You couldn't quite form a complete picture, but it was easy enough to put two and two together from the silence that currently reigned over the house and the stranger out for a stroll, that this was probably your impromptu housemate. Not too bad, a nice blob in the distance that you could appreciate through the horizon's blur. More importantly, this person with dark hair and a deep voice was giving you control over the ground floor for a short while, and you desperately needed to make use of the resources located there. You laid out a high speed itinerary for yourself and made a dash for the door, counting the seconds that each task took you. This behaviour was something you were unlikely to ever get rid of - your studies, and then your job both permitted you too little time to have the luxury of wasting it. How long could an inhale and exhale take?

It was astonishing just how neat the cottage was - you dared to say that it was the neatest that you had ever seen it - major refurbishment and repair requirements aside. So this guy was detail oriented, clean and homely, huh? You ran a hand over the kitchen counter while passing it to rush to the shower raising your eyebrows at the lack of dust. Damn, you might have underestimated what kind of guest this individual was. Your surprise was not limited to the main living area - the bathroom almost reminded you of the scrub room and theatre with how spotless it was. Not a single timescale stain on the glass or mirror, perfectly arranged decorations, laundry basket and towels. Even the bar of soap was turned to the smaller side so that it would be easier to use and not linger in moisture. Inadvertently, you shivered, almost slamming the bar down and moving to ruffle the towels just the slightest bit so there would be a breath of life in them. You kicked the bath mat slightly off centre, disturbed by its impeccable alignment with the tiles. Oh, this man might become your enemy. This was about to become a crisis. 

One purposefully careless shower later, you had drawn a smiley face on the mirror and were now unceremoniously raiding the kitchen, claiming that you were famished and urgently needed to make the most chaos-inducing meal of all time, which given the available ingredients just so happened to be a monstrous apple pie. You were not sure what exactly provoked you and caused you to ignite the oven with a fire of rage, and channel a palette of negativity into beating butter and sugar, but this was most certainly the most ‘vigorously’ that you had ever made a pie. Whizzing through the stages of making the pastry and sending it away to cool, you took to making the filling, whispering each one of your actions out loud, narrating as though you were back in the operating room. You needed the knife, you needed the cinnamon, you-

Slamming the utensils onto the cutting board, nearly sending a small ceramic bowl flying in the process as your sleeve slipped over its rim, you groaned in disapproval. This was exactly what you were trying to escape from, and yet anything you did was simply returning you to your daily life. Why did your hands, your mind have to live in just one place, erasing the moments when your body as a whole experienced joy? Why was it so easy to retrace the steps back into personal nightmares? Damn your steady hands, your unbreakable focus. To hell with it all. On the verge of throwing the knife at the neighbouring wall, you toyed with the handle. You were tired. So unbelievably tired of the nonsense that had accumulated over your time back in the city. While anyone else would say that you had been lucky to receive what you had - an education in a prestigious university, renowned across the nation, residency in high ranking hospitals, settlement in a private clinic in an expensive district, a career in the medical field that was deemed ‘not too intense nor too gory’... you could not help but wish to burn it all in favour of the paradise that you ran to. 

Your childhood. Carefree, in a small town by the sea. In fact, on a clear day you could see the outlines of it from here - on many occasions you had stood by the fence gate with Old Man, who had taught you how to read the clouds, the forests, spot things no one else could. How he, with his wrinkled, dry hand pointed in the direction of what were your roots. But not your home. You had hugged him tight that day, muttering that it was in the cottage that you were happy. Old Man never forced you to leave. In fact, the room that you were staying in had always been left ready for a guest - you. But of course, in the eyes of everybody else, this was not what was considered successful. Study, take exams, study, do extracurricular activities, fix your pronunciation, change your look, change yourself to be like someone else, for what? To appease others, as you had realised in the middle of your time at medical school. You were a talking piece, a conversation starter. Nothing more. And so, with every opportunity, you stepped farther away from those who had taken your clarity and safe haven.

Old Man died when you were about to graduate university. You found out only two months later. Since then, you were on your own. You clenched your hand into a fist until the knuckles turned white, while tears inadvertently pooled in your eyes before you dabbed at them with the corner of your sweater. Your childhood home did not exist anymore - you checked two summers ago. Deemed too rundown since no one had moved in after your parents made a mad dash for the metropolis, it was now just a bitter memory. At least in the act of honouring the past you were victorious. Your body began to move on its own accord, floating through the instructions, from one step to another, at ease since your thoughts were preoccupied by reminiscence. For a person whose livelihood majorly relied on their hands, you were terrifically remiss about what you subjected them to; some of your colleagues were known to wear gloves almost all hours of the day, others refrained from doing anything physical unless it was lifting a scalpel. To put it simply, this drove you mad. Every single one of them: self-important, unaware, isolated. Let this pie be baked in hellfire for all you-

Mid-spin, just as you were finished with making the filling and were in the process of lining a baking tin with some of the pastry, the front door creaked open, revealing the figure that you had spotted outside of your window, walking alongside the beginnings of what would be a cliff’s edge. You stood still, holding the pie tin, feeling the grooves of its edges, balancing the dough that was still wrapped in clingfilm right in the middle, as though if you were to not move this man would not see you. Heart quickening to a nauseating pace, the intense scrutiny that you were receiving made you want to collapse behind the counter. Before this moment, you had convinced yourself that you had fully adopted a devil may care attitude, and that you were ready for whoever you would encounter, having prepared the humble abode for a you-style reception and to assert who truly was deserving of ownership of this property. But something about this enigmatic persona who, just like you, remained unmoving, echoed the seastorms. A roaring of the waves was contained in his orbs, so dark due to the light being behind the man’s back that you could barely detect the transition from pupil to iris. A nose worthy of being depicted in renaissance paintings, in fact, if you had to pinpoint one way to describe the stranger, is that he reminded you of subjects that graced the walls of art galleries, selected by masters to be immortalised in the artists’ name. Nameless, much like he was to you in this present moment. His lips, ever so slightly parted as if he had been on the verge of saying something to you, only for the aim to fall short of execution, voice drowning in doubt or disgust. The corners of the man’s mouth were gently downturned - not unpleasantly so, but rather giving him an aura of intimidation that intrigued you. Shadows on his face suggested to you that he was unshaven, though, you had to admit that it was not too bad of a look. In fact, an interesting edge of ruggedness that balanced with his longer locks gave the man a new form of allure, and in turn, forced you to keep your eyes on him despite feeling inklings of terror. The scene reminded you of a faceoff between two territorial wolves - whose domain was this? Only time and a match of resolve would tell.

He was the first to break eye contact, sighing and moving to take off his shoes and trench coat. You remained still - a hostile animal that was expecting aggression at any moment. The man was silent, unphased by your ‘out of the blue’ appearance at least outwardly, and you were not certain whether his lack of reaction was something to be taken with gratitude or suspicion. As you inspected his motions, how he stretched out his arm to hang the trench coat on the rack that was hammered to the wall, with the right nail ever so slightly lower than the left, how he ran a hand through his hair, casting shadows over what hinted at months of fatigue. Not quite pallid, but definitely tired skin, holding times of discomfort, sleeplessness. Dark circles under those deep, pensive orbs, cheeks that were somewhere between sunken and youthful. The man stood before you in a white shirt, the colour a last cry to some form of purity and hope. You could guess why he was at the cottage, since it was not too challenging to see your own reflection in the corners of his soul, much like you could sense that he was reading you. He reminded you of an angel who was tired of praying, barely capable of carrying his body. Pressed down by the story that had been written for him, he was likely here for an escape, to drown out the sounds of whatever he was running from. Perhaps you should be friendly, and welcome this lost soul. After all, he could be unaware of where he is nor of what unspoken rules exist around here. The least you could do is make him feel at home-

“You made a mess,” and just like that, all desire to be amiable flew out of the window and into the sea. His curt comment was like a burning cold scalpel, words too familiar to be neutral and well-received. 

Before you could respond, the man was well on his way to the bathroom, and judging by the slam of the door, he was not very pleased to see the rearrangements you had made. No comments followed, however, and instead, the pause was filled by the sound of running water, followed by a muffled mumbling when following a couple of rattles, the pressure inevitably dropped and there was barely a trickle. You shook your head, amused by how this man had been living in this property without the basic knowhow. Clearly, he was one of the many cityfolk who wanted to try his luck while on holiday. Exotic stay to talk about with his glamorous friends, you bet. For him to explain how ‘the bucolic was not even as appealing as literature made it out to be’. Standard. Faceless. You would forget him in no time, especially since he would probably leave before it got less fun and more mundane to stay out in the wilderness. That pretty face should not know harshness. With a huff, you set the tin down onto the counter and set the oven to preheat. With swift, irritated movements, you took to lining the metal with the dough, and in no time shifted to ladling the filling inside, halting to watch the last of the fruity cinnamon remnants dribble from the bowl down to join the rest of the sweet and sour promise.

The man returned when you were in the process of lacing strings of dough together to structure a coherent design. With an embarrassing surgical precision, you focused on the patterns - culinary sutures, almost horrified by the technique that you could not prevent from channelling itself through your body, to your very fingertips especially now that there was an audience. If he wanted to give you a stern talking to, it had quickly dissipated and mid-stride, the stranger was observing you as though you were carrying out a sacred ritual. The spotlight was on you as you demonstrated how to put the flesh back together. Piecing the skin bit by bit so as to ensure minimal scarring, careful now, people come to you to make themselves feel beautiful after all. String by string, the pie was looking more like itself, a recipe book photograph, something worthy of immortalising as the model step before baking. A beeping confirmed that the patient was relaxed, steady, with a perfect heart rate - good, all the readings were steady, now all you needed was to make the final - you felt for the tray finding empty space. Did someone misplace the tools? Panic shot into your nervous system and with a jolt you pushed yourself away from the table, only to find yourself gazing, startled, at someone who you had begun to assume was an intern. The guest, or cohabitant? An eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he took in your state. You clicked your tongue, finally putting two and two together and grabbing the timer behind you, purposefully taking your time so that you would not have to look at your newfound personification of madness for longer than necessary. So much for an introduction; the figure who was still a mystery to you slinked back into the shadows, with only the click of the office door serving as a confirmation that he was real. You rubbed your temples, the distant thrumming of a headache resembling a thunder that crawled over the horizon. Demonstratively, you sprinkled some flour onto a previously clean spot on the wooden countertop, only to automatically reach for the towel and drop the action again. No, it was time to bake. You needed to bake. You needed to make this place feel like home for the next couple of months, even if this peculiar character was going to be sharing it.

When you finally slid the pie into the oven and shut the door, giving it one last look before setting the timer for forty-five minutes, a curiosity crawled from the crevices of your mind and poked at you. Were you really going to avoid that man for your entire stay, assuming he was leaving soon? You had already admitted to yourself that he was objectively… and subjectively attractive. That much you had to give to him. Attitude - you were not quite ready to make judgments about, considering that if it were you in his place, you would have been chasing yourself around the house with a frying pan. It was comical, really; a stranger in a house, baking like they own the place. In spirit you might, to a person not in the know you were the official owner, but to the family who inherited the place you likely were nothing but a pest or an echo of the past that they were trying to forget. At least they did not demolish the cottage yet.

With a side step, you headed in the direction of the couch, but moved on when you noticed more damage than you had been used to on the window off to its side. Running a hand over the edges, it was clear that a certain someone had not shut it properly when nature had played up outside. So you had your tasks being planned out for you; with a grin, you nodded at the prospect. Nothing like good old maintenance of a castle in the sky to do the trick of dissociating you from your own life and responsibilities. All you needed was the right tools, perhaps some wood, and some paint. And then the fence gate could do with some tender love and care… you listed off parts of the house that you wanted to renovate or check on, imagining something greater and better than yourself. You noted the gentle breeze outside, and even though a greyness prevailed, it was far more promising for a brighter day than the performance the clouds had put on yesternight; maybe this autumn would not be too rough, and would show you its beautiful colours. 

You did not see the mysterious guest until it was approximately dinner time. The pie was being kept safe and warm in the oven, and you were idly leafing through an ancient magazine - the remnants of days that you had spent at the cottage back when Old Man was still around. Another thing frozen in time, to be forever beautiful until you were to forget it. The shadowy presence commanded your attention almost immediately, and you lifted your head only to peer into a solemn darkness in the shape of a scowl, etched out on exhausted elegance. The man sighed before crossing his arms, and leaned against one of the few segments of the wall that was not bowing under the weight of framed memories, pins and nails.

Just what was this person thinking? As the clock marked your shared awkwardness with every tick, you grew more self-conscious. Was there something so repulsive about your presence, that the guest, or rather… the present resident, could not bear to function without hostility? Letting the pages fall onto one another, forming a yellowed stack, you rose from your position, having been hunched over the combined kitchen and dinner table. 

“Some pie?”

The words landed somewhere between your two forms, unusually shy, a request so timid and tentative that it might as well have been the wind outside. One tick of the clock, another, and another. It was easy to wonder if you appeared untrustworthy. It must be the way in which your brows were positioned, or how the corners of your mouth naturally curled ever so slightly downwards if you were not paying attention. Or maybe-

“Sure. Thanks.”

That same tone. Words, curt, unforgiving, but a step towards proper introduction. Who knew such coldness could evoke a wave of joy in anyone? As though on command, you hurried to the kitchen, a childish excitement overtaking you as you imagined the reaction he might have to your baking. It was one of the few things that was your safe haven - although you did not indulge in the activity too often, you had experienced the euphoria that came with it enough times to elevate it above the usual hobby. He had to enjoy the apple pie, surely.

As you grabbed the towel to use as makeshift heat protection, and prepared a mat onto which to set down the perfectly warm pie, you noticed the dark haired man match your movements. Narrowly missing your elbow, he navigated the space with calculated reach, and produced cutlery, plates, and a couple of mugs. Without any consultation, his selection of items was soon on the table, and next, the kettle was obediently bubbling up with excitement for another steaming cup of tea. You raised your eyebrows and huffed, balancing the pie in your hands as you walked around the counters and gently set it down. With a nod you confirmed your own satisfaction and gestured to your partner in table-setting to take a seat. He refused, instead remaining standing stock still by the lonely piece of furniture, pupils gliding along wherever you went. 

Those deep eyes, a blended mahogany and sienna, depending on how downcast the lashes appeared to be, remained trained either on you, or were burning holes in the tablecloth as you picked at your respective slices. The wisps of flavour and freshness escaped the filling, an unfathomably lush aroma clinging desperately to the air in the search of a satiated appreciator. But to no avail. No lips uttered a single word of praise, nor did you dare ask for it. It was a habit that you had been forced to break away from come adulthood, not that it had ever given you much satisfaction before the fact. You tried to convince yourself that the culinary feat was as delicious as Old Man had told you it had been, but in the gloom of your company and circumstance, it tasted bland, colourless, miserable. As though you were eating your own forlornness. You rested your fork on the edge of the plate, no longer having the courage to take another bite. 

Just when you were about to give into your impulses and storm out, only pausing to consider if you should permanently borrow the rain coat that was hanging by the front door, the man quietly raised a piece of the dessert to his mouth, not minding your not quite discreet gawking. Savouring every bit of texture, the harmony of ingredients that collaborated to produce the bucolic ideal in gastronomic form, he revelled in the taste of home. You noted the subtle changes in his appearance as he roughly sliced away another bitesize piece with his fork, then another, features relaxing into the experience as though finally after many days if not weeks he saw the sun. You melted into a close-mouthed smile, turning away to let your gaze aimlessly wander across the living room. 

“It’s good.”

“Thank you.”

There it was. Your first exchange. The beginning of something. Or the end. Perhaps both. When you turned back, no longer did his face appear as dangerous, instead sustaining an almost amiable curiosity.

“Why aren’t you eating?” his question held genuine concern as he paused, darting down to your hands and back upwards. 

“I- oh, sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” settling in what you assumed to be the safest option, your trained clinical professionalism you responded and started to hack away at the pie before you. Your choice of words provoked a chuckle - an unexpected sound that echoed in your ears for a little longer than you would have liked.

“Not at all… I think the two of us are even,” ever so enigmatic, your interlocutor responded. You let a slice of apple melt on your tongue, fructose and syrup clouding your nerves over choosing the right way to respond.

“...In?”

“Two people caught adrift in the middle of a storm, unsure of whether to keep holding on, or to let go. Are we not alike?”

Peculiar expression, unsettling, piercing through you and laying you bear until the pie left a bitter aftertaste. But of course, you could not do anything except pass it off as nothing. It was only natural for your self-acknowledged and accepted self-denial. Moreover, how could you two be similar? Obviously from different places, with different visions, the only thing that brought you together was this little cottage by the sea. At the same time, the words planted a seed of curiosity in your mind. Old Man liked to say there existed no coincidences, only well-hidden strings of fate and twists of certainty. You peered at the man again, gaze inadvertently settling on the freckle that was positioned almost perfectly in the middle of his collarbone - even what some of your clients considered to be an imperfection contained balance and elegance. Like hell would anyone ever be able to replicate that. Out of habit, you measured angles, sized up the man sitting opposite- at least you were not giving him the doctor smile yet - staying at the cottage was already doing you some good.

“So…” you began, but the words died away faster than flowers in early spring before you could deliver them, joining the disappearing wisps of heat from the pie.

“What brings me here? I assume that is the question,” so the delivery was successful. You nodded, attempting to ignore the hint of smugness tugging at the stranger’s lips, “I needed a break. So… I looked for a place. Remembered some relatives, then… ended up here. Yourself?”

“Oh,” you revealed your surprise, the phrases playing back in your head. ‘Relatives’... so Old Man did have someone inherit the property after all?

“Oh?”

“Sorry. You just said, ‘relatives’?”

“Well, yes,” he set his cutlery aside, gracefully picking up the cup of tea to take a sip before continuing, “this cottage is under the name of one of my cousins, however, as you can see… they have no use for it. Hence why I was told I can stay here for as long as I like.”

“Luxurious.”

“Hardly.”

“Limitless time off? A rarity in this day and age,” you sighed, giving a bittersweet smile. 

“Everything is measured by time, be it days or bills. Runs out eventually.”

“That-” you paused, “is true,” it was difficult to admit that the smile you received from your fellow dessert buddy was charming, but there was simply no other way to describe it. Except perhaps ‘dazzling’ would do, but you did not wish to get ahead of yourself and swoon over a man whose name you did not even know. 

“So, dare I ask the same elaboration? What brings you to the edge of the world?”

The clock ticked loudly in your ears, and you swore you could sense the draft creeping across the floorboards and over your feet. The moment was surreal, and not in a million years you would think you would find yourself in a situation such as this. At least not when considering the gruelling cycle you had subscribed to since you were young enough to give up your dreams in favour of others’. You were here because you were re-tracing your steps back to a time when you still had air in your lungs and a fighting spirit that had not been charred by a bleak reality and troubling conventions that society hammered down on everyone without exception. In some sense, for a little while, you did not wish to be yourself, but a version that you kept hidden away.

“I suppose I needed a break too, so I came back to the one place that I know as a paradise.”

“Intriguing. Did you know great uncle Yang?” he followed, tilting his head just a little.

“Yeah. Quite well, actually,” you were curt. Unwilling to share too much, but the man pressed on.

“How?”

“Came ‘round quite often,” you poked at the remnants of your pie slice.

“I wish I could have,” caught off-guard, you lifted your head, perplexed, “I have only heard about how amazing of a man he was. Distance proved to be unconquerable for me, and excuses far too strong to rebuke. Am I correct in assuming that you were closer?”

“Closer… I guess. I… well. I’m from this area. Grandpa, he- him and Old Man Yang were friends so…”

“Is your grandfather from the village-”

“He was… he had resided in a neighbouring house before it got torn down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for bringing the mood down.”

“The mood is how it is - like the weather, sometimes you need a little rain to appreciate the sunshine.”

“A poet, aren’t you?” you half-joked, trying to turn the situation around. The memories were flooding back at a fast pace, and you were struggling to keep up with them. The guest, however, was instead taken aback, as though your jesting was an accidental truth. You raised an eyebrow.

“How did you… do you know me?”

“I feel like we have been apologising back and forth but, really sorry am I supposed to-”

“Oh no! Not at all! It is just that you are right, I am a poet. Job-wise, I mean,” taking notice of the way in which he started to attack the edge of his shirt sleeve.

“It’s cool.”

“Hm?”

“Your job.”

“Ah, it’s just throwing words on a page and hoping they make sense-”

“If that’s what it is then you’re gifted. Hoping is already an art. Hardly anyone does that anymore,” yourself included. Finally, you were more at ease; whether it was with yourself or with the situation at hand, you could not be bothered to decide.

“Thank you… are you in the arts?”

“Maybe some people would consider what I do a sort of art, but at the end of the day it’s far, far from it. Surgeon. Cosmetic.”

“So the science side of beauty?”

“Science and human opinion collided. Thankfully, there’s plenty of nature here for me to rest my eyes,” you gestured around you, suggesting the quietude of the cottage, and absence of any community in the immediate vicinity. The man nodded in understanding, choosing not to comment further. 

“I… I do not think I have introduced myself yet. Park Seonghwa. Though, Seonghwa is absolutely fine seeing as we are friends by circumstance.

“Well, fantastic to meet you, Seonghwa. L/N Y/N. I hope we have great times ahead of us.”

“This time is all ours.”

⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆

As Seonghwa watched you redo the fence gate, he could not help but wonder if you really were a surgeon or not. Perhaps he was being a little prejudiced, but the image he had held in his mind of doctors and nurses was vastly different to how you carried yourself. Starting from how lacking in enthusiasm your descriptions of what you did were - without an ounce of pride, you simply listed off a couple of facts about your workplace like address, services and your responsibilities, and then returned to pondering housework and searching for tools. Seonghwa had assumed that any cosmetic surgeon working in a private clinic that was located in one of the most coveted and famous neighbourhoods of the capital would have a lot more of a well-meaning snootiness, or at the very least an eagerness to share their experiences. After all, the years of study and training had to be a mark of lifelong dedication, no?

You were anything but delicate with your hands as they aligned wood against wood. However, these same hands were steady, each movement calculated, deliberate, precise. There was not a single bit of power wasted in how you realigned the gate to not sink at the hinges. Tools arranged on a miniature mat did remind Seonghwa of what he had seen in medical dramas - neat operating chambers, every piece of equipment counted and arranged in a very specific order. So far, your actions and habits had been the most telling, making him choose to believe you. It was highly probable that you were exactly like him, hiding from yourself, from your immediate responsibilities - the weight on your shoulders having gotten increasingly overwhelming. It was not as if he had been fully open, heart on sleeve, with you and you were not returning the honesty; both of you had chosen to remain observers, walking in a circle as though there was an unspoken showdown, suspense in which both of you were waiting for something to go wrong. He did not wish to reveal his weaknesses, and neither did you.

In no time at all, you were done with the gate, marking the success by standing up straight and wiping your hands with a towel you nicked from one of the closets that Seonghwa had never yet dared to open. Catching his eye, you smiled and gave a cheerful thumbs up, one which he instinctively returned from his viewing spot by the front door. You picked up the equipment, roughly shoved it into a bag, and upon a quick adjustment of your jeans swiftly made your way back into the house. As you were kicking off your shoes, using your feet to position them in a reasonable spot that was out of the direct way into the house, Seonghwa spotted a little stain on your sweater. It could have been easily avoided with a rolling of the sleeves, however given your determination, it felt intentional. He bit his lower lip, musing the meaning behind your numerous deliberate actions over the last few days.

It was easy enough to notice that out of the two of you, Seonghwa was far more neat and pedantic about maintaining said ‘clean’ environment, while you were all for a freer living situation, not bothering to readjust the bathroom towels, or straighten the chair after pushing it back. Without a shadow of a doubt, you were very much in control of what you were doing - it was obvious. Sometimes, the young poet was sure that you were reminding yourself to not be organised, and only at critical times, such as the maintenance works on the gate, did training and composure characteristic of a highly skilled medical professional shine through. Without any explicit mission or goal, you appeared to be running from order, an act previously unimaginable to Seonghwa, but one he could understand, having been doing what was essentially the opposite. He resisted further moving your shoes when you walked into the living room, and bit back a comment about how you set the tools off to the side on the floor, instead continuing to watch you float to the kitchen to wash your hands. You were refreshed, a little sun in the departure of the cold season, your pink cheeks and grin that was threatening to take over all of your features returning a bashful youthfulness to you - something that he could not spot in the slightest upon first meeting. He did not know you yet, but he could sense that this was much more like the real you than the exhausted shell of a human who was suspicious of everything and everyone.

Seonghwa ran a hand through his hair before crossing his arms and leaning against the arc that separated the kitchen and living room, studying your approach to the window that he had combatted some days ago. You were in your element, fluid, determined. As much as you probably would have hated to hear him say, you were very much a surgeon before an operation, plan in the eyes and stable hands raised in front of you as you assessed your metaphorical patient. Was this a cosmetic procedure? Or a lot more invasive? Terminology he had picked up from perusals of the news and media plagued Seonghwa’s mind as he watched you carefully unlock the window, click your tongue and get to picking at the rotten frame, a replacement sitting patiently under your feet. How and where from - you were not too inclined to reveal all secrets of the cottage, but he could gather that there was some underlying rhythm or internal network of miscellaneous tools and ‘thingamajigs’ that all harmonised to create the cosy domestic paradise he had come to enjoy in his undetermined stay.

It was enthralling how, out of the two of you, you seemed to be more in harmony with the place. Well, perhaps not so strange, considering you were the one who had practically grown up in these walls. And much like Seonghwa could only guess about the inner workings of the house, the same came to you. Without any particular desire to be welcoming or amiable, you were focused on tending to any impending ruin rather than entertaining a stranger. This, however, made the poet all the more intrigued. You had to be running from something, maybe something similar to his own demons. Maybe something much darker. The nature of your work was a double-edged sword, after all. What were you seeing, or decisively ignoring by making this grand escape to the end of the world?

“Right, this should last a while. Seems the winter was pretty harsh this year, so I’ll have to check the rest of the windows too. You know what, maybe the attic as well,” you explained as you stood up straight, wiping your hands with the cloth you had retrieved from the toolkit.

“There is an attic?”

“Uh, yeah. You can get to it from my room.”

“You mean the guest room that you raided?”

“Hardly a guest room when there are no guests here, don’t you think?” you raised an eyebrow, sauntering past him, clearly searching for a way to set your words in stone with a pointed physical gesture.

“Mm, you’re right,” the last thing Seonghwa wanted was trouble on an already stormy horizon.

“Ah… Seonghwa?” you tentatively uttered his name, as if still testing how it sounded.

“That’s right.”

“What were you planning on doing?”

“Huh?”

“Right now.”

“...Probably returning to the office-”

“-ah, so you are going to hole yourself up. Got you,” without giving as much as a second to process or retaliate, you continued, “could you figure out food? If you don’t mind, that is. When I was getting the kit I saw something I wanted to check out. Shouldn’t be long, though.”

“I’ll see what I can put together.”

For what had to be the first time, Seonghwa noted the hint of a genuine smile ghosting over your lips. As you responded with a quick ‘thank you’ and left the cottage once more, already on another mission, he could not help but pause and tilt his head in confusion.

“Well wasn’t that awfully domestic…” The terrifying part was that he was not entirely opposed to the gesture.

Newfound vigour spread over his body and ignited a gentle flame in his heart. With purpose, he moved across from the living room back to the kitchen, beginning his search and preparations. This could also be a chance to get to know you better - your likes and dislikes, any quirks and habits. In turn, he had an opportunity to tell you wordlessly about himself. Brushing loose hair out of his face as he leaned over to grab a cutting board, he exhaled, amused. Care. Expression of care. Soothing waves of comfort and affection in the form of acting to provide some form of relief for another. This was something he had entirely forgotten in the blur of his day to day, and abandoned the possibility of returning to the notion by making an unplanned escape, only to find the lost memory right here, in this cottage. Doing, without wanting something in return except harmless conversation.

Time went by swiftly when it passed with purpose. Mind left unoccupied by hauntings of rhyme and rhythm thanks to a pleasant sense of urgency, Seonghwa could concentrate on making something out of whatever he had found in the cupboards and fridge. Back in the city, particularly towards the last few months before his sudden departure, he rarely cooked, be it due to lack of time or of energy. Instead he relied on restaurants where he had to survive loud company, or takeaway orders which, eventually, had all come to taste the same. Solitude had woken him up, and your appearance was another jolt to the system. Curious, how the mind worked.

The afternoon crawled towards the evening with certainty, and as the horizon turned to a murky grey with the hints of sunset, you returned, tired, but triumphant. Quietly, as though you were old friends who had exhausted all conversation, you made final preparations and dined. The occasional compliment escaped you, much to Seonghwa’s joy, but other than that, he was left to spin stories about you and leave it all up to overly elaborate guesswork. Asking about the shed did not do much, either. Brushing everything off as though the fixes had been but a mere ‘walk in the park’ was your well-measured defence. They could be, compared to whatever you did back in the city. Eventually, Seonghwa mustered the courage to attempt to satiate his curiosity, and left a question hanging in the air.

“Could you… tell me more about yourself?”

“That’s quite broad. What do you want to know?”

“Mm… cutting straight to the chase, huh.”

“I’m not one to enjoy wasting time,” you emphasised, setting down your fork on a cleared plate and leaning back in your chair, clearly in anticipation of an unpleasant interrogation. Seonghwa had to tread with care, but could not help the stirring of his inquisitive nature.

“Right, I figured. Barely arrived and the cottage is already pristine,”

“Hardly. Much work still left to do.”

“Well, give yourself at least some credit-”

“-So, the question?” you interrupted, putting your elbows on the table and tilting your head. No optimism or kindness in your eyes as you regarded Seonghwa. Just what were you thinking he was going to say?

“Ah, yes. Uh… how do I say this… considering we are both in, hm-”

“In the middle of nowhere, you can say that. I won’t take it personally,” you nodded urging him to get to the point.

“Thanks. So, since we are here, I have been thinking if our reasons for being here are in any way similar. Or, if not, just how different,” when you did not respond, or even acknowledge his thoughts, he persisted, “that’s about it… I mean, if you want to talk about it, that is.”

“Not really-”

“Oh! Okay, I- sorry,”

“No, you’re fine. Just because I don’t really want to doesn’t mean I won’t. It’s all part of getting to know a person, isn’t it?” turning to the side, you stared at the freshly redone window. It was holding up well. Beautifully, even. Seonghwa hated to keep making the comparisons, but he could not rid himself of the image of how you could be like professionally. Perhaps this was because this was the only concrete thing he had found out about you, but you were, in his eyes, every bit a representation of the medical field. Just as he assumed you were going to bestow upon him more discoveries, you shot him a side glance, “besides, it’s not like you are an open book either. For all I know you might be on the run from the police.”

“What?” he exclaimed a little too loudly to consider calm.

“I’m just kidding. Or am I?” you quickly raised your eyebrows, clearly finding amusement in Seonghwa’s discomfort, “Anyways… what brings me here… well, I am on a break. I’d like to think it is a well-deserved one.”

“Annual leave?”

“I guess, though, in medicine… is there ever such a thing? We’re not exactly corporate are we.”

Seonghwa finished the last of his meal and took a quick sip of his tea. While you were not looking directly at him, he could feel your scrutiny nonetheless. Suddenly, he felt the need to redo his hair, check his face in the mirror, adjust his clothes - anything to feel more presentable, even though it would not make much of a difference. Cold, but not hostile. Thinking back to how he had greeted you, he cringed. Was this the impression he had inadvertently given? Maybe. Very likely, actually, considering that for the first while he wanted nothing to do with another individual in the house. And now what was he expecting, an immediate shift into being best friends or at least allies? Biting the inside of his cheek, he mumbled:

“Might be foolish on my part, but I suppose I thought clinics would work differently.”

“Oh they do, that’s correct. But since money has to be made, we have to do a bit more negotiation to have a nice, unbroken holiday.”

“Two weeks?”

“See, that’s what employers want. More like four to six. Paid. I did my time in that place and I would say me being away would benefit all of society.”

“You’re making it sound like torture,” with a bitter laugh, you accepted his joke.

“How much would you like me to tell you about what I do? Until you agree?” your tone was flat, unnerving.

The wind was, once again, picking up outside, and whatever patchy thin wisps of cloud had been hovering around the area already disappeared, to be replaced by thick storm bringers, looming, menacing. An all-consuming darkness was rolling across the horizon and right towards the cottage, and Seonghwa could only hope that you really did know what you were doing when it came to mending. Out of habit, he adjusted the shorter strands that fell over his face, and took another sneaky glance at your features. Drumming out some unknown rhythm on the table, your fingers danced across the tablecloth. You were daring him to agree. And who would he be if he did not accept the challenge? Most certainly not an artist.

“I… I suppose you can tell me anything.”

“Heart to heart with a stranger?”

“Sure. If you are okay with that.”

“Then tell me this, Seonghwa,” you turned towards him again, only this time, you did look angered, “are you here because you are an eccentric, or because celebrity life got too much?”

“So you do know me,”

“While I was outside I remembered seeing your face on top searches or something. You sure know how to build up a following.”

“I call that a fluke.”

“Collaborating with a famous singer to write songs for their album is a fluke?”

“We have a mutual friend. Mutual friend reached out to me, said ‘hey you write poetry, how about you help out’ and so I did- hey, wait, why am I defending something normal-”

“I don’t know, but something is making you antsy, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, it’s probably the fact that you are attacking me out of the blue.”

“I am just asking a question.”

“Sounds like you are judging me,”

“Aren’t you judging me?”

“Aren’t we both judging each other?”

“True.”

With a huff, you crossed your arms and looked at your empty plate. Seonghwa followed suit, agitated. Neither of you had particularly good points, but nonetheless managed to bring to light issues that you and him were denying. Without a single word, both Seonghwa and yourself were going through the skeletons that were in the closets of your minds. He cleared his throat.

“It’s the latter. You hit the nail on the head.”

“I see.”

“People might pretend to know one thing or another about lyrics, but no one ever cares to read past that. I’ve had maybe one, two people ask me about my poetry, and none about my post graduate work.”

“Post graduate?”

“Yes.”

“Linguistics? Literature?”

“Something like that.”

A pause. The first few rain droplets hit the roof of the cottage and splattered against the windows facing the shore. It had to be another downpour coming. The clock continued its dedicated beat, and you were an immovable statue, as if you were storing away all he had told you about himself. Though he had not offered a resume to you, of course he wouldn’t, it was probably easy enough for you to put one experience with another, and paint his whole life.

“A scholar,” Seonghwa sharply exhaled, wondering how you had come to this conclusion.

“Trying to be. Probably more accurate to say that I am a poetry nerd who wants to become an academically accredited poetry nerd.”

“Hey, you’re passionate. That’s commendable,” your eyes softened, reminding Seonghwa of how people regarded something fragile. All because of hope? The same hope and inspiration which he had lost and was trying to discover again?

“I should be saying that to you. I mean medical school, and then launching into active practice right after is no easy feat.”

“That… is true.”

“But something’s off?”

“Bingo.”

“And you are running from it.”

“Hm… probably. Actually, you know what let’s call things like they are. That’s right.”

“And this thing is…?” he trailed off, encouraging you. You stared at the view outside the window, shapes now barely distinguishable as the droplets turned into bucketfuls and the streaks across the glass transformed into an unbroken blur. As your gaze settled back on the man sitting across from you, he saw a resemblance between the weather and your expression, and could not look away out of fear that he could miss the ever-changing emotions, musings, revelations that etched themselves on your face, only to disappear in a split second.

“You know…answer me this. I think you are the perfect person to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“What is ‘beauty’?”

“Beauty.”

“Yes. Beauty. What is it?”

“To me, or-”

“Whatever way you want to answer. What is it?”

“A feeling.”

You tilted your head and squinted in response to him. Truth be told, Seonghwa surprised even himself by the speed of his outburst. Feeling. He could not define beauty, and he did not believe that he was in a position to ever do so, but based on the callings of his heart, based on the changes of nature, of how words flowed from pen to paper or how they felt on the tongue and on the lips, he could sense beauty, and he was sure of it.

“Interesting. An artistic answer, I’ll give you that.”

“Were you looking for something else?”

“Something more clinical, potentially. But I like how you put it better. It’s more alive.”

“Are you running from beauty?”

“More like, I don’t know what it is anymore. And so my feet led me to the place where I think it existed. Or as you say, the feeling existed.”

“But… beauty is everywhere, no?” He knew he was being hypocritical, having cursed his own environment - both animate and inanimate, time and time again, but the mantra of any dreamer was the only thing that crossed his mind in this moment.

“Not in a cosmetic surgeon’s office, it’s not. Everyone either walks in there thinking it doesn’t exist, or walks out thinking that way. Aesthetic beauty, visual beauty is such a lie that I sometimes wonder if I see at all. Don’t get me wrong, I love nothing more than to make someone feel like they really are in their own skin, and countless times I have seen people gaining their happiness and their whole lives back after a visit to our clinic... but... beauty. Beauty itself is so, so strange.”

Your voice wavered. Any previously existing hard exterior was but an illusion, and Seonghwa could see the faint glow of a young spirit who wanted to do better for the world, but was beaten down, deciding that it had enough for a long time. In the effort to save it, you came here. To find your so-called muse, your safe space.

“I want to hear more… about this. If you don’t mind.”

“About people putting themselves down?” you sighed, ready to stand up and take your leave.

“No, no! Goodness, no. More about beauty. And what you think of it. And why do you think you ‘lost’ it, in a sense?”

“I’m starting to think we really are on the same boat in the same storm…” you mumbled, glancing at the time, and then rocking in the chair to finally lift yourself up, “... then I say we need more tea.”

“Consider it done.”

Some shuffling, dishwashing, and side glances later, both of you were settled on the edges of the sofa, preferring to find a reason to not stare at one another rather than adopt a position akin to that at a therapist’s office. Neither of you wanted to pretend you held answers to the mind’s mysteries, and neither of you wanted to come off as some complex character. Instead, you slowly but surely began to lay all your cards down on the table as the barley tea cooled in your cups. Seonghwa silently nodded as you elaborated on your frustration with the perfectly in line plates, the crisp and straightened towels, and the spotless counters. Unsettling, inexplicable, but the sensations you experienced when you stared at the lack of chaos were more than real.

“It’s the uniformity that puts me off.”

“So… things being in order, organised, in their places… annoys you?”

“Well… I cannot say it annoys me, because it doesn’t… this goes away after a while. But for the first little bit of time I will probably freak out whenever I see things that look a little too clean.”

“Got it. I shouldn’t clean up messes. See? You have something you find beautiful,” Seonghwa pointed out, a soft smile gracing his lips. As the conversation took on a more abstract, philosophical tone and your dispositions ceased to be so formal, he felt himself relaxing more and more by the second, and decisively taking the lead in conversation.

“Hm. A little chaos couldn’t hurt anyone. But I am sorry though, it must have been unnerving, considering that you are doing the opposite,” you responded, a genuinely apologetic look on your face. So you did notice. You were quick. Or simply very observant. Seonghwa shook his head to try and dismiss the little positive attention, but to no avail, “no really, it is nice to see you feeling at home here. I mean this.”

“This really is your place, isn’t it?” he narrowed his eyes, appearing rather feline as he tilted his head, hair flattening on the back of the sofa.

“It holds a lot of memories.”

“Tell me, did you come here to look for memories, or to change your present?”

“A bit of both. So, like I mentioned. Beauty. It’s sort of been a sore topic for me since I was a kid. Be it to fit a standard visually, or academically, or whatever else. Success was beauty, beauty was success. But there comes a time where, when you hear about beauty a few too many times, it starts to lose meaning,” you stopped for a moment to gather your thoughts and listen to the howling of the wind outside. With a click of the tongue, you continued, “You know how when you repeat a word again and again, it starts to sound and feel weird?”

“Yes.”

“Same with anything. If there is no variation, if there is no real value behind a given repetition, beauty is just some random ‘thing’ that cannot be achieved.”

“Value behind repetition?”

“Yeah. We breathe right?”

“Right.”

“Heart beats, right?”

“Right…” Seonghwa momentarily shut his eyes, focusing on the sensations you were describing, feeling a little more alive.

“Those are all valuable repetitions. And even then, we feel them so differently. But… what is something ‘beautiful’? It could be like you said, a sense. But saying ‘beauty’ this, or ‘beauty’ that… the concept ends up being void of meaning to me.”

“Hm… could it be that… in that context - the context of your job, the context of your day to day, how beauty is presented to you... is something you disagree with?”

“Ah! That, yes, exactly-” setting your cup down on the coffee table, you clapped your hands, happy with the encapsulation.

It felt easier than it should have been to establish something artists chase after and die for. A diagnosis uttered by a ruthless analyst marking the withering of beauty in another’s life. With the presence of a dulled, uninspired eye came the ability to see past mere feeling, and evaluate the essence of what had been plaguing you, and apparently, Seonghwa as well. He was in muted shock, both delighted and horrified by the conclusion. Loss of beauty because of the world in which he lived - how could a poet survive, if not by translating their works to terror? In the blink of an eye, the discourse was abandoned, and Seonghwa found himself floating in his own mind, the dark ocean waves crawling through his ear canals - a deafening roar marking the coming of his nightmares. Ever since he had become interested in poetry, he was fond of what he could experience with his five senses, and then added a sprinkle of inferences with a mystical sixth. Flowing from line to line he felt, and admired what surrounded him in syllables until the world began to darken, and his wrist and brain transformed to lead. In the absence of what he thought was beautiful, was he truly surrounded by something utterly vile? If extrapolating from your conclusions, it could very well be the case.

“...-hwa, Seonghwa-” startled, his eyes darted side to side and then settled on you. He did not realise he was clenching his cup with a white-fisted rage and, embarrassed, set it down beside yours on the table, “what had you so pensive?”

Your worry was charming, the young poet could not deny. How your lips, slightly parted, were waiting on what to say. How even though you were clearly fighting your own battles, you immediately pushed them away. No wonder you were tired. And no wonder Seonghwa felt a resemblance to you. Feeling. And feeling too much. Even when you were clearly burned out from doing so, you were ready to do it again, and again, until you were nothing but a trembling stalk of grass on the cliffside, swaying with current affairs and mundane happenings everyone had to abide by. Going with the flow was something neither of you could settle for, and that was what ended up bringing you together.

“When we think beauty is gone, does it mean there is not even a likeness to it, or does it mean we are not looking hard enough?”

“Mm… good question,” you traced abstract shapes on the pillow you took into your lap, maybe for comfort, maybe to have at least an illusion of a barrier between you and him. Seonghwa kept quiet, picking up the tea and masking his concern, “Since we both ran as soon as we’ve had enough, I think the former. An optimist would probably say the latter but based on what I have seen… I find it damn hard to believe in a happily ever after.”

“Did something happen?”

“Hm… did it?” you echoed, gaze fixed on the floorboards.

“Cleary. I am all ears.”

“You are doing too much.”

“This is the least I can do,” judging by the way you regarded him, being heard was a rare occasion for you, and sent a strange ache into Seonghwa’s heart. How many of your stories were left untold?

“Where do I even start… let’s just say this holiday was not fully on my own volition.”

“That rebellious, huh?”

“That’s what happens when you convince someone to leave the clinic, I fear.”

“You told someone to leave?” perplexed and fascinated, Seonghwa turned to fully face you.

“I mean… when you have a sixteen year old girl sitting there in front of you telling you she has one thing after another to fix and got a giftcard for eyelid surgery from her family… that’s the best option, in my opinion.”

“W-what?!”

“Happens more often than you’d think,” you dismissed his shock with a melancholic coldness, “we try our best to find compromises, best plans, bring happiness into a patient’s life, but when you can clearly see they are being pressured or are at risk of a plethora of other things both physical and mental… I draw the line.”

“You just have your morals set, and want what you feel is best.”

“And that is bad for business. Maybe I’m missing the plot. Maybe I should actually let people carve themselves up however they wish.”

Resigned, you stood up and walked towards the window, each step heavier than the previous one. Seonghwa observed your motions, seeing in you a tired sun that could barely lug itself across the heavens. Wrapped up in smoky grey, your shine slumbered, and you regarded the dull landscape with a matching passivity. For all you cared, at least in this moment in time, the stormy weather could last an eternity. An angered muse on the verge of giving up; an ancient legend on the verge of extinction; a sacrifice in the midst of the bloodbath that was the strive for perfection. A lost voice. You were not the first, and most certainly not the last to suffer this cruel fate and its many variations. In fact, if Seonghwa were to look in the mirror, he knew he would discover in his inky pupils the same resolution. If he were to look into a million faces, they too, would bear the traces of antithesis to childhood dreams. Disillusionment - the bane of existence, and the band to unite it.

He wished he could memorise this scene with every intricate detail remaining intact. The way the light flickered across your face as raindrops strengthened their barrage was downright haunting, and reminiscent of a television’s unsettling static that could make a room glow white. You delicately hugged yourself, lost in thought. Voice barely above a whisper escaped you, a string of apologies as you appeared to allow yourself to feel regret over being your true self around someone who was barely an acquaintance.

“I’m sorry… I… I talked a lot didn’t I? Complete nonsense too. I mean, what the hell is the point of taking something untouchable apart, as if we could ever understand it?” you bit your lower lip. Seonghwa imagined the sea foam decorating the shore, the ebb and flow of the erratic waves while he studied the patterns in your hair. The odd wave, the styling of stubborn locks all amounting to acceptance of its unruliness. Was that not beautiful?

A tender blossom in the earliest spring, wavering and inching its way upwards, filled with hope. A budding, pale green leaf, only just unfurling, tentatively feeling the first breeze, trembling with anxious delight. Seonghwa remained still as he let the progression of scenes dash past him while he gazed at you. Shyly smiling to himself, he greeted his own sleepy heart. It stirred, intrigued by the unpredictable series of events and serendipitous meeting, recalling words that had turned foreign to him not too long ago. While there were millions of characters, thousands of lines and an infinite number of ideas, the root remained a timid secret, one Seonghwa did not wish to explore quite yet. In the absence of beauty, or the stalling of its perception, remembering beauty was more than enough.

“You’re doing well.”

“Hm? You mean, uh, the window?” confused, you pointed at the frame, earning a chuckle from the wistful poet.

“That too, of course, but I meant in general. You are doing well,” before you could speak, he interrupted your doubt, “you are not failing, you are planning ahead. There is only so much we can do, and sometimes, pausing is the only right decision.”

Seonghwa hoped that by saying this out loud, to you, he could take his own advice. But it was never easy to listen to oneself, when he knew of all the noise that stuck to his brain, knew of the taunts and the mazes. It was more simple to wish that the verbal sword could cut through someone else’s worries, and in turn, shine a light on his own and let them evaporate. You grinned; you could have guessed that this was one of his mantras that he tried to learn how to believe in, or there was a sliver of a chance that you agreed. It was beautiful to wait.

구름을 은빛으로 물들이는 눈물 처럼 (like tears that colour the clouds silver)

바다와 하늘을 잇는 수많은 실이 있다 (there are many threads connecting the sea and the sky)

태양이 보이고 당신의 눈에 반사된다 (the sun is visible and reflects in your eyes)

⋆✧. you .✧⋆

An oversharer, a wildfire, taken and enchanted by a glimpse of the silver mystical lining. In every storm there was a fair share of this metaphorical metal - hints of hope that anyone stranded could hold onto. To your dismay and horror, you found solace in a stranger… or could you even call Seonghwa by that title anymore? Having poured more from your life’s cup than you had done at catch ups with your city friends, you were terrified of the amiability you possessed, and the open-armed rush of confidence you had experienced when engaged in deep conversation was quickly replaced by fear. What if you were digging your grave? What if you had signed yourself up for demise? It was so unlike you to share so much… and yet it felt so comfortable. You were alive for once, and the cottage was beginning to warm up to you again, voices of more than one echoing off its walls. But how could you know that Seonghwa had good intentions? You could not remember much of what you had seen online, except some tiny excerpts about the title track on which he had worked, but other than that - nothing. You had over-exaggerated your knowledge of his ways and his work as a silly flex of superiority, but… the more you thought about it, the more guilty you felt. You were a liar. A fiend. Seeking company, but writhing like a snake. 

Ever since that first heart to heart, you remained distant, despite Seonghwa’s consistent efforts to get to know you better and better. He was not pushy, kept his jokes lighthearted, but you saw every attempt to learn more about you and your stories as a threat. You were in the same house, but it was as though the walls were closing in just on you. With a violent tug, you forced the towel off the hanger and let it pool on the floor, fleece resembling the perfect sands on faraway islands that you had seen advertised an astonishing number of times, but chose to believe in it being some business-crafted utopia. You could not bear picking the towel up from the ground. No matter how many times you would try to hang it, it would not look conventionally pretty. You tried, you really tried to arrange things how Seonghwa arranged them, be it out of respect or to conform, but your hands would produce something akin to a tremble, and at the last moment, the final product - destruction, was before your eyes. Slowly, you sank to the floor, feeling cold tile. Struggling slightly, you crammed yourself against the wall, and pushed the door a little to leave nothing more than a tiny creak. One last razor cut of light to be a guiding thread back to hollow function.

Leaning against the wall, you found yourself trying to escape your own thoughts, but the more you stared into the darkness, the more futile this race was. Inevitably, you were your own limit. At times, it was a good thing - you could go as far as you could. But other times… it meant falling and falling deep down until you were in the state you were currently in. Hands shaking just enough to send a wave of panic crashing into you, eyelids heavy from questionable and ever-changing sleep. It felt strange, having someone new know of your concerns and information somewhat beyond your day to day. Unlike regular ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’, you had inadvertently let Seonghwa see the root of your worries, and it was astonishingly hard to bear. In the dark looming corners of the bathroom, you could see your reflection. The crumpled towel taunted you, and in a spur of rage, you kicked it, immediately curling back up, arms hugging your legs. What was so hard about sharing your mind? Was it because he looked like he understood? Or was it because you were afraid that he actually did understand, and now you were at his mercy?

Vulnerability - a muse for artists, a disease for those favouring logic and wishing to move through life as an invincible figure. You were in a position where people trusted you, or rather, had to trust you if they wanted a job well done. True, you were not quite senior enough in your career to carry out the more complex procedures, but you had done your fair share of scalpel holding to curse the anxious tremor of your hands at this present moment. The fear was becoming unbearable, and it was all because of some silly conversation about what made things beautiful, and what beauty was. Ridiculous. The words blended with the heavy rainfall outside, and continued to return like the tide, higher and higher each time. It had been quite a number of days since the seemingly simple and friendly talk, and yet it gnawed at you. You wanted out, no, you needed out of this mess. Out of your own head. Old Man would have undoubtedly laughed at you, called you a feral wild and untamed beast, incapable of letting a little sunshine in your life - something of a nickname that you had acquired in the last years of his life, when you were already deep in the river of souls in the capital. But he was not here to reassure you, not here to crack a joke at the right time or to offer you protection. If there was any way you were going to survive your sabbatical, you had to hold tight and keep to yourself for the remainder of the weeks. You were going to pretend you knew his motives, and at any opportunity would tell yourself that you were staring at evil’s beautiful eyes-

Beautiful. No. You shook your head in disapproval. Eyes. Just. Regular. Eyes. In the dim evening lamplight, when you two would silently share the living room, both of you preoccupied with your own version of dawdling, they held little fireflies. Reflections of warm gold and a stunning white on a near onyx sky. Just eyes that you could not read, windows through which you did not want to look in search of a soul. Some part of you hoped that this entrancing vision would remain with you, and you would never have to see him under nauseating fluorescent lights; the scene was a professional instinct, but if there was something which you approached with more aggression than even your own paranoid self-preservation, it was to detach your present, and your continuous. Seonghwa was Seonghwa, and did not need some nobody like you to pretend to know how he should look. You exhaled, a shiver running over your form as the chill from the floor became more noticeable. A poem popped up in your mind, or rather, the few lines that Seonghwa had quoted to you the other night. Something or other about flowers, how they bloomed and wilted. While you could not grasp the exact words, your heart kept the poem safe and whole, with such diligence that it hurt. It was another one of his tries to get you to inch out of your shell. You shut your tired eyes, only to see how the shadows fell across his face as he had turned to you, lips remaining parted when he trailed off, glimmering orbs regarding you so sincerely and gently that you wanted to howl in agony. With a rub of your palm, stopping at your mouth, you wished to wipe the memory physically - your mind was too unwilling to do so. No, Seonghwa had to be some tragic, cruel joke the universe was playing on you. He simultaneously was indescribable and yet so, so simple, but if you were to be tasked to put him into words, you would sooner learn how to fly than to be capable of achieving such a feat. On the tip of your tongue were so many phrases and solutions to mysteries but none clear enough to be whispered into the early dawn. Seonghwa was who he was, and that was what scared you. You could not let him get to you like this. 

Reluctantly, only due to the cold starting to become unbearable, you pushed yourself off the floor, and were once again faced with the task of picking up the pitiful puddle of fabric. With an apparent scowl, you bent forward, lifting the item and throwing it over the hook, determining that this just had to do. No one was going to throw a fit over this - and if Seonghwa was, well, you would just be happy enough to have decided to try and maintain distance. The more evidence or actions to support your desires the better. Cautiously you slid out of the bathroom and made your way down the corridor, avoiding creaky floorboards. Seonghwa was probably still asleep, and you were supposed to be. The early dawn was creeping through the lazily drawn curtains, and painting the floor in a hazy blue and grey. Hints of sunshine, tentative, shy, could be spotted on the very edge of the horizon. Maybe, just maybe, the weather would start looking a little more like spring. One step, another, and you were nearly at the dining table, front door ahead of you. Technically, if you so wished, you could spend the day in solitude; a visit to the nearby village was long overdue and it would almost guarantee an entire day outside of the cottage and away from the man who had taken residence in your brain as if out of spite. In addition, you could run some errands, and that definitely needed an early start. Your mind began to craft an itinerary, happy to abandon worries one by one. The market, the bakery, an obligatory visit to the post office to greet Old Man's and grandpa's friend… much to do. So much to do, in fact, that you only narrowly missed a ghostly figure appearing and stopping right in front of you, and had to rely on its sleepy reflexes to prevent you from colliding head on. You yelped as hands grasped your upper arms, and in an effort to escape you stumbled back.

“Hey, careful-”

That honey-sweet, deep voice forced you to glance at the so-called ghost. Perplexed, you saw none other than Seonghwa, who had been on his way out of the cottage office, stopped by the crossing of your somnolent paths. Dressed in a black turtleneck and black slacks, it was evident that he had been awake for at least as long as you, if not more. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you could only stare.

“You… you alright? Sorry if I scared you… it’s just… you know…”

“Oh no, I’m fine just… didn’t think you were awake, is all…” you mumbled, eyes starting to dart in all directions. 

“Yeah, I get that. I didn’t sleep too well so I decided to get an early start to the day… same for you?”

“Sort of,” you were anxious under his burning observation. The shapeless, oversized hoodie that hung over your figure was your only salvation. Subconsciously, one of your hands reached for the opposing upper arm, forming something akin to a barrier between you and Seonghwa. Your legs protested, and you remained rooted to the same spot, only capable of a barely audible mutter: “I was thinking of heading out today. To the village. Will be out for a while.”

“Village? I have not been there yet. May I come with you?” eager, Seonghwa asked, smiling softly.

“Then how did you keep everything stocked up?”

“I’m organised. And visited that one super store that is on the way.”

“That’s even farther than the village?”

“Like I said. On the way.”

“Resourceful,” you knew you were stalling giving an answer to his request, but Seonghwa persisted.

“So… may I come with you?”

With no rain or violent dancing of the ocean waves to save the awkward quietude, you were in a situation no different to the one you were in a mere few minutes ago. Bathed in darkness, wisps of thoughts about the young poet permeating through restless meditation. He styled his hair differently today, you noted - most of it was brushed back, with a few elegant strands remaining over his face, approximately reaching the length of his nose. No wonder the media had clinged onto him; Seonghwa had undeniable appeal, and that on top of what was a unique form of artistry in the world of popular and quick entertainment, he was a dream for any agent, should he have found the limelight exciting. But clearly, he did not wish to risk going blind, and here he was, the muse and the poet in one form, trying to find peace. 

“If I will be a nuisance, then it is okay I can-”

“Why not?” your swift interjection pushed Seonghwa into a long pause.

“Yeah. Why not, indeed. Thank you. Then, hm… may I quickly grab a couple of things? You were planning on leaving now, right?” You nodded, and watched him rush upstairs, revived. 

The response, a little boyish, rough and carefree, brought a hint of a grin to your face. Simple pleasures in life were hard to find, and you had persuaded yourself to not acknowledge them, but you could not deny just how endearing it was to see Seonghwa glowing from the inside because of a couple of words and a trip to do some chores as if it was to be an adventure. You spun on your heels and ambled towards the front door. After throwing the hood over your head, you tugged on a puffer coat which you had rediscovered in one of the wardrobes - it had been a hand-me-down from Old Man when you had none of your clothes which were more suitable for rural life left after a strong push from your parents to forget your days on the shoreline. The coat had been one of the many secrets you shared with Old Man, and had been a small but certain happiness. Smelling like rain storms and sea salt, it was comforting, and still much too big for you. But it felt like home.

“Right, so, what exactly are we doing?” Seonghwa’s voice rang out across the room as he approached, having added a wool trench coat and pale scarf of an indistinguishable colour to his ensemble. You chuckled, stepping into your boots and gesturing for him to do the same.

“I was thinking we could hit the shops. Get some fresh produce if it’s been brought in already. That’s essentially the main goal. Oh, if you have anything digital to do, I know a place.”

“Really?”

“You have your phone in your pocket, right?” you pointed at his right hand which was stuffed into the mass of his coat. Seonghwa nodded.

“A standard representative of our generation, aren’t I?”

“I’d do the same if I had something urgent going on,” a flash of pained regret did not go unnoticed by you. Biting his lower lip, he suppressed whatever association he had made.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?”

Seonghwa shifted his footing to reach around you, and turned the door handle. The early morning yawned out a pleasant chill. Pale green leaves of the shrubbery surrounding the house trembled with excitement, and the gate stood proud, awaiting its next command. Your hand hovered above the wood for a couple of seconds. You turned your head towards the poet.

“It might take us an hour or more to get there, are you fine with that?”

“More than fine. I guessed it wouldn’t be a five minute convenience store trip.”

“Alright then.”

As you embarked on your trek to the village, you decided that the landscape had finally started to take on more springlike hues. Previously barren trees which were bent by years of gales and hurricanes were now dotted with adorable buds of white, pink and green, while the grass that survived the winter was giving way to thriving youth. The Earth was turning, waking up and stretching in its celestial bed, starting to peek out from under its star-patterned blanket. You tugged on the hood and stuffed your hands into the pockets of Old Man’s coat, content with your split-second plan-making. While it was not ideal to have Seonghwa as your quest buddy, you could not exactly see him with the hoodie blocking out your peripherals. Only the crunching of gravel under a second pair of shoes marked his presence. 

The scene was faintly nostalgic, but you could not put a finger on the reason why. As you wordlessly followed the winding road and veered off onto a trail that cut to the village, you simply accepted the comfort. The cherry blossom season must be coming here soon, and then the sun would surely roll out of its bed and the seas would be tranquil. You made a mental note to try to walk past the more residential outskirts to see if the gardens of the brave few still had the fragile flowers - the only marking of this representation of spring in the near vicinity. Gravel gave way to a sparser smattering of pebbles, and soon enough only rocks pressed deep into dirt from years of steps and bicycles were left for you to scrutinise. Occasionally, you caught a glimpse of Seonghwa’s shoes when he took a slightly longer stride - expensive, without a doubt. But even in a landscape that served as the antithesis to cosmopolitan luxury, you had to admit that Seonghwa wore them well. Gingerly, you peeked out from the side of your hood, eyes darting to a random point up ahead as soon as your walking partner’s head began to turn. Your assumption was right - he was every bit the character of a dark and dramatic novel; dressed in all black, halo of pale light gracing his locks. You hated how easy it was to question your morals in his favour, or rather in favour of your wanting to be more carefree and open around him. What other stories would he tell? What soft prose would dance on his lips and tantalise you?

You gasped, hands clenched into fists, pockets tightening as you pressed against the fabric. A surprisingly cold gust of wind hit your face, and you were too slow to react. The hood flew back, allowing your hair to be tousled by the elements. You should stop getting so lost in your thoughts - you reprimanded yourself, and began to reach upwards. Seonghwa slowed down to match your pace, waited, and voicelessly pinched the edge of your hoodie, halting any further movement until you understood his intentions. Too confused by the sudden affection to care, you brushed your fingers through your hair and held it in place, allowing the hood to slide back on without further resistance. 

“Thanks,” you huffed, stuck in an automatic bow.

“Don’t worry about it,” Seonghwa continued to walk, unperturbed, “it seems the wind is picking up again.”

“At least it’s not as cold anymore.”

“Good point. Refreshing. Let’s call it that.”

“Mm. Oh, Seonghwa-”

“Yes?” you paused to breathe, much too affected by the response speed Seonghwa had to his name. After telling yourself that this was his usual self rather than particular attention, you resumed. 

“I have a beanie. If you want it.”

“Pardon?” you met the young man’s perplexed look, and patted the many pockets of the coat until you found the right one. After unclasping the metal button, you revealed the tip of a wool hat. His grin made the pang of embarrassment worthwhile - dazzling, sunny, so very Seonghwa that your heart hurt a little.

“Wind. Hair. All that. You know. Ahem. You get me,” you stumbled over your words, much to what appeared to be Seonghwa’s delight.

“I do. Thank you. I am okay for now,” he stopped you before you could close the pocket again, “but, if you don’t mind I’ll take the beanie. I have pockets too.”

“It’s supposed to stay in this coat.”

“Why?”

“Tradition.”

“Ah. Understood.” 

You regretted your awkward gesture of friendliness, but you had to cancel out his approaches somehow. It would be strange to owe him. Was there such a thing when it came to emotion? Not wanting to dwell on the thought, you made yourself speed up, steps growing heavier against the uneven ground. Seonghwa followed suit, but you could only imagine his face at this moment, probably holding back a laugh, withholding some snarky comment out of sheer pity. That was normally how it was, so when what had to have been at least a couple of minutes passed, you were frustrated. Where was his voice? Could you simply not hear it over the wind? Was he intentionally being quiet?

“Seonghwa?”

“You are speeding along, Y/N, wow-”

“Sorry-”

“I’m just curious,” you slowed back down, allowing Seonghwa to catch up and join you on your side, “why that specific pocket?”

“That’s just how it has been all this time. This coat was passed down to me, and with it came a set of safekeeping and storage rules.”

“Rules?”

“Yep. From what pocket to keep what in, to where to hang it in what season. Couldn’t really do the latter properly but I think the coat held up well enough,” you inspected whatever part of the coat that you could spot from the safety of your hood, and peered to your right when you heard an approving hum.

“Looks like it could survive anything.”

“It probably could, if I’m honest. In my memory alone it survived being thrashed about on a clothing line in what had to have been some crazy strong cyclone and survived being abandoned on the cliffs.”

“How does this even happen?”

“Sometimes I do think Old Man did some things just for laughs, but he always had a fun story to tell and if he had to make some sacrifices for it… maybe it was worth it in the end,” you sighed and finished your philosophising.

“We all set our worths and prices, don’t we?” gradually, your stride turned into an amble, making Seonghwa get ahead. To your surprise, he halted almost immediately, and turned. When he spotted your unease, he furrowed his brows and stepped closer. He was searching for something in your stance, or in your expression - be it a change or a revelation, but clearly whatever you were doing was not enough. In the blink of an eye, he was a lot closer than arm’s reach. Inadvertently, you held your breath.

“What?” the question slipped from you as Seonghwa stretched out his hand, palm upright.

“I think I’ll have the beanie, if you don’t mind.”

“Sounds like you are doing me a favour.”

“I am just appreciating an act of kindness,” he gingerly picked the item from your grasp, “and besides, if you are going to be racing how you are now all the way to the village, my ears might freeze.”

You wanted to wipe the dorky smirk from his face, but even then you appreciated his undeniable charm. The ever-changing palette of expressions on his stunning face fascinated you, reminiscent of the metamorphosis of a flame or silver waters. You would hate to use the exact word which you were running from, so you settled to mutely acknowledge Seonghwa as ‘interesting’. Interesting, and all-consuming. You looked at the horizon, his silhouette still dancing in your vision. It was just because he did not question yet another of the many quirks of Old Man that you still honoured. Had to be. You were simply under the influence of a tiny sliver of positive emotion; nothing to worry about. 

Soon enough, you were met with the main road - or what could be called a road in a rural no-name settlement, and the ghost-like buildings that marked remnants of local life. As more and more people left the place in the hopes of a better life in a bigger, more modern city, only memories and the past remained, sentenced to erode into the earth with every new season. You could recognise the buildings, of course. The colours faded, and the structures grew weary with time, but they were still standing, just like you. Waving with a tired, invisible hand. You trudged along, cursing under your breath when you saw Old Man’s friend’s house up for sale. In other words, eventually up for demolition. This village was surviving and existing until the countdown to its erasure would be completed, rather than hoping that one day, something or someone would breathe new life into it. Boarded up windows and dull grey fences; withering gardens and exhausted roofs that damned every new rainfall. There was no spring here, nor was there a winter.

“Pretty quiet…” Seonghwa commented, taking in the sorrowful and glum surroundings. You could not offer any counter-argument.

“Indeed it is… Maybe because it is an off season…” you caught your own words and exhaled, bemused, “but when is there ‘a season’ in this place?”

“May? October?”

“Could be the case. But then people prefer to go to the tourist town further south, don’t they?”

“More space for us,” with a shrug, Seonghwa responded. It looked almost as if he was reading the village’s history through the cracks and crumbling stone. Eyes travelling from side to side and sometimes stopping to scrutinise something of interest that you could never spot, he looked like he was trying to find and remember every detail, akin to a pre-op examination. 

“The market is down the street.”

“Got it.”

“And then we can stop by the cafe.”

“Can do.”

“You don’t need to?”

“I could, but I don’t have to.”

“Whatever works for you. But I need a nice hot chocolate and the awareness that the world has not exploded yet.”

“Or maybe it did,” Seonghwa added, making you chuckle.

“Or maybe it did. This place certainly has a surreal other-worldly barrenness to it.”

“How appealing.”

“Home sweet home.”

A home you could barely recognise. The deterioration was abhorrent, and truth be told, when you had been on your way to the cottage and managed to catch a ride with a family, you were surprised they had any business in the village. They must have left already. No one in their right mind could survive more than a few days in a place like this, unless this was the lesser of a wide selection of evils. 

Seonghwa remained quiet as you stepped into a tiny two-story building that was called ‘the market’, but was just a reminder of what had been in its place before. The stock was good enough, from fresh produce off by the windows to the refrigerated and frozen goods lined up by the walls, and the cashier who was hunched over a crossword puzzle finally showed that there was some life remaining in the village. You picked up a basket which still possessed  the logo of the superstore nearby - a permanent souvenir, and with Seonghwa in toe, browsed the shelves. Occasionally Seonghwa would stop you to point at an item, or you would exchange a couple of words to debate the necessity of one thing or other, but progressed through the maze fast enough and ended up at the ancient table converted into a register. 

With a vexed huff, the man behind the desk put down his pencil, and began to hammer out the prices on the old cash machine. The buttons creaked in protest, so worn that you could barely see the numbers on their faces. In one swift motion, you produced a canvas bag from another pocket, and signalled to Seonghwa to start packing while you held it open. You tried to avoid brushing your hands against his, and he politely ignored the awkwardness of your movements. Before you could ask for the total, he was already setting a couple of bills down on the counter, shaking his head at you to not argue. You narrowed your eyes, but continued to watch as the cashier counted the money, slammed another few buttons to unlock the register, and produced some change. The door of the shop shook from the wind outside, but he paid it no mind, only caring for the next word that he had to guess for his puzzle. The two of you swiftly departed, Seonghwa striding ahead to stop in front of you and try taking the bag out of your grasp.

“I could have paid, Seonghwa.”

“I could have, too. And I did. What of it?”

“How much do I owe you?”

“We are living together, aren’t we? Consider this to be my household contribution, and this-” using your moment of disorientation he yanked the handles and tightly grabbed the canvas bag, “is just me being nice.”

“You’re making it sound strange.”

“How?” he was jittery, you could tell. The reason was a mystery, but he was awfully chipper compared to even fifteen minutes ago.

“Tell me, are you nervous?” he licked his lips - a habit you had noticed within the first couple of days, and knitted his brows.

“What… what makes you think so?”

“I think I have seen enough of you to catch the gist of how you’re feeling,” you deadpanned, and turned to continue walking towards the cafe, “this village isn’t haunted if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s been ages and as you can see, I’m still alive and kicking.” The joke was not received too well judging by the forlorn tinge to Seonghwa’s disposition, but he did not put up a front or argue. Out of the blue, you heard him grumbling:

“I’m not scared of ghosts…”

“Sure.”

“Hey!”

“What? I believe you!”

“Okay! Fine! Not ghosts but… something like it,” weighing the phrase, Seonghwa wondered how to continue. When you reached the entrance to the cafe you halted, and stood fully facing your partner in existential misery.

“Which is?” 

“...Emails.”

“Can’t blame you. Scary buggers. Right, shall we?” you pointed at the door and tried the handle. It gave in easily and, announced by the sound of wind chimes strung up above the door right by the frame, you entered.

If only there was someone to greet you. You tapped the counter a couple of times and reread the message left on a sheet of paper that had been roughly ripped out of a notebook.

“Stepped out, be back later, for internet leave fee in box. We are not getting any warm drinks today, unfortunately. Owner won’t be back in a while.”

“Didn’t they say they will be back later?”

“The definition of later is warped here. It means they’ll be back later to close up shop.”

“Odd.”

“Not when there are no customers for days on end. I mean, there probably are some, but they are more than likely after the internet and not the coffee.”

You dropped the paper and passed by the dozing barista machine towards the table pressed right against a barren, rusted orange or brown coloured wall - unappealing, but it had been this shade for a s long as your memory would allow you to think back, so at least it had the brand of continuity. The table itself was a little more experimental: instead of a traditional approach with legs, the piece of furniture was a thick converted shelf, positioned high enough to be like a bar. On the far end and somewhat masked by the lack of lighting stood a rickety old monitor from a bygone era, with equally ancient wires protruding out of it and escaping into amateurishly drilled holes in the wall. The keyboard: a black-coloured classic with keys thicker than a finger, was tucked under the monitor, along with a matching mouse. After pulling out the bar stool in front of the makeshift computer station but not sitting down, you lifted a foot to rest on one of the many horizontal metal bars that linked the legs together, and scanned the fees which were written with a shaking hand on a piece of paper, stuck on the wall probably while you were still a kid. 

“Huh, the prices are higher than I remember.”

“Inflation,” Seonghwa offered. He had set down the groceries on the shelf-table, and stood beside you to watch the screen come to life after a couple of attempts to click the power button.

“Seems the economy reaches these parts of the country too. Is fifteen minutes going to be okay?”

“More than-” Seonghwa began to reach into his coat again, only to be stopped by you. 

“Let me take this at least,” you stuffed a couple of bills into the small box that was right next to the computer and detracted your attention back to the almost-complete loading screen.

Finally, the machine went out of its slumber. You looked for a browser engine, chuckling when you saw an outdated logo marking no change from what had to be the last decade, and proceeded to search for the news. After a couple of minutes of navigating from page to page, you concluded that society had not done anything particularly remarkable, nor atrocious. A reassuring kind of ‘boring’, which was more than you could hope for. You stepped away from the stool, gesturing for Seonghwa to take a seat. He hesitated, unwilling to spare as much as a glance to the email login screen.

“Didn’t you say you-”

“Is it strange to say that I am scared?”

“Of?”

“I’m not even sure, to be honest,” he took off the beanie and ran a hand through his hair. Seonghwa was restless, and while he did defeat himself and sit in the chair, a daze took control of him before he could as much as click.

“Are there some things that you hope not to see?”

“Maybe… or… how do I even explain this?”

“How it is. Saying anything is already a start.”

“So you know how- well, of course you know- I appeared on television, and did some other interviews?”

“Uh-huh, and congratulations, by the way,” your earnest commendation was met with a nervous twitch of the lips - not quite reaching joy, but Seonghwa was nonetheless touched.

“Thank you. So, hah- just, after that there have been numerous emails, phone calls, even physical mail, asking the same things and trying to shove the same answers in my mouth. My agent was thrilled initially since it is publicity, and kept on forwarding one opportunity after another but… at some point it hit me that the press do not need me,” he finished typing in his details, but could not bear to click ‘log in’.

“Do not need you?”

“No. What they need is an image that they crafted based on their perception of me. It is true that a person forms their first impression in half a second or something like that, but when representatives of prestigious outlets do not know a single thing about my poetry which, mind you, is my main job, one does begin losing hope.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to see the empty flattery and shallowness, right?”

“Sounds about right.”

You pondered his concern. Everyone deserved sincerity, especially when it came to things that quite literally formed a large part of one’s life. It would not be an overstepping of personal rules to empathise, would it? If there was a person in need, it was another’s duty to help them through difficulties. It was the least you could do. At the same time, you felt like you were falling, and fast, into the grasp of confusing emotions, and the more you studied Seonghwa and thought about his beau- -interesting mind, you wanted to delve into it more. You wished to understand his curves and edges, read the miraculous flame which even in times of difficulty was never extinguished in his dark irises. You stared, and Seonghwa did not mind it. In fact, if anything, he was enjoying your nearly overwhelming concentration on him. Compared to the last few days when you would actively isolate yourself, this was the most time you had spent in such proximity, and toeing the line of a heart to heart. You despised the fact that you understood Seonghwa a little too well, and that, beyond the surface, you two were much the same. For some strange reason, it hurt you to see him distraught or inconvenienced. In this place which bore the traces of both your stories, be it personal or through relatives, you wanted to maintain a safe haven, if not for yourself then for him. There were always bound to be disappointments, and when both of you would inevitably have to return to your humdrum routines and unfounded chaos, they would only amplify. So why not try to cultivate a little happiness here, in the middle of nowhere? You bit the inside of your cheek as a disturbing, but astonishingly serene resolution bloomed in your musings. To hell with your rules and boundaries. Either way your heart was going to ache, but at least like this you could make the cause of it be a little more… poetic.

“Let’s sort through your inbox together, and then we can have a nice and quiet rest of the day,” you leaned over, and clicked the mouse. The screen illuminated both your faces. You tried to ignore just how close yours was to Seonghwa’s. 

He let you take the lead on scanning through the items, only sometimes providing whatever guidance he could offer. As the number decreased, so did his worry, and soon enough, you were exchanging jokes as you deleted or archived more and more emails. Neither of you commented on how your hand which you had set down on the table for a little more balance was pressed against his own, nor how you were practically shoulder to shoulder. Beyond an initial awareness both of you wanted to remain quiet in an effort to preserve this safe space. No rumination, no questions, nothing. Only what felt right. And it just so happened that in the moment when Seonghwa turned to gaze into your eyes, relieved and cheerful, it felt natural to put his hand over yours. And who were you to go against the universe?

“Thank you, Y/N. This was so silly, I really should be able to handle this but… I dare say you are my saviour.”

“Not at all. I just want to help as best as I can,” you felt him softly squeeze your hand. You couldn’t look away.

“It’s the little things. I am very grateful,” you wished you could say something grand or quote something in response, but you were afraid that a medical encyclopaedia would not fit the mood.

“No phone checking today, I think we’ve done enough.”

“Sure, Hwa.”

It was the little things. How his eyes caught the rays of light that slipped into the cafe. How he expressed himself so wholeheartedly and openly. How he wanted to be himself even when so many people were against him. In him you saw an inspiring strength; the spring after a freezing winter. Just like you had helped him with emails, he was unknowingly helping you clean up your struggles and doubts, prodding at neurons and metaphorical cobwebs until problems did not seem quite as monstrous as before. For the first time in a while, you wanted to be okay.

“Home?” The only word that fit the cottage, for you and for him. Seonghwa gleamed in response. 

“Home.”

⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆

“Let’s go to the cliffs.”

“Sounds suspicious, what are you scheming?” you raised an eyebrow, but, nonetheless, closed the book that was neatly positioned on your lap - the aftermath of you two having grown more relaxed around one another, and you venturing into the office and asking for recommendations from Old Man’s library. Seonghwa was more than happy to offer a couple of titles which he could spot hidden on the shelves, and now could discreetly enjoy the sight of you being fully immersed in one of them.

“I just think we could use a good break,” he crossed his arms and nodded to himself. He did not want to reveal all his plans just yet, but it was hard to remain cryptic when anything to do with a location could raise questions.

“Again, suspicious. What are you on about?” Seonghwa watched you look for the old postcard which you had been using as a bookmark, smiling when you finally discovered it had fallen beside you on the sofa. 

With each day, Seonghwa was getting a chance to see more and more sides of you, and he would not stop it for the world. He found himself grinning like a fool when you would be even the tiniest bit clumsy, endeared by vulnerability that you did not dare show him before. He lost himself in the sound of your voice as you formulated analogies between art and medicine, explaining concepts in such a way that it felt like poetry. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings when, after a day of chores, the two of you would settle down to simply be in each other’s company. As such, with the newfound lightness in his soul, Seonghwa wanted to help you feel at least a fraction similar. 

“Mm… I do want to keep this a surprise, but I get how this sounds like a different type of pact, doesn't it?”

“You can say that again.”

“Okay… hm… if I say, with one hundred percent guarantee we will be getting home safe, in one piece and hopefully feel a lot better, will you agree to satisfy my spontaneous caprice?” You pretended to mull over his request, your pointer finger resting on your chin.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes. Fine.”

His megawatt grin nearly blinded you as he approached you in a couple of steps and reached out his hands towards you. You glanced up and down, amused by his excitement. Seonghwa swore that all his organs flipped in his body as you clasped his hands, palm pressed to palm, and let him lift you off the sofa. When you nearly collided with his chest, he steadied you, shaking his head when a thank you fluttered from your lips. It was a shame that he had to let go. Patiently, he waited by the door as you changed into an outfit more appropriate for the weather; while the days have seen a pleasant rise in temperature to balmy spring, the occasional seaside gust was quick to remind of the earliness of the season. The cherry blossoms must have already bloomed further south, Seonghwa mused. But for once, he did not feel rushed to see them or take obligatory photographs, content with the beauty he was living on the coast of nowhere. He adjusted his cream coloured hat and matching sweater, reaching to flatten the under shirt that started to peek from under the knit collar.

Whether it was on purpose or not, he noticed how you had matched him with your outfit - flared jeans matching his jeans-skirt combination, and a determined selection of beige boots. Seonghwa was, by nature, something of a hopeless romantic, but it was moments such as this that made him both flustered and proud of his nature. As you stepped out of the cottage, bathed in a rejuvenating sunlight, he squinted and made a visor out of his hand to look more closely and try his best to remember the scene. Your head was held higher, your steps were more confident, and when you looked back to check if Seonghwa was following you, you had a mischievous glint in your eyes. He sped up, softly tapped your arm and beamed.

“Right, mystery boy, lead the way. Something tells me that you have a very particular location in mind.”

“That, I do. Spotted it some time ago. You probably know it, but I want to share it with you nonetheless.”

“Well, it would be my first time seeing it with you, wouldn't it?” Your mouth pressed into a fine line before you burst into a giggle after having considered your words for a fraction longer, “Goodness, sorry-”

“I like that,” Seonghwa smirked, enjoying the subtle flirtation.

“Pardon?”

“First time for everything. Quite the celebration, is it not?” When you did not answer, par a joking eye roll, he pointed to the right, elaborating his planned route, in the direction opposite to the village and right by the sea. After a couple of beats of silence, you turned to him.

“Celebration? Seems like you are thinking of something specific.”

“Mm… maybe.”

“Oh… is it your birthday? Oh no I have nothing to-” your face fell.

“No! No, I'm touched that you care this much though, darling,” half in jest, half testing the waters, Seonghwa let the pet name slip. Though it appeared to have been wasted nerves worrying about your reaction, as you did not bat an eye. He looked ahead, “it's in two days.”

“So you aren't much of a birthday enjoyer? Judging by how you are here… and not in the city.”

“There are different ways to celebrate. And, if you don't mind. This is how I would love to celebrate mine.”

You looked magical in the golden rays. With half the sky a hazy white, the other promising a gloomy grey storm, you were his good and evil, his battle.You came to him like nightfall, and made him learn of shimmering sunrises. The speckles of bright light in your irises were downright enchanting, and only grew more captivating as you tilted your head, inadvertently capturing more sunlight. His April wishes, muted prayers for one moment to turn to another, and another after that. He did not dare voice his true perception of you, knowing that the one word to come to his mind was one you did not favour, and as such, stuck to walking onwards, to the cliffs, in anticipation of what he had been hoping to do with you for a considerable amount of time. You did not answer him, instead choosing to study your shoes and continue to follow his footsteps closely. The wind caressed your hair like a loving relative greeting and doting on their favourite child. You hid your hands in your sleeves, fists closing over their edges, in an effort to protect them from getting cold. No attempts have been made to guess what Seonghwa wanted to do, much to his surprise; considering how hostile you two had acted towards each other in the very beginning, this level of trust was akin to the greatest of honours, and reminded him of the unfurling of a flower that had initially been guarded by thick grey leaves, only to reveal a tender yellow white and reddish heart along with a gorgeous adornment of pastel pink petals. Fragile, vulnerable, far from eternal, but because of how temporary their natural perfection was, they were all the more beautiful. Seonghwa looked in the opposite direction from you and scowled, scolding himself. He should not think of the future, at least not just yet. It was all too soon, all too fast, anything could happen and he should not get his hopes up even when his entire being was burning into an enamoured cloud of ash.

The sea glistened, waves showing off magnificent adornments of regal silver and gold, dolled up with white lush fur-like foam. Playfully, they lapped at the shore and urged the two of you to keep going. Rolling hills soon gave way to the cliffs which with every few minutes of your journey grew taller and taller, revealing stunning white chalk faces and decorations of limestone. A number of weeks ago Seonghwa had made it his mission to explore the expanse, thereby finding what had to be the real end of the world. A terrific, breathtaking drop together with violently shaking grassland and treacherous edges, by far the tallest point on the cliffside was nothing short of freeing. With everything he had lived through being forced to stare at his back, and only the sea in front of him, he need not be concerned, at least for a few breaths, with what battles he was yet to face. After a couple of ventures to the cliffs, he found a new perspective, one that had been solidified when he had destiny bring him to you, or you to him. Had there ever been a muse, or was it simply an excuse for him to not try even when he was certain he could not achieve anything? Now, he knew he could fly freely on the wings of his own inspiration and wanted nothing more than for you to feel the same.

As the two of you approached the peak, Seonghwa became a little agitated, concerned with how you were going to react to his proposition which he had planned to utter only once you had arrived. You were quiet, occasionally looking left and right to study the brightening landscape. The steely horizon engulfed the sea, infinite, invincible, and met two pairs of eyes. Two people, who, with time, came to be undefeated. You had not voiced your concerns often, but he had seen them weighing you down, serpents tightening around your throat until you had nothing left to do but to rush out of the cottage under the pretence of ‘needing to check something’, when in fact all you wanted was air. Time and time again he could see how this, and only this place was home to you and was the soothing balm that could heal all wounds. Now as you stood to his right, occupied by your own ponderings, he saw you combine with your surroundings, making one gorgeous painting. You belonged here. Thanks to you, he felt like he did, too. The beginnings of another plan started to take root in his mind as he recalled familial logistics and the cottage, but pushed the matter for a later time; this needed the city and iron resolve. Seonghwa rubbed his hands together and rocked back and forth a couple of times. 

“So,” you began, still observing the waves.

“So,” he mirrored.

“What’s this grand scheme of yours for which we needed to hike up here?”

“Not liking the views?”

“Of course I do. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Okay. Then… how about this,” he took a deep breath, stifling a nervous laugh, and with all he had, yelled at the sea, trying to drown out the sound of the Earth. He screamed with his heart, expelling all its ache and giving it room to mend itself with golden thread. He stretched out his arms and shut his eyes, embracing a better tomorrow.

Taken aback but thrilled, you spontaneously began to laugh. Wholly, without any barriers; your genuine full-body laughter overtook you, and you were half-bent, ecstatic from Seonghwa’s sudden chaos. You cackled until tears started to well up in your eyes and you needed to remind yourself to breathe, and only laughed harder once Seonghwa joined you, him just barely retaining balance and not collapsing on the ground. His shout was still ringing in your ears as you lifted your head and through airy chuckling called out to him.

“Is- is this what- you were- thinking of all- all along?”

“Go on, show me what you’ve got-” he challenged, squeezing the words out between wheezing.

“W-what? Like… right now?”

“No better time than now! Go!” He encouraged you, prayed for you to let your darkness go.

There it was. As the wind picked up and the sea roared, you joined them with your own warrior cry, stretching your arms out much the same as Seonghwa had done. You stared at the sky, squinting only to stop your eyes watering from the laughter and the gusts. He gazed at you with adoration and pride. As soon as he heard your scream start to die down, he recovered and made a beeline towards you, repositioning to face the sea, and poked you.

“On the count of three. One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Together you let joy into your lives, cursing all that had harmed you before, and bravely took on the challenge to exist. There was always going to be trouble, there were always going to be disagreements and so-called ugliness in the world around you, but in your vision, even if just for a flash, there was guaranteed to be beauty, if not in the representations of small but certain happiness, then in the self. As Seonghwa and you shouted again and again at the skies, you knew your next inhale would be the freshest. 

Lightheaded, you searched for his arm, apologising when your own crashed into it. Rapidly, his hand found yours, and Seonghwa, in a moment of what could possibly be foolish courage, intertwined your fingers together. Your eyes widened, and initially he thought he had made a mistake. But doubt evaporated faster than rain on a scalding hot day; you held on tight, lowered your arms, and swung them back and forth, before launching into another cheerful scream. Your hand in his, the perfect match. He had hesitated the last time, back in the cafe, but now he was sure that it was worth the wait. This was his home. His healing. 

돌풍과 절벽에 부딪히는 파도 소리 (Gusts of wind and the sound of waves crashing against cliffs)

새로운 시작을 의미하는 수많은 소리 (The many sounds of a new beginning)

당신의 웃음소리가 가장 크게 들린다 (Your laughter is the loudest)

⋆✧. you .✧⋆

You had shooed Seonghwa out of the kitchen as soon as you heard his sleepy, post afternoon nap descent down the stairs. Despite his protests after you had waited until midnight and wished him a happy birthday, which mainly consisted of him worrying over your potential lack of rest and whether anything was necessary, you wanted to try your best. It would have been most certainly easier to follow his advice and treat this day and evening like any other, but that would not have been a representation of you, nor of how you felt towards your friend. Countless times he had given you strength and support that prior to meeting him you could have only imagined. More than that, he never asked for anything in return except your company, and for you to allow yourself to feel happy; such behaviour and way of thinking was rare, so on many occasions you second-guessed or doubted him, but each time you had been proven wrong. Seonghwa was a warm person who left a deep impression on everyone, and most certainly left an everlasting one on you.

As you let meat and seaweed simmer in sesame oil, you laughed at yourself. Had you from a month ago been here with present you, present you would have definitely gotten an earful. Who were you, showing so much kindness to someone who you had not known for a long time? But then again, there were enough people who you had known for a long time who were far from deserving of kindness, and yet you forced yourself to tolerate them anyway. At least in this case, your affection was coming from the heart and not from obligation or some twisted version of filial piety based not on love and respect but on fear and manipulation. Caring for someone was simple when it was the natural thing to do. You twisted your head when you heard more shuffling, and noticed Seonghwa, dressed in loungewear as opposed to the more formal outfit he had chosen to wear on his venture out to the village earlier, speed-sliding across the living room and to his office. You chuckled when he raised his hands in the air and mouthed that ‘he is innocent and does not see anything’. It was easy enough to guess what you were making. Seonghwa could probably guess from the smell alone, but nevertheless he played along and remained patient.

Soon enough, the soup base was in and bubbling away, filling the cottage with mouthwatering fragrance. The home that only you and Seonghwa knew felt complete and was blooming like the gorgeous flora in early April. Threats of a storm had been false alarms and instead a warm sun settled on the magnificent light blue and ultramarine. The occasional white ball of cotton would race across like a tiny woodland rabbit away to wonderland, but nothing could dispel the euphoria that enveloped you. It was simple to imagine the cottage disappearing, but that made every second more precious. For all you knew, in a couple of months the real owners of the property could decide to demolish the priceless history and sell off the land to some magnate for the building of a resort or a private mansion; such an outcome was far too plausible, and you could only clench your teeth and pretend to not be affected. Old Man would have locked himself in this cottage if anyone were to try and destroy it. Now, more than ever, you understood why. The walls had seen decades of history, both of the planet and of the humans who had visited or inhabited the cottage. Tears of sadness and of laughter, bitter love and sweet loss, paradise and purgatory. The cottage, apart from bricks and mortar, was built with memories and the souls of everyone and everything. Wherever you looked, you could recollect something associated with the items in your vision, be it a clock or a creaky floorboard. This, if destroyed, would never be recovered, and would be sacrificed to fading memory. Of course, the human mind was the most powerful when it came to reflecting on the past, but there was only so much it could do when society was as fast paced and as demanding as it was. You did not want to forget, and so wanted to desperately cling to what little you had left of a precious safe haven that had now been fully revived. Wasn't the past always more beautiful when it blended with the present and gained deeper and more vibrant colours?

“Seonghwa! It's ready!”

“Hello I am here-” almost immediately, he rushed out of the office and strode into the kitchen, “did you make seaweed soup? For me?”

“As if you did not guess.”

“Hey, hey, I saw, heard, and said nothing. My goodness, Y/N, I am touched beyond words…”

“It's not too big of a deal, really. I just wanted to make a little something for you and again, wish you a happy birthday,” you attempted to wave him off and stirred the soup once more before turning off the gas and setting the spoon down.

“I hope you don't mind this very forward expression of affection, but may I… hug you?” arms ever so slightly lifted from his sides, Seonghwa waited.

“Woah Seonghwa, so daring,” you teased, “ah come here, birthday boy,” you invited him, heart beating just that little bit faster when he gave you a boxy wide grin and stepped forward to close the space.

Your arms wrapped around his torso, sliding down into a more relaxed position on his waist while his had snaked around you, condoning you from the world. You were careful to not tarnish the impeccable white fabric, but inevitably gave in when you sensed Seonghwa's hand hovering behind your head, as if saying that you could relax into him fully, without any worries. A dazing softness consumed you as your cheek met his shoulder - one last effort to maintain at least a bit of distance between your faces and to hide your quickly blooming blush. He was what you imagined a daydream would be as a person: sweet and comforting, with subtle floral notes and a deep lasting undertone with an indescribable complexity. Honey and the most decadent coffee were the two things that came to mind, but they lacked the original heaviness of the taste and aroma. So heavenly, so surreal, so Seonghwa. Like the setting sun when it hit the waves.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair. You suppressed a shiver. Rocking side to side, you stood in the kitchen, neither of you wanting to disturb this bliss.

“Mm, it’s fine.”

“More than fine.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

“Shall we eat?”

“Yes please,” he uttered, but showed no signs of moving. His arms remained where they were; if anything, they were holding onto you with even more determination, as though you were so fragile you had to be protected from even a speck of dust. 

“Are we… uhm, we kind of… need to move to get everything set up.”

“Ah, right,” flustered, Seonhwa detangled himself from you, and rushed to open a cupboard, producing a pair of bowls. A hint of red was visible on his cheeks and the tips of his ears; you were not alone in being a tiny bit shy from the obvious reciprocation.

You had learned each other’s patterns, who tended to move in what order, who reached where, who minded what. The two of you moved in perfect synchrony without trying, following newly acquired instinct. How could you ever not adore the cottage and all the events that led up to now? Not all had been sweet, but without the sour and the atrocious, you would not have been able to experience what you were experiencing as you settled down across from Seonghwa. Or rather, in close proximity to him, since almost instantly, he stood up from his seat and gestured for you to rise again only to take your chair and bring it closer to his side. Accepting your adorable fate, you took your bowl and cutlery and repositioned them.

“There. Now I approve.”

“Wait a second!” you searched in your pockets for an item you had discovered in the midst of your cooking frenzy. Seonghwa was patient, albeit confused, and waited until you produced a box of matches and balanced it on your palm, “not a candle, but you can make a wish!”

“My word, this is, hah- I love it.”

“Perfect. Then, here we go!” 

You took out a match, and struck it against the side of the box, gasping as it burst into flames - luckily not too intensely or you would be short for time. You started to sing while Seonghwa joined you by mouthing the lyrics and accompanying with rhythmic claps. The fire started to move down the match, the tip of it having already burned out. Saved by the final notes you saw Seonghwa briefly closing his eyes. He reached out his hand and softly rested it on your wrist as he blew out the flame right before it reached your fingers. As suddenly as he had touched you, he let go, not too dissimilar from the dancing red and orange flickers which had just been illuminating the birthday table. For good measure you shook the match and excused yourself to dispose of it after running it under some water. After drying your hands, you straightened out the towel without a second thought. The rest of the meal was quiet aside from a phrase here and there. No longer was there a need to fill the pauses. Companionship was enough. Only when you were almost done did Seonghwa address you, gingerly as though he was scared of breaking the calm.

“Again, thank you so much, this is the best birthday I ever had. I even got to make a wish!” he chuckled.

“I highly doubt it, but I’ll accept your kind words.”

“Humble, so humble,” he paused. When you lowered your spoon to give him your undivided attention, you noticed his miniscule pout.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Ah, nothing. Nothing much.”

“About all the birthday wishes you read, right?” you nudged him.

“Hm, there were some…” he recollected.

“And?” you tried, sensing that he was purposefully leaving some things unsaid.

The question hung in the air, a time bomb. Seonghwa bided the seconds he had to himself before he inevitably had to respond by tasting more of the seaweed soup and nodding in approval. You gave him a brief nod and were about to let the matter go for the sake of a celebratory evening, however it seemed that Seonghwa had other plans. He never could lie, you realised. Or speak in half-truths. He was sincere to a fault, but it was one of the many things you had come to like about him. 

“So there is something.”

“Yes.”

‘Say it.”

“I...  I don’t know. It might be a little... sad?” he was careful with his words, evidently not wanting to make a big deal out of whatever was plaguing his mind.

“Go on. Say it. It’s okay,’ something told you that you knew what it was going to be anyways. You pursed your lips, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest.

“I’ll... I’ll have to leave. In a couple of days? Yeah... Hm... I- yeah. in a couple of days,” he fumbled his words and could not face you, instead staring at his own reflection in the soup.

It was bound to happen someday. Your time was not eternal, either. If not today, then you would have had to have this conversation at some point either tomorrow, or the day after that... or could you have pushed it until much later? Would have Seonghwa forgiven you if, on the day of your departure, you would have dropped the news that your sabbatical had run out? If not him, then it would have most certainly been you starting the conversation.

“Oh. Okay,” you mumbled, heart and mind in conflict. This was your fault - had he remained a stranger, you would have had an easier time now. How he had suddenly appeared in your life, he would have disappeared, but now? The inevitable parting was like a high risk, invasive operation which no matter what was going to have aftershocks and side effects.

Seonghwa did not look any better. Misty-eyed and regretful, he inadvertently slumped his shoulders and curled into himself, appearing smaller and more feeble. You wished he did not care, so that it would be easier to learn how to hate him, but you could not ignore how the knuckles of the hand with which he was holding the spoon were turning white. Tentatively, you reached out to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, an action that took him somewhat by surprise judging by how quickly his head turned towards you. His dark eyes bore into yours, shimmering with intense emotion, threatening to overspill. 

You realised: this was it. The crossroads. You were faced with a choice, and it was up to you to decide what was to be the absolute right. You could hold a pause and then resort to exhibiting an astonishingly unperturbed stance; he had his life and his path to follow, you had yours, so what if you had poured your souls out to each other and he had rekindled something which you thought you had lost forever? Or you could take a risk and potentially condemn yourself to hurting, if not for the rest of your life than at least for a long, long time, after which all you had seen and lived through in these few weeks at the cottage would have been the one memory to stick with you no matter what you were to do. You knew that wherever, be it under fluorescent lights, or while planning a correction surgery or attempting to discourage a patient from following a fad, you would see him. You bit the bullet, and, for what had to be the first time, followed your heart. Because tragedy, too, could be beautiful.

“Let’s make the most of what we have left. And then see what the future holds. We are two people who are very alike. Caught adrift in a storm. That is what you told me when we first started getting to know each other, right?”

Seonghwa's eyes conveyed a delicate balance of tenderness and nervousness. His gaze, though wrestling with melancholy, flickered with a charming intensity that spoke volumes. His free hand that rested on his leg that he had begun to shake out of unchangeable habit betrayed a subtle tremor, a silent testament to the whirlwind in his mind. Fingers danced nervously, tracing invisible patterns or perhaps echoing poetry that floated in his heart. You could only guess what he was grappling with, but, in the end, when you put your hand over his to abate some of his tension, a reciprocation of your determined decision was undeniable. As he stilled, you observed a serene reassurance. A quiet confidence that spoke of an undeniable care for you, of what could happen to the two of you,  and of how worth it the risk was in the end. His heart beat in harmony with yours, mutual melodies rang out in time to the day rushing past the cottage. You shared a longing that was born out of the fear of what could be lost if words failed. But were words even necessary, when this bouquet of delicate emotions was so unbelievably easy to read? The truth was unwavering, and it, too, was beautiful.

“How does the storm look like to you?” he whispered, turning his hand palm up to clasp yours. You knew what was on his mind, and he was aware of what you wanted, no, needed to say to defeat a part of yourself that was scared to ever feel.

‘Beautiful. So, so beautiful.”

“Could you tell me more about it?”

“Hmm...” you thought for a moment, before pointing to Seonghwa’s shoulder. He nodded, and in no time, your head was resting on him while your fingers tightly intertwined, “...where should I start?”

“Anywhere.“

“You’re a poet and an academic, for goodness’ sake, I’d like some expert advice,” you retorted, your voice remaining light, bright and playful.

“Hardly the latter.”

“That’s what the future is holding for you, isn’t it?” you felt his cheek brush your crown, and smiled to yourself when you heard a low chuckle.

“I sure hope so. Much better than whatever was happening before.”

“It’s all part of the journey.”

“I see someone’s very optimistic!” Seonghwa’s exclamation was void of any malice. Genuinely cheerful and proud of your metamorphosis from a sardonic and grim misanthrope to a hopeful doctor proud of who they and those they loved were, he considered it to be the greatest gift. Laden with meaning and stemming from unfathomable effort, you allowed yourself to flourish and find reasons to live, rather than reasons to not die.

“Maybe because, while there are certain things we cannot change, I have come to realise that there is something sweet about it. Take leaving the cottage for example. Technically, we could stay. But in the long term, it is only going to result in a far from happy ending. So what does that mean for both you and me? We cannot change the fact that we have to leave. However in this we confirm to ourselves and each other that this is not a dream and that our time here... yeah. Yeah,” you cut yourself off, embarrassed by your own words, earning yourself a tiny shoulder nudge and a squeeze of the hand.

“Yeah, what?” Seonghwa’s curiosity was piqued. Too late. No going back for you. You bit your lower lip and inhaled deeply in an effort to stop yourself from cringing.

“Please forgive me for the insane cheesiness, but-”

“Only the highest quality cheese could come from you, don’t you fret.”

“Seonghwa!”

“What? Accept it. Now, as the people say, ‘spill the tea’.”

“A modern poet, truly.”

“Of course, of course, I try my best.”

“Anyways,” you interjected, returning to your train of thought, “ I just wanted to say that I am happy...”

“With what?” you could catch a note of teasing in his tone, but chose to let it go.

“With... this,” you gestured to him, to yourself and then to the surrounding rooms, “this is by far... the best I have felt. In a long, long time.”

“Oh? Someone made you feel this way before?”

“Shush, you get what I mean,” you glared upwards and twisted to lightly slap Seonghwa on his chest, which turned out to be a mistake in the making since he did not miss the chance to capture you fully. And so you were stuck, semi-suspended and essentially at Seonghwa’s mercy with how he was supporting your balance, blinking in surprise at his coy smirk.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. What are you ready to say?”

“Considering how we keep switching topics, I don’t think I can answer anything.”

“Okay, okay, the storm then. What does it mean?”

“What storm?” you furrowed your brows.

“Y/N we just discussed it-”

“Ah, right. Actually, you know what, everything might be linked,” you tried to shuffle to get a better angle and not feel like you were about to topple at any moment, but Seonghwa was not so eager to stop practically cradling you.

“Hm?”

“I mean, the books you recommended, the things you write, hell, even the cottage and you and I... isn't this all like the weather?”

“Curious observation, but yes, I can see where you are coming from. Do go on,”

“If you let me sit down properly, and maybe... finish your soup?” you pointed your chin at the cooling dish.

“Right, sorry, but hey! You too! I see the-”

“Eat, Hwa, then I promise you I will give you a full rundown of my chaotic analogies.”

You were shocked from how speedily he inhaled the soup and then, with a proud look on his face, flung his arm over the back of your chair and announced that his mission was accomplished. As you chewed on the last of the seaweed and ladled the last spoonful of broth, a tiny voice in your head made you want to return to the cliffs and yell louder than before: this conversation, everything that was happening now was because you had accepted that something was beautiful to you. Or rather, instead of connecting beauty to something concrete, you now were comfortable with beauty being an ever-changing continuum. Thanks to what? 

“Okay, I’m done now. So, the storm. We were running from them, weren’t we?” 

“Mhm.”

“But now... I don’t know if you think the same but I dare say those storms are not so spooky anymore,” if only you could have taken a picture then and there to keep in your wallet. The precious glimmering joy visible across every feature was contagious, and your doubt was forgotten.

“Not spooky at all,” you could hear the gears moving in his head as he regarded you.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he sighed and hid his gaze, “...shall we clear the table?”

“Let’s do it.”

He did not miss the chances to brush past you, or to steady himself after reaching across for something by tapping your arm or your waist. Not that you minded, but his amplified affections were dizzying. It was as though he was doing everything in his power to ensure that he would be missed so strongly by you that you would end up snapping and attempting to find him in the big city. That was when it hit you - you did not know where he lived, nor where location-wise he worked, nor his contact details. It had never come up in conversation - neither of you were terribly fond of delving too deep into how life was in the metropolis and had shared what was necessary for the present, and considering that in the weeks you had been here you two were always in close proximity, things like phone numbers or social media details were obsolete. When you finished washing up, dried your hands, and waited for Seonghwa to complete his task of putting the dishes away, you were astonished by your own lack of foresight. You had always been a planner but following your time at the cottage you wanted time to stop.

“Hey may I ask something? Or rather for something?”

“Go on ahead- wow, the sun sure is doing its magic,” you followed Seonghwa’s gaze and stepped after him into the living room. 

The window. A little old thing. The frame was holding up impressively well, and the paint had remained pristine even after you had opened the window a couple of times to let the fresh air in. Beyond it, between the shrubs and above the stone wall was a never ending golden steppe, rippling and rolling in heavenly rays. It was rare to have a day as good as this on this part of the coastline. Leaves shimmered like coins, and the clouds took on yellow, orange and lilac hues, waving from up above.

“Truly.”

“Anyways, as you were saying?” he turned, catching some of the sunlight on his regal form.

“Let me borrow the horrendous phrase for a second... ahem, may I get your number?” Much to your delight and amusement, Seonghwa did not bat an eye, and instead dug in his pocket.

“Ahead of you, but thank you for reminding me. Here. I put down my number, my home address, the publisher’s office... and my private social media if you want to connect on there.”

“How-”

“I want to... hm... I didn’t think that, when I come to actually saying what I want to say, that it would be kind of hard,” cryptic, as ever when he was about to shake you to your core with something profound. You took the piece of paper from him, carefully refolding it after checking the written contents and sliding it into the pocket of your cardigan.

“Time for me to inquire. Whatever do you mean?”

“I want to keep this going.”

“Oh?”

“Interesting thing to wish for after we literally lived together, but... I want to see you. Officially see you. What do you say?”

“Ever the gentleman,” his lopsided grin made you wish you could squeeze his cheeks. Perhaps down the line you could have that privilege, “I accept.”

“You do?”

“I too, really want to see you. Often, I hope,” Seonghwa’s vigorous nodding, paired with his undivided attention was like a thousand suns, brilliant and beyond anything you could put into a sentence. He approached you and peered into what had to be your very soul.

“May I spoil a potential gift? And, sort of, the reason why I need to depart?”

“Go on, I am all ears.”

“You know how,” his pointer fingers hooked around yours, and you were subconsciously pulled to him, “my relatives own this cottage, right?”

“Right,” you were aware, and had accepted it. Such was life.

“Well... I may or may not have gotten in contact with them, and am starting a legal process to put the property up for sale.”

“For sale? Excuse me? Are you mad? It will be- no, I cannot let this, no, they will bulldoze this place into the dirt I-” you began to panic, voice rising higher and blood beginning to boil.

“I did not say to whom the property will be sold.”

“Some mogul or billionaire who does real estate for fun.”

“Are you either of the two?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you a mogul or real estate fiend?”

“I? No?”

“The sale is a formality anyways. The cost will be put down as one won, which I’ll just pass to my cousin with a handshake. Your job, should you wish to be the owner of the cottage, is to sign some papers, and attend some meetings.” 

“Am I dreaming?”

“This place does sometimes give the surreal sensation of floating in space, but I promise you, you are not. In fact, tomorrow we can go to the cafe again and I can show-”

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you thank you thank you-”

“Glad I can help in some way. This is your cottage, after all-”

“I am on cloud nine... how is this- how did you?” you swung your arms, with Seonghwa’s following. 

“Easy. I just mentioned you. That was enough to seal the deal. Old Man talked about you, you know.”

“Oh, I- may I hug you?”

“You do not need to ask me for permission to do that,” you did not need to be told twice. 

Your thoughts were racing. This could not be. You shut your eyes until you saw phosphenes. Opened them again. You were still in Seonghwa’s arms, in that sweet-scented paradise, caressed by a tender flame. All emotions that had been slumbering over the years have fully awoken, and were threatening to come to the surface to rejoice in what could only be called the reclaiming of the self. Your history, your identity that was stored in these four walls was now promised to be yours. Was that not to celebrate?

“Seonghwa… it is your birthday and you are giving me the gift of an infinite number of lifetimes...”

“My gift is seeing you so happy,” you inhaled sharply, and peered at his dark chocolate irises.

“Come on, you cannot be serious.”

“I am more serious than you could imagine. And I hope to keep proving it to you. Day by day. Again, if you let me.”

“I don’t know what to say or do right now. I am a tiny bit overwhelmed... this... this is as if I walked into a magical house, met a magician, and he tapped me on the head with a little wand and here we are, wish granted,”

“I knew I was missing something.”

“What?“

“A wand,” you beamed and floated into bliss, focusing on Seonghwa’s heartbeat, endearingly close to your own both physically, and rhythmically. Right here was beautiful, right this moment was beautiful. The promise and plan was beautiful. But one note of misery remained, one that you were determined to vanquish.

“Seonghwa?”

“Yes?”

“I am a little anxious about something...” he hugged you closer, but instead of it being soothing, it made you want to cry despite the euphoria you were experiencing.

“What is it?”

“What if it goes away?”

“What goes?”

“What if beauty disappears when I go back?” 

You knew it was a silly question, you knew that it was all in your head and that you sounded like an absolute desperate fool while asking this, but it was sickening, a lump in your throat that you could not swallow. The first light of love and of freedom, so pure and so unconditional, was addictive and sweet. You did not want to consider its falsities or ponder potential disillusionment. You threw away even the inklings of paranoid suspicion that Seonghwa, too, could join the ranks of those who laced their kind words with malice or with judgement, and might have wanted to play with your feelings, both romantic and historic. At least right here, right now, you wanted to believe in there being someone who could love in both the presence and absence of beauty, whatever any given individual desired to define it to be. You wanted to know that he was on your team, and that this place really was a key to real life wish-fulfilment. Seonghwa’s hand slowly glided down your back, disappeared, and slid down again. In this perpetual motion he silently offered some stability.

“You know it won’t.”

“How?”

“Because you are you. Your soul is beautiful. And if you ever think that the world around you is starting to strike you like the cold winter months, remember that, now, I am just one call away. Always.”

“But it- goodness, sorry,” you were choked up and had to pause. Seonghwa did not make you hurry, instead, he brushed away the strand of hair that was about to get in your eye, and looked at you as though you were his future.

“Don’t apologise for feeling, my angel.”

‘Stop, Hwa, you’re going to make me bawl in a moment,” you exclaimed with a groan, trying to laugh your concerns away. Seonghwa chuckled, but kept holding onto you, rocking on his legs, swaying side to side like the eternal, unstoppable clock that governed your entangled lives.

“Oh no, we don’t want that, do we?” his voice vibrated across his chest, and in turn, struck your heart like a dozen healing melodies. ‘We’, it was now ‘we’, rather than everyone being left to scramble for salvation, against everybody else who surrounded them. You repeated the word in your mind once, and again, and again, until it turned into wind chimes twirling in a waltz with a serene breeze.

“I’d like to smile more with you.”

“I’d like that too. I never get tired of smiling with you,” you pushed your upper body away by a fraction to admire Seonghwa more.

“I am afraid, Seonghwa. You make me so happy. I- I am so happy. But so, so afraid that all of this will vanish.”

“Y/N,” his hands clasped around you, relaxing - a gentle salvation from all dark secrets the coming months undoubtedly contained, “Beauty shall never vanish. Because love is beautiful. There were times when I have been shaken even by the weakest of winds, and times when my breathing was unbearably heavy. One single comment or event... anything at all could turn a bright summer day into a biting winter. Storms shall always remain, even if we try to bid them farewell...”

He waited for you to steady your breaths before continuing, and upon your brief nod, pressed his forehead against yours. His hair tickled your skin the tiniest bit, but it only made you more aware of him, more connected to him. More loved and seen. 

“Our pasts and our steps through our years brought us towards each other. And... I am... so, so honoured and so happy that a person like me can bring happiness to your life, and can only hope that I can give you as much love. I am stunned by how we do the little things together, how you ask about me, how you, you wonderful angel, give me love for no reason as if it was only natural,” tears welled up in your eyes, only to be caught by Seonghwa’s thumbs and erased before they could form a river, “Maybe my greatest gift is you, and all the little things that make you, you. Because you are here, in my life, and are part of my world, I am learning the feeling of love again. Now,” he noticed your urgency as you were about to interrupt him, and tapped your nose with his own, “Thanks to you, thanks to us, I am finding beauty. I cherish our past, our spectacular present, and pray for our future to exceed eternity.”

“Seonghwa...”

“Spring comes and goes, but I will always ensure that your heart stays warm. If you will let me.”

“If you will let me do the same,” the gap between you grew smaller and smaller, until was a mere memory and you tasted the coffee and honey, the many sunrises and sunsets to come, the sound of the waves and the rustling of the grass on the cliffs.

The cottage, while it was a real place with its many wonders, was more than that. It was a panacea, a safe haven in one’s mind or a world for those whom one loved. The cottage could be anything, could be anyone, could be anywhere.

And that was truly beautiful.

⋆✧.✧⋆

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[mermaidgirl30]

✨New Beginnings✨

Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist Part 1

A/N: I loved writing this, it was so soft 🥹 This can be read as a stand alone, but it is a continuation of my fic Fortnight! I hope you enjoy! This is the ending I wanted for them 🥰 Might write another little cute one shot for them in the near future because I love them so much. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for beta reading and helping me with the mood board 🩷

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years healing, growing, and letting go. During a day at the lake, fate steps in when you run into Joel without a wedding ring on.

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: 18+ Only

Tags: fluff, flirting, making up for lost time, old flame, no use y/n, reader sees Joel again after 3 years, reader has a dog named Sammy

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The summer breeze of Austin rushes through your hair, the smell of fresh oak, the sloshing sounds of lapping blue water, and the feel of new beginnings permeates throughout the air. Summer. Your favorite time of year, your favorite place to be. Georgetown Lake. An escape, a picturesque safe haven where you can sunbathe and let Sammy, your golden retriever, pounce around the clear water as it splashes against his sandy fur. 

   You’ve been doing okay lately, healing, moving on like you should’ve a long time ago. After sulking around the house days after the mail incident with Joel, you knew it was time to do something, anything to make that pit of sadness wash away. You couldn’t face Tess again, face him, not after you broke down in tears the moment he slipped his calloused fingers firmly around your wrist. It was too much, too soon, too fresh. Even though it had been years since you’d broken up. You never quite got over him, his face, his eyes. But It was way past time, the time to move on.

   So you moved, put a sign outside your house to let everyone know it was on the market and sold to the first offer you got. You remember Joel’s face after he saw the posted sign in your yard full of dying roses. He looked so sad, the flecks of his dark irises shining in the February chill as you caught his eyes after hammering the sign in the soft ground. You were wilting more than your red roses, and you needed a breath of fresh air, a way to thrive and grow like your flowers used to be. It was your sign to flee.

   After you sold your house and moved half an hour away, you could finally breathe, the wilts of your lilting petals starting to bloom and thrive the longer you were away from them. 

   You saw the pictures of their wedding on social media, saw how truly happy they looked. You remember shedding a tear or two looking at the photographs, at her flowing wedding dress, at their shared kiss after saying their “I do’s”. It was enough to send you spiraling, enough to make you drop your laptop and crack the screen. And that was the last time you saw Joel Miller. There was no sense in dwindling over what if’s. It was over, done. You swore you’d never see his face again in the city of Austin. He was the past, you had to look towards your future.

   You got a new job, working for an environmental engineering company and helping with tracking the bluegill and catfish populations in the lakes around Austin. You liked working outside, loved being near the water. You always felt at home out on the lake with the soft sand sinking between your toes, the calm breeze always blowing away any worries of your messy life. But it wasn’t so messy anymore. It was peaceful, bright, made you feel alive. 

   You throw the damp tennis ball again, laughing at the way Sammy flops into the water and splashes around, eagerly fetching the soaked ball as he brings it over to you again. 

   “You ready, Sammy? Go get it!” you yell as you toss the ball back towards the water. He shakes his soaked fur and makes a run for it, but he stops half way and perks his fuzzy ears up at something in the distance. “Sammy?”

   You watch him pant happily and make a dash for it in the opposite direction, barking at nothing you can see. “Sammy!” You follow after him, sprinting behind as you hear his chipper barks and feel your hair blow back behind you as you chase after him. 

   “Sammy, come on! This isn’t like you,” you breathe out as you run until your legs feel like jello and feel as if you’ll pass out at any second. 

   Your bare feet drag through the sand on the shore, your breath feeling as if it’s on fire as you run and run and run until you finally see his giddy, long tail and golden paws that leap up off the ground. What’s got him so excited? He never runs up to strangers. 

   “Sammy! Come here, boy,” you clap your hands together as you walk towards whoever he’s got wrapped around his cute, fluffy face. 

   “I’m so sorry. He’s not usually like this. I…” You freeze, your breath hitching as you stare at the man that fully consumes your vision. Joel. 

   He looks over at you, a warm smile curling against the edge of his plush lips as his golden brown eyes crinkle down at you. It nearly takes your breath away. He looks so… good. 

   He’s filled out more, his flexed arms and broad chest clinging to his white t-shirt, corded veins twisting down his tan arms almost like you remember. He looks more buff, more healthy, like maybe he stopped drinking that amber colored whiskey he used to love. His grey threaded curls are grown out, his doe brown eyes more shiny, more alive than the last time you saw him. And he looks like he’s happy, so happy. It’s amazing what three years of not seeing him can do to your own mind. The sight of him almost makes you dizzy, delusional, like maybe this is fate. 

   “Joel?” you whisper out, your voice shaky and breathy as your eyes slide down his blue swim trunks, his leather sandals, his tan skin that seems to glow like glitter under the orange beams of the sunlight. 

   “Yeah, it’s me. Nice to see Sammy’s doin’ good. Guess he remembers me,” he chuckles as he bends down and scratches the back of Sammy’s fluffy ears. Sammy jumps up and licks the side of his face as another infectious smile takes over Joel’s glowing face. 

   Joel laughs as he wipes the slobber from his greying scruff and stands back up, bright eyes blazing through you as he flicks his gaze slowly over your figure. You feel a little self conscious standing in your too short denim shorts and baby blue crop top as you fold your arms nervously over your chest. Why are you so nervous?

   “It’s uhh… good to see ya. How ya been?” he asks slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as his hand drags through the curling strands that sit against the nape of his neck.

   “Good. Yeah, good,” you nod as your fingers dance nervously up and down your scorching arms. “What about you?” 

   “Yeah, I’ve been good, too. Busy, but that’s always good. Been workin’ a lot, contractin’, the usual.”

   You nod your head, watching the way his heavy gaze never leaves your eyes. Suddenly, it feels too hot, too intense. That spark simmers low in your stomach, that strong pull that you always felt when you were around him. It’s almost like you were meant to meet here like this, unplanned. Maybe it was fate. Maybe… but then you remember Tess. Where was Tess?

   “You, umm enjoyin’ your new place? House, apartment, wherever you moved?” His tone is gentle, like he’s genuinely interested in how you’ve been, where you moved. And it feels strange, but also like it needs to be asked.

   “Oh, yeah. Actually, I love it. I moved just a few miles from the lake. It’s so peaceful, being able to come out here whenever I want to.” Your eyes flick over the calm water, examining the gentle ripples of the clear lake, but then Joel’s deep voice brings you back to the present. 

   “Sounds like you’ve been doin’ good.” He gives you a lazy smile, one where it’s crooked and soft and so serene that you can’t help but smile back. 

   “Yeah, I really have.”

   “That’s good, real good,” he says as he nods his head, just continuing to stare at you in awe. And it’s like you’re just seeing him for the first time, that summertime glow just sizzling off his tan skin. 

   Your eyes wander over him, lapping up his broad muscles and dreamy smile and untamed curls. He looks so handsome. You don’t know what it is, but something brand new seems to shine through him. 

   “You look… different,” you say with narrowed eyes, trying to assess what exactly is different, but you’re not sure what. 

   “Yeah? That a good thing or bad thing?” he chuckles as he runs a hand straight back through his lush curls. The action makes your breath get caught in the back of your throat. 

   “I dunno. Think it looks good on you, whatever it is.” You smile nervously up at him and bat your eyelashes flirtatiously. 

   “Yeah?” he smirks as the flecks of his dark eyes glisten under the rays of the hot sun. 

   “Yeah,” you reply bashfully. “You seem more… happy.”

   He chuckles as he shoves his thick fingers into the pockets of his blue shorts. “Guess that’s what happens when a man stops drinkin’.”

   Your eyes grow wide as your mouth drops open. “You? The Joel Miller has stopped drinking his precious whiskey?” you ask dumbfoundedly. 

   “Mhm. Mostly. Haven’t touched a bottle in three months. Been doin’ good, feelin’ stronger, more sharp. Even been hittin’ the gym.”

   You smile warmly over at him, your eyes alight as you drop your arms to your side and nod, his words taking your breath right out from your chest. “Joel, that’s so great. I’m so… so… proud of you.”

   He nods slowly at you, the dimple indenting the middle of his cheek as his crooked smile makes you feel things you haven’t felt in a long time. Like there’s hope. “Proud of me, huh?”

   “Yeah,” you whisper out. 

   “Well, that’s sweet of ya to say, darlin’.”

   Darlin’.  He hasn’t called you that in so long, you almost forgot how good it feels to hear seep off his sticky sweet voice, that gravelly lull that soothes your racing pulse in your chest. 

   You suddenly notice his left hand, tracing every inch, every tan speck of his thick fingers. It’s unusually bare, no gold ring like in the wedding pictures you saw online. It’s gone, vanished. Was Tess and him, dare you say… over?

   He watches you assess his empty ring finger, his eyes flicking over your narrowed, confused face as you stare so hard that you think your eyes might fall out onto the smooth sand. 

   You open your mouth, drawing air into your tight lungs, until you release the words you’ve been wondering this whole entire time. “Are you and Tess still…” You can’t even finish your sentence, afraid that maybe he’d just left his ring at home or left it at the jewelry shop to get polished up. 

   He lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “Nah. We ended things last year.”

   “Oh.” You’re dumbstruck, your mouth agape as he says the words you were almost too scared to hope for. Not that you wanted things to end badly between them, but somewhere deep inside you still wished that maybe one day you could find each other again. And as fate twisted its tethered vines around the two of you, it seems like this was meant to be. 

   “I’m sorry, Joel,” you say with tight knit brows. 

   “Don’t gotta apologize, wasn’t your fault.”

   “I know, but still. I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

   He shrugs his broad shoulders and gives you a tight lipped smile. “After gettin’ married, we jus’ realized we wanted different things. Things weren’t the same as before, and we decided it was better off if we went our own separate ways. There’s no hard feelings, jus’ was better off not bein’ together. We gave it a good two years, but ultimately it jus’ didn’t work out, and that’s fine. Had a lot of growin’ to do after, found my own pace again. It was the best choice. I’m much… guess you could say happier now.”

   “Oh, well that’s good. I’m glad things turned out for the best.”

   “Me too.” 

   You give Joel a small smile, and he sends a dreamy one back your way, all crinkled eyes and that crooked smile that makes you dizzy every time you look at him. 

   He shifts his weight and digs his heel into the soft sand. His eyes look down towards the ground, then flick slowly up towards you, almost like he’s nervous. 

   “Hey, do you maybe wanna go grab some coffee this week with me?” His hand scratches the back of the scruff on his neck nervously as his jaw ticks from the building anticipation. 

   “Houndstooth Coffee?” you ask with a raised brow. 

   He chuckles warmly and nods. “‘Course. Only the best.”

   You smile in reply. “Okay. Yeah. I’m in.”

   “Great.” 

   You both stand there in the heat of the afternoon, gentle smiles pressing against both of your lips as Sammy barks and runs circles around you and Joel. 

   As if Sammy is trying to intrude on the awkward moment between you and Joel, he jumps up and presses his damp paws on your back which knocks you off balance and sends you lurching forward. 

   “Sammy!” you whine. As if on cue, Joel reaches out and catches you, wrapping his strong arms around your hips as he balances you back on your feet. 

   “Whoa there, easy now,” he chuckles as he lingers his big hands on your shimmering skin. Your mouth parts open, and you gasp as you look up to find kind, dreamy brown eyes staring down at you, almost like he’s mesmerized. And for the moment, it feels like the first time the two of you ever met, almost magical, but this seems new. 

   You hook a strand of hair nervously behind your ear and laugh. “Always showing up at the right time it seems.”

   “Yeah, seems like it,” he smiles kindly. 

   You stand there breathing his air, feeling a little dizzy at the smell of his woodsy scent, no more whiskey fragrance lingering in his sandy hair. You feel the tension, the chemistry just bursting at the seams. And you know now that this was fate, it had to be. 

   Joel gives Sammy a couple more scratches behind the ears and then looks over at you with a crooked smile. “Well, it was good seein’ ya again. Been a long time,” he sighs while you nod in response. 

   “Yeah, it really has…”

   Another long minute goes by and then he’s taking one hesitant step back. “Well, guess I’ll let you get back to it. I’ll umm text you about coffee.”

   Before he can take another step back, you hold your hand out as if to reach him. “Wait.” He ticks his jaw and knits his eyebrows together as he waits for you to finish. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

   He smirks over at you. “Jus’ thought I’d let you get back to enjoyin’ the lake. Figured I was interruptin’.”

   You shake your head. “No, not at all. Please, stay.” You give him your best puppy dog eyes, and he chuckles in response as his dark brown irises seem to glow in the sunlight.

   “Always knew how to get me with those big, beautiful eyes.”

   You crinkle your nose up at him and bag your eyelashes sweetly up at him. “What, like this?”

   He just crosses his broad arms over his chest and smirks over at you. “Mhm. Jus’ like that, gorgeous. Jus’ like that.”

   Your cheeks heat up as you feel the crimson blush taking over, lingering your fingers against his wrist as you ask sweetly. “So, will you stay?”

   Joel nods and smiles. “Yeah, darlin’. I’ll stay.”

   And he does stay, until the sun starts to slip under the fluffy clouds. He stays the entire afternoon, walking along the shoreline with you, playing fetch with Sammy, catching up on lost time together, starting fresh. It’s almost like he never left, picking up right where you left off. And maybe it was supposed to be like this. Like you had to fall apart to fall back into one another. 

   And when the sunset starts to fade to light purples and pink colors in the distance while you sit on the edge of the wooden dock, he leans over and kisses you softly. It’s like the world fades to black, and there’s only you and Joel getting lost in one another. His hands cradle your face softly, his plush lips melting into yours as you taste him and let the syrupy taste mix in with yours. 

   This is how it was supposed to be, how it was always supposed to be. You had to find each other later in life, begin again, have this special moment in time. It was fate, always had been. He was always the one for you, and this just solidifies it. 

   When he breaks the kiss, you lean against him while he wraps a large arm around you. You gaze out to the calm blue water and take a breath of fresh wildflowers in the air. “Joel?”

   “Hmm?” he hums as he looks down at you. 

   “Thank you for staying.”

   He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “‘Course, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Gonna just stay right here with you in my arms.”

   You lean your full weight into his warm chest as he scoops you up into his lap and hooks his arms around your waist, his lips lingering against your jawline. You take a deep breath and smile as you look out against the misty lake. You were finally home, with him. 

   Your forever. 

Tags: @laurrrra @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @littlevenicebitch69 @honey-dip-24 @sawymredfox

@orcasoul @thundermartini @solllaris @vivian-pascal @jessthebaker @vie-is-punk

@hoeruiner @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @amyispxnk @morallyinept @milla-frenchy

@laramc-02 @keylimebeag

#joel miller fan fiction #Joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel the last of us #no outbreak au #no use of y/n

[grapehyasynth]

nature boy

wille has always been told not to expect to marry his soulmate. others dream of the day they’ll get their soulmate mark – it appears the day after the first meeting and is there every day after, but changing each day to reflect something meaningful from your soulmate’s previous day – but wille’s mother insists he has duties to fulfill, that he can create his own fate and find a partner whether or not she's a soulmate. (and yes, they only ever discuss in terms of she.) 

he's on his way to another one of the dates his mother keeps setting up for him, and it's about thirty minutes before he needs to be at the restaurant, but instead he's at a greenhouse. he approaches the front desk, where a young man in a button-down shirt open over a looney tunes t-shirt with a name tag that reads Simon is nodding off over a textbook.

"i was hoping to buy some flowers for a first date," wille explains, when simon has looked up.

"we don't actually do bouquets," simon says.

"i know, i - i thought i would get something they could plant, afterwards," he clarifies, and he hears himself use they and tries not to make anything of it. he’s trying not to second-guess himself, knows his mother would tell him to go with a traditional bouquet, can picture erik all dashing with a few roses.

simon sets his pen down, looking at wille with a new expression, like he's reconfiguring his impression of him. "that's really thoughtful. i can help you with that."

wille follows him into the greenhouse, winding past tables of ceramic pots and meter-tall fronds, ducking under some vines that boast a sign about an upcoming workshop. simon hovers over a few plants before moving on. every now and then he glances at wille, seeming to size him up and factor this into his considerations. (wille wishes he knew what simon was seeing.) finally he scoops up a medium-sized pot with pale purple flowers, holding it out to wille with both hands.

"spreading bellflower. it's similar to the small bluebell, which is--"

"our national floral emblem,"  wille finishes for him, because of course that's the kind of nonsense his mother has made him learn, though it feels a lot less vapid in this moment.

simon looks impressed. "exactly. everybody wants the small bluebell. we don't sell a lot of the bellflower."

"it's perfect," wille tells him, and as he lifts the flowers to his nose, he sees simon's eyes crinkle with a smile.

his date is lovely, much more unpretentious than he's used to, nervous but striving to be genuine. she's definitely a bit thrown by the flowers, and she sounds apologetic when she explains she doesn't have any outdoor space, not even a balcony or patio, and her windowsills are too slim to host the plant. wille feels a bit wounded, wants to insist that she could just find a small table and set it near the window, but she's already suggested that he take it home with him and care for it "for me, until i can visit," she says, and he doesn't mind the idea, actually - has grown a little attached to the flowers.

he goes to sleep thinking of brown eyes and purple blossoms. he wakes up with them on his chest. the blossoms, that is, not the eyes. the spreading bellflowers bloom across his chest like elaborate watercolor tattoos, and he feels his heart leap behind the flowers as he traces them reverently. so he met his soulmate yesterday, and the bellflowers were meaningful to their day. but is it the boy from the greenhouse, or his date?

he knows who he wants it to be, but maybe fate, like his mother, has its own ideas about his path.

he doesn't want to contact simon or his date until he knows a bit more, so he has to wait a full day. he drags himself through his classes at uni, biting his nails down, the bellflowers burning under his clothes. (he'd been tempted to wear a v-neck shirt, show them off, but he also wants to cradle it to himself for a little while.) he stays up late, skin itching as the clock ticks towards midnight, at which point the bellflowers fade. instead, vines twine up both of his arms, curling like bracelets, embracing his wrists and forearms and the cut of his muscle. he knows those vines - couldn't name them, but he recognizes them from the greenhouse. there'd been a sign next to them, for an upcoming workshop, which he's guessing simon led yesterday.

he has an answer. and if the interest is mutual - which it isn't always, with soulmate marks, but he suspects it might be, if the bellflowers were a meaningful part of simon's day - then he is eager to bloom under this plant boy's touch.

#wilmon #young royals #i meant this to be like. a one paragraph drabble #it Grew so to speak #Bloomed #Blossomed

[creepling]

Johnny fucking Stockholm’d!Reader in the back of one of the old cars behind the family house? 👀 In one of your mini fics you mentioned him taking her out to the sunflower fields, maybe that’s when it happens?

busted cars and sunsets - j. slaughter / 1k

an: hey i kinda went astray from relating it to the sunflower field drabble but it still has all that other good stuff you asked for!! i also ended up writing more than i thought so i hope you like it<33

tags: smut. MDNI. gn!reader. stockholm syndrome (kinda??). descriptions of trauma. canon-mentions of violence and cannibalism. innocent, sheepish reader. johnny is surprisingly gentle and nice?? but it might be a bluff. making out. grinding. fucking in a car. doggystyle. mentions of kidnapping.

Johnny was looking everywhere for you. Nancy was calling for supper, and you weren’t in the shed like you said you would be. He tried not to think about it too much, the thought of you running away or trying to escape. Maybe you got distracted or went inside for a drink. The sun was setting, and Johnny’s worrying crept up, forming a lump in his throat.

You were sheepish. At least you have been with the Slaughter family. Every minor squeak or crack sent you scattering. Maybe it was the trauma of trying to escape the house, the first time you ate human flesh, or the fact that the family kidnapped you. It’s been so long since the incident that you have begun to accept your fate and grow fond of your captures. Are people still looking for you? Or have they given up like they did with Maria? The thoughts clouded your mind, and you hugged your legs in the back of the rusted car in the Slaughter’s yard.

Johnny realised real quick where you were hiding. He noticed that you liked hiding, growing attached to your company. Johnny wished you grew attached to him, but adjusting to a new life takes a while. That is how he perceived it: you were lucky, the family liked you, and they spared your life. Now you’re one of them, and he can make you happy. Johnny made his way towards the cars, the ones too far gone to fix, and peered inside the busted-out window to see your trembling frame.

“Hey, sweetheart. Why you all bundled up in here?” Johnny said, surprisingly, in a soothing voice. You peeked your head up, giving a meek smile. You like it when he speaks softly. It is the only thing that makes you feel safe. His effort on tenderness is bearable, given the circumstances.

“Nubbin’s trap set off while I was picking flowers. I got scared,” You say. Johnny knew you were telling the truth from the look in your eyes. He motioned his hand to your ankle, checking for injury. “Don’t worry,” You reassure, cringing, “It didn’t get me.”

Johnny let out a stressful sigh. “That darn idiot. I’m gonna beat him over the head,” Johnny spat under his breath. He looked over at you, seeing you back into the corner as he displayed anger. He relaxed his cold stare and slowly opened the rusty door, sliding into the seat next to you and resting his hand on your knee.

“You got nothing to be scared about. No one’s gonna hurt you no more. Nubbins is just being reckless with his traps. Y’know, he puts them around to catch the rabbits.” Johnny reassures, levelling with reason in hopes you calm you down.

You sat silently until another call for supper came from inside the house. You looked at Johnny, twiddling a piece of string from your shirt. “I’m not really hungry,” You mutter, “Sorry…”

Johnny nodded in understanding, rubbing your calf with a gentle stroke. “That’s all right, darlin’. You can eat whenever you feel like it,” He knew Nancy wouldn’t like that much, but he certainly would protect you if she nagged you for it.

“Can we stay in here for a while? Watch the sunset?” You enquire, the thought of it making you smile. Appreciating the small things became a method to keep your sanity. It also made excuses for being around the house, a place you find troubling.

“Alright, but we go inside once the sun’s down, okay?” Johnny reasoned, and you nodded happily. 

You crawl over to Johnny and rest your head on his chest, spotting the sun meeting the horizon at your eye level. Johnny only had his eyes on you, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair, his tongue sliding along his bottom lip in thought.

“It’s beautiful,” You mutter, charmed by the colours in the evening sky.

“You’re beautiful,” Johnny claimed, his body sensing bashfulness prevail over you.

You look into his eyes, a slight smirk on Johnny’s face as he admires your innocence. Subconsciously, Johnny’s lips lean closer to yours. You stood still like time was frozen, fluttering your eyes shut when he kissed you.

He was rough but passionate as if to prove something to you. His hands explore you, cupping the back of your neck, grasping your thighs, tracing circles on the small of your back. You would be lying if you didn’t find it pleasant, giggling as he nibbled on your bottom lip, whispering sweet nothings. Your hips grind against him, feeling Johnny’s hot breath on your cheek as he gasped. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, darlin’,” He chuckled, “You’ll get me worked up,”

“I can’t help it,” You laughed, your words conflicting with your innocent tone.

“Keep going,” Johnny purred, resting his hands on your waist and guiding your hips. You comply, watching the lustful stare in his eyes as he admires the movement of your body. You hike your shirt up, teasing him as you expose your stomach, slowly raising it until your chest greets his stare. Johnny gazes longingly up at you before entangling you into his hands and kissing you roughly.

“I need you so bad,”

The sun was greeting the horizon, the sky a deep tangerine, matching the tarnished colouring of the car. Your hand presses against the window, and a deep moan breaks loose from your confounded expression.

“Keep going, please, please-” You plead, gripping the busted leather seats to adjust to Johnny’s length inside you.

Johnny hunches over your body, teeth scraping down your spine, holding you in place with his rough hands. Estranged strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Sweat highlights the arc of his muscles.

“You’re so good for me,” He pants. He had to make this quick; otherwise, the family would set out looking for him. He feels you tightening around him, making him bend further down and grip your shoulders, burying his face into your neck.

Johnny’s groans grew husky, sending shivers down your spine. Arching your back, you grind into him. The profoundness of his cock inside you makes you fumble over your moans.

“Yes, baby. That’s it,” Johnny encouraged, rutting into you. “Keep fucking going.”

The rate of Johnny shagging into you eventually lends him his climax, and yours perfectly lines up with his. Both of your clothes are hanging by threads on your bodies. You collapse in each other's arms. His arms engulf you as you straddle his lap, your eyes drunk with lust, admiring your kidnapper, your disastrous love affair. 

“You’ll never leave me, will you?” Johnny asked, staring into your soul, soaking in everything about you.

“I would never,” You breathe out.

“Promise?” Johnny pleaded, brushing a strand of hair from your glistening face, basking in your doe-like glow.

“I promise,” You whisper, kissing the scars on his knuckles. Your mind goes astray, maybe from the lustrous high or because you made a promise you might not keep.

#johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer x reader #johnny sawyer #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre #creepling.brainrot

[blumeblooms]

- > speak up !

• toge inumaki x gender neutral reader !

• summary - in where you meet a nice lady in a flower shop you volunteer at, just to find out you can defeat curses when you thought you were just hallucinating. you transfer to jujutsu high, and you see a guy with his face covered who tried to steal flowers the other day! you confront him and he stays silent, so you tell him to speak up, only for him to say… onigiri ingredients? whether you just quit or go on with this new lifestyle- well, that’s for fate to decide.

————————————————————————-

• status - in progress

• tag list - open !

• genre - smau, awkward friends to lovers, crack, slight angst, fluff, idk bare w me here

• extras - more to be added! this is my first work, so please be patient! tips are welcomed :)

————————————————————————-

• speak to me!

> get to know

• START ! not so nice to meet you - - >

• one - are you even real ??

• two - is this legal …

• three - didn’t your parents tell you stealing is wrong ?

• four - AITA ??

• five - flower in forgiveness

• six - lets get messy

• seven - coffee stained cups

————————————————————————-

TBA !

#inumaki x reader #inumaki toge x reader #inumaki toge x you #jjk inumaki #jjk smau #toge inumaki #nobara kugisaki #itadori yuuji #smau #friends to lovers #speak up smau

[lilacskyly]

My Life For Yours (Satoru Gojo x Reader Soulmate AU)

This is just the first part, planning on doing a part 2 and maybe 3.

Satoru Gojo didn't believe you two were fated to be soulmates. Hell, he refused to believe it. How could he not? You were one of his fellow students in Jujutsu High, introduced to him by your friend Suguru Geto. You were considered a special grade sorcerer, but how was that when you were so weak? You couldn't fight, you could only support others, taking the blows for them with your cursed technique. With each blow thrown an ally's way, you used your technique to save them. The blow would always get blasted back to the enemy, but why would you harm yourself for that? Why go out of your way to protect someone you barely knew? He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

Maybe that's why he still can't wrap his head around what you did.

You found out he was going to fight Toji. You insisted you come along, he of course refused. You were too weak to help anyways. But you were a persistent one. You somehow convinced him to let you tag along as long as you didn't “get in the way”.

He wishes he didn't say that nor that he let you come along.

You hid while he and Toji were fighting, you didn't even let him know where you were. Maybe you were just waiting for that moment, the moment that was meant to kill him. 

Toji would've killed him if not for you using your technique on him in a split second. The blow that was meant for him engulfed you, he swears you died on the spot then. But as you fell down, never to get up again, you smiled at him. Your voice rang through his head then. “Now, win this.” You died that day, Gods he wishes he didn't let you go. But with your death, his cursed energy soared. He easily defeated Toji after that, but he didn't feel satisfied. He kept sending blow after blow to Toji’s corpse till it was reduced to nothing. He went down to recover your body, seeing you still had that stupid smile spread across your face, with tear stains on your cheeks. 

He was the one who brought you back to announce your death to Jujutsu High. “So… she finally did it…” Yaga told him. “She finally gave her life to someone else.”

He didn't understand what he meant. It was only later that he found that's why you were considered a special grade. You quite literally gave your power to him, making him stronger than before, giving him your life force. You were now a part of him. 

He swears he sees you wherever he goes. You with that stupid fucking smile. He remembers screaming at your image, screaming that it was your fault he feels like this. And what did you do? You just smiled the whole time, albeit a bit sadder now. 

He would visit your grave constantly, a grave that simply had your name plastered on it with the word “Oyasumi”. He hated that. He hated how you were reduced to just a piece of stone. 

The last time he saw you was when he destroyed it. He couldn't control himself, his anger, his hate, his despair. He destroyed the only thing that was keeping you in this world. When the dust cleared, he saw you standing there, waving goodbye to him before walking away in the midst of the new morning.

“She's not coming back…” he heard someone say from behind him. He almost attacked that person too. They stopped him however, introducing themselves as ‘the prophet’. They gave you a choice. Kill them there and never be able to see you again, or attempt to change the past. Change the past? He remembers thinking. How stupid is this person? After hesitating to attack, the person came forward to him, offering him a bundle of forget-me-nots to him. He thought it was a sick joke. He was the only one to bring those flowers to your now decimated grave. He threw the flowers down, demanding the person explain why they were here.

“Simple, I just can't stand to see someone lose their soulmate.”

His…. Soulmate?

“She was yours, you know. And yet… you treated her like a mere pest. Yet she still gave her life to support you, to make you stronger than ever. Why?”

He was going to kill this person if they continued like that. 

“I can give you a chance to re-do it all. To find her again, to make things right. After all, you love her, no?”

And so, here he was. Watching you from afar as you hung out with Suguru before you two were even supposed to meet. Now was his chance to make up for what he did. Now was the chance to give his life to you.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #fanfic #gojo x reader #soulmate au

[lividstar]

干満 — ♡ GOLDEN HOUR.

៚ wc: 31k (idk what happened)

៚ fluff, barista!seonghwa x florist!reader, slowburn, friends to lovers, mutual pining, woo is your bff, copl joong cameo

៚ You’ve always had a knack for finding beauty in the most ordinary of things, a trait that serves you well in your work as a florist at your grandmother’s flower shop. Every petal, every stem, holds a world of wonder in your eyes. It’s this appreciation for the exquisite that draws you to the quaint café just a stone’s throw away from your apartment. The cozy ambiance and friendly staff have made it a home away from home, but even so, it’s the long-haired boy who works behind the scenes in the kitchen who truly catches your eye. You long to unravel his being like a delicate bloom waiting to unfurl its petals, but you do so in silence, never being brave enough to make a move. Yet fate has decided it has had enough of you being a coward. As Valentine's Day approaches, your world is thrown into chaos when your grandmother’s flower shop is tasked with providing flowers for a special event at a café, which just happens to be the one where Mr. Pretty Boy™️ works at.

The intoxicating aroma engulfing the interior of the coffee shop gave you a warm welcome, the scent immediately finding itself brushing past your nose as the bells hung from above the door clink against each other, signaling a new arrival to the employees, making them look up from what they’re doing to briefly greet you before going back to work. Upon recognizing you immediately, the smiles on their faces when they greeted you were far different from the ones they gave to other customers—this is something that you never fail to notice, and you believe that perhaps it’s because you’re one of their most loyal customers, having been visiting the place since the first day they opened.

The coffee they brew and the pastries they bake are already good by themselves, so the fact that they’re located near where you live is just all but a bonus factor. You think that even if you were to live from a farther distance from the café, you’d still end up visiting the place just as often as you do now. Your eyes scanned all over the place, looking for an empty seat to occupy—ones that are near the window, preferably.

Finally spotting a vacant seat at the very back of the café, you hurried over, not wanting anyone to occupy it before you did. Only after you placed your bag on the sofa and sunk yourself on the cushion did you realize that this seat wasn’t exactly going to be able to provide you a… proper view for what, or who, rather, you actually came for.

He rarely ever comes out from where he works inside the back kitchen, and if he does, usually, it would be whenever one of his co-workers would request for his presence, most of the time the reason being them needing help with either cleaning, taking out the trash, so on and so forth. He’s never been tasked to take up the job of taking customers’ orders, let alone deliver it to their tables, and you’d know, since you’ve been visiting their café before he even started working here. All you knew about him was his name, thanks to the name tag attached to his uniform.

Park Seonghwa.

The first time you saw him was about five months ago, and his hair wasn’t as long as it is now. You were able to tell him apart from everyone else as a new employee with the way the older ones were guiding him with all the basics, and also because you know you’ve never seen such a face like his amongst the other workers before. It felt like you were in a western romance movie from the 90’s locking eyes with your love interest for the first time while he was shown in every angle as you sat there with comically widened eyes and a mouth left agape, the world around both of you coming down to a stop.

You didn’t see him often anymore after that, and you actually believed he already got fired at some point, but it wasn’t until you saw him closing the shop one evening when you passed by it on the other side of the road on your way home from your grandmother’s flower shop where you worked.

It’s safe to say that you’ve been captivated ever since then. It was just too bad he was given a position that doesn’t require him to head out and socialize with customers, but you figured things would be better the way they were meant to be. He doesn’t seem like someone who’s much of a talker, and neither were you.

He’s meant to stay in the back kitchen, and you’re meant to stay sitting by the tables. It wouldn’t be hard for one to tell that future interactions between both of you would be impossible, but perhaps you like things better that way. He gets to be paid by doing his job, and you get to make your days better by admiring him from afar silently.

Just then, one of the café’s workers approached your table with a familiar smile.

“The usual for Saturdays?” she asks, already aware of your preferences. You nod with a smile, appreciative of how well the staff knew your routine. They have gotten to know you so well over the months that they’ve even memorized your orders depending on the day of the week. “Yes, please.”

As she walks away to relay your order to the coworkers behind the counter, you watch her figure become descending with each step. Your mind wanders as you pull out your phone and begin typing a message to your best friend, Wooyoung, who always enjoys hearing about your experiences at the café.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWooyoung: Going to assume you haven’t seen Mr. Pretty Boy yet?

You recall the day Wooyoung had dubbed Seonghwa with the nickname. It was the first time Wooyoung had seen him when you tagged him along to the café, and you both watched Seonghwa step out from the back kitchen to temporarily take over his co-worker’s duties at the counter. He nudged your shoulder, looking at you with a teasing smile, saying, “Didn’t know you had a thing for pretty boys.”

Wooyoung's playful comment had taken you by surprise, but as you thought about it, you realized how true it was—Seonghwa was undeniably a pretty boy with his soft features, elegant demeanor, and long, smooth hair. With the way he carries himself, it wouldn’t take much for one to notice he takes self-care seriously.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYou: How am I supposed to know when I can’t even see the counter from where my seat is?

After sending the message, you look up, scanning the café once more in case Seonghwa was around. Realizing he wasn’t after looking around the place for about three times straight, you sigh and plop your elbow down on the table, placing your hand on your chin as you look to your left, busying yourself with watching people walk by, going by their different routines and plans for the day.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWooyoung: How tragic. Must suck to be you.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Wooyoung’s playful remark, already picturing the mischievous grin on his face as he typed the message. Sometimes, you find yourself questioning how you ended up being friends with someone who seems to enjoy teasing you so much.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYou: At least I’m

Before you could finish typing your response, your gaze drifts up from your phone to see the boy you’ve been hoping to see ever since you first stepped inside the café, eyes widening in realization when you see the direction he is headed to. Getting your nerves tangled with each other, you weren’t sure what to do, accidentally sending the unfinished response to Wooyoung.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWooyoung: You’re what?

His apron was tightly knit on his back, accentuating his lean figure while his hair was tied neatly in a half bun, a few stray strands of his hair hanging off the sides of his face. He was as beautiful as ever. Your breath catches in your throat, feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement, and you quickly look down, pretending to focus on your phone even though you were literally just scrolling back and forth on the weather app.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYou: OhmygODWOO

“Here’s your order,” he offers you a polite smile, and his voice sounded as soft as the calm waves of the morning sea. He looks even more breathtaking up-close, you thought. You were quick to put your phone face down on the table, ignoring the notification of Wooyoung’s message you saw before turning it off.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWooyoung: WHAT?

You look, feigning surprise as if you hadn’t noticed him until that moment. “Oh, thank you,” you reply, your words coming out rushed.

He politely nods while smiling, his eyes holding a hint of curiosity as he observed you—but you failed to notice it, as your eyes were fighting to look anywhere but at the boy standing right in front of your table. “Enjoy your meal,” he says before turning to walk away.

“Thank you, you too-” Fortunately, he was already a distance away when you spoke, and you thanked the heavens for not letting him hear you express your stupidity through words.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYou: YOU’RE SO NOT GONNA BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤI’M SO STUPID OH MY GOD.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤI’m gonna need you to bury me 6ft under, please.

The contrast between the three messages you sent within five seconds surprised you, whereas it made Wooyoung laugh from the other side of the screen.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWooyoung: Now why are you letting all of your personalities take over at once?

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤJudging by the way you’re talking, I think this is something that requires a face-to-face discussion.

A few minutes later, Wooyoung was now sitting across the table, eating the cinnamon roll in his hands while listening to you ramble about what just happened before he arrived.

“-He told me to enjoy my meal, and I said, ‘Thanks, you too’! Like, I’m not even kidding! The only saving grace I had was the fact that he was already walking away when I muttered that out… But I can’t help but overthink that maybe he did hear it and just ignored me to save me from embarrassment, you know? I mean, come on,” you talk endlessly without taking a breath, careful not to speak too loud in case one of the employees, or worse, Seonghwa himself, were to walk by and overhear your conversation.

Wooyoung chokes after taking another bite of his cinnamon roll, covering his mouth with his hands so his loud laugh wouldn’t disturb the other customers. He disappears from your line of sight momentarily, head underneath the table as he struggled with containing his laughter. “Now you’re just overreacting. It’s really not that funny,” you deadpan, arms crossed as you looked at him, your annoyed face a huge contrast to his close-eyed smile.

“It is that funny!” Wooyoung sputters out in the middle of his laughs, hands on his stomach as he laid his head down on the table. Clearly, telling him about it was a very regrettable decision. You were certain he wasn’t going to let go of this anytime sooner. “God, no! It’s embarrassing! I was so nervous earlier I ended up pressing buttons on the weather app pretending I was on my phone, you know?” You sigh, taking a sip of your coffee that has now slightly gone cold.

Wooyoung finally stops laughing, sighing as he dramatically wipes a stray tear on the corner of his eye. “If I were him and I heard you say that, I would’ve been so weirded out I’d never think of leaving the back kitchen again,” he teases, earning a hard kick from your feet underneath the table.

“Ow!” Wooyoung grimaces, looking down to massage his leg that now had a sore spot, thanks to you. “Okay, now that was unnecessary,” he whines, glaring at you. “So is fueling up my embarrassment even further, but I can’t bring that up, can I?”

“Alright, alright! I’m sorry,” he grumbles under his breath, downing the last cinnamon roll on his plate. “I mean, I’m not, but I’ll let you hear what you want to hear since I’m such a good friend.”

“I wouldn’t call a boy who visits me during my working hours at the flower shop just to sweet-talk my grandmother into treating him to lunch while leaving her granddaughter all alone to handle the shop a good friend, but whatever you say,” you shrug, snickering after seeing the annoyed look on his face.

“Now you’re just twisting the story! Mind you, she’s the one who offers to treat me to lunch whenever I visit you, not the other way around…” Wooyoung whines once more, nearly making you laugh at his childish antics.

“You know, since she clearly cares for you more than she does for me, why not take over my shifts for the upcoming week? I could really use some rest,” you suggest, leaning forward as if forcing him to consider the idea. But Wooyoung only shoos you away, turning his head to the side while avoiding your gaze. “No can do, I’ve got dance lessons with Yeosang for the whole week. Schedule’s packed,” he deadpans, leaning his back against his seat.

“And you call yourself a good friend,” you jokingly sigh, shaking your head in disapproval. “You should totally join us sometime, though. I think you’ll like it there,” Wooyoung smiles at you, and the way it surprisingly looks genuine was what now had an eyebrow of yours arched. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that you’re really horrible at dancing and the heavens are begging for you to sneak dance lessons in your schedule.” Seeing the annoyed look on your face, Wooyoung huffs in triumph.

You stand up, slinging your bag on your shoulder while looking down at Wooyoung. “Don’t even dare to show up at the flower shop again starting from today,” you say, making a beeline to the doors without even looking back at Wooyoung, who was now scurrying over to catch up to you. “I was joking!”

Just as you opened the doors to step outside of the café, you nearly bump into a tall man who was heading inside. Looking back to apologize to the said person, you were met with the sight of Wooyoung briefly greeting the said man, making you wonder if they knew each other.

Wooyoung was struggling to find out whether he was supposed to push or pull, making you snicker as you yell from where you stood, “Catch up and I’ll forgive you!”

Two people from inside the cafe watch the scene unfold in amusement by the counter, one being an employee and the other being his friend who stopped by to visit. “Are your customers usually this chaotic?”

To which the man only laughs at, saying, “The girl is usually quiet when she comes here by herself, but whenever she tags her friend along with her, all hell always breaks loose.”

“You’ve got one hell of a job, Seonghwa.”

****

The flower shop is quiet in the evening, the only sounds to be heard being the faint sounds of your favorite song playing on your phone. Your grandmother had already headed home hours ago, and as Wooyoung said last weekend, his schedule for this week is entirely packed with dance lessons with Yeosang, which is why he can’t accompany you tonight, leaving you alone to tend to the shop for the rest of the night. It’s peaceful here, a sanctuary amid the day’s chaos, and you savor the tranquility as you wander through the aisles of blooming arrangements.

Closing time isn’t until 10 p.m., but it’s only 9 now, meaning you have some time to kill. The floral scents fill the air, each bouquet and arrangement contributing its own delicate fragrance. Half of them are your creations, while the others were lovingly crafted by your grandmother. You pause at the sight of a bouquet of gypsophila nestled at the very back of the shop, a recent addition, perhaps.

The sight of gypsophila brings back memories of your mother. Your grandmother once told you it had been her favorite flower, and her love for flowers was what pushed your grandmother into opening up this shop a year after her passing.

Your mother would always speak of how she wanted to build her own flower shop when she was young, a story that would never fail to bring tears to your eyes, despite the fact that you’ve been told of it multiple times already.

She had fallen ill when you were just seven years old, facing a battle with a disease that couldn’t be cured. Your financial situation had been tough, and your grandmother juggled multiple jobs to keep her daughter alive. Despite the hardships, your mother’s spirit remained bright, and she imparted her love of flowers to you. You remember her last words, spoken with tenderness.

“Continue my dream, my lily. Fill the world with the beauty of flowers, just like these. And remember, even when I’m not with you, my spirit will be there, like the soft touch of gypsophila in the air.”

Those words resonate deeply with you even up to this date, guiding your life choices and strengthening your passion for floristry. Your mother often compared you to a lily, symbolic of purity and beauty, and you hold on to that connection to her as you nurture the shop.

Your phone's notification ring echoes around the empty flower shop, pulling you away from your thoughts. You walk over to the counter and glance at the notification on your lock screen. It was a message from Wooyoung.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWooyoung: Dance lessons finished earlier than usual. Are you still at the flower shop? I'll be on my way if you are.

You check the wall clock above the counter. It was 9:24 p.m., giving you enough time to hang out with your best friend before you had to close the shop for the night. Looking back down at your phone, you quickly type out a response.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYou: Still here :)

After sending the message, you turn off your phone and let out a soft yawn. You couldn’t wait to get the day over with. Whenever Wooyoung stopped by the shop, he always brought your favorite food with him. It was an unspoken gesture that you always appreciated. Knowing he would arrive soon with food in hand, you return to your spot behind the counter and began tapping your finger lightly on the surface, patiently waiting for your friend to show up.

On the other side of the city was a boy who is in the same situation as yours. He was mopping the floor of the café, humming along with the song playing through the speakers when he heard the familiar jingle of the bells hanging above the door. He looks up with a smile as he saw who had entered.

“I thought your dance lessons usually end at 11 p.m.?” he asks, setting the mop aside for a moment. The boy sighs as he plops himself down on one of the café's couches. “They decided to call it a day earlier than usual. I’m not sure why, though,” he shrugs.

“You know what, Seonghwa? You should definitely tag along with me there sometimes,” he speaks up again, resting his elbow on the table with his chin in his palm.

Seonghwa chuckles. “Enough with that, Yunho. You know it’s been years since I last danced,” he says, lightly groaning as he stretches his back, which had been sore from mopping the floor for quite some time. His coworkers had already left, leaving him to finish up.

“That’s the point! You’re there to re-learn the basics, not to impress everyone with amazing dancing skills right off the bat,” Yunho replies matter-of-factly.

Seonghwa sighs, shaking his head. “Still not interested. Plus, our café will be holding an event soon. My schedule will be even busier than usual—you know I can’t sneak dance lessons into my routine.”

Yunho perks up at the mention of an occasion. “An event? What’s it for?”

“Valentine's Day,” Seonghwa explains. “We’ll all have to work overtime starting next week to prepare the decorations for the shop. We’re facing a bit of a challenge, though.”

"Why? What's the problem?" Yunho tilts his head, curious. Seonghwa sighs again. “We need to decorate the shop with flowers, but we don't know where to buy them in bulk.” Yunho remains silent for a few seconds, but the moment he finally spoke up, he did so with enthusiasm. “And if I tell you that I know where you can find them?”

Seonghwa eyes Yunho suspiciously. “Something tells me there’s a catch to this offer.” Yunho raises his hands in defense, a wide-eyed look on his face. “What? No! No catch at all.”

“You’re not going to make me attend your dance lessons in exchange for you telling me where I can buy flowers for our café’s upcoming event, are you?” Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, but Yunho only shook his head in response. “I wasn’t even thinking of anything! But, now that you mentioned it-”

“Don’t even dare.” Yunho raises his hands yet again, lips pursed as he nodded. “Got it, got it. How does giving me a 99% discount for everything I’ll purchase from your café for a whole week sound?” Yunho smiles, tilting his head as he leans closer, as if trying to convince Seonghwa to agree to his proposal.

“Saying you want a 99% discount is basically demanding to be given your orders with no charges,” was all Seonghwa said in response. “If you think about it, that’s kinda like the point.” Yunho shrugs. “So… are you in for it?”

Truth be told, covering for Yunho’s purchases does sound better than attending dance lessons Seonghwa was certain he really does not need. So, being left with no choice, all he could do was nod. “I hate how you always know how to play your cards right.”

Yunho grins in triumph, standing up. “You’ll always let yourself fall victim to it no matter what, anyway. That’s on you,” he looks at the wall clock of the café, noticing that it was now past 10 in the evening and Seonghwa’s shift was finally over.

“No I don’t-”

“-think you can get away with this!”

You were nearly out of breath, chasing Wooyoung in circles at the park nearby the flower shop. You’ve been doing this for about five minutes now, nearly forgetting the reason behind it in the first place.

When he first showed up in front of the shop’s transparent window doors with a box of donuts in his hand and a can of your favorite soda in the other, you were more than excited to let him in, a smile gracing both yours and his lips. You hung out inside as he sat on the surface of the counter, feet hanging off as they swung back and forth while he told you all about how his day went. It was how you both preferred to hang out, him doing all the talking while you sat back and listened attentively.

He loved being able to ramble on for hours on end, and you loved not having to talk as much, only having to listen quietly while throwing in short reactions in the middle of him telling stories every once in a while. You were both content with each other’s presence, and the atmosphere in the shop was nothing short of peaceful. It wasn’t until he absentmindedly reached for the last piece of donut inside the box, only realizing it was the one you loved the most the moment you gasped out of shock and the pastry was already far down his throat.

“I didn’t mean to! Cut me some slack, I can barely even feel my legs anymore!” Wooyoung yells, looking behind every now and then to check if the distance between both of you was growing wider or if you were drawing closer.

“Not until you say sorry!” you say in response. Wooyoung looks back once again, supposedly about to stop in his tracks and just allow you to catch up to him because he swears his legs will literally detach themselves from his body if he were to continue running for the next few seconds.

But he was met with the sight of an annoyed look on your face, and things took a turn for worse—for you, and for better—for him, as he pushes himself enough to quicken his pace even more. “Catch up and I’ll apologize!” he echoes your words from the day he chased you out of the café. The sound of him mischievously giggling while you struggled to match his pace made you even more annoyed, and at this point, you didn’t even want to catch up to him anymore. You just wanted to throw him off a cliff.

Suddenly, Wooyoung stopped in his tracks, making you do so as well. He was now facing you, catching his breath as he held his arms up in defeat. “Okay, okay! I give up-”

Wooyoung cut himself off, earning a confused glance from you as he looked behind you. “Hey, isn’t that your Mr. Pretty Boy over there? And that’s—Yunho?” he squinted, leaning his head forward. “Cut it out, Wooyoung. I’m not falling for your tricks,” you said, crossing your arms. “But I’m not! Look behind you!” he whisper-shouted, stealing a few glances at the two men behind you who were now inching closer as they walked side by side. “No way in hell-”

“Oh, Wooyoung?”

Looking behind to see who the person who just greeted your best friend was, you found yourself at a loss for words with your eyes comically widened over the sight you were met with.

It was Seonghwa, along with the man you almost bumped into earlier—the one Wooyoung greeted in the middle of struggling with opening the café’s doors.

You immediately turned your head back to Wooyoung, who was now looking at you with an ‘I told you so’ gaze. Your best friend’s attention was now taken away by the two men drawing closer to where you both stood.

As Seonghwa and Yunho approached, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of nervous energy coursing through you. You shifted slightly, feeling nervous. The last thing you expected was to cross paths with your crush in the middle of chasing your bestfriend for eating the last piece of donut you saved for last on purpose because it was your favorite.

Wooyoung and Yunho seem to have been talking about something, and you heard the words ‘dance lessons’ being thrown around here and there. You eventually figured out that Yunho goes to the same dance workshop Wooyoung attends, their brief interaction at the café last weekend now making perfect sense.

But you couldn’t find it in you to pay attention, their conversation going in one ear and out the other—not when the boy you’ve been crushing on hard for five months now was standing in the same space you were. The only thing you could focus on was trying to keep your composure and not make a fool out of yourself.

Yet all attempts to do so immediately crumbled down when he smiled briefly in your direction, catching you off guard. And for a moment, time seemed to slow as you locked eyes with him. His smile was warm, genuine, and it sent a flutter through your chest. You managed to return the smile, although you did so a bit awkwardly, before quickly averting your gaze, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

As the conversation between Yunho and Wooyoung continued, you found yourself stealing glances at Seonghwa whenever you thought he wasn't looking. There was something captivating about him, something that drew you in despite your efforts to remain composed.

He wasn’t clad in the uniform he usually wore for work—this was something you noticed soon after taking note of how pretty he looked with his hair down. He wore a white dress shirt with its first two buttons undone, layered with a sleeveless dirty white knitted sweater on top. His pants were loose and in the same color as the apron that came along his uniform—chestnut brown. To top it all off, he wore white converse shoes, perfectly completing his look.

And here you were, thinking he couldn’t look even more beautiful than he already does.

When it was time for Yunho and Wooyoung to part ways, Seonghwa looked at you once more, giving you a small, polite wave. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a surge of warmth through you. You hesitated for a moment before raising your hand to return the wave, a shy smile creeping up on your lips. As Seonghwa turned to walk away with Yunho, you couldn't help but feel a sense of longing wash over you. The brief interaction had left you wanting more, craving the chance to get to know him better. But for now, all you could do was watch him go, still trying to process what on Earth just happened.

“You’re not slick,” Wooyoung snickering out of the blue dragged you out of your thoughts, and the first thing you see after snapping back to reality is your best friend wiggling his eyebrows while giving you a knowing look. “I saw that very, very clear, just so you know.”

“W-what?” Even though you knew what he was referring to, you couldn’t find it in you to come to terms with the fact that what happened was actually real and not just a fragment of your imagination—the living proof being Wooyoung and his teasing smile.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, “You were looking at him like you were planning your wedding in your head! You were like,” he shifted, mimicking the way you were standing still with your hands intertwined in front of you, staring at him with stars in your eyes when he wasn’t looking, “and then when he waved at you, you were like,” he raised his hand, waving awkwardly with a shy smile on his face. “You couldn’t have been any more obvious!”

“I was not acting like that!” You placed your hand on your chest, a look of disbelief on your face. “Tell me you’re exaggerating right now. You’re lying, right? Like, I didn’t actually act like… that, right?”

“I’m not gonna tell you the false truth you wanna hear,” he said with a teasing grin, crossing his arms. “All you can do now is to hope he wasn’t being attentive earlier.”

“Oh God…” you sighed, dramatically crouching down on the ground with your hands covering your face. “This is the second time you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of him, you know. Remember when he told you to enjoy your order and you said-”

“Just stop!”

****

As the clock struck past closing time, the atmosphere in the café shifted from lively to quiet as the last lingering customers bid their farewells and the staff began their post-closing routines. Chairs were stacked, floors were swept, and the air was filled with the anticipation of the impending meeting. An hour later, the café was transformed into a makeshift conference room, with the tables pushed together to form a large communal workspace. The employees, along with their manager, gathered around, ready to discuss their plans for the upcoming Valentine’s Day event.

"Alright, everyone," she began, her voice commanding attention as everyone fell silent. “Valentine’s Day is fast approaching—we only have a month left to prepare, and we need to ensure that our café is ready to enchant our customers with romance. I know some of you may be thinking preparations seem far too advanced, but I’d rather start working early on than to rush things and end up making us look like we aren’t capable of doing any better. Any ideas for what we can do in order to achieve our goal?”

“How about we switch things up and focus on creating a cozy atmosphere?” suggested one of the employees. “We could set up small seating areas with plush cushions and warm lighting, perfect for couples looking for a quiet spot to enjoy their coffee. Maybe even hang up fairy lights or something.”

“I like that idea! We could also offer special dessert pairings, like chocolate fondue or dessert platters,” another chimed in, their voice filled with excitement. “It’ll give our customers a chance to indulge in some sweet treats while they soak in the romantic ambiance.”

“We could also set up a photo booth corner with props and backdrops," one employee said, leaning forward as they began to explain their idea further. “It’ll give our customers a fun way to capture memories and share them on social media—which could also be a way to promote our café, if you catch my drift.”

“And to add a personal touch, why don’t we encourage customers to write notes to each other as the last part of the event?" another employee proposed. “We could provide stationery and pens, and then display the notes around the café. It’ll spread love and positivity throughout the space.”

“I’ll make sure to keep your ideas in mind. Now, as we discussed in our group chat last week,” the manager said, looking up from the notepad she wrote everyone’s ideas on, “we want to incorporate flowers into our décor to enhance the romantic atmosphere. Have any of you been able to find a supplier?”

With the sudden opening of the discussion regarding the manager’s idea to decorate the café with flowers, everyone fell silent—a clear indicator that the answer was clearly a no. Despite the manager’s earlier directive, no one had been successful in finding a supplier for the flowers they needed. Just as the manager was about to let out a disappointed sigh, their youngest employee, who hadn’t muttered out a single word so far, raised his hand, making everyone look towards where he sat.

“I, um, I have, but…” he wasn’t even finished talking yet, but a smile was already gracing the manager’s lips. “Is that so, Seonghwa? Tell us about it! We’re all ears,” she grinned, and the other employees glanced at him with a hopeful smile, as he was their only saving grace that could prevent their manager from firing them all.

“My friend told me about it a week ago, but he said I’d have to cover his expenses for everything he’ll be purchasing here for an entire week before he gives me the location. It’s only Wednesday today, so he won’t fulfill his end of the deal until Saturday…” he trailed off, giving his manager an apologetic smile. “Oh, why didn’t you say so sooner! Do you think it’s possible for him to give away the location now if you tell him his expenses will be covered by us—you as an exception, for the rest of the year?” she smiled, but Seonghwa’s eyes were quick to widen at the suggestion. “A-A whole year? I don’t think that’s…”

But one of his co-workers immediately agreed with their manager’s suggestion, not wanting to lose their job that paid them well enough to survive a day just yet. “Yeah! We’ll, uh… we’ll pay for all of his orders for as long as he wants!” they regretted saying those words as soon as it slipped out of their mouth, but they didn’t have it in them to take it back now.

“See? Even your co-workers agree. Now, why don’t you try ringing up this friend of yours?” Seonghwa believes the idea of paying for Yunho’s orders for an entire year sounds absolutely absurd, but he couldn’t bring himself to disagree when everyone gathered around the table was looking at him with hopeful gazes. Seonghwa’s phone rang for about a few seconds while everyone waited patiently, and after dialing Yunho for the third time, he finally answered the call. “Seonghwa? What’s up?”

He wasted no time in getting to the point, wanting everyone to take their eyes off of him as soon as possible. “Would you be willing to fulfill your end of the deal right now if I tell you all your purchases from the café will be covered by my manager and co-workers for the rest of the year?” Yunho went silent for a few seconds, as if trying to process Seonghwa’s proposal. “Okay, now, hold on—where is this coming from? Are you being held at gunpoint?” Technically, yes.

“What? No, just answer the question, please.”

“I’m starting to doubt if you really know me because first of all, why should you even be asking me that? You know I’ll never turn such a good offer down. I mean, a whole year? Come on, that’s like heaven on Earth!” With the positive response from Yunho, everyone let themselves loose, letting out a breath they had no idea they were holding.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Seonghwa replied. “I’ll text you the location. Does that sound good?” Yunho asked, and Seonghwa didn’t even take the time to respond, immediately hanging up on him. “The deal is sealed,” Seonghwa playfully saluted, as everyone started praising him for saving their jobs without even realizing it. “Great! Just forward the location to me once you receive it from him. You can all go home now,” she smiled at everyone, who stood up one by one, returning the chairs to their respective places, packing their things afterwards.

As Seonghwa made his way home, the weight of the day’s events hung heavy on his mind. The responsibility of securing the flower supplier for the café’s event had unexpectedly fallen on his shoulders, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride knowing he had come through for his team. Lost in his thoughts, Seonghwa was startled when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a couple of notifications from Yunho.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYunho: The flower shop’s located at 1117 Paradigm Street.

The first message was the address Seonghwa had been eagerly waiting for. Upon reading the next messages Yunho sent within the same minute, a soft smile crept up on Seonghwa’s lips.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYunho: Dance lessons for the day will last way past 11. It’s by choice, though, so don’t worry.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWanna stop by and wait for me? We can hang out at my apartment afterwards.

It had been a long day for Seonghwa, so the idea of spending time with his friend to unwind and release all the stress he had bottled up for the whole day brought him a sense of comfort.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤSeonghwa: Sure :)

Minutes later, he was now standing in front of the building where the dance lessons Yunho attends were held. He stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his dark brown coat, lightly shivering due to the cold air of the evening. The building had a sign that says “KQ Fellaz” atop the doors, the lights of the first letter slightly flickering. Tapping his foot on the ground, he looked around, patiently waiting for Yunho. Visitors were prohibited from entering the building alone, hence why he had to remain frozen where he stood until Yunho would fetch him.

The doors in front of him opened, revealing Yunho, who was nearly soaked in his own sweat. Do they not take breaks in the middle of their lessons? “You’re a little earlier than I expected,” he managed to let out, although he did so with huffs in between. Clearly, he was still trying to catch his breath.

“Jesus, are you alright? You look like you just ran five laps in a row,” Seonghwa chuckled, not used to seeing Yunho in such a state because he’s the one who’d always visit Seonghwa at the café after his dance lessons, and not the other way around. “Think of it as having to interact with customers by the counter continuously for a whole day,” he shrugged. “Oh. It’s that bad, huh?” Seonghwa replied, to which Yunho only sighed. “See? Now you get me.”

Stepping aside to let Seonghwa in, Yunho closed the doors behind both of them once Seonghwa had entered the building. “So…”

“So?” Seonghwa tilted his head, taking his hands out of his pockets to put his hair up with the tie on his wrist. “Were you being for real earlier? Like, you know, the whole thing about covering for my purchases for a whole year?”

“You heard it loud and clear earlier already, Yunho. My manager was dead serious—she doesn’t play around when it comes to her business, so I guess it makes perfect sense for her to just air out such a proposal so casually just so you’d give me the location of the flower shop you were talking about a few days ago.” Seonghwa shrugged, the sound of his and Yunho’s footsteps echoing through the empty hall of the building.

The atmosphere surrounding them was peaceful, yet the building’s practice room, which was now only a few steps away from where they were at, was the complete opposite. Even from a fair distance away, they could hear the distinct yelling and laughter from inside the room.

“What?! What do you mean ‘Modern Seoul Gracias’? What are you even talking about?!” Wooyoung yelled, not even being able to hear his own voice regardless of how loud it was due to the song playing through the headphones he was wearing that Yeosang set on full volume.

“No, no! Pay attention, you dummy! This is a place people often visit during weekends!” you yelled back even louder, saying each word slowly so Wooyoung could read your lips. From behind him, Yeosang held up a piece of paper with the words ‘amusement park’ written on it. You and Wooyoung had been stuck on this round for a while now, and what’s worse is he had to guess 5 words within 5 minutes—you only had a minute left.

“My… what? What does that even mean?! What on Earth is the keyword for you to be describing it like that?!” The look of frustration on both your faces was evident, making Yeosang burst into a fit of laughter.

Your grandmother decided to let you off your duties for the day, hence why you decided to tag along with Wooyoung on his dance lessons. Fortunately for you, a few familiar faces other than your best friend’s were around, namely Yeosang and the guy named Yunho who happens to be a mutual friend of Wooyoung and Seonghwa, making you feel a little less awkward inside the crowded space.

The field wasn’t really something of your expertise, so all you did for the day was record their practice performances for them and head in and out every now and then to buy them some snacks so you could at least offer a little bit of help. The rest left the building earlier at 10 in the evening already, but Wooyoung, Yunho, and Yeosang chose to stay overtime—you don’t know why, but you promised Wooyoung you’ll spend the whole day with him today to make up for not being able to hang out with him for a short while, so you had no choice but to stay longer as well.

At first, the three of them were just practicing some of their choreographies while you sat on the floor at the very back as you browsed the internet, but one thing led to another, and Wooyoung ended up suggesting the idea of playing the infamous Whisper Game. He, of course, chose to pair up with you, while the opposing team consisted of Yunho and Yeosang.

Yunho and Yeosang were kind enough to let you and Wooyoung play first, but their willingness to step down and offer a gesture of kindness has been proved to be completely useless, seeing how your team has barely even made any progress. “Pass, pass! I can’t do this one anymore!” he yelled, stomping his foot on the ground twice in frustration. “We’re not allowed to pass! You proposed that rule earlier before we started playing, remember?” Wooyoung, however, thought you were still trying to describe your given keyword to him, making him shake his head quickly with his brows furrowed.

“Get it over with! I can’t-”

The door swung open all of a sudden, and even though neither you or Wooyoung heard it, the door was near enough where you were for you to be able to see it in your peripheral vision. However, what you weren’t expecting was your eyes to lay upon Yunho with another person trailing behind him.

The world—for you, at least, came to a stop, and suddenly, the loud music from the headphones you wore no longer rang in your ears. You found yourself in a temporary state of shock, the day seeming to have done a 180 out of nowhere. Behind him was none other than Seonghwa, and God did he look even more ethereal than you can last recall.

The long coat he wore was shrugged off his shoulders, revealing the fitted black turtleneck he wore underneath. His pants were of the same color, and the reflection of the lights on the practice room’s roof shone perfectly on his shoes.

“You still haven’t gone past that word?” Yunho said, though it was more of a statement than a question—the answer was already laid out in front of him, anyway. Yeosang knew both you and Wooyoung couldn’t hear him, so he took it upon himself to speak on your behalf. “I’d say it’s Wooyoung’s fault. He’s been reading her lips incorrectly the whole time,” he said, laughing afterwards.

“By the way, time’s up! Congratulations for scoring zero points,” he followed, taking off Wooyoung’s headphones for him, while you remained in a trance, blanked out while staring into the depths of nowhere. Wooyoung stood up, walking towards you while waving his hands in front of your face. “Hello? Earth to my best friend?” he said, having to repeat it a couple more times before he got tired and straight up flicked your forehead, making you flinch as you hurriedly took the headphones off your head, hanging them on your neck. “Ow! What the hell?!”

“Game’s over! We scored zero points,” he said casually, as if the prize on the line for the winners wasn’t a whole pack of what just happened to be your favorite food. Soon enough, a frown has already made its way to your face. Being all too familiar with the expression you held, Wooyoung was quick to throw his hands up in the air, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry, okay?! I genuinely had no idea what you were saying!

“Then maybe you should’ve considered suggesting a different game—one you aren’t absolutely horrible at.” Yunho and Yeosang watched in amusement, while Seonghwa remained curious, trying to figure out whether you two were actually arguing or if this is simply how your friendship goes.

“Do they normally…?”

“Yeah.”

Meanwhile, Wooyoung was still trying to find a way to receive your forgiveness. “I’ll just stop by the convenience store near my apartment and I’ll buy you a whole pack—two, even! Just forgive me and don’t get rid of my free food privileges at your grandmother’s shop!”

“No can do, Woo. You promised me you’d win the prize for us! That’s so, so different from buying it from some convenience store down the street, you know?” Wooyoung knew you were just messing around, yet he failed to notice you were doing it on purpose to get him to play the game all over again just so you didn’t have to head home early and miss the opportunity to be in the same space as Seonghwa.

“Okay, look, I’ll just,” Wooyoung turned around, facing the three men who were watching you two bicker just now, locking his eyes with Seonghwa, who stared back at him with brows slightly raised in curiosity. “Seonghwa, right? Do you know how to play the Whisper Game?”

What?

“Me? Oh, yeah, I’m pretty decent at it, I guess,” he responded, nodding. You, however, watched the scene unfold with widened eyes. Your plan did work, but at what cost? Was Wooyoung going to ask him to-

“Can you take my place for tonight? I mean, if you haven’t already noticed from my bestfriend’s glares, I’m really, really terrible at it, and clearly, she values the prize more than she does with me,” he explained, making Seonghwa chuckle lightly at the last part. You, however, were quick to interject with Wooyoung’s idea, knowing there was no way you’d be able to focus on the goal of winning if Seonghwa were to be your partner for the game. “What? No, that’s… that’s not necessary. Woo, we could just try again-”

“Sure thing,” Seonghwa slid between your words with a soft smile on his face, immediately shutting you up. Even though Wooyoung was facing away from you, you could still feel the sinister smile on his face begging to be released.

Wooyoung took the headphones off his neck, giving it to Seonghwa as he stepped aside so he could sit down on the chair facing you from a fair distance across the room. Trying your best not to melt down to the ground right there and then, you held back the urge to glare daggers right into where Wooyoung was standing, replacing it with a sarcastic smile instead, making your bestfriend lightly flinch—he was not going to get away with this.

“Are you ready?” Seonghwa asked, looking at your face to search for any signs of discomfort as he patiently waited for your response while holding a soft grip on the headphones hanging off his neck. It was most likely due to the fact that you always have your heart-shaped glasses on whenever he’s in the same space as you are—you were well aware of that, but part of you hopes you weren’t just being delusional over thinking his voice softening ever so slightly when he spoke to you was intentional.

“Yeah, um, I’m good,” you slipped a small chuckle in the middle of your words, the sound of it coming off awkward being completely unintentional—to be fair, anyone would be nervous as well if they were to be put in your shoes, so who’s to say it wouldn’t have happened with other people?

“Why don’t we switch it up this time? I’ll give Seonghwa the keyword instead,” Yeosang chimed in, walking around the room to stand behind where you sat. “Is that alright with you guys?” To which you all agreed.

There was never any specific category you all agreed to follow before playing, so Yeosang let his mind wander as freely as possible while thinking of a word to scribble on the blank paper he held in his hands. Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa watched him in both curiosity and anticipation as he started writing on the paper, while all you could do was stare down on the ground and fiddle with the hem of your sweater. It’s not like you could look behind you, anyway, and neither do you have enough courage to stare right into Seonghwa’s eyes.

“Okay, here we go,” Yeosang announced, holding the paper up for everyone except you to see. The word, scribbled in Yeosang’s handwriting, was “The Gingerbread Man.”

Wooyoung's jaw dropped, crouching down while the sounds of his hysterical laughter and his claps echoed all over the room. “No way!” Yunho chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “This is going to be one hell of a round,” he said, his laughter joining Wooyoung’s in a chorus of amusement.

Seonghwa, however, had his eyes widened in disbelief as he scanned the word. “You’ve… got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, running his hands through his hair. “How on Earth am I going to describe this?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His brow furrowed in concentration, trying to come up with a plan.

“Hey, it’s a word that’s pretty easy to guess,” Yunho offered him some encouragement, patting him on his shoulder, “it’s just hard to describe. Well, not really, but you get what I mean.”

Meanwhile, you watched the scene unfold with growing nerves, your heart pounding in your chest as you anticipated what was to come. You weren’t sure how to feel about the variety of reactions. From Seonghwa’s reaction alone, you could already tell the word given to him was a difficult one. As he began to describe the word, you quickly realized just how difficult this was going to be. Seonghwa stumbled over his words, struggling to find a way to explain the complex term without making it too easy or too hard. His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to come up with the perfect description.

“It’s like... something you often see during Christmas,” Seonghwa started, his voice hesitant as he searched for the right words. He glanced at you briefly, his eyes filled with uncertainty, before continuing with his description. “A see-through crisis… What?” you replied, brows furrowed in confusion while you tried to read his lips. “No, no! It’s often seen during Christmas,” he repeated, this time speaking more slowly than before. “It’s, like… ah, how do I…” he sighed, staring above the ceiling while trying to come up with an effective description.

Wooyoung couldn’t contain his laughter, rolling on the ground as he clutched his stomach. “This is gold!” he exclaimed between breaths, his laughter echoing through the room. He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, struggling to catch his breath as he continued to laugh uncontrollably.

“A see-through crisis? What does that even mean?” Yunho said, his laughter contagious as he joined Wooyoung down on the floor. He placed his hands down on the surface for support, his laughter mingling with Wooyoung’s as they both struggled to catch their breaths. Seonghwa sighed in frustration as he struggled to find the right words. “I have no idea how to describe this,” he admitted, his voice tinged with defeat. But even his frustration couldn’t dampen the mood, and soon enough, everyone was laughing along with him.

“No, no, come on, you’ve got this! Just come up with whatever you can, and I’ll try my best to make a word out of it!”

Maybe it was because you were getting too lost in the moment, or perhaps it was because you really wanted to win the prize. Eitherway, you failed to notice the fact that you were no longer acting so awkward and bashful around Seonghwa like you usually would.

Wooyoung didn’t, though. And maybe that’s why he was no longer laughing, instead just focused on both you and Seonghwa trying your best to guess the keyword correctly with amusement filling his eyes, grinning while doing so—he was definitely never going to let you hear the end of it after this.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, determined to give it one more shot. “Okay, let’s try this again,” he said, his voice more determined this time. He squared his shoulders, steeling himself for the challenge ahead as he prepared to make one final attempt.

“He’s leaning forward now!” Yeosang pointed out, slapping his knees while laughing. “He’s like those dads leaning forward with their elbows on their knees the moment the basketball game they’re watching on the television comes near the final stretch,” Yunho followed his commentary, leaning to the side after Wooyoung slapped his shoulder playfully over his remark.

“Okay, okay, it’s like... it’s edible, and it can be made through baking. Edible, can be baked.” Seonghwa's brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to articulate his thoughts, but his vague descriptions only left you more confused. “Edited by a candidate…?” you whispered, turning to the others for help. But their faces only mirrored your confusion, refusing to lend you a hand, leaving you feeling even more lost.

Yunho chuckled, shaking his head. “I think he’s just as lost as she is,” he joked, earning a laugh from Wooyoung and Yeosang. Seonghwa sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair as he tried to regroup. “Okay, okay, let me try again. He’s a little guy who’s edible.” he tried, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the right words.

But as you tried to decipher his words, you found yourself completely off track, misinterpreting his descriptions in the most absurd ways possible. “A little time for enigma?” you guessed, earning a round of laughter from the others. Seonghwa blinked in confusion, his lips quirking up in a small smile despite his frustration. “Uh, no, that’s not quite it,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

As the game progressed, Seonghwa's descriptions became more refined, each one inching closer to helping you unravel the mystery of the keyword. With each new attempt, you found yourself getting closer to understanding, the pieces slowly falling into place.

"It's like, okay, it’s edible, often seen during Christmas, and takes up the form of a little guy,” Seonghwa’s voice was more confident now, his eyes alight with determination as he tried to guide you towards the answer. Well, realistically speaking, he’s only been giving you the same description for the whole time—the only thing that differs each of them from one another being the arrangement of words. You furrowed your brows, mulling over his words carefully. “Christmas, edible, little guy…” you murmured to yourself, trying to make sense of it all.

And then, it clicked.

“Oh my God. Please don’t tell me it’s The Gingerbread Man,” you deadpan. Seonghwa’s eyes lit up with joy, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes! That’s it!” he cheered, his voice filled with pride as he nodded enthusiastically. With a rush of adrenaline, you tore off your headphones and stood up, turning around to see Yeosang holding up the paper with the word “The Gingerbread Man” written on it. The sight only fueled your excitement further, and you couldn’t help but let out a triumphant laugh.

“Whoa, they actually got it!” Wooyoung exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief as he exchanged stunned looks with Yunho and Yeosang. The room erupted into cheers and applause, everyone celebrating the unexpected victory. As the cheers and laughter filled the room, Seonghwa’s eyes sparkled with joy. Caught up in the excitement of victory, he turned to you with a beaming smile, his hand raised for a congratulatory high five.

Without a second thought, you mirrored his gesture, reaching out to meet his hand with yours. But as you were too lost in the moment, already thinking of eating the prize once you get home, your fingers intertwined with his, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. Seonghwa’s expression softened, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes at the unexpected connection. Yet, instead of pulling away, he gently tightened his grip, intertwining his fingers with yours. Seeing others happy had always been his personal source of joy.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as you both stood there, excitedly shaking both your hands while they remained within one another’s grasp. It wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of Wooyoung’s teasing glance in the blurry background of your vision.

A warm flush crept up your cheeks as you finally became aware of the intimate gesture, wasting no time to let his hands go. But before you could muster a response, Seonghwa's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine warmth. “Great job! I didn’t think you’d actually get it, since, I was, like, really bad at coming up with descriptions, you know,” Seonghwa chuckled, rubbing his nape sheepishly.

“What? No, I, it was probably on me—I mean, I literally misread your lips so many times. Great, now I feel bad for yelling at Wooyoung when he made the exact same mistake earlier…” you trailed off as your gaze found its way to your best friend, who was still looking at you and Seonghwa teasingly, this time with both his eyebrows wriggling.

Seonghwa laughed, the sound echoing in your ears, leaving you in a trance for a fleeting moment. How come even his laugh is so beautiful? At this point, you were certain the heavens above took their time with him.

You and Seonghwa looked around, noticing that Wooyoung and Yunho were now the ones seated on the chairs facing each other. It seems like their turn to play the game has finally arrived, and instead of a word, they had to guess a proverb.

As you both turned your gaze to Yeosang who was standing behind Yunho, you waited in anticipation for what he was going to write—bursting in a fit of laughter the moment he held the paper up, the words “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” written on it. Normally, it would be easy to describe it for anyone else, but you knew your best friend well enough to be sure he was not going to be able to describe it correctly to Yunho. This time, you both chose to let them have a moment of their own, being kind enough not to distract them unlike how they did with you earlier.

“You know, I was supposed to ask you this question earlier, but I was unexpectedly caught up in the whirlwind of your game, so I couldn’t…” Seonghwa spoke up all of a sudden, leaving you hanging off his words in curiosity. “Oh? What is it?”

“I might be mistaken, but… you’re the girl my co-workers claim as our café’s most loyal customer, right?” he asked, head tilting to the side slightly as a strand of his long hair got carried along, framing the middle of his face. God, must he really have a face people would go to war for?

Your eyes widened slightly at the mention of the nickname, finding it unexpected. “That’s what they call me?” you asked, a smile finding its way to your lips, with Seonghwa mirroring it with one of his own after hearing your answer. “Oh, so it is you.”

“Anyway, to answer your question, it’s a yes. My duty lies in the back kitchen, so I’m not really updated on who visits our café the most and who doesn’t, but they talk about you a lot, especially during the after-hours of work,” he replied.

“Oh, really?”

You weren’t exactly good at everything, and there’s a fair amount of things you were absolutely horrible at. If you were to be asked to list them all down, lying would definitely hog the first spot. Not only did your attempt to sound like you had no idea he works in the back kitchen as if you haven’t had your eyes on him for months on end now come off as you only pretending to be interested, your blank facial expression—which, in your defense, is an attempt to act clueless of the “newfound” knowledge beforehand, also ended up not being able to offer any help.

Afraid to rub off the wrong impression on Seonghwa, you were quick to steer away and focus on another thing that’s remotely related to the topic at hand. Opting to start talking about the café itself instead and neither the workers nor the customers, you picked back up on your words, the sound of Wooyoung’s laughter blending in the background.

“You know, the reason why I visit the café often is because it’s only a few steps away from my apartment. Not only that, everything you guys offer in the menu just never seems to miss, too,” you smiled, searching his gaze for any signs of whether you had successfully driven his attention away from your terrible response earlier or not. Seeing the way his eyes started to look like they were sparkling, you sneakily let out a breath of relief. “Really? That must be nice… There aren’t really any cafés near where I live—in fact, the one where I’m working is the closest a café can get for me,” Seonghwa jokingly put on an angry expression, making you laugh.

He didn’t have to know you did so not because he looked funny, yet rather because you found it adorable how the front of his eyebrows had risen ever so slightly with his cheeks puffed along with his nose scrunching.

“But you don’t really have to live near a café when you already work at one, don’t you? Makes me wonder if you’ve ever taken wrong orders with you on your way home,” you teased, although a bit hesitant—afraid he’d get the wrong impression and assume you were being passive aggressive somehow. Much to your fortune, he laughed at your comment, holding up both his hands in the air. “Guilty as charged,” he joked, playing along with your antics.

Mulling over the topic at hand, a question suddenly appeared in your mind. And as if Seonghwa noticed it immediately with the way your eyes widened ever so slightly, he tilted his head to the side, asking, “Something on your mind?”

“Were there ever times you got your customers’ orders wrong on purpose just so you could indirectly make yourself a drink without having to pay for it?” you asked, hoping it didn’t sound like you were making accusations. Yet, to your surprise, you were met with the sight of Seonghwa in a state of disbelief. “How’d you know?” he said, making you mirror his expression. “No way! You’ve actually done it before?”

“Done it before? Please, I do it all the time,” he said with a smug look on his face, yet was quick to take it back, “I mean, well, I mean, not all the time, because, like, that’s kind of evil, you know, but like-” Seonghwa gave up in explaining himself, putting his hands up in defeat once more. “Okay, fine, maybe I do. But in my defense-”

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”

The sound of Wooyoung chanting like his life depends on it and proceeding to throw away his chair across the other side of the room along with Yunho yelling in victory cut your conversation short, both you and Seonghwa immediately turning your heads to Yeosang, who looked at you with an expression just as bewildered as yours.

“Don’t ask me, I don’t know either,” he mouthed, letting out a sound of surprise when Wooyoung and Yunho suddenly lifted him up and started throwing him in the air back and forth. Exchanging concerned glances with Seonghwa, both of you were certain that from this point onwards, it was going to take you two a lot more time to calm your bestfriends’ energies down. Can the night take any longer to go away?

****

You were shocked, to say the least.

Well, in much more… realistic terms, it’d be better to use the term ‘annoyed’. It all started earlier in the morning, when your grandmother called you just when you were about to take a 5 minute nap after your alarm woke you up, telling you that you were going to have to work overtime for the following weeks. It would’ve been the trigger for your sour mood long ago, but at this point, you were already used to being greeted by such announcements.

You were certain it was most likely because she was planning on taking a break from work and letting you handle everything for a while as she gets her well-deserved rest, so you didn’t really mind it at first, immediately telling her “alright, got it,” before she could even finish speaking.

What you weren’t expecting was the bomb she had dropped down on you just now as you both indulge in a conversation regarding your work by the counter.

“You mean I need to make how much of what in how many days because it’s due when exactly?” you bombarded her with questions, leaning forward from outside the counter as you rested your shoulders on its surface while staring at your grandmother who stood inside the counter in disbelief, your expression growing more frustrated after each inquiry spoken. Great—just when you thought the gods will be nice enough to grant you a peaceful week for once.

Your grandmother held your hand laying down on the surface, looking at you with an apologetic gaze. “I’m sorry, dear, but I really wasn’t expecting it either. She only came in last night during your rest day and told me everything about what she wanted to happen and wanted us to do a minute before the shop was supposed to close, and she seemed to have been in a rush just as I was to close the shop. It seemed like it’s an urgent matter, so I couldn’t turn her down…”

Snapping back to reality and realizing that perhaps you were being a little too dramatic, you were quick to shake your head, placing your other hand down on hers. “No, no, grandma, I’m not upset at you, you don’t have to apologize. It’s just… who exactly is this person, and why did they only visit our shop now that the deadline for whatever they need our services for is nearing and not when they could’ve done so in advance?”

Your grandmother furrowed her brows, a puzzled expression crossing her face as she tried to recall the details of her conversation with the manager from the previous night. "Hmm, let me think... She mentioned something about being the manager of a café, but I'm afraid I can't quite remember the name of the place. My memory's not what it used to be, you know.”

With the mention of a café, your mind instinctively drifted off to Seonghwa—perhaps it was because you haven’t seen him for quite a while now.

For the past few weeks, you couldn’t exactly say you were in a good state. The reason why your grandmother has been taking care of the shop all by herself lately is because she refuses to let you work—not when you were severely ill. Each day felt longer to you than it usually would, as the only things that have been keeping you entertained within the confines of your apartment were your phone and Wooyoung himself.

Not a day during the time you were sick felt enjoyable to you, especially since Wooyoung was the one who had been taking care of you through it all. Sure, you appreciate the gesture more than he believes, but you couldn’t exactly say his countless amounts of teasing you for being ‘born with a respiratory system that wouldn’t survive a horror house’ weren’t annoying. It didn’t help that you couldn’t see Seonghwa for three weeks straight, either. Ever since you got sick, all you could think of was every interaction that happened between both of you that night when you chose to accompany Wooyoung with his dance lessons. You couldn’t get him off your mind.

From the way his brows were furrowed ever so slightly while trying to describe the keyword given to him to you, to the way his hands squeezed yours for about two times at most when you were both celebrating your victory—all of it.

Snapping back to reality after hearing the shop’s door open, you were quick to compose yourself and greet the customer who came in, before turning your attention back to your grandmother. “That’s okay, Grandma. Do you remember anything else she said?”

Your grandmother tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes scanning the ceiling as she searched her memory. “Well, she barely gave me a chance to ask any questions before she started laying out her plans for the Valentine’s Day event they’re hosting. Apparently, they want to go all out with the decorations this year, and she thought our shop would be the perfect fit to sponsor the flowers.”

“And did she mention anything about why she waited until the eleventh hour to ask for our help?” you asked, both your curiosity and annoyance getting the better of you. Your grandmother frowned, her brow furrowing in thought. “Not really,” she admitted. “She was so focused on getting everything organized that she didn’t offer much in the way of explanation. But I got the sense that she’s under a lot of pressure to make their event a success.”

You sighed, massaging your temple. You had just recovered from your illness, yet it already feels like it’s crawling its way back to your senses. “Alright, um…” you trailed off, trying to think of how to proceed with the situation at hand.

Suddenly, your grandmother’s face brightened as a memory surfaced in her mind. “Ah, I almost forgot! She did leave me something before she rushed out.” With a sense of urgency, she rummaged through a drawer under the counter, finally pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. She smoothed it out carefully before placing it on the counter for you to see. “This is what she left me,” she explained, pointing to the phone number scrawled on the paper. “She said she was in a hurry and couldn’t specify which café she manages or where the event would be held. So, she asked me to call her today so we could discuss the details properly.”

“Huh…” you hummed, lost in thought as you looked at what was written on the crumpled paper. “Well, why don’t we call her now? The sooner we start, the sooner we can get this whole thing over with.”

“No, no, I’ll do it myself, dear. I’ll just let you know of all the details later. For the meantime, help out that customer over there,” she said, pointing to a man with split-dyed hair wearing a black leather jacket who was scanning the rows and columns of various bouquets sprawled out in front of him, “he looks like he needs a little assistance.”

You smiled, pushing yourself off the counter. “Got it,” you said, playfully saluting before heading towards the aforementioned man at the corner of the shop. “Would you like some assistance, sir?” you asked politely to grab his attention as he turned his head behind to look at you. “Oh, uh, yeah… Do you have any suggestions on which bouquet in this section would be best to give to my girlfriend for Valentine’s Day? They all look beautiful, but I don’t know which one to choose…”

Ah, that’s right.

Valentine’s Day, the sweet old event held annually every February 14th you never had a chance to participate in. With all the heavy workload and life burdens you’ve been carrying on your shoulder lately, you didn’t even realize the said day was fast approaching. Just a day ago, when you were taking a stroll around the city, couples were all over the place—not too much of a rare occurrence, yet it was strange all the same—you thought you were going crazy and were just seeing different versions of the same couple everywhere. Now, it makes perfect sense.

You wonder if Seonghwa has a date planned with someone for Valentine’s day, too. It would be funny if he were to suddenly enter the flower shop asking you the same question Mr. Cruella De Vil had asked just now—the humorous effect of it would definitely wear off later in the evening if it were to actually happen and you’ll most likely end up curled up in your blanket with tears in your eyes, but hey, it would definitely be a fun story to tell Wooyoung about.

“Well, let’s see…” you trailed off, scanning the bouquet flowers presented in front of you. “I think it would be pretty basic if you were to just pick one of these. I mean, think about it. What are the odds that another girl or guy out there already has this in their room?” you said, pointing to some random bouquet.

“Like, 7.5/10?” the man answered, his face looking as if he was actually thinking your little subtle marketing strategy through. “Exactly. That’s more than 5, which means you definitely shouldn’t be opting for any bouquets displayed here in this aisle.”

“Don’t you think it’d be better if you, perhaps,” you spread your arm to gesture to the little synthetic decorations of varying flowers by the counter, “search up different flowers and their meanings and choose the ones with a description that matches your partner’s vibe the most? And then onward, I’ll take care of the rest and make sure I’ll be able to compile them and turn them into a beautiful bouquet as soon as possible.”

He seemed to have been lost in thought for at least a few seconds, making you second-guess whether you were promoting your business correctly or if all you were actually doing was blowing his socks off out of pure fear, yet all your worries fell silent the moment a smile started to form itself on the corners of his lips, “I’d like that. That sounds like something she would definitely appreciate.”

****

The wall clock on top of the counter has once again hit the after-hours of work. The bells hung on top of the café’s doors keep clashing with each other each moment another fellow employee of Seonghwa calls it a day and heads out, their need for a rest as clear as day with the way their voices would sound as if they’ve just finished carrying the weight of the whole world on their shoulders. Face buried in his palms with his hair all disheveled, Seonghwa left the counter and dragged his feet against his will to one of the couches, laying on his back on its soft surface, initiating eye contact with the warm fairy lights hung by the ceiling.

He found himself lost in thought, trying to decipher why exactly the past few days have felt so flavorless and dull for him. He doesn’t even know when or how it started—one minute, he was just playing video games on Yunho’s PC, then the next thing he knew was suddenly he needed a thousand years of rest, away from everything. He knows it’s normal for people to feel down out of nowhere for no reason at all, but it wasn’t the same case for him, not when he doesn’t usually find himself struggling with such a feeling. Out of all the times he could’ve felt it, like when he once had to balance 4 jobs at once just so he wouldn’t find his things in a trash bag outside his door with a note from his landlord way before he started working at the café, why now?

“Seonghwa? Why are you still here?”

The familiar voice of his manager woke him up from his daydream, making him immediately sit up straight. “Oh, uh, they said I was on duty for closing up the café tonight…” a lie. “But they told me you haven’t gone home yet, so I thought of waiting for you to leave before I’d start cleaning up,” another lie. “I was just laying down because I figured I should charge up my energy before working on tonight’s duties,” why is he lying when it isn’t even necessary at all?

“Is that so?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as if she’s not buying his excuses—well, to be fair, who in their right mind would? “You know you can just tell me you’re tired, Seonghwa. Admitting to that wouldn’t be a crime at all,” she gave him a reassuring smile, walking towards the couch from across the one Seonghwa was sitting on, placing her phone down on the table in between them. “I mean, I don’t even know what to call what I’ve been feeling for the past few days,” Seonghwa sighed, shrugging as he leaned back against the couch. “When did it start?” his manager asked, as if trying to help him out with piecing two and two together.

“That’s… I honestly don’t know either. All I know is I feel like everything has been so dull and gloomy lately, like something in my life I never knew existed has disappeared behind the scenes,” he said, stopping in between a few parts as if he’s not sure if what he’s saying even makes sense. “Well, uh,” she pondered, tapping her index finger on her cheek while her eyes examined the roof absentmindedly, “I don’t know much about you and what goes on in your life, so forgive me if this is a ridiculous theory, but.. perhaps what you’ve been feeling lately is caused by a person?”

“A person?” Seonghwa echoed her words, as if even he himself is unsure if a person is actually capable of making him feel strange emotions–without him noticing until the effects of it have finally taken place, too, if anything. “I’m not sure, I… don’t know how that could happen.” His manager was quick to wave her arms off in front of him, retracting her theory. “Well, I’m not sure! After all, it’s just a theory. Maybe it’s true, maybe it isn’t. I’m only throwing that assumption out there because I know that feeling very well, but hey, things are different for each of us,” she smiled, attempting to drive him away from stressing himself out further.

“Yeah, yeah, I agree. Let’s just… maybe not talk about it for now?” Seonghwa politely requested, to which she happily followed. “Of course! Which reminds me, I forgot to tell you about this earlier in the morning, but I went to that flower shop your friend recommended yesterday.” “How’d it go?”

“Well,” she clasped her hands together, smiling so wide Seonghwa swore the distance between her eyes and the corners of her lips was little to none, “I’ve got it sorted out! I may or may not have felt really bad after leaving the shop, though…” she trailed off, frowning. “Why?”

“I thought the owner would be a pretty girl around our age because well, you know, every girl dreams of opening up a flower shop at some point in their lives, or a sassy bald man with glasses who dresses like Edna from The Incredibles, but it was neither.” Seonghwa tilted his head, “What was the owner like, then?” “A sweet old lady who looked like she wanted to turn me down yet didn’t do so because she probably has a heart of gold and I’m pretty sure it’s also because I gave off the impression that I might just die then and there if she didn’t accept my proposal,” she said.

“Oh, really?” Seonghwa looked genuinely surprised. “I’m sure Yunho wouldn’t have thought of recommending that shop to us at all if that was the case, though… Maybe she has someone who’s helping her out? Like, a grandchild of hers or something?”

“I don’t know, I was in too much of a rush when I went there so the thought didn’t really cross my mind. I really hope that’s the case,” she sighed, looking over to her phone on the table. “I’m still waiting for her to ring me up, though. I told her to call me yesterday, but I haven’t received anything at all.”

“Maybe she’s taking her time thinking about it? It’s a pretty huge proposal, anyway,” Seonghwa guessed. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. I’m hoping she’ll dial my number by tonight, though… Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, and I really can’t afford having any last-minute issues with our plans-”

The manager’s phone suddenly rang, cutting her and Seonghwa’s conversation short. She quickly picked it up, glancing at the screen. “Oh, it’s the flower shop! Talk about perfect timing,” she smiled, tapping the answer button as she set the phone call on speaker so Seonghwa could listen in on the conversation as well. “Hello? This is the manager of the café you visited yesterday.”

“Good evening, dear! Apologies for the delayed call, I’ve been pretty busy here,” your grandmother’s voice came through clearly, her tone both polite and professional. “I just wanted to discuss the details of your request for the Valentine’s Day event, if that’s alright with you?”

“Ah, yes! Thank you so much for getting back to me,” the manager said, her tone as bright as day. “I’m really excited about this collaboration. We want to go all out for this event and make it really special for our customers.”

“Of course, I understand. Could you remind me of the name of your café again? I want to make sure I have all the details right,” your grandmother asked. The manager hesitated for a moment, “Actually, I didn’t get the chance to tell you yesterday, my apologies. The café is called ‘Heavenly Brews’. We’re located just a few blocks away from your shop.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you for letting me know. Now, regarding the flower decorations, could you tell me more about what exactly you’re looking for?” your grandmother asked, pulling out a notepad to jot down details. “We’re thinking of something that really captures the essence of Valentine’s Day,” she began. “We’d like a color scheme that gives off those classic Valentine vibes—reds, pinks, whites. Perhaps some heart-shaped arrangements or something that really stands out and adds to the romantic atmosphere.

“That sounds lovely. I can definitely work with those colors and themes,” your grandmother said, scribbling down notes. “Do you have any specific types of flowers in mind?”

“Well, we were thinking of using roses primarily, but we’re open to suggestions. Maybe some baby’s breath or lilies to complement them? Something that looks elegant and sophisticated, but also warm and inviting,” the manager replied. “I can certainly arrange that. Would you prefer more traditional arrangements, or are you looking for something more modern and creative?” your grandmother inquired, her mind already running like a train off the rails with ideas.

“A mix of both would be great. We want the café to have a cozy, welcoming feel, but also something that catches the eye and feels special. It’s a big day for us, and we want our customers to feel that love and effort,” the manager explained. “Understood. I’ll start working on some designs and get back to you with a few options. When would you like to see the samples?” your grandmother asked, feeling more confident now that she had a clearer idea of what was needed.

“If possible, could I visit your shop tomorrow? It would be great to discuss things and see the process in person,” the manager requested, tone so bright your grandmother swore she could practically hear her smiling from the other end of the line. “Of course! That sounds like a good plan. What time would work best for you?” your grandmother asked, flipping to a fresh page in her notepad to note the appointment.

“How about around noon? That’s usually a quieter time for us, so we can discuss everything without too many interruptions,” the manager offered. “Noon works perfectly for me. I’ll see you then,” your grandmother confirmed. “Great! Thank you so much for working with us on this. We’re really looking forward to seeing your designs,” the manager said, her relief evident in her voice.

“It’s my pleasure. I look forward to working with you as well,” your grandmother replied warmly before the call ended. The manager looked over at Seonghwa, who had been listening intently. “Looks like things are starting to come together, huh?” she said with a smile on her face. “That’s great news. I’m sure the event will turn out amazing,” Seonghwa said, mirroring her smile with one of his own. “I hope so. It’s going to be a lot of work, but I think it’ll be worth it,” she replied, her enthusiasm evident in her voice. “Thank you for sticking around, Seonghwa. You should probably head home and get some rest now.”

****

The night had long since then passed, and Seonghwa was now already on his way to work, tapping his foot on the ground while waiting for the stoplights to turn green so he could cross the street. He pushed the long strands of his hair that were framing his face back, fingers getting slightly wet since his hair was still quite soaked. Why, must you ask? His decision of staying overtime at the café last night was made on a whim, because he wasn’t really thinking straight yesterday due to his strange emotions taking a toll on him. Had the manager not been met with the sight of him looking absolutely disheveled laying down on the couch, he probably might’ve even considered staying the night.

He was too busy trying to untangle his feelings to even remember that he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before—and so, as a result, Seonghwa ended up oversleeping yesterday. Yet one thing about him was that he was either gonna show up fashionably late, or not show up at all. Despite knowing he should’ve resigned from wearing a stylish fit and making an effort to fix himself up at least just for today, Seonghwa does not want his customers to say in their thoughts, “He looks like he just came back from a war.”

Today, he chose to wear an oversized checkered brown and white cardigan on top of a plain white shirt, paired with black pants with converse shoes in the same color as the brown hue of his cardigan. He didn’t have much time left for fixing his face up—everyone believes this is totally unnecessary for a face as beautiful as his, but he insists—so he decided to just wear a pair of glasses with a brown frame, remembering what Yunho used to say about glasses perfectly suiting him.

The stoplights had finally turned green, and he wasted no time in practically running towards the coffee shop he works at. He knew his hair would end up looking like a flock of birds had just nested on it by the time he’d reach the café’s front doors, but at this point, he was too late to care. Stopping in his tracks by the time he saw the large signage of the café he works at, Seonghwa decided to take a break from running and started walking slowly towards it, heavy breaths getting released with each step. The familiar ringing of the bells echoed in his ear the moment he opened the doors, the warm scent of various brews making its way to his nose.

“Oh, hey, Seonghwa!” a coworker of his called for him by a table, motioning for him to come over. “Our manager left a note for you by the counter. She said it was about something urgent, so you might wanna take a look at it,” he said, pointing to a small folded piece of paper pinned by the corkboard. Seonghwa nodded, immediately making his way to the corkboard by the counter. Taking the piece of paper off the corkboard, he carefully unfolded it, reading the words that seem to have been hurriedly written on it:

“Seonghwa, before anything else, I deeply apologize for the late notice. Remember when the sweet old lady from the flower shop asked me to stop by today so we could discuss our plans for the event further? Well, the thing is, something urgent came up and I can’t visit her today. If it won’t be too much trouble for you, could you please be the one to visit her this afternoon instead? You’re free to have the rest of the day off after doing so for compensation. I’ll make it up to you once I get things sorted out.”

For at least a few seconds, all he could do was stare at the scribbled words on the paper blankly. Part of him wonders what came up for his manager to have to skip work for the day, but then he eventually realizes that it’s probably something regarding her personal issues, so he shouldn’t really meddle about it. A detour to the flower shop in the middle of the day sure does sound a little hectic for him, especially since it’s a last-minute request, but being given permission not to continue working at the café afterwards and just spend the rest of his day to his liking does sound like a good deal to make it up for him, too.

You, however, were not exactly feeling the best of the best.

Unfortunately, your grandmother couldn’t go to work today due to having a fever you swear she got from not listening to your consistent reminders to take her medications regularly, so it was all up to you to manage the shop all by yourself. It didn’t help that your duties for the day were of a higher amount than the usual, either. Earlier in the morning, your grandmother called you to inform you about the phone call she had the night before with the manager of the café whose Valentine’s event your shop will be sponsoring, informing you that the manager had already told her about specific designs and patterns she thought would fit the theme of their event.

Their requests were highly specific, too, which only ended up making things harder for you—as now, you’re still stuck on completing the first set of decorations. It wouldn’t be an issue at all, had you not been working on it since the brink of dawn, and had the manager not been supposed to stop by later around 1, which is currently half an hour away from now. So, as a result, you decided to close the shop for the day and solely focus on getting the decorations done. Of course, you made sure to leave a little note by the front doors for the manager, telling her to disregard the “CLOSED” signage and just barge in as she wishes.

The first set of decorations consisted of a series of small floral arrangements designed to be hung from the ceiling. You were envisioning these hanging arrangements as delicate bursts of color that would gently sway above the heads of the café’s customers, creating a romantic atmosphere.

Each decoration was to be composed of a variety of flowers, with a strong emphasis on pink and white hues to match both the manager’s requests and the event’s theme. You had chosen to use a mix of roses, peonies, and baby's breath, carefully arranging them into small, rounded bouquets. Each bouquet was tied with a length of white ribbon that would be used to hang them from the ceiling. After finally finishing the first batch of decorations, you gathered them all together on the ground, carefully examining it as you can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing—it exceeds beauty yet lacks character. As you were thinking of what to add, the sky suddenly turned gloomy, with droplets slowly starting to stain your shop’s glass door. The weather forecast for today said today would be a sunny day, so this was completely unexpected.

You absolutely dread days like this. If there was one thing you hate more than the feeling of wet socks on your skin, it would be none other than rainy days. You just don’t have any good memories tied with it, is all. And it seems as if the world hates to be in your favor, as it’s been raining for weeks now. From your view inside the shop, citizens were either hurrying to the nearest area of shelter, while others were normally continuing their strolls, only having to take their umbrellas out of their bags. You wonder if the manager brought an umbrella with her.

Suddenly snapping out of your thoughts due to thinking about her, you immediately looked up to the wall clock by the counter, only to find out that there are approximately a few minutes left until she arrives. You then hurriedly get back on track, thinking of what additional decoration to add to the small bouquets.You wanted to add a unique touch, and after some thought, you decided to incorporate tiny heart-shaped ornaments, each one nestled among the flowers. These ornaments were delicate and glittery, catching the light in a way that would add a touch of magic to the decorations.

You were carefully adding them onto each bouquet, making sure that the flowers were perfectly arranged and that the ribbons were tied securely. The process was moving slowly yet surely, and you found yourself frequently glancing at the clock, anxious about the manager’s arrival. As you were carefully attaching a heart-shaped ornament to one of the bouquets, the bell above the shop door rang, signaling the arrival of someone. You looked up, expecting to see the manager, but instead, you saw a young man with soaked hair and a stylish yet slightly hurried appearance, dark spots on his cardigan which you could only assume were from the pouring droplets outside. He looked around the shop, his eyes eventually landing on you.

Your breath caught in your throat. There, standing in the entrance of the flower shop, was Seonghwa. You hadn’t seen him since the day you accompanied Wooyoung to his dance lessons, and now, here he was, looking as effortlessly stunning as ever despite being soaked by the rain. His presence was so unexpected that you felt like time had stopped for a moment. The world outside seemed to blur, and all you could focus on was him. Seonghwa, the guy you had been crushing on for what felt like forever, was standing in your flower shop. The same Seonghwa who worked at the café you loved to visit, the café you had no idea was the one your shop was sponsoring for Valentine’s Day—at least not until now. This wasn’t what you had prepared for. You were expecting to see the manager, not the man of your dreams.

“You know, I’m so close to fully believing we’re destined to know each other—with how many times I’ve unexpectedly crossed paths with you,” Seonghwa said while shrugging his hair out of his face, his tone clarifying that he was clearly just throwing in a harmless joke to ease your nerves.

Yet despite this, you find your brain short-circuiting as the only thing you heard clearly was him saying you were destined to know one another.

“If that’s the case, I hope you remember me as the girl who did well on a whisper game round with you and not as whatever else God knows you witnessed me doing,” you replied with a laugh, trying to appear as if you weren’t going absolutely insane deep inside. “Well, unfortunately, I do know you as the girl who said “thanks, you too,” when I placed her order on her table-”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

He suddenly starts laughing, and for a moment, you ponder if this is what lone souls headed to heaven hear on their way there. You find yourself joining his fit of laughter, dropping the act of being annoyed by him—an act not even one person would’ve bought anyway, because even if you were rolling your eyes at him, it was still painfully obvious you were trying your very best not to smile. “The weather forecast is an absolute liar for stating it’ll finally be sunny today,” Seonghwa said while placing his things on the counter. You couldn’t agree more.

“I’ll get you a towel you can dry yourself with real quick,” you hurriedly said as if it’s a line you’ve been practicing and preparing to say for the past few seconds, placing the bouquet you’re holding down on the floor to look for a towel in the somewhat clean storage room. As you entered the area, you were quick to close the door behind you and lean your back against it, dramatically sliding down with your hands covering your mouth. Searching your pockets for your phone so you can message Wooyoung about it, your eyes widened as you suddenly remembered that you left it by the counter.

Sighing, you stood up, silently squealing while burying your hands in your hair. At this point, you were so close to just kneeling down and begging the ground to eat you alive. The fact that Seonghwa has this much of an effect on you leaves you appalled. Finally getting it together after what seemed like a pretty long while—at least to you, your eyes started searching the room for a clean towel to give Seonghwa as if you weren’t just going insane over him a few seconds ago.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Seonghwa was walking through the shop, admiring every creation of both yours and your grandmother’s settled down by the aisles. Spotting a bouquet of gypsophila in the middle of his stroll, Seonghwa immediately stopped in his tracks. Somehow, he feels like this bouquet in particular holds a meaning more special than the other ones he has seen. It holds a beauty other bouquets don’t seem to have in them, too.

“Seonghwa? Where are- oh...”

Seonghwa’s head then turns back, only to find you standing by the end of the aisle with a towel hung by your shoulder and a hair comb within the grasp of your hand.

“Oh, hey, I was just checking out the place. I hope that’s alright with you…?” Seonghwa trailed off, unsure whether he should be where he is right now, given the look on your face. Upon this, you were quick to wave him off, shaking your head with a small laugh. “What? no, no, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be at all,” you said, walking towards him. “Do you like this one?” you asked, pointing to the bouquet of gypsophila you saw him staring at earlier. “Yeah, it’s really pretty. It has this ring of uniqueness in it that the others don’t seem to have,” he replied, smiling at you.

Silence then engulfs the room, and the only thing you could hear were the muffled sounds of raindrops harshly falling down to the ground from outside. The humming buzz of the shop’s air-conditioner was another thing, too. While Seonghwa was busy looking at the other sets of flowers in front of him, you were busy contemplating on whether you should overshare a piece of information regarding the bouquet of gypsophila your conversation with Seonghwa would still be perfectly fine without.

Well, it’s either one step forward or three steps back.

“My mother’s favorite flower was gypsophila. She always wanted to build a flower shop of her own, too,” you spoke up, breaking the chains of silence binding itself around you and Seonghwa. It takes him a few seconds to put two and two together, and once he finally did, it was as if you already saw the look of pity on his face coming ahead.

Yet much to your surprise, you were proven wrong, as the moment he turned his face towards you, a soft smile was gracing his lips. Seonghwa glanced at the bouquet of gypsophila again, then turned back to you, his expression gentle. “You know,” he began, “the reason this bouquet holds a different vibe is probably because your mother’s soul has chosen to reside in it. Maybe she did so to ensure that, even as a soul now, she can still watch over you.”

His words made your heart skip a beat, and you felt a different type of warmth spread through your chest—something you haven’t felt in quite a long while. You weren’t sure if it was the sentiment behind his words or the sincerity in his eyes that moved you so deeply. Perhaps it was both.

“I… I never thought of it that way,” you replied softly, feeling a lump forming in your throat as memories of your mother suddenly began to resurface in your mind. “It’s a beautiful thought, though.” Seonghwa smiled, his gaze still as soft as ever. “Sometimes, I think the people we’ve lost find small ways to let us know they’re still with us. Your mother must have had an incredible spirit to leave such a beautiful mark behind.” You looked at the bouquet, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. “She did,” you said, your voice barely battling with the muffled sounds of raindrops outside. “She really did.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the soft glow of the warm lights of the flower shop casting a comforting hue over everything. It was oddly peaceful—an almost sacred moment.

Seonghwa gently placed a finger on the bouquet, his touch as light as a feather falling down the ground. “I’m sure she’d be proud of everything you’ve done here,” he said with a smile. “This shop, these flowers, they’re a testament to her legacy and to your hard work.” You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. He returned your smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. No words needed to be spoken at all. After a moment, you remembered the towel you were holding and handed it to him. “Oh, uh, here, you should dry off before you catch a cold,” you said, hurriedly wiping a stray tear the moment he took it from your hands.

Seonghwa took the towel with a grateful nod. "Thanks," he said, starting to pat his hair dry. As he did, he glanced around the shop again, his curiosity piqued. “So, what’s the plan for the decorations?” You perked up at his question, eager to shift the conversation to something a bit more practical. “Well, the manager had some specific requests for the event. I’ve been working on a set of decorations that’ll be hanging from the ceiling. They’re meant to create a sort of canopy effect with flowers and lights.”

"Oh, right, I saw those. They’re the ones on the floor by the counter, right?” Seonghwa asked, genuinely intrigued. "What kind of flowers are you using?”

“A mix of roses, lilies, this and that,” you replied, gesturing to a nearby arrangement outside the aisle. “They all complement each other well and give off a really romantic vibe, which is perfect for Valentine’s Day.” Seonghwa nodded, his eyes lighting up with interest so much the lights above were even reflecting on his eyes—as if his gaze held the night sky within them. “Do you need any help with them? I’ve got the rest of the day off after this, so I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

The offer took you by surprise, and you felt your cheeks turn warm again. “A-are you sure? I mean, wouldn’t you want to use your free time to yourself?” you asked, feeling hesitant to accept his offer because 1. He’s not even supposed to be here in the first place, and 2. You don’t think you can last a few more hours in the same space as him without fainting somewhere in the middle of it.

“Don’t worry about it! I don’t have anything else I want to do, anyway, and what you’re doing genuinely seems fun—minus the stressful part of having to come up with ideas, of course,” Seonghwa said with a grin, making you laugh and nod in agreement. “Anyway, I insist. Plus, these decorations are for the café I’m working at, anyway, so why shouldn’t I help you out?” he said, tilting his head. After a few more seconds of him trying to convince you to accept his offer, you finally caved in. “Alright, fine.”

You led him to the workspace where you had been preparing the decorations. You decided to start with demonstrating the process, and as you were doing so, you found yourself stealing a few glances at him, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness. It was surreal to have him here, helping you with something so important, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flutter in your chest every time he smiled at you or complimented your work.

The conversation you’re about to have with Wooyoung later in the evening will definitely last for hours on end.

“Wow, you’re really good at this. Did you always have a knack for flower arranging?” Seonghwa asked, his voice filled with genuine admiration as he watched you skillfully weave the flowers together. “Oh, uh, thanks,” you replied with a sheepish laugh, trying not to make it obvious that a simple compliment for him is enough to drive you on edge.

“I guess it runs in the family. My grandmother taught me everything I know," you replied with a smile, your hands moving deftly among the blossoms. Seonghwa observed you closely, his eyes tracing the movements of your fingers as you arranged the flowers with such ease. “She must be really proud of you, then. This shop is amazing,” he said, glancing around at the various floral displays that adorned the room. “I’ve never seen someone handle flowers with so much grace. It’s like you’re conducting an orchestra,” Seonghwa says as he turns back to you with a lighthearted laugh, making you smile. “I can’t say I’ve heard such a compliment before.”

Finally down to the last touch, you finished making the bouquet after adding the little heart-shaped ornament on it. “And, there you go! All done,” you said, handing it to Seonghwa for him to observe while you busied yourself with stretching your arms. Seonghwa observes the bouquet, turning it gently in his hands to take in every detail. The arrangement is perfect, each flower meticulously placed, and the heart-shaped ornament adds a charming touch. “This looks amazing,” he said, genuinely impressed. “It’s pretty and definitely matches the Valentine’s vibe we’re aiming for at the café.” You felt a swell of pride at his words, your cheeks warming slightly. “I’m glad you think so. Now, it’s your turn.”

Seonghwa blinked, taken aback. “My turn?”

“Yep, your turn, Seonghwa.” you replied with a playful grin. “You saw what I did. Now, you get to try making one of the decorations on your own. Don’t look so nervous now, I’ll guide you through it. And then, after you’re done, we’ll start working together.” He looked a bit apprehensive but nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his cardigan as if preparing for a challenge. “Alright, let’s do this.”

You handed him a bundle of flowers and some tools, stepping beside him to offer guidance. “First, you need to choose a few flowers that complement each other. Think about the colors and how they’ll look together.” Seonghwa carefully selected a few blooms, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” you encouraged, your fingers brushing against his as you helped him arrange the flowers. Seonghwa took a deep breath and began the process of making the bouquet, following your instructions step by step. You watched him closely, offering guidance when needed.

“Start with the largest flower in the center,” you said, handing him a beautiful red rose from the set of flowers he picked. Seonghwa carefully placed the rose in the center, arranging smaller flowers around it. He was surprisingly focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to replicate your earlier demonstration. His hands were a bit clumsy at first, but he gradually got the hang of it. “This is harder than it looks,” he muttered, a lighthearted frustration in his voice. You laughed softly. “It takes practice, but you’re doing great. Just be patient with yourself.”

“Now, add some greenery to fill in the gaps,” you instructed, handing him a few sprigs of baby’s breath. He nodded, his hands moving more confidently as he worked. Just as he was placing a delicate spray of baby’s breath, he winced, jerking his hand back. “Ouch!” he hissed, looking at his finger. You quickly moved closer, concern etched on your face. "What happened?”

“I think I pricked my finger on a thorn,” he said, holding up his hand to show a small drop of blood forming on his fingertip. “Here, let me see,” you said, gently taking his hand in yours. Your touch was light, but it sent a jolt through you, your heart racing. You tried to focus on dabbing at the small wound with a tissue you found by the counter, all while trying not to think of how close you were to him. Seonghwa watched you, his gaze fixed on your face. He noticed the way your brows knitted together in concentration, the gentle way you handled his hand. He found himself unable to look away, somewhat mesmerized.

“You’ve got to be careful,” you said softly, finally looking up at him. “Roses are beautiful but tricky to work with.” Seonghwa cleared his throat, snapping out of his trance. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” You smiled, giving his hand a final pat before letting go. “Alright, back to work. Just a few more touches and you’ll be done.” He nodded, still a bit confused by the strange flutter in his chest. He resumed his task, this time more mindful of the thorns.

After a while, Seonghwa was now nearing the final stretch, now getting down to the step of binding the bouquet with a ribbon. He took a deep breath and tried to tie a neat bow, but somehow ended up with a tangled mess. He looked at you silently, his eyes pleading for help. You couldn't help but laugh gently, “I think you just invented a new kind of knot, Seonghwa.” He chuckled, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, tying bows was never my strong suit.”

“Let me show you again,” you said, moving closer to him. You demonstrated the technique, your fingers deftly working the ribbon into a perfect bow. “You see? It's all about making a simple loop and pulling it through.” Seonghwa nodded, but when it was his turn to try again, he still ended up with another tangled mess. Seeing his frustration, you decided to guide him more closely. “Here, let me help you,” you said softly, positioning yourself behind him. Kneeling down, you leaned forward slightly, so your face was level with his from behind. You reached forward, your hands gently covering his.

“Okay, just follow my lead,” you instructed, guiding his hands with yours. Your proximity made your heart race, but you focused on the task at hand. “Make a loop with this end,” you said, your hands moving his fingers to create the loop. “Now, take the other end and pull it through here.” He followed your movements, feeling the smooth texture of the ribbon under your combined touch. “See? Just like that,” you whispered, the bow finally taking shape. As Seonghwa turned his head slightly, he suddenly realized just how close you were. In that brief moment, he swore he felt your breath on his skin, and for an instant, it seemed like your lips were almost touching.

Quickly, he turned his head back to the front, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He cleared his throat, trying to push aside the sudden rush of emotions that had flooded him like a waterfall in that moment. “Uh, thanks again,” he managed to say, his voice in a slightly lower octave than usual. You nodded, trying to appear unbothered. “No problem,” you replied. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Then, with a shaky laugh, you stepped back, breaking the spell. “We should probably finish up this bouquet,” you said, your voice slightly higher than usual. Seonghwa nodded, grateful for the change in topic. “Yeah, we should.”

A few hours have passed, and as the last bouquet was finished, neither of you realized just how much time had passed. When you finally glanced outside, you were surprised to see that it had already gone dark. Turning to check the wall clock, you noted that it was now 6 in the evening. Leaning back to admire your handiwork, you and Seonghwa exchanged a satisfied glance.

Then, almost as if in unison, you both high-fived each other, a sense of accomplishment filling the air. As you sat beside each other on the floor, a comfortable silence settled between you. Gazing at the tiny bouquets neatly sprawled on the floor, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. “Wow, they're beautiful, aren't they?” you remarked, your voice filled with awe. Seonghwa's eyes softened as he looked at you, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, beautiful.”

You turned your head to look at him, only to find him staring at a bouquet he’s holding. “So, have you got any ideas for what other decorations you can make yet?” he asked, laying down on the floor. You decided to mimic his actions, laying down in the opposite direction yet still remaining at face level with him. You sighed. “No, my mind’s at a dead end right now,” you said, staring at the lights hung at the ceiling above. “Any suggestions?”

“Well…” Seonghwa trailed off, raising his hand to look at his wounded finger you gently wrapped with a daisy patterned baby blue bandage earlier. “How about heart-shaped window displays?” he suggests. “You could make them from a mix of red and pink roses, with ribbons and laces for that extra touch of romance.”

“That sounds perfect,” you say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “But... I’m not sure how I’ll finish everything in time for Valentine’s Day. There’s still so much to do.” A flicker of uncertainty crosses Seonghwa's features as if he’s unsure whether to say what’s in his mind or not before he offers you a smile, tilting his head to the side to look at you. “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” he says, with a voice as soft as water running through a river in the morning. “I can always lend you a hand if you need help. All you need to do is ask.”

“Seonghwa, you have to go to work, too,” you said in a matter-of-fact tone, tilting your head towards him—and suddenly, you’re reminded of the moment your lips nearly touched when you were teaching him how to tie a knot earlier. “Don’t worry about it. It won’t be hard to talk my manager through letting me get off the hook of which I call my working hours a little earlier than usual, trust me,” he said with a smile.

You sighed, finding yourself caving in to his plans once more. “Okay, okay, fine. You know, I’m starting to think you’re casting a spell upon me that makes me unable to say no to you in all aspects,” you joked, earning a laugh from him. “Maybe, maybe not,” he plays along, sitting up after glancing at the wall clock hung on the wall by the counter. “So then, if you don’t mind, may I have your number?”

The world stops all of a sudden, and not even the buzz of the air-conditioner was able to help with making your surroundings a little less silent. “I mean, just so we could keep in touch in case you need my help, of course,” he said, faster than the speed of light to clear himself up after realizing what impression his last words just gave off.

“Oh, yeah, uh, sure,” you stumbled upon your words, sitting up from the ground to reach for your phone so you could exchange phone numbers with him. Opening your phone for what feels like the first time today, you were bombarded by countless message notifications from Wooyoung all piled on top of each other in your lockscreen. You’d have to tell him to come over once you get home.

“Seonghwa, it's getting late. You should probably head home. And take this,” you add, handing him your umbrella, “just in case it starts raining again on your way home.”

Seonghwa's eyes widen slightly in surprise as he tries to refuse, “Oh, no, I couldn't possibly-”

“I insist. Besides, I have plenty at home. You might need it more than I do,” you said, inching the umbrella closer to him.

You did not have plenty at home at all, and the umbrella you were holding in your grasp was literally the last one of its kind in your possession, but hey, we all have our moments, don’t we?

"Well,” he started as if there was an idea brewing inside his head, “your shop's closed for the day, anyway, isn't it? I can just help you with cleaning things up here, then I'll walk you home afterwards."

Your heart skips a beat at his unexpected offer, and you can feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Oh, Seonghwa, you really don’t have to do that. I can manage on my own.”

But he mirrors your earlier insistence, his voice gentle yet firm in a way that indirectly implies to you that there’s no room left for saying no. “I insist. Like you said earlier, it’s getting late.”

As you and Seonghwa stroll along the quiet streets, the evening air crisp and cool, you find yourself engaged in conversation, the words flowing easily between you.

"So, where do you live?" you ask, curiosity bubbling up as you realize you don’t really know much about Seonghwa's personal life. He gestures towards a direction, “I live a bit further from here, actually.”

You nod, a hint of surprise clouding your features. “Oh, really? Now I feel bad for agreeing to your offer of walking me home,” you said genuinely, but all Seonghwa could do was let out a soft laugh. “Don’t stress it out. It’s no trouble at all.”

As you continue your conversation, you eventually bring up his best friend, Yunho. “So, tell me about Yunho. How do you two know each other?”

Seonghwa's expression lights up with fondness as he reminisces. “Yunho and I go way back in high school. I was the president of the high school dance club named Dilettante, and it was a small group at first, just a few of us who shared a passion for dance. Yunho joined us early on, and from the moment he stepped into the studio, I knew he was something special—that’s when we started getting to know each other.”

You can't help but be surprised by this revelation. “Wait, you used to be a dancer?”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I know, I don’t exactly fit the stereotype. But yeah, I was. Although I stopped dancing after entering college. Just lost interest, I guess.”

You furrow your brows in curiosity. “But Yunho still dances?”

Seonghwa nods. “Yeah, he’s still really into it. Funny how things turn out, huh?” he said, making you nod in agreement. Silence then fell between both of you for a short while, but it wasn’t until Seonghwa picked the conversation back up.

“What about you and Wooyoung?” he asked, “you both seem to have quite the friendship.”

You chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve been through it all together. We actually go way back, too, but instead of high school, we’ve been friends since childhood. He’s the son of a family friend, so we practically grew up together.”

Seonghwa laughs at the image painted by your words. “Sounds like quite the dynamic duo to me.”

You nod, smiling. “You have no idea. Our childhood friendship mainly consisted of arguing and making each other cry over toys, candies, and who gets how many turns on playground rides, though…”

Seonghwa chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “Well, it appears some things never change. Remember when Yunho and I walked in on both of you yelling at each other on top of your lungs while playing the whisper game?”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

You both then burst into a fit of laughter, and for a second, you wish time would just stop running so this moment could last longer than it’s meant to be.

Finally reaching your apartment, you turn to face Seonghwa. “Thank you for walking me home and for everything else you helped with today. I appreciate it a lot.”

Seonghwa offers a warm smile, shaking his head slightly. “It’s nothing, really. I’m glad I could help.”

Then, unexpectedly, he adds, “And I don’t mind doing it again. Even every day, if you’d like.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, your heart skips a beat as butterflies spread all over your body like wildfire. Could he be implying...? No, you chide yourself, not wanting to let your assumptions run wild.

But it wouldn’t hurt to try and push a few buttons to see where it’ll lead you, right? So, you laugh lightly, trying to brush off the sudden flutter in your chest. “Um… see you again soon, then?” you said, hoping he catches your drift.

Seonghwa’s smile only widens, his gaze softening. “See you again soon.”

****

You wake up to the symphony of birds chirping outside your window, the gentle gap between your curtain binds allowing the sun’s rays to spill into your room, casting a warm, golden glow. A smile graces your lips; what better way to greet the day than with the embrace of a sunny morning? This has always been your favorite kind of weather.

Sitting up, you lean against the headboard, hugging your pillow, reluctant to leave the cocoon of your bed. Your gaze falls upon the flower vase on your nightstand, and your thoughts, as if by instinct, drift to Seonghwa and the time you both spent together yesterday.

It feels surreal. Just months ago, he was merely the pretty boy working at your favorite café, someone you admired from afar—nothing more, nothing less. You always believed your lives were like parallel lines—close, yet never meant to intersect.

And now, that same pretty boy had walked you home last night. The series of not-so-coincidental events and the threads that wove yesterday into being seemed almost dreamlike.

It’s amusing, really. Since the last time you saw him, rainy days have been relentless. But after last night, the sun shines as brightly as a daisy.

Your phone then suddenly rings, jolting you from your thoughts. The name on the screen makes your eyes widen—Wooyoung. You suddenly remember the flood of messages he sent you yesterday, messages you had promised yourself you'd respond to once you got home. But after a whirlwind of a day and feeling utterly exhausted, you had gone straight to bed.

You quickly answer the call, trying to sound as awake as possible. “Woo, hey!”

“Why on earth haven’t you been picking up or answering my messages?” Wooyoung’s voice emerges from the other end of the line, a mix of annoyance and concern.

You sigh, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Woo. I was super busy yesterday working on decorations for a café’s Valentine’s Day event—the one I told you about, remember? I saw your messages but didn’t have a chance to reply.”

“Oh, right,” he said, his tone eventually softening as he remembered. “What café is it, anyway?”

Fully awake now, you suddenly recall you haven’t told him about the big twist. “Oh my gosh, Woo, I haven’t even told you the craziest part yet.”

“Wait, what? Tell me!” His curiosity is piqued, and you can practically hear the eagerness in his voice.

You take a deep breath as if to drive Wooyoung on edge and dive in. “Okay, so, the thing is… the café I'm doing the decorations for is the one Seonghwa works at.”

There’s a brief pause before Wooyoung exclaims, “Wait… Seonghwa? Like, the Seonghwa from your favorite café? The one you’ve been crushing on for ages?!”

“Yes!” you laugh, feeling the excitement bubbling up again. “It was so surreal. He came to the shop because his manager wanted to check the progress of the decorations, and my grandmother was supposed to handle it, but she was sick, so I was there instead.”

Wooyoung then cuts you off. “Wait, wait, wait! This is too good to just talk about over the phone. This is a gossip conversation we need to have in person.”

You laugh, amused by his enthusiasm. “Seriously, Woo?”

“Seriously! Hold on, I'll be there in a few,” he said, and you could hear the sound of his bedsheets rustling in the background. “Don’t say another word about it until I get there.”

A few minutes pass, and you and Wooyoung are now sitting on the sofa, munching on snacks he bought on his way to your apartment. The cozy familiarity of his presence fills the room, and you feel the excitement bubbling up again.

“Okay, spill,” Wooyoung says, leaning forward eagerly. “Continue your story from where you left off.”

You sit up straight, ready to tell him all about it. "Alright, so I was just working on the hanging ornaments when he suddenly showed up in the shop. And, oh my gosh, Woo, his hair and part of his clothes were all drenched from the rain.”

“It’s like what they all say,” he says, “you can take Seonghwa out of the K-drama male lead, but you can never take the K-drama male lead out of Seonghwa.”

You nod, laughing. “That doesn’t make any sense at all, but it’s exactly like that. And he looked so beautiful, I swear I nearly died yesterday.”

Wooyoung lets out a low whistle. “Man, if that’s not straight out of a drama, then I don’t know what is. What happened next?”

“So,” you start, “I went to the storage room to fetch him a towel. I was in there for, like, a minute or two? Because I couldn’t regain composure and was just straight up walking back and forth without even daring to look for a towel. And when I came back, I saw him admiring a bouquet of gypsophila that my grandmother made.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shoot up. “Gypsophila? Isn't that...?”

You nod, the memory making your heart ache. “Yeah, it was my mom’s favorite flower. I got a little emotional when he said something sentimental about it.” Wooyoung leans in, his eyes glistening with curiosity. “Wait, what did he say?”

You then recall the moment vividly. “I told him it was my mom’s favorite flower and how she always wanted to build a flower shop. And instead of looking at me with pity, he just smiled and said, ‘You know, the reason this bouquet holds a different vibe is probably because your mother’s soul has chosen to reside in it. Maybe she did so to ensure that, even as a soul now, she can still watch over you.’”

Wooyoung's mouth drops open. “Wow, that’s beautiful—definitely one way to look at things. Now I get what Yunho means by calling Seonghwa a token sweet boy. So, what happened next?” he asks.

“I told him I never thought of it that way, but it was a beautiful thought. And he said, ‘Sometimes, I think the people we’ve lost find small ways to let us know they’re still with us. Your mother must have had an incredible spirit to leave such a beautiful mark behind.’”

Wooyoung leans back, seemingly impressed with Seonghwa’s mindset. “That’s pretty profound. How is this guy real? Seriously.” You smile, feeling the warmth of the memory. “I know, right? It was such a beautiful moment.”

Wooyoung nods thoughtfully. “Okay, what happened next?”

“He offered to help me with the decorations,” you continue. “I showed him how to make them, and then told him it was his turn. But he kept messing up.” Wooyoung snickers. “Messing up? Like, how bad are we talking?”

“Pretty bad,” you laugh. “And then, he accidentally cut his finger on a rose thorn.” Wooyoung gasps, eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. “Ouch. What did you do, then?” he asks in a teasing tone.

“Well, I bandaged his finger up,” you say, your cheeks warming at the memory. “We were so close, I could barely even look up at him! It felt so surreal, Woo. I can’t believe it all actually happened.” Wooyoung nods vigorously, still buzzing with excitement. “This is the best thing I’ve heard in ages! You have to tell me everything else that happened.”

So then, you recount the moment when you were teaching Seonghwa how to tie a knot on the bouquets. “So, I demonstrated it to him first, but he couldn’t quite get it right,” you say, a fond smile finding its way to your lips. Wooyoung leans in, his eyes wide with anticipation. "So what did you do, then?”

“Well,” you continue, "I positioned myself behind him, kneeling down and, like, leaning forward slightly so my face was level with his from behind—if you get the image I’m trying to paint. I reached forward, my hands gently covering his, guiding him through making the knot.” Wooyoung's eyebrows shoot up. "No way, you were that close to him? Wow, you never striked me as the type to be brave enough to pull that kinda move.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, yet still feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Yeah, and then, you’re so not gonna believe this, but then Seonghwa suddenly tilted his head, and then our lips almost touched-”

“Shut up! Are you serious?!” “Dead serious, Woo!” you confirm, your heart still racing at the memory. “It was so awkward, you know. Like, I wasn’t expecting him to look behind at all so I didn’t bother much about keeping a distance between our faces, and there was this tension and silence before we both cleared our throats and went back to work, trying to act like nothing happened!”

Wooyoung bursts into laughter, doubling over with amusement. “Oh my god, you and Seonghwa are literally the embodiment of a slowburn trope, you know?” You join in his laughter, feeling lighter than you have in a long time. "Yeah, tell me about it. It's been quite the rollercoaster.”

“So, what else?”

“It was already getting late that time, so I told him he should probably head home. Since the weather was acting up yesterday, I offered him my umbrella in case it would rain, but he refused,” you start, continuing after getting a hum from Wooyoung, “I kept insisting, and he suddenly came up with something.”

“Something?” Wooyoung tilts his head.

“He said that since the shop was closed for the day last night anyway, he can just help me with cleaning up, and then he’ll walk me home afterwards,” you said, a warm rush creeping up to your cheeks once more. “Please tell me you said yes,” Wooyoung pleads, leaning forward with widened eyes. You sheepishly chuckled, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

“I mean, I was kinda hesitant at first, but he kept insisting, tossing my words back to me and saying it’s already getting late and it wouldn’t be safe for me to head home alone.” Wooyoung then nods thoughtfully. “He’s right.”

You smile in return, being reminded of how it’s what Wooyoung would always tell you whenever he insists on walking you home during the times you’d head home a little later than usual. “So, did you accept it?” You nod in confirmation. “Yeah, I did. And as we were walking, we started talking about all sorts of things, this and that. I asked him about Yunho, and it turns out they go way back in high school. Seonghwa used to be the president of a dance club named Dilettante, and Yunho was its first member.”

Wooyoung's eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, Seonghwa used to be a dancer?”

“Yeah, I know, it surprised me too. He stopped dancing after college, but Yunho still dances,” you said, shrugging. “That’s new. How come I never heard anything about this from Yunho?” Wooyoung furrows his brows slightly.

You shrugged, “It was totally unexpected on my end, too. He doesn’t really strike me as the type of guy who’d be interested in such a hobby, but he did say he stopped dancing after entering college due to losing interest. People just change over time, I guess.”

Wooyoung smiles, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Sounds like he’s doing a great job at keeping your spirits up, huh?” he says, glad you seem like you’re finally starting to find the light inside you again.

Seeing you so happy over your interactions with Seonghwa fills Wooyoung with a profound sense of joy. He’s known you since childhood, when you were a bright, bubbly spirit untouched by sorrow. After your mother’s passing, he watched that light within you begin to fade. Though you remained optimistic, something essential seemed to have dimmed. Over the days since you first saw Seonghwa at the café and developed a crush on him, Wooyoung noticed a subtle yet beautiful transformation. You began to heal, bit by bit. Now, as you recount your moments with Seonghwa—the way you smile, your laughter ringing through the room—it all reminds Wooyoung of the carefree child you once were.

He realizes that, without knowing it, Seonghwa is helping to rekindle the light inside you. Watching you return to that vibrant, joyful person is more than enough for Wooyoung. Your happiness is his own, and seeing your spirit lift once more is a gift he treasures deeply.

Wooyoung’s smile widens as he speaks up once more. “So, did anything else happen?” You nod, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks again—you swear you’re about to explode any minute now. “Uh, actually, yeah. When we reached my apartment, I thanked him for helping me with the decorations and even offering to walk me home, and…”

“And? Now’s not the time to keep me waiting,” Wooyoung playfully says, impatiently tapping his finger on his thigh. “He said he didn't mind walking me home again. Even offered to do it every day,” you say, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. Wooyoung’s eyes light up with mischief. “Don’t play with me right now! Oh, I’m telling you, that man definitely has a thing for you.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “I don’t want to assume anything, Woo. I mean, maybe he’s just being nice.” He gives you a skeptical look. “Nice? Yeah, sure,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “But hey, you should've asked for his number or something.” You laugh, feeling a bit flustered. “I mean, actually, he asked for mine back at the café.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Then why not send him a message and see where you’re both headed?”

You open your phone, searching for Seonghwa’s contact number, feeling Wooyoung’s curious eyes on you. Finally, you find it and click on his name, typing out a simple “Hi,” but then immediately delete it. Shoving the phone into Wooyoung's chest, you exclaim, “I can’t do this!” as you stand up and start walking around.

Wooyoung eyes you with a raised brow as you pace around the living room, wringing your hands. “Would you stop pacing around and just sit down? Just send Seonghwa a ‘hi’ already.” You glance at him, biting your lip.

“But what if he’s busy doing something? What if he only asked for my number for matters related to their café’s Valentine’s Day event? What if he only asked for my number to be polite and didn’t actually want me to hit him up?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, exasperated but amused. “Seriously? You’re overthinking this. Remember, he literally said he doesn’t mind walking you home again. Even every day, if you want. Tell me, does that sound like someone who's just being polite?”

You stop pacing, feeling the butterflies in your stomach go wild. “I mean… I know, but what if things don’t go well?” Wooyoung stands up, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “If things don’t go well, I’ll be here for you. But you won’t know until you try. So just sit down, open up your phone, and send that message already,” he says while handing you your phone. You take a deep breath, nodding. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it.”

With shaking hands, you take your phone back from Wooyoung and start typing out a simple message: “Hi, Seonghwa! It’s me. Just wanted to thank you for helping me out with the ornaments and walking me home last night :)”

Before you can overthink it again, you hit send and look up at Wooyoung, who gives you a thumbs-up with a toothy grin. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” You laugh nervously. “No, but now we wait.”

Wooyoung grins, settling back on the sofa. “And while we wait, let's talk about something else to distract you. Got any good gossip?”

A few minutes pass, and while you and Wooyoung are talking about the latest town gossip, your phone on the table suddenly lights up with a message notification. Both of you sit up straight, eyes wide with anticipation. “Check it out!” Wooyoung urges, almost bouncing in his seat.

You grab the phone with trembling hands, reading the notification on your lock screen. The moment you see Seonghwa’s name, you throw your phone at Wooyoung’s chest, hiding your face in your hands while kicking your feet back and forth in a mix of excitement and anxiety. Wooyoung catches the phone, surprised. “What did he say?” he asks, but upon seeing your state, he decides to check the message himself. As he reads it, his eyes widen and his mouth falls open in astonishment.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤSeonghwa: Anytime :) How have you been?

Wooyoung gasps, looking at you with a mix of disbelief and glee, “Shut up right now. He asked how you’ve been! That’s a good sign!” Peeking through your fingers, you finally lower your hands, a grin breaking out on your face despite your nerves. “Wait… really?” “Yes, really!” Wooyoung says, excitement lacing his voice as he hurriedly hands you your phone. “Now, what are you going to reply?”

You and Wooyoung then go on a debriefing session, debating intensely on what to reply to Seonghwa. You squeal like a teenage girl, barely able to contain your excitement, while Wooyoung rolls his eyes, urging you to snap out of it. “Come on, we need to keep the conversation going!”

After much back-and-forth, you finally settle on a reply. Wooyoung insists on something that implies you’re free for the day, hoping to hint at an opportunity for Seonghwa to make a move. “Tell him you’re feeling well but a little bored because you don’t have work today and have nothing else to do,” Wooyoung suggests, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “If he follows the script in my head, he’ll ask you out.” With a mixture of both nerves and excitement, you type out the message and hit send.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYou: I’ve been feeling well, but I’m a little bored since I don’t have work today. There’s nothing else to do…

You and Wooyoung hold your breaths, watching the screen intently. A few moments later, Seonghwa's reply lights up your phone.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤSeonghwa: I know how you feel. My schedule isn’t packed today, either. Wanna go out and do something fun together?

The two of you burst into squeals, jumping up and down with hands intertwined like teenage girls. “He followed the script!” Wooyoung exclaims, eyes wide with excitement. You can't stop grinning, the butterflies in your stomach turning into a full-on swarm. “I can’t believe it, Woo, oh God. He actually asked me out!”

Wooyoung laughs, giving you a playful shove. “Well, don’t keep him waiting. Say yes!” You quickly type out your response, heart pounding in your chest. You made sure not to sound too excited, afraid you’d be too obvious.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤYou: Oh, I’d love to :D

Seonghwa replies almost instantly, setting both the time and place for your meet-up.

Seonghwa: Great! How about we meet at 2PM at the park near the café? There’s a festival happening there today.

You can't help but smile at his initiative. Don’t we all love a man who plans everything out?

You: Sure. See you later!

Wooyoung claps his hands together, already in full planning mode. “Alright, go take a shower. I’ll pick out your outfit and even find a matching hairstyle for you. We've got to make you look stunning!” You laugh, feeling a wave of gratitude for having such a supportive friend. “Thank you, Woo.”

“Anything for my best friend,” he says, pushing you towards the bathroom. “Now go!”

After a refreshing shower, you step out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around you. Opening the door, you're met with the sight of a perfectly coordinated outfit laid out on your bed—cute but comfortable, perfect for a day out at the festival. The outfit Wooyoung chose for you is a mix of sweet and stylish. It includes a crisp white ruffled blouse paired with a soft yellow cardigan for a touch of warmth. You’ll be comfortable and chic in a flowing brown maxi skirt, complemented by white ankle ruffle socks peeking out of a pair of brown doll shoes. To tie it all together, there’s a cute crochet beige crossbody bag to be slung over your shoulder and a brown beret to match with your skirt. It’s definitely the perfect blend of casual and cute for your day out with Seonghwa. As always, you could never go wrong with trusting Wooyoung to pick your outfits for you.

Wooyoung looks up from his phone with a grin, gesturing towards the outfit. “Well, what do you think? Am I qualified to be the next Yves Saint Laurent?” You chuckle, admiring the outfit he's put together. “Definitely! I couldn't have picked a better outfit myself.

He beams with pride, crossing his arms. “I knew it! Now, let’s get you ready. We have a date to prepare for!”

After Wooyoung leaves the room, you quickly slip into the outfit he's chosen, feeling a surge of confidence as you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Heading to the living room, you find Wooyoung sitting on the sofa while scrolling on his phone. Upon hearing your voice, his head shoots up, a wide grin immediately finding its way to his lips. “What do you think?” you beam, doing a little twirl as your skirt flows gently around you.

“Oh, you’re definitely gonna blow his socks off.”

He then proceeds to style your hair, showing you a few different options he found online. After settling on a hairstyle that completes your look, Wooyoung takes a step back, appraising his handiwork. “You look amazing,” he says with a grin. “Seonghwa won’t know what hit him.”

You smile gratefully, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness spreading through you. “Thanks, Woo. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He waves off your gratitude with a grin. “It’s so weird hearing you say nice things to me. Now, go knock Seonghwa off his feet—and make sure to tell me all about it once you head back home!”

Just as you’re about to twist the doorknob open, you turn your head back, flashing him a huge smile. “You bet I will, Woo. And you better not gobble up my whole fridge while I’m away!”

“I can’t promise you anything!”

****

You’re on your way to the park, the anticipation buzzing in your chest like a swarm of butterflies. The sky above is a patchwork of gray clouds, partially obscuring the sun’s warm rays. You hope it won’t start raining all of a sudden like what happened yesterday. With each step, your mind races, rehearsing what to say when you see him. Waiting for the stoplight to turn green, you then find yourself in an internal monologue battle with yourself.

“Okay, so... casual greeting or something more enthusiastic?” you ponder, your thoughts echoing in the confines of your mind. “Laid-back might hide my excitement, but would it come off as disinterested? What if I appear to be too enthusiastic and scare him off?” You shake your head, dismissing the first idea. “No, too casual. I want him to know I’m excited to see him, but not like... overly eager,” you mutter to yourself, a faint frown creasing your brow.

A gust of wind ruffles your hair as the light turns green, signaling it’s time to move forward. Hurriedly crossing the street, you make your way to the park beside the café where Seonghwa works. With each step, your heart pounds against your ribcage, a mix of nerves and anticipation swirling within you. Reaching the park, you find the area filled with lively decorations and a varying amount of stalls, swarmed with people who look like they're having the time of their lives. You’re glad this is the occasion Seonghwa chose to invite you to; you could really use a festive celebration to brighten up your mood. Your eyes search the place, looking for him.

As if on cue, the moment he entered your line of sight, the clouds part, and a radiant beam of sunlight breaks through the gray expanse. There he is, sitting on a bench, his figure illuminated by the soft glow of the newfound sunlight. Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes lock with his, and a smile graces his lips as he stands up and walks towards you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm and inviting, and suddenly, all the words you had meticulously crafted in your mind evaporate into thin air. “Hi,” you reply, your voice coming out softer than intended, your nerves palpable. You mentally berate yourself for completely forgetting your practiced dialogue.

Seonghwa’s eyes sweep over you, and a genuine smile lights up his face as he takes in your appearance. “You look lovely,” he says, the words slipping from his lips with such ease, as if he's just making casual conversation with an old friend. Your heart skips a beat at his compliment, and you struggle to maintain your composure, trying to contain the whirlwind of emotions threatening to burst forth. His nonchalant delivery of such a heartfelt compliment only serves as the cherry on top.

“Thank you,” you manage to reply, a blush creeping into your cheeks despite your efforts to appear composed. Inside, you’re anything but calm, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

It’s unfair, you think to yourself, how effortlessly he can make you feel like you’re walking on air while he remains so composed and unruffled. But then again, maybe that’s just part of his charm.

You take your time to look at him, unsurprised that he’s dressed fashionably—yet at the same time, his beauty always feels so new to you. Seonghwa is clad in a clean white dress shirt, topped with a cozy yellow sweater vest. On top of it is a brown leather jacket with a matching bow tie for style—it’s cute, you think. His attire is completed with brown trousers, black docs, and a simple beanie of the same color for a casual touch. He’s wearing his glasses from yesterday, too.

“You look great,” you say, offering him a genuine smile.Seonghwa chuckles, glancing down at his outfit. “Thanks. Funny how we unintentionally ended up matching, huh?”

You laugh along with him, feeling a sense of warmth spreading through you at his playful demeanor. “I guess great minds think alike,” you play along with him, hoping it would suffice to hide the butterflies swarming in your stomach. Looking around your surroundings, you can't help but feel impressed by the park’s lively atmosphere. “This festival is amazing,” you remark, turning to Seonghwa with admiration. “You’re pretty good at picking the best occasions to attend.”

Seonghwa’s smile widens at your words. “I’ve been coming to this festival for a few years now,” he admits. “But this is actually the first time I’ve attended with someone.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Really? What about Yunho?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Yunho’s always busy with his schedule during the festival,” he explains. “So I usually end up coming alone. I’m excited to finally share this experience with someone, though. I promise you this’ll be worth your time.”

“Any time with you is worth my time,” was what you wanted to say, “I’ll trust your word, then,” was all that escaped from your mouth.

Seonghwa starts with leading you through the bustling festival, making your way through the crowd until you reach a row of vibrant food stalls. The air is thick with mouth watering aromas of mixes of grilled meats, sweet pastries, and exotic spices. Each stall is brightly decorated, and vendors call out to passersby, showcasing their culinary delights. “Wow,” you say, your eyes wide with excitement. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Seonghwa grins, clearly enjoying your enthusiasm. “How about we try some tteokbokki first? It's one of my favorites.” He points to a stall with a cheerful sign advertising spicy rice cakes. You nod eagerly. “Sounds perfect.”

You both join the line, and as you wait, Seonghwa explains the different foods on offer. When it's your turn, Seonghwa orders a generous portion. The vendor scoops the tteokbokki into a paper bowl, the vibrant red sauce glistening under the festival lights. Seonghwa hands it to you with a pair of wooden chopsticks.

“Here, try it,” he says, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

You take a small bite of the chewy rice cake coated in spicy sauce. The flavors explode in your mouth, a perfect balance of heat and sweetness. “Oh my gosh, this is straight up heaven on Earth!” you exclaim, your eyes lighting up with delight. Seonghwa chuckles, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I knew you’d like it. Want to try some hotteok next? It's a sweet pancake filled with brown sugar, honey, and nuts.” You nod eagerly, already hooked on the culinary adventure.

You move to the next stall, where the vendor expertly flips hotteok on a griddle. The sweet, nutty aroma is irresistible. Seonghwa orders two, and you watch as the vendor wraps the golden pancakes in paper, handing them over with a smile. You take a bite, and the warm, gooey filling melts in your mouth like honey. “This is incredible,” you say, savoring the rich flavors.

Seonghwa takes a bite of his own, nodding in agreement. “It really is. I love the mix of textures—the crispy outside and the soft, sweet inside.”

As you continue to explore the food stalls, you come across a vendor selling fresh fruit skewers. The colorful display of strawberries, pineapple, and melon catches your eye. “These look so refreshing,” you say, pointing to the skewers. “I’ll get us some, then,” Seonghwa responds almost immediately. He buys a couple of skewers, and you both take a bite, the juicy fruit a perfect palate cleanser after the rich, spicy food.

You stroll through the festival, sampling different dishes and sharing bites of everything. Seonghwa tells you stories about his favorite festival foods and the memories they bring back. You share your own experiences, bonding over the simple pleasure of good food and company. At one point, you come across a stall selling unusual snacks like fried insects and durian. You wrinkle your nose at the smell of durian, and Seonghwa laughs. “Not a fan?”

You shake your head, grinning. “Eh, not really. But I’ll try anything once.”

He raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Brave. Maybe next time.”

As you and Seonghwa continue to walk through the festival, you come across a section filled with colorful carnival games. The area is alive with the sounds of laughter, ringing bells, and playful shouts. Brightly colored booths line the path, each offering a different challenge or prize. The enticing smells of popcorn and cotton candy fill the air, adding to the festive atmosphere. Seonghwa’s eyes light up like stars in the night sky when he spots a ring toss game. “Hey, let’s try this one,” he says, gently tugging you towards the booth.

You glance at the game, noticing the bottles arranged in neat rows, each waiting for a ring to be tossed around its neck. “Sure, why not?” you reply, matching his enthusiasm.

The booth attendant, a friendly woman with a wide smile, hands Seonghwa a few rings. “Good luck!” she says cheerfully. Seonghwa takes a ring, carefully aiming at one of the bottles. His first toss misses, bouncing off the edge and landing on the ground. “Ah, so close,” he mutters.

You try your best not to laugh, but Seonghwa was quick to notice, playfully shooting you a look of disbelief. “Second time’s the charm, maybe?” you try to lift his spirit up, although not without snickering in the middle of your words. You watch him try again, this time with a bit more focus. The second ring lands perfectly around a bottle, and you both cheer in unison. “You did it! See what I meant by second time’s the charm?” you exclaim, clapping your hands.

“Beginner’s luck,” he says modestly, but you can clearly see the pride in his eyes. He hands you a ring. “Your turn.”

You take the ring, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Alright, let’s see if I can match your skills,” you say, positioning yourself in front of the bottles. Your first toss goes wide, completely missing the target. You laugh, shaking your head. “Please tell me no one saw that.” Seonghwa steps behind you, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. “Try aiming a bit lower,” he advises, his breath warm against your ear. His proximity sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you completely forget about the game you’re currently playing.

Following his advice, you adjust your aim and toss the ring. It flies through the air and lands around a bottle with a satisfying clink. “I did it!” you shout, turning to face him with a triumphant smile. “Nice job! Second time’s the charm indeed,” he says, giving you a high-five.

The booth attendant claps her hands together. “Congratulations! You both get to pick a prize.”

You look at the array of stuffed animals, keychains, and toys hanging above the booth. Your eyes land on a small, pink bunny plushie. “I’ll take that one,” you say, pointing at it. Seonghwa chooses a cute plush squirrel. “I think this little guy will keep me company,” he says, showing it to you with a grin.

Walking through the rest of the carnival games, you try your luck at various booths, from shooting water guns to popping balloons with darts. Each game is an adventure, filled with laughter and playful teasing. Seonghwa’s competitive side comes out, but he never lets the fun turn too serious. He’s always there with an encouraging word or a lighthearted joke whenever you miss a shot or drop a ring.

At one point, you find yourselves at a booth where you have to knock down stacked cans with a ball. Seonghwa lines up his shot, eyes narrowing in concentration. He throws the ball, and the cans topple with a satisfying crash. “Yes!” he exclaims, turning to you with a toothy grin.

“You’re on a roll today,” you tease, giving him a playful nudge. He laughs, a sound that blends seamlessly with the joyful noise around you. “Just lucky, I guess.”

As the evening progresses, you both accumulate a small collection of prizes: a rubber duck, a keychain, and a tiny toy car. Each one feels like a memento, a small token of the wonderful time you’re sharing.

Finally, you come across a photo booth, decorated with twinkling lights and festive banners. “We have to take a picture,” Seonghwa insists, pulling you towards it. You step inside the booth, squeezing together on the small bench. The screen flashes a countdown, and you both make silly faces for the camera. The machine whirs and clicks, producing a strip of photos that capture your laughter and joy.

Seonghwa looks at the photos, smiling fondly. “We look good together,” he says, handing you the strip.

For a moment, you had to do a double take and make sure you heard him correctly.

“Don’t we?”

You did.

You take the photos without a word, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. You decide not to bring it up for now, as you’re certain that if you do, you might very well start showing signs of being qualified enough to be put in a psych ward. As you move from one attraction to another, the crowd seems to grow thicker. The once exhilarating hustle and bustle starts to feel overwhelming. Seonghwa immediately notices the shift in your demeanor. He gently places a hand on your arm, leaning in to ask, “Are you alright? We can find a quieter spot if you need a break.”

You appreciate his concern, shaking your head. “I’m fine, don’t worry. I want to push myself to get used to these kinds of experiences. Besides, I’m having a great time with you,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile. Seonghwa hesitates for a moment, clearly worried, but nods in understanding. “Alright, but remember, we can always step away if it gets too much.”

Seonghwa guides you through the festival crowd, his hand hovering near your elbow to ensure you don’t get separated. You find yourselves in front of a small stage where performers, dressed in vibrant hanbok, are preparing for a traditional dance. The area is buzzing with anticipation, and a soft hum of excitement fills the air.

“Let’s sit over there,” Seonghwa suggests, pointing to a spot near the front but off to the side where the crowd is slightly thinner. You both make your way over and settle down on a blanket spread out for spectators. The moment you sit, you feel a bit more relaxed, grateful for the brief respite from the overwhelming throng of festival-goers. The performers take their places, and the music begins. The rhythmic beats of the janggu and the soothing melodies of the daegeum fill the air. The dancers move gracefully, their sleeves flowing like water with each elegant gesture. You can’t help but be mesmerized by the beauty and precision of their movements.

“This is amazing,” you whisper, leaning slightly towards Seonghwa so he can hear you over the music. “Have you ever done anything like this?” you ask. Seonghwa’s eyes are fixed on the stage, but he turns to you with a soft smile. “Not traditional dances like this, but I did dance in high school—like I told you yesterday. I leaned onto modern styles more, though.”

“I’d really love to see you dance sometime,” you muse as your eyes fixate on the dancers.

A blush creeps up Seonghwa’s cheeks, and he chuckles softly. “Now, that’s one thing I can’t promise you.”

The performance continues, each movement more captivating than the last. You’re drawn into the story the dancers are telling, feeling the emotions conveyed through their expressions and steps. Seonghwa seems equally entranced, his gaze following the dancers with admiration. At one point, a dancer spins close to the edge of the stage, and the flow of her hanbok sends a breeze in your direction. The cool air is a welcome relief from the warmth of the crowd, and you take a deep breath, savoring the moment.

Seonghwa leans closer, his shoulder brushing against yours ever so slightly. “Do you come to festivals like this often?” he asks, his voice gentle. You shake your head. “Not really. I’m not great with crowds, to be honest. I’ve been having a lot of fun so far, though.”

There’s a comfortable silence between you as you both watch the dancers. You can feel the heat from Seonghwa’s body next to yours, and the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. You sneak a glance at him, and catch him doing the same. Both of you quickly look away, a small, awkward laugh escaping your lips.

The performance reaches its climax, the music growing louder and more intense. The dancers move with even greater fervor, their expressions fierce and passionate. The audience claps along, the energy infectious. You join in, feeling a sense of unity with the people around you, despite the usual discomfort crowds bring. When the performance finally ends, the dancers take a bow, and the audience erupts in applause. You clap enthusiastically, genuinely moved by the beauty and skill of the performance. Seonghwa joins in, his smile broad and genuine.

“That was incredible,” you say, turning to Seonghwa once the applause dies down. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He looks at you, his eyes warm and earnest. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I always find these performances inspiring. They remind me of the passion and dedication that goes into art.” You nod, feeling a deep appreciation for the experience. “It’s amazing how something so traditional can still feel so powerful and relevant today.”

After the performance, Seonghwa suggests visiting a section of the festival dedicated to local history. “How about we check out the historical exhibits? It’s usually less crowded and quite interesting,” he proposes. You nod eagerly, welcoming the idea of a quieter area. “That sounds perfect. Lead the way.”

The transition from the lively stage area to the more subdued history section is like entering a different world. The noise of the crowd fades into the background, replaced by a calm atmosphere filled with the soft murmur of people quietly reading plaques and admiring exhibits. The path leads you through a series of well-curated displays. Old photographs of the town, artifacts from bygone eras, and detailed descriptions of significant events line the way. The lighting is dimmer here, casting a warm, almost nostalgic glow over everything.

Seonghwa stops in front of a large mural depicting the town’s founding. “Did you know our town was established over a hundred years ago?” he asks, his voice low and reverent as if he’s afraid to disturb the solemnity of the place. You shake your head, genuinely intrigued. “Really? Tell me more.”

He gestures to the mural. “It started as a small trading post. The river nearby made it a key location for trade and transport. Over time, it grew into the town we know today.” As he speaks, you find yourself drawn not just to the history but to the way Seonghwa talks about it. His passion and knowledge are evident, and it’s clear this is something he cares about deeply.

“Wow,” you say, genuinely impressed. “You know so much about this place. It’s fascinating.” He smiles, a little bashful. “I guess I’ve always had a thing for history. There’s something about understanding where we come from that makes me appreciate the present more.”

You both move to the next exhibit, a collection of personal items donated by long-time residents. There are old letters, pieces of clothing, and even some tools that were used in the early days of the town. Each item has a story, and Seonghwa takes his time explaining the significance of some of the more interesting pieces.

“This letter,” he says, pointing to a yellowed piece of paper under glass, “was written by one of the first schoolteachers here. She talks about the challenges of teaching in a one-room schoolhouse and how the children were so eager to learn despite having so little resources and space.”

You lean in closer to read, feeling a strange connection to the past through this small window into someone’s life. “It’s amazing to think about how much things have changed, yet some things stay the same. Like how the desire to learn and grow is still here.” Seonghwa nods thoughtfully. “Exactly. That’s what I love about history. It shows us that despite all the changes, there are fundamental things about being human that never change.”

As you continue to explore, you reach a display about traditional festivals and celebrations in the town’s history. There are photos of past festivals, similar to the one you’re attending, with people in traditional clothing, dancing, and celebrating. “Look at this,” Seonghwa says, pointing to a black-and-white photograph of a festival from the 1950s. “It’s amazing how festive and vibrant these events have always been.”

You smile at the picture, noticing the joyful expressions on the people’s faces. “It’s nice to see that some traditions continue. It kinda makes you feel connected to those who came before us.” There’s a comfortable silence between you as you both absorb the stories and artifacts around you. The air is filled with a sense of nostalgia, and for a moment, it feels like you’ve stepped back in time.

“This is proving to be worth the while. I’ve lived here all my life, but I’ve never taken the time to really learn about the town’s history,” you say softly, turning to Seonghwa. His eyes soften as he looks at you. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It’s nice to share something I care about with someone who appreciates it.”

There’s a brief moment where your eyes meet, and you feel a flutter in your chest. The connection you felt earlier seems to deepen, and you’re suddenly very aware of the closeness between you. It’s not quite romantic, but it’s undeniably charged with the possibility of something more. You clear your throat, breaking the moment. “Shall we move on to the next exhibit?” you suggest, trying to steady your voice.

Seonghwa nods, his own composure returning. “Oh, uh, right.”

As the sun begins to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the festival, Seonghwa leads you towards the towering Ferris wheel. The giant, illuminated structure stands as a beacon against the twilight sky, its lights twinkling invitingly. Seonghwa turns to you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the evening. “How about a ride on the Ferris wheel? The view from the top is spectacular.”

You nod, your excitement evident. “Sure, that sounds amazing.”

You both join the line, which is surprisingly short at this hour. The anticipation builds as you inch closer to the front. Seonghwa's presence beside you is comforting, and you find yourself stealing glances at him, appreciating how the soft light accentuates his features. Finally, it’s your turn. The operator opens the gate, and you step into one of the small, enclosed cabins. Seonghwa follows, and as he sits down opposite you, the cabin gently rocks, adding to the thrill.

The door closes, and with a slight jolt, the Ferris wheel begins its ascent. You lean back, watching the ground slowly fall away, replaced by a breathtaking panorama of the festival below. The lights, the music, and the laughter all blend into a vibrant mixture of color and sound. “Wow,” you breathe, eyes wide with wonder. “This really is incredible.”Seonghwa smiles, his gaze fixed on you more than the view outside. “I’m glad you like it. I thought this would be a perfect way to end the day.”

You share a quiet moment, the only sounds being the soft hum of the Ferris wheel and the distant murmur of the festival. The higher you climb, the more the world below transforms into a magical scene. You can see the entire festival sprawled out beneath you, every booth and ride lit up like stars in the night. The soft rays of the golden hour color your face as you lean towards the window to look at the scenery painted in front of your very own eyes. “It’s beautiful,” you say softly.

Seonghwa’s gaze radiates fondness, and he leans slightly forward, his eyes focused on you.

“Yeah… it really is.”

The cabin reaches the top, and for a moment, it pauses. You both take in the breathtaking view. The horizon stretches out, painted in shades of purple and gold, while the festival below looks like a miniature wonderland. The quietness of the moment feels almost sacred. As you sit there, suspended high above the ground, the gentle swaying of the cabin creates an intimate bubble. There’s a comfortable silence between you, filled with unspoken thoughts and shared glances. Seonghwa shifts slightly, his knee brushing against yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through you, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks. You catch Seonghwa’s eyes again, and for a moment, the world seems to hold its breath.

“Today felt… different, somehow,” Seonghwa says, breaking the silence. “I’ve been to this festival so many times, but this is the first time I’ve truly enjoyed it. You know, I think it’s because of you.” His words catch you off guard, and you feel your heart skip a beat. "Oh… really?” you pause, unsure what to say next. If only you could telepathically send Wooyoung a cry for help.

You then decide it’s time to stop holding back and just express what your heart yearns to express. “Well, if that’s the case, then I’m glad I could be here with you.”

The Ferris wheel starts its descent, but the moment feels far from over. You both sit in comfortable silence, absorbing the experience. As the cabin slowly lowers, you find yourself wishing the ride could last just a little longer. When you reach the ground, the operator opens the door, and you step out, the cool evening air a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the cabin.

You clutch the bunny plushie in your hands, turning to look at Seonghwa with a bright smile on your face. “Well, that really was a perfect way to end the day.”

“Glad you think so as well,” he says, looking around the place. “Thanks for playing a huge part in making my day better.”

Seriously, when was he going to stop with the unexpected heart-stopping comments?

As the night deepens, Seonghwa keeps his promise and walks you home, both of you reminiscing about the day’s highlights. The conversation flows easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. You recount the funny moments at the shooting gallery, the unexpected camaraderie at the food stalls, and the magical experience on the Ferris wheel. Each memory cements the bond growing between you.

Finally, you reach your apartment building. You turn to Seonghwa, feeling slightly nervous. Gathering your courage, you say, “I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you again.”

Your confidence wavers slightly, but then Seonghwa’s smile brightens, and he replies warmly, “Neither would I.”

You do your best to hold back your excitement until you reach your apartment door. Opening it, you’re greeted by the sight of Wooyoung lounging on your sofa, engrossed in a movie. The moment he notices you, he quickly sits up, his eyes brimming with curiosity.

“Well?” he demands, unable to contain his excitement. “Tell me everything!”

Boy, was he in for a ride.

****

The next few days pass by in a blur. Seonghwa stops by every day to help with the decorations, his presence becoming a comforting constant. Sometimes Yunho and Wooyoung join in, turning the task into a fun, collaborative effort. With each passing day, your bond with Seonghwa deepens. His kindness, his humor, and everything else about him you’ve grown to be fond of makes you realize something profound: you’re not just harboring a crush anymore.

You are head over heels in love.

Valentine’s Day finally arrives, and you can hardly contain your excitement to see how they’ve placed the decorations. Seonghwa mentioned a special occasion at the café that evening, piquing your curiosity, but he remained tight-lipped about the details. All you know is that you’re in for a surprise.

As the afternoon progresses, you call Wooyoung over to help you decide what to wear. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got,” Wooyoung says, rifling through your closet with a critical eye. He pulls out a few options, laying them out on your bed. “What’s the vibe tonight? Romantic, casual, or somewhere in between?” You bite your lip, considering. “I’m not really sure what to expect. Seonghwa didn’t give me any hints about the event. He just said it’s special.”

Wooyoung smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Special, huh? Sounds like he’s planning something big. You might want to go with something that says ‘effortlessly stunning.’”

He picks out a chic, knee-length dress that balances elegance with a touch of casual charm. “This,” he declares, holding it up. “And maybe those heels to go with it. What do you think?” You nod, a smile spreading across your face. “Perfect. Thanks, Woo.”

As you start getting ready, Wooyoung searches the internet for a matching hairstyle. “How about this?” he suggests, showing you an image on his phone. “It’ll complement the dress without looking too overdone.”

After showering, you open the bathroom door to find Wooyoung meticulously laying out the outfit on your bed. He turns to you with a playful grin. “Fashion designers should be glad I chose to be a dancer.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’ve definitely got an eye for fashion. Maybe you missed your calling, Edna Mode.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. “I hope it goes well.”

“It will,” Wooyoung assures you. “Seonghwa wouldn’t go through all this trouble if it didn’t mean something to him. Now go knock ‘em dead.”

Before you leave, you sit on the bed and sigh exasperatedly. Wooyoung, noticing your sudden change in demeanor, asks, “What’s the matter?” You take a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I’m feeling so nervous.” Wooyoung furrows his brow. “Nervous? Why?”

You bite your lip, torn between keeping your plan a secret and confiding in your best friend. But then again, you could never keep your mouth shut—especially not around Wooyoung. Finally, you blurt out, “I’m planning on finally sealing the nail in the coffin and confessing my feelings to Seonghwa.”

“Well, it was about time, anyway,” he says, shrugging. “If anything, I’m pretty sure he already knows. Do you even know how painfully obvious you are?”

You land a harsh hit on his shoulder, making him wince in pain. “Ow! Okay, okay, sorry! But seriously, you’ll be fine. If things don’t go as planned, I’ll be here for you.” You let out a heavy sigh, shaking your head. “I really don’t think I can do it, Woo. I mean, what if it’s all in my head? Like, what if every moment we’ve spent together is all but a walk in the park for him—what if it all holds no meaning to him? I don’t want to embarrass myself, but if I don’t confess my feelings sooner, I swear I’ll go insane.”

“Wow, you really are head over heels.”

“That’s all you have to say?!”

“No, but seriously,” he adjusts his sitting position on the bed turning to face you, “I really don’t think you should let your concerns get the best of you—not tonight. Think of it as a now or never moment. Just let go of all these worries you’re carrying with you, okay? We might not know what his answer may be for sure, but whatever happens, I promise you it’s always better to express your feelings rather than to bottle it up.”

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. Then, all of a sudden, a light bulb appears above your head. “Hey, Woo,” you start, turning your head towards him, “maybe you could just come with me there?”

“Are you saying you want me to be your emotional support for the night?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Well, yeah, kinda.”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “The outfit I’m wearing is too stylish to just be wasted on rotting in your apartment, anyway.”

“Is that a yes?” you beam, eyes lighting up with a smile just as wide.

“Yeah. I’ll be sitting at a different table, though—just so you can have your moments with Seonghwa.”

****

You both arrive at the café, and it is nothing short of beautiful. The decorations you and Seonghwa painstakingly crafted are perfectly placed throughout the space—you really should give yourself a pat on the back. From the outside, you notice a flurry of activities. Notes are plastered all over the windows, and you can faintly see a photobooth backdrop at the very back. “Woo, we totally have to take pictures there before the event ends,” you say excitedly.

“Absolutely,” Wooyoung grins. “Let’s make sure we get some good ones.”

You both step inside, and Wooyoung keeps his promise, separating from you. “Catch you later,” he says, spotting Yunho sitting at one of the tables and immediately heading towards him. Left alone, you feel a wave of anxiety as you scan the room for a vacant seat, suddenly self-conscious about your appearance. You take a deep breath, smoothing your outfit and hoping you look as good as you feel. Just as you’re about to continue your search, you hear someone call your name from the counter.

You turn your head towards the sound, and your breath catches in your throat. Seonghwa stands there, framed by the warm, ambient light of the café. His dark hair is perfectly styled, soft strands falling just right to accentuate his sharp features that gives him the kind of face people would go to war for if combined altogether. He’s wearing a tailored shirt that fits him like a glove, highlighting his broad shoulders and lean frame. The soft smile on his lips, combined with the sparkle in his eyes, makes your heart skip a beat. For a moment, everything else fades away into the background, and you’re completely entranced by his beauty. The way he effortlessly exudes both charm and warmth leaves you momentarily speechless, and you can’t help but feel a rush swelling within you.

He starts walking towards you, and for a moment, you debate on whether you should shamefully leave and make a run for it or shoot your shot. But then, Wooyoung enters your line of sight, his gaze immediately setting your priorities straight—it’s the latter or nothing.

“You look beautiful,” is the first thing Seonghwa says, and you swear your knees almost give up on you. You manage to compliment him as well, and he leads you to a table. Not just any table—you recognize it as the one you were sitting at that time he gave you your order and you awkwardly said, “thanks, you too.” You joke about how he probably chose the table on purpose.

What you didn’t expect was for him to actually confirm your joke. “I did,” he says with a smile. “I reserved this seat just for us.” For a moment, it feels like you’re both a couple on their nth date and not two people navigating the waters of a budding romance. As you sit down, you compliment the way they incorporated your decorations into the café. “The interior looks amazing,” you say, glancing around. “You guys did a great job.”

Seonghwa smiles appreciatively. “Thank you for your effort. This event wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

It’s funny, because he has no idea he’s the sole reason behind your unwavering determination to finish all the decorations without procrastinating at times in between.

You place your order, and Seonghwa jokes, “It feels weird not serving you and instead actually sitting across from you. I’m not used to this.” You raise an eyebrow. “Not used to what exactly?”

He clears his throat, brushing off the question. “Just... not used to this kind of setting.”

From a distance, you catch sight of Wooyoung and Yunho engrossed in a conversation at a faraway table. Wooyoung suddenly wriggles his eyebrows while looking at you, making you blush and clear your throat. Seonghwa notices and asks, “What’s the matter?”

For a moment, you feel your worries get the best of you, but you immediately brush them off, deciding to follow Wooyoung’s advice to let your feelings show. “I just feel a bit nervous,” you admit, looking down at your hands. Seonghwa immediately becomes concerned, flashing you a look of worry. “Why?”

Just as you’re about to answer and confess your feelings, his manager calls for him from the back kitchen. “I’m so sorry,” Seonghwa says, standing up quickly. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

While he’s away, you shift closer to the window, drawn to the heart-shaped notes stuck on it. As you read them, you notice each note begins with a capitalized letter written in red, while the rest of the words are in black. You begin reading them one by one:

Sometimes, my heart beats faster just thinking of you.

Every moment with you feels like a precious gift.

Over time, I’ve come to cherish you more than I can say.

Never have I felt so alive as when I’m with you.

Glimpses of your smile light up my world.

Holding onto these feelings, I hope you feel the same.

With you, I see a future filled with happiness.

And every day, I fall in love with you even more.

As you finish reading, you feel a surge of courage. You glance back over the notes, this time paying attention to the red letters. Slowly, it dawns on you. The capitalized red letters spell out: SEONGHWA.

Seonghwa returns just as you connect the dots, and you turn away from the notes on the window to look at him. He sits across from you, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. The air feels charged with an overflowing tension.

“Seonghwa, is this...?” you start, your voice showing hints of hesitance.8Seonghwa takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yes, it is,” he says softly, a shy smile evident on his lips. “I’ve… been wanting to tell you this for a while.”

He pauses, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “You know, it all started when we played the whisper game with Yunho, Wooyoung, and Yeosang. I remember watching you laugh, your eyes lighting up when you realized the keyword was the Gingerbread Man, and something about that moment stuck with me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. After that, I just found myself unconsciously looking forward to seeing you around, noticing the little things that make you who you are. Like, you know, the way you scrunch your nose when you're focused, or how your eyes sparkle when you talk about something you love.”

Seonghwa’s voice grows more tender, his emotions clearly surfacing. “And before I even realized it, I was falling head over heels. Every interaction, every smile, every word you spoke, it all just… drew me in deeper. I was in a tough battle with my feelings, unsure of how to approach you, worried about ruining the friendship we were building, worried about making you feel uncomfortable.”

“But during the festival,” Seonghwa continues, “when we rode the Ferris wheel and you were looking out the window with that beautiful smile on your face as the golden hues of the sunset painted you... that’s when I knew. I knew I was really in love. I saw you bathed in that light, so serene and happy, and it hit me like a speeding truck just how deeply I felt for you.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze softer than the calm waves of the sea. “You’ve made my life so much more colorful, and I don’t think you even realize it. Your presence brings a kind of warmth and joy that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Every day, I find myself looking forward to the moments I get to spend with you, even if it’s just for a little while. You have this incredible ability to make everything better, just by being, well, you.”

Seonghwa sighs, running a hand through his wavy hair. “I couldn’t keep battling with my feelings any longer. I’m into you, like seriously, really into you. I’m in love with you, and I really, really want to be yours.”

You both stare at each other, unsure what to do next. You couldn’t believe what you just heard.

“Can you step on my feet below the table with your heel, please? Just so I know that I’m not making this all up in my head,” you say, and Seonghwa laughs.

“You’re not,” he starts, and for a moment, you nearly assume he was actually going to step on your feet. Instead, he reaches for your hand laying down on the table. “See? This is as real as it can be.”

His touch is warm and reassuring, and it washes all your worries away completely. You take a deep breath, feeling a wave of courage wash over you. “If this is what we’re doing, then I have something to tell you, too.”

His gaze focuses on you, ready to listen to whatever you have to say. Nervousness was written all over his face—what would your answer be?

“I’ve… I’ve actually liked you all along. Well, at first, it was just a silly little crush. You know, admiring you from afar and thinking you were just really handsome and kind.” You see his eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t let go of your hand, his thumb gently stroking the back of it.

“But then,” you continue, “I started talking to you, getting to know you, and it became so much more. I started to fall deeper and deeper, and before I knew it, I was in love. Every time I see you, it’s like the day just brightens up. Your presence makes everything better, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

“I’ve been in a pretty bad place for quite a while,” you admit, your voice softening. “Losing my mom... it left me feeling so lost and hopeless. I used to wake up feeling like there was a gray cloud over me, like the world had lost its color. But then, you came along. Your presence brought a warmth and brightness that I didn’t even realize I was missing. With you, the world started to seem vibrant again. Your smile is like sunshine breaking through the clouds, your laughter like music that drowns out the silence of my sadness. Every moment with you adds a splash of color to my life, turning my grayscale days into something beautiful and vivid.”

Seonghwa’s eyes glisten with emotion as he takes in your words. He squeezes your hand gently, his smile radiating warmth and affection. “I had no idea,” he whispers, and you wonder just how oblivious exactly he is, because you swear you’ve accidentally aired yourself out more than you’ve successfully hid your feelings for him.

“But hearing this from you... it makes me so happy. I’m glad I could bring some light into your life because you’ve done the same for me.”

For a moment, the world seems to stand still as you share the moment, both of you still in shock over the fact that your feelings are mutual. The air around you feels charged with unspoken promises and perhaps even the beginning of something beautiful. Seonghwa smiles, a mixture of happiness and anticipation in his eyes.

“So, where do we go from here?” he asks, a hint of playful curiosity in his voice. You think it’s cute how he sounds so excited.

You smile back, looking forward to the future just as much as he does—perhaps even more. “Wherever this journey takes us,” you say. “Together.”

“Together,” he echoes.

As you both bask in the moment, you glance over Seonghwa’s shoulder and catch sight of Wooyoung and Yunho across the café. They’re watching you with proud smiles and teasing looks plastered on their faces. You can’t help but snicker, causing Seonghwa to turn and see what’s up. He sighs in amusement upon seeing Wooyoung and Yunho’s expressions.

“You know,” you say, turning back to Seonghwa, “I think I finally get why Valentine’s Day is such a crowd favorite.”

He laughs softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah, I think I do too.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the warm ambiance of the café, the festive decorations you both worked so hard on, and the comforting presence of Seonghwa, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

🪞 — lividstar.

#౨ৎ﹒ノ﹒lividstar． #park seonghwa #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fluff #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #jung wooyoung #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #kim hongjoong #atz x reader #ateez fic

[justabratsworld]

Yo uh Its my first time asking or requesting (idk why I'm so nervous help☠️)

uh..can I request er

CAN YOU PLEASE DO MORE OF YANDERE KING X READER PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU (please) 🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐

🥹🫶🏼 absolutely bby

King Tobias wasn’t always this crazy. One would argue he was the best king this kingdom has had in a long time. He was level headed, made logical decisions, cared for his people and most importantly he valued people’s lives. He wasn’t one of those kings who went to war for the fame and power. He didn’t send people to the guillotine for small petty crimes. Instead he rehabilitated them. He always made sure to give back to his people.

Then…you came along.

Something about you made his brain feel fuzzy. At first he didn’t understand why he constantly thought about you. He was confused, he had a beautiful woman beside him as his queen and here he is thinking about you. Sure, he and his wife had no love between them but he still cared deeply for her.

The day he when he first spilled innocent blood will go down in history as the day the king lost his mind. It was a beautiful day, the birds were singing and the flowers were at their peak bloom. The people of the small village were getting ready for the moonlight festival. As night began to fall, the kings knights arrived with torches. One of them managed to find you, hiding in your pitiful home.

As the knight held you in a kneeling position the king asks you one more time. “Oh my dear, my beloved, come with me. Be mine.” Disgust shows on your face as you boldly look away and mutter you would rather die than to be with him.

With a disappointed smile the king gives the knights a queue and they start burning down the small village. As you look around and see all the people running in terror your heart stops when you see your mom and dad being dragged and executed. Before you could get a word out, everything went dark.

The next time he killed, he did it himself. It was when you first came back home. You were still adjusting to your new and better life, not knowing that the walls have eyes and ears. You thought the king wouldn’t find out about your love affair with a kitchen boy. Nights being spent tangled together, early mornings whispering forever i love yous.

Tobias remembers the look on your face, with tears and snot running down as you beg him to spare your lovers life. To have mercy. As he bent down, wiped the tears from your eyes, he whispered “My beloved, this is all your fault.” With that, he took the mans life without a single thought in his mind.

Now, Tobias is a man who believes in being fair so once he took away your lover, he got rid of his own. All the concubines were sent to the dungeons (if they behaved they became servants) . If one of them ever made a remark that was negative about you, they were hanged. If any woman tried to seduce him to become his mistress got sent to the dungeons to be punished for attempted of adultery (ironic).

As for the Queen, she knew what her fate was going to be. She hoped by turning a blind eye to her husband actions would favor her but in the end, she knew she should’ve left when she had the chance. The king was gentle with her, made sure she didn’t suffer. She simply went to sleep, and never woke up.

Now, look at you, all dressed up as the new queen. Sitting in your dear husband’s lap as you watch your 4 children play. Your 3 boys and your precious daughter playing tag, living their life at ease. With no fear of their father, not knowing the monster he can be.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader

[sailoryooons]

Hali's Fic Superlatives

Welcome to my fic superlatives, where I hand out absolutely unasked-for awards to some of my favorite characters and stories from fics that I read this year. I was going to wait until the end of the year to do these, as I still have plenty of time to read, but honestly, if I don't do them now I'm going to forget that I planned to do them at all!

Please do not take these too seriously - I did not read a ton this year but I always tried to review what I did read! My goal next year is to try and read even more and give myself time to find new writers instead of just reading what I happen to see on my dash.

This list by no means was limited to what was written this year - some of these fics were written previously but I either read them this year or re-read them for joy and I felt like they went well on this list!

CONGRATS TO THE WINNERS OF THESE UNASKED-FOR AWARDS! YOU GET MY LOVE AND ADORATION SORRY THATS IT!

☾ Angsiest Fic: Aphelion by @eoieopda ☾ Funniest Fic: The Package Thief by @blog-name-idk ☾ Fave Supernatural Fic: Bump in the Night by @colormepurplex2 ☾ Fave Fantasy Fic: The Mark of Yun-Ki  by @ladyartemesia ☾ Fave Crack Fic: Cosmic Collision by @gimmethatagustd ☾ Fave Romance Fic: Amalthea by @daechwitatamic ☾ Fave World Building: Until Death by @kpopfanfictrash ☾ Fave Holiday/Special Occasion: I Wanna Hold Your Hand by @minisugakoobies ☾ Fave Horror or Thriller: Simply Meant to Be by @caelesjjk ☾ Fave Comfort Fic: Real Magic by @here2bbtstrash ☾ Fave Soulmates Fic: 5 Times You Don’t Believe In Soulmates by Min Yoongi Does by @vyduan ☾ Fave Polyamorous: Flowers of Fate by @/colormepurplex2  ☾ Fave A/B/O: One Day At A Time by @theharrowing ☾ Fave Mafia: Collateral by @/theharrowing  ☾ Fave Namjoon Fic: Love At First Bite by @raplinesmoon ☾ Fave Seokjin Fic: Amalthea by @/daechwitatamic  ☾ Fave Yoongi Fic: Three Tangerines by @kithtaehyung ☾ Face Hoseok Fic: Please by @anotherbtswriter ☾ Fave Jimin Fic: Don’t Go Insane by @/gimmethatagustd ☾ Fave Taehyung Fic: Of Ruin by @/daechwitatamic  ☾ Fave Jungkook Fic: Crybaby by @/here2bbtstrash  ☾ Couple Most Likely To Get Married: Darksided couple as written by @/eoiepda ☾ Best Dressed Character: Keena from Blackthorn by @sweetestofchaos ☾ Best Threesome: She, by Proxy by @ugh-yoongi ☾ Most Likely to Succeed: Yoongi from Best Served Cold by @/anotherbtswriter - trust me this man has GOALS lmao ☾ Best Best Friends: Yoongi and Jin from Ugh, Fuck by @/kithtaehyung sodgjdofgi does this count as friendship soifjsofij ☾ Most Likely to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse: Taehyung from Collateral by @/theharrowing  ☾ Most Likely to Kill Each Other: Repeat Offense couple as written by @/gimmethatagustd

☾ Favorite Read of the Year: Of Ruin by @/daechwitatamic

While all of the chapters for Of Ruin are not yet posted, I’ve had the pleasure of being able to beta read this chapter ahead of the general public and it is absolutely the fic of the year for me. It is a robust story full of romance, action, intrigue, beautiful storytelling, and world-building, and it touches every single one of these categories above. It is a knockout. 

Thank you to all the amazing authors who wrote these works and had the bravery to put them into the world. If anything is tagged wrong, please do not hesitate to correct me!

#bts fics #bts fanfic #bts fic recs #lmfao this list took me weeks to put together ngl #halireads #yes i'm randomly posting this at 9:30 on a saturday night time is not linear and neither am i

[ch3rrywrites]

like broken pieces of glass (lyney, lynette, & freminet x y/n)

masterlist┆next post featuring them

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❛❛ angst with the fontaine siblings. ❜❜

𓆩♡𓆪 warnings: fontaine archon quest act 1 & 2 spoilers, reader is gn, hurt no comfort, lyney's part has implied cheating, reader is dead in lynette's part, argument in freminet's part

𓆩♡𓆪 category: angst/hurt

𓆩♡𓆪 wc: ~200 per character

𓆩♡𓆪 a/n: freminet and lynette's were a little out of character but i'm new.. and i'm not writing too much for angst not sure if freminet was revealed as fatui during the trial... but let's say he was

taglist: (pleasee please lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

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Lyney

"You never were going to tell me, were you?"

That was the last thing you had said before turning away.

But what you dreaded was how he didn't run after you. How he didn't reply. How he just... watched you disappear into the sunset... probably-

Never to return.

What about the banquet that night, where you’d entered a party full of princesses and princes, beautiful chandeliors, and tiles that decorated the floor in a flurry of gold?

It seemed like heaven.

Only… if this was “heaven,” then it would be your “hell” too.

Lyney had excused himself to the restroom, and you were strolling around the party, taking note of the different antiques and flower vases.

Some had diamonds patterns, some had animals, and some had wings. Looking past a flower vase, you saw a person in a top hat kissing someone else...

Wait, kissing?

"...Lyney?"

Darkness would engulf the room, followed by screams behind you as you raced out of the very place you'd call "heaven." Then, the sounds of that magician’s footsteps would chase after you, pleading for a chance to talk, anything.

Your world had shattered, and Lyney was desperately trying to pick up the pieces. But, the broken glass would only cut his skin, everytime he tried.

Minor cuts, but permanent scars.

But alas, when Lyney looked up at where you previously stood, all he saw was dust. Dust.

It's time to go home.

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Lynette

All she saw was you-

You, who drunk tea with her everyday. You, who sat with her in silence at dawn. You, who helped her with her makeup before a performance.

She should've never entered these ruins with you, should've ignored them when there were signs of Primordial Water inside.

And yet, you'd urged her on... all for what? To finish a task the traveler had asked her to? To show her the gift you'd promised?

What gift would there be if you're... not even alive? What mora would be worth this? What future would you have together? "It's okay." She had reassured her worried brother, "It's just for a little while."

If only she knew this would happen...

And here you are, falling into the monstrous abyss that which is the Primordial Sea.

You had accepted your fate. You didn't fight back against the waves, call out her name, or reach for her hand.

"Farewell, Lynette."

Your teary eyes met her gaze one last time.

When Lyney had arrived at the scene, he desperately tried to pull her away from the water. But she wouldn't budge, just staring at the darkness pooling under her.

"I'm... f-fine, Lyney."

"But, it's dangerous here... and where's Y/N?"

She didn't reply.

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Freminet

"No! I won't have it!" Freminet flinched at the tone of your voice.

"I thought you were..." You sighed, "-nice. Not someone who's part of a scandalous organization."

He didn't respond.

All you saw was his figure leaving the house, footsteps clinking away.

You stared at the spot where he previously stood, as if trying to break the floor apart with your intense gaze. But alas, you knew that would not help.

That day during the trial...

"Tell me, aren't you and your siblings from the House of the Hearth?" Focalors' voice echoed through the stadium.

You'd expected Freminet to object, to protest against her statement, or just... something. But alas, he never spoke up.

Never.

"Freminet?"

And now, as well as detaching yourself from your beloved, you'd detached yourself from your home. Your one and only... true home.

Perhaps it's time to move on.

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masterlist┆next post featuring them

#lyney x reader #lyney x y/n #lyney x you #lynette x reader #lynette x y/n #lynette x you #freminet x reader #freminet x y/n #freminet x you #genshin angst #genshin scenarios #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #fontaine x reader #angst #genshin impact #fontaine

[raimoka]

— " (I'M) WAITING FOR THE SUN "

｡ ㅤꕤ ㅤ PAIRING: dazai osamu & reader.

SYNOPSIS: it was just a single string, so thin it could easily be cut with scissors, however, with just that mere red thread, it tied you to him.

tags ➜ alternate universe — modern, no abilities, painter!reader, writer!dazai dreams, pining, generally a fluff, soulmates trope, catching feelings, open ending, named reader — only last name though, dazai osamu is bad with feelings implication. ‹𝟹

⋆ author's notes: I wanted to try something new and the first thing that came in my mind was soulmates trope.

send an order!! → guide ❀ flowers ←

You have always been a dreamer.

Oftentimes you would drift away from your surroundings into an imaginary world, your sense of reality blurring away.

In that world you would feel relaxed, happy and at peace even if it's for merely a few minutes. A world where you could erase everyday from your mind and form an illusion of something you were unable to grasp, a world filled with colors and beauty.

It's bittersweet.

And although it's painful knowing these are nothing more but surreal fantasies, hopes and dreams it's worth it in the end.

However—as of late, your daydreams changed into a one singular daydream that, for whatever reason, keeps replaying in your mind like a broken record.

Day or night, in the painting room or in the peace of your room, whenever you close your eyes, be it a ten minute nap or eight hours of sleep the same scenario will play in front of your eyes over and over again.

Sun will shine its way through the grass as your fingers brush against your creamy white lace dress. Birds will sing their song to which you'll hum under your breath as the fruity smell of just bloomed flowers lingers in the air.

You'll sing and dance and laugh as if you're the only one in the world.

Then after a while you'll approach a big cherry tree in bloom, and suddenly you won't be alone anymore. There, in front of that very tree, will stand a person with chocolate colored brown hair carried by the wind, wearing a white button up shirt along with black trousers.

They'll look in the distance, seemingly unfazed and each time and even after twenty times you've seen the ending, you would approach them slowly when—as if on cue the person will turn around and you would freeze up at your spot, your heart skipping a beat because in front of you will stand the most beautiful human you have ever encountered. For a moment, they'll lock eyes before they vanish into the air, leaving no trace behind.

Then you'll twitch, snapping back to reality.

bleary and cloudy, immense hues of darkness lay hold of your sight, then as the starch gradually settles to the bottom and the skim rises to the top, at last your eyes wearily open—unable to remember his face.

It's as if when their eyes lock everything fades and your brain stops. It's weird and the more times it happens the more annoying it gets.

The person in your dreams feels familiar yet so out of reach. Like you've known them your entire life but hasn't even met them yet, as if the two of you were tied by a red thread of fate.

His presence is strong. Unique. Strange.

You can remember the way the smell of carnations surrounded him, the way his chocolate colored brown hair rode on the breeze, the way they were so tall you almost felt embarrassed standing near him but you can't, for the love of god, remember their face.

You feel their stare on your face. You know that your eyes lock each time and that each time they do your heart skips a beat. You know it and yet you can't pinpoint even the most obvious things, like their color.

You want to know more and everytime that you feel like you're getting closer to discovering something, you would get pulled out of the state of unconsciousness, snapping you back into reality.

It was as if it was mocking you, laughing at the anger it was giving you.

Your eyebrows knitted together, hands balling into a fist.

You ha—

The sound of wood splitting in half brought you back into reality, disrupting the scrambles of thoughts beginning to form within your mind.

huh ?

You lift your head, met with the sight of your paintbrush splitted into two. The other half of the paintbrush falls, accompanied with the sound of thud.

Your lips, which were previously formed into a thin line, parted.

"nazoki, did you just break your brush?"

you tense up. you feel everyone's eyes shift to your frame, hushed whispers accompanied with snickers filling the room. sweat builds up on your hands as the giggles continued, and you bit down on your lip, hovering your gaze on your thighs.

"It can be easily fixed but remember, that's not your own and you need to learn how to be careful with the brushes."

meekly, you dipped your head in response.

"yes ma'am..."

❀

It was already late when you arrived back home.

The sun had gone down, and the skies embraced by hues of warm colors had turned into vast of blackness already.

You didn't change out of your clothes, with the fatigue beginning to overtake your body, you didn't bother to do so.

You gently unlocked the door to your room and slipped inside.

you were greeted with pure abyss, which was anticipated since it was already night. however, there was still some disinctive things within the shadows, like the books sheltered on the shelves, the roses in the vase on the nightstand, and the paintings in the corner of your room.

you perk up.

you moved, walking towards to the empty canvas at the corner of your room.

In front of you, you laid down an empty white canvas and some newly bought paint from few days ago. without a second thought you started painting. You didn't know what you were going for just yet but you settled on just letting your hand move freely across the canvas.

One stroke then another—you paint sky, petals and a silhouette.

So far it's turning pretty decent but the more you draw the more anxious you became. The brush in your hand starts shaking as you reached out to paint the silhouette's face.

...

What now?

Cold sweat runs down your face and you had to take a moment to snap back to reality. Suddenly your stomach fills with dread and you had to take a break from painting.

The face. You couldn't remember the face.

You didn't finish the painting that day.

❀

There is no need for you to open your eyes because when you came to your own senses, feeling grass beneath your palms as the sun beams directly in your face, you knew exactly where you were.

Despite going to sleep in a bad mood you can't help but feel strangely relaxed now that you're here.

Slowly opening your eyes, you sit up and took a look around. Nothing, as far as you're aware, has changed. It's still the same dreamy place you visit everyday (sometimes even multiple times).

Birds are still singing, the sun is still shining and the flowers are still blooming.

After a short walk you find out the unknown person is also still here, simply staring at the distance.

You freeze in place and simply admires them from afar, staring at their back profile.

They stand there unbothered.

You take a big risk of walking up to them—not too close but not as far in an attempt to get a better view. Nothing.

You're scared.

Then you get a crazy idea.

Now you're terrified.

Quickly, before you get a chance to make a cowardly decision and back up, you ran towards the person and grabs their wrist, not giving them enough time to turn around.

First thing that you felt is warmth. Their skin is warm.

You lift your head head and meets their face that is now painted with a shocked expression, lips parted. When your eyes meet you felt fear, surprise, shock, happiness, anxiety all at once because you've finally caught them.

Then all emotions swirling within your chest dulls and the person slips away, disappearing from your grip once again.

❀

First thing, you did when you woke up is rush towards the canvas and frantically attempts to copy down the face, that expression of surprise and alarm, as similar as possible before eventually it too leaves your mind.

However it doesn't turn out anything like you've seen just a few moments prior. The expression on its own looks pretty amazing and the face is really unique, not quite like anything you've drawn before, but it's not his.

Shit.

Why? why couldn't you do it?

You were so close and yet—

You slipped up.

You didn't get it. You needed to remember. You didn't know why.

All you knew is that this person drives you crazy.

❀

Surrounding you, there was variety of pages of papers, canvas, multiple art supplies.

You pull out canvas after canvas messing up, repainting, scrapping, breaking, trying again, over and over again but nothing feels right.

Before long, what little memory of the person's face is left in your memory vanishes leaving you with an uneasy feeling in your chest. You fall to your knees, gripping the paintbrush in your palm firmly, cursing yourself. Why? Why couldn't you remember?

It continues like this for a while. After every nap you would pull out your sketchbook, which has by now found its new place under your pillow, and try to sketch the face but each and every time you'd be met with another failed attempt.

It felt like a curse of some sort. Wanting to remember but not being able to. Wanting to know but not being able to meet. Wanting to understand but not being able to learn.

You've tried many different ways. You tried jumping him. You tried running into him. You tried approaching him slowly. Sometimes you'd lock eyes with him, sometimes he'd disappear the moment they establish physical contact. You'd sketch day and night but you just couldn't nail it.

Slowly but noticeably a pile of crumpled up paper in your trash can started increasing. So far you've ruined three canvases and wasted almost an entire sketchbook which gave her an confrontation from your roommate, both from the trash and the one canvas you borrowed from her.

"If you need canvas, please just buy one for yourself. I'm gonna get scolded by my mother."

"the trash can in your room is starting to overflow with trash... some of the trash are even on the floor already, please dispose of them if you can. I don't know what you're trying to do but you should give it a little break, it doesn't seem like you're getting anywhere either way."

you've apologized multiple times for it, but in spite of her intentions being different, the painful truth behind her words pierces through your heart like an arrow. You weren't not getting anywhere that much is right but she's trying.

you were trying so hard because for the first time in a while you had a goal set in mind.

That night you didn't bother the guy. Instead, you sat down leaning on that big tree watching him stand just a few meters ahead of you.

You haven't given up of course but god you were tired. you sigh, releasing the tension in your body, closing your eyes beneath the tree's shadow.

You didn't know what you expected but someone snapping you out of your thoughts you sitting next to you was not it.

For a moment, you were too scared to look aside because this is a rare opportunity and you couldn't mess this up and yet at the same time you could wake up at any moment so if you were to waste this it would eat you up from inside for days. Anxiously, you moved your head and catches sight of the brown haired individual's side profile. It's the sight so dazzling you suck in your breath and bites your lip and just stares.

Every time you visit, you noticed a small detail you haven't before. Like how they shift from one leg to the other when the cold breeze brushes against their concealed arms, you wondered if it was really that cold for him, or how messy his hair was, you could've presumed he didn't take care of himself.

Today, you notice his eyes are shimmering brown, bright and full of life, no . they weren't full of life, they were filled with pure abyss, barely reflecting any source of tiny sparks. He was tired, lonely, and empty. You wondered how long they spent in this realm. Does he have a home? What's his story and how did he end up here? Just now after you take a good look at them, you started questioning all those things. Up until now all you knew was that they were here each time you fell asleep and that your face gets red and your heart skips a beat whenever you get near.

For the first time that you stared at them for more than two seconds, you started noticing all the little details. His bone structure, every single lash on his eye, even how messy his hair was. You take a mental note of it and stares for so long that you didn't even realize he might've feel awkward until they cough and move their face to the side, hiding their face a little bit further with the locks of his hair.

"I'm sorry."

You speak up slowly.

You wonder if he was even real.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Silence. Heavy, uncomfortable, cold, suffocating silence.

He gives her a side eye but don't say a word. You, not knowing how to react, just stares. You stare back, drowning in their eyes, not even realizing how close they've gotten to each other.

You have drawn many portraits of many different people up until this point in your life. The beauty of it all is that every person is different, unique and beautiful in their own way. Each painting you did is special because it's not like any other. That's, in your opinion, the beauty of this world. Even now, this person that might be nothing more than a fragment of your wild imagination is unlike any other you've met.

They are so beautiful it made you sick. Not just their physical appearance but their aura and their company. The way when their hands touch it sends an electric shock through your body or the way you get all warm and fuzzy inside when you were near him.

you swallowed down a thick saliva, forcing yourself to speak again, you didn't know what you were gonna say but with the tense atmosphere between the two of you, you wanted to ease it up, thus allowing the words in your throat to carry out.

"Hey."

The boy shifts his gaze towards you upon your call, moving his head along his gaze. You feel the hue of light red beginning to adorn your cheeks as soon he turns his head to your direction.

You fidgeted with your fingers, "You're a very pretty person."

You could feel his stare on you, but he didn't utter a single word.

"When I say pretty, I don't mean it just at that... you're so pretty that I could be with you all day just to watch the cherry blossom tree's bright pink light glow on your skin and how it brings out a million subtle sparks of color in your eyes, and In the evening, I could draw you all night long until I have no more strength, and when it's finally night with the moon, I could close my eyes to remember the day going by as a reflection of you."

as you spoke, you couldn't help but notice how close your faces were with just a few centimeters apart from each other. you two were so close, It distilled a warm fuzzy feeling within your chest.

"you're quite talkative."

for once within several dreams, he finally uttered a single word, and just the mere sound of his voice made you speechless. he leans his head slightly closer and you couldn't help but think that your faces will crash. you were sure your faces will crash and you're scared if they do the universe as we know will explode but the world collapses before you could get a chance to blink and suddenly you were panting in the pitch dark of an all too familiar room.

❀

They say everything comes with its good and bad sides so you presumed the same must go for this entire situation too.

If it were up to you, you'd say the good thing is you finally finished your painting. After so much time and effort you have finally created something you're satisfied with.

Bad, or rather unfortunate, thing is that the next time you went to sleep you didn't dream at all. At first you thought it was a mistake so you pulled her blanket over your frame and went to sleep again despite the morning sun desperately trying to climb on your bed through the closed windows and your roommate gently knocking on your door.

Nothing.

After a few more times of not being able to wake up in that imaginary world of yours, you started to freak out a little. It was understandable though. When you spend so much time somewhere, so much that it turns into a habit, it's only natural to get worried when it abruptly stops with no sign whatsoever.

For now you'll just have to learn to adjust to your new reality.

❀

It has been a year since you last dreamed of that dream.

you struggled to accept the truth, occasionally glancing at the painting you've finished right after your last dream. however, as time passed by, you managed to divert your attention to much more important things, slowly forgetting the world you would often dream off.

you didn't know whether you liked it or not but you supposed it was fine since a lot of great opportunities were beginning to appear to you.

"That's why nazoki-san, we would love to invite you as a guest artist for our next gallery showcase!" Words were ringing in your ears like an echo. There were thousands and one emotion flowing through her body. Excitement, joy, disbelief, anxiety and so much more.

Finally, It's finally happening. You couldn't help but think to yourself. All that hard work and effort is finally paying off.

When you got a call from a nearby gallery asking for someone with your last name, you presumed it was for your mother, a professional artist who had few of her works showcased there, that's why the first thing you felt when they said it's you they needed was confusion.

You've been drawing for years, joined many different art courses and took many drawing classes, participated in many events but getting an offer to have some of your work showcased in a big, professional and well-known gallery for one of their events was something new—a step closer to achieving your dream.

Of course, you didn't hesitate and swiftly agreed to the offer.

It's only when it came time to choose your best work you got a tad uncertain about which paintings to pick.

You decided to go for one landscape drawing, one abstract and one portrait.

Choosing a landscape and abstract was easy, you simply chose your most recent work, a work which, by chance, was seen by her classmates and some teachers and received tons of compliments.

Choosing a portrait was a bit harder though—there was just so much diversity between your models you'd feel bad choosing one out of many other, just as beautiful, ones.

You dig through the canvases in an attempt to find a perfect one when your hands suddenly brush against the beige fabric pulled over one of the canvases, hiding it from view.

A drop of cold sweat rolls down your neck as you uncover the familiar painting. It's still the same as you left it a year ago.

When your dreams stopped you felt as if you lost a part of yourself. Being unable to face the painting you worked so hard on, you ended up covering it up and leaving it to collect dust in the pile of canvases.

Even now when you looked at it, a part of you feels like sinking but the feeling of dread is easily outshined with the feeling of nostalgia and warmth.

you decided which portrait to bring to the event.

❀

More people have visited the event than you had originally planned, it was almost a bit overwhelming. Almost. All the praise you got made up for it.

You would be lying if you said you didn't like to be praised. You loved the words of affirmation, to hear someone from a higher level acknowledge her efforts and make sure you're on the right track.

You were silently lurking in the crowd the entire day, starting conversations when you'd get the chance, giving speeches about her art.

You talked and talked, over and over again, repeating what you've already said over twenty times by now and every group so far would listen carefully. Seeing them genuinely interested in your work made it all worthwhile.

Soon enough, night fell and people started leaving one by one, saying their goodbyes. It's a shame that the day has come to an end but if you're lucky maybe you will get more chances like this in the near future.

"nazoki-san!" One of the gallerys workers approaches you, "Would you mind picking up your work? I still have some guests to see off."

"Alright! Thank you so much again!" You bow down your head before you make your way to the hall where your work has been showcased up until now. It was a part of their agreement that when the event is over you'll get to bring your paintings back home.

When you step foot into the room, however, you find you weren't not alone. Almost like a deja-vu, in front of her stands a familiar brown haired person with their back turned towards you, in his hand, he held a book, it seemed like he was looking for some inspiration.

Your heart sinks.

Immediately, you stop in your tracks.

How?

Blood in your veins freezes as the cold sweat starts dripping down your face. It can't be…could it?

"E-excuse me-e—" you tried to speak up but your voice breaks in the most embarrassing way possible.

The person twitches in surprise, turning around with a startled expression on their face and it's the same damn expression you saw that day when you first grabbed their hand. you swear it is. It has to.

The person points an index finger to himself, tilting his head to the side, "Me?" as soon as you heard that voice, you knew damn well it was.

For a short moment their eyes lock. It's the same chocolate colored eyes holding the same lonesome warmth and oh you want to rush towards them at full speed and tackle them to the ground but youi calm yourself down and continues to talk, "We're closing."

Your voice comes off stronger and steadier this time but the hint of nervousness can still be distinguished.

"Oh… I'm sorry. I got lost in my thoughts."

So much happened today. You talked a lot, you walked a lot and on top of that you woke up early with only three hours of sleep the night prior, perhaps you're just imagining things. Maybe you're daydreaming again. But his voice sounds so real and you can see them so vividly even with you vision blurry from exhaustion.

There is so much you wanted to know, how, why, what, when, huh?? you heard stories about people's dreams coming true, about how some met people in their dreams but you never imagined anything so…extraordinary happening to you. But here you were with so many questions lingering in your head and so little time so you decided fuck it no matter what happens this time, no matter what kind of story your faith is writing, whatever happens in this timeline you weren't letting them go again.

The chocolate haired person gives you a warm smile, although, It looked a bit forced, you didn't say anything as he turns back to glance at the painting in front of them one last time.

"I was just thinking about how this painting looks a lot like me."

Your knees buckle up underneath you.

Weak .

you felt weak.

but you couldn't even focus on that, all you could focus on was how the person you've been longing for was indeed right in front of you.

and with that, the interlude halts.

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ taglists are open everytime.

2024 © reposts are prohibited with/without permission... plagiarism is prohibited. don’t translate my work without my permission. i will take measures of reporting you. reblogs and likes are appreciated.

#♱ 𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗩𝗔𝗜 :: #★ works .ᐟ #dazai x reader #beastzai x reader #beast dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bsd x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n

[hunnieknight]

Ello! Hope youre having a good day!

I don't know if you accept request. If you don't its fine to not do this request. But if you do then, what's Yandere!Soulmate! Aether, Bennett, and Xiao's reaction to seeing reader with the same soulmate mark as them or just having a confirmation that reader is their soulmate in general?

Anyways hope youre having a good day! ^^

"The fate sealed our destiny" (+Art)

General yandere, possesive behaviour, murder and blood (on Xiao), slight angst and misunderstanding (Bennett)

Soulmate AU where you got their constellation mark on your body

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Aether

Context (You are a resident in a nation)

He first saw it when you offered snacks for them as a gratitude for saving your hometown. The wrapper had a constellation mark that is awfully similar to his. Paimon brought it up like a clueless little one she is, when it clicked, both of you guys' faces went red.

He always try to spend a time with you between his heroic work and commissions, he HAS to. He already looking hard for his sister to the point this soulmate thing never crossed his mind, now that you are here, he won't ever lose you.

Usually when you guys are together Paimon will always do the talking. But when it is just the 2 of you, he will look confident and taking a lead in conversation but never forgetting to ask your opinion. It is often just you listening to his heroic adventure whilst eating your goodies.

He will give you the Realm Dispatch so you can visit his teapot. Oh? Did you stare at a flower too loong during a walk? It is in the teapot now. Hm? You like to read books? Oh wow look at this mini library he made. You want to pet the wild animals? Look at all these tamed animals he brought in!

He will asked you to tag along during his adventure. Of course, he will ensuring your safety, even as far teaching you on self-defense. Although in his head you should never touch a weapon, it is his job. He really wanted to make a new memory with you together. The whole world is too big to be explored just by him and Paimon, another companion isn't bad right? You just need to be his supporter, that's all.

If you reject his request on go out adventure. NO No no no no no no, you will not reject me, you cant stay here, please follow me, please be with me, i cant lose you, you will never leave me, i will take care of you. I promise. I promise. You are mine. MINE. It seems his teapot will be your new home....

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Bennett

(soft yandere) | Context : You are part of the adventure guild

You and Bennett have been friends, working together on commission. You both work and fit perfectly like a glove. As an adventurer, you both have been busy. Topic about soulmate never been crossed in all of your conversation. You enjoy Bennett's companion so you don't really care about it. Him, on the other hand, absolute smitten over you. He does not care at all if you don't have HIS mark. He will still love you either way, for now let him enjoy this moment.

It was the aftermath of a fight during commission, you had a large scratch on your back and Bennett automatically told you to strip so he can heal your wound properly. Before he can apologized and look away, you already turned around and strip, his gaze caught onto a beautiful constellation right between your shoulder blade. It was his constellation.

At first, he doesn't want to tell you. He will keep pretending that he never seen it. His bad luck always reminded him that living with you will make your life hell because of his misfortune. Because of that , he started to avoid you.

You were confused, after that healing moment shared between you, he started avoiding you. Although you caught a glimpse of him staring at you somewhere.

"Huh...is it..because of my constellation?"

You rubbed your back where your soulmate's mark lies. Is it a weird mark?Is that why he is avoiding you?

It hurts. It hurts. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. But it is for the best..It is for the better . I dont want you to hurt. Im sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you. Im sorry

It was guilt that brought him back to you. Everyone in the guild asked Bennett about you. You had been looking sad lately and asking everyone if Bennett say something wrong about you so you can change . It hits him like a brick. He ran around Mondstadt searching for you, just to find you with Windwheel Asters hunched in your hands. You noticed him and walked towards him while sputtering apologizes.

"I don't know what i did wrong or what is going on and i'm sorry for not going to you sooner. But i hope this can suffice until i can apologize proper-huh?"

He didn't let you finish and hugged you. You felt your shoulder damp and a muffled "i'm sorry, i'm sorry" , confused, you just hugged him back.

After he showed you his constellation mark and his reasoning, you just chuckled which caught him off guard. Your voice...your smile.. the wrinkles in the corner of your eyes when you laugh...did...did he really trying to leave all these percious thing behind? Did he really just gonna ABANDON you? His soulmate??He gripped your hand tightly.

You are the fortune in his disastrous life. He will never ever leave you.

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Xiao

(possesive yandere) | Context :You are an apprenticer cook under YanXiao's wing)

You are a apprentice cook learning under YanXiao"s wing. You have been learning there for some times but never actually interact with Xiao. So, he suggested to cook Almond Tofu for the Yaksha living on the upper floor. You diligently followed the recipe and slowly making your way up to the floor where he suppose to be.

You called out his name, no respond. You just staring off the balcong, the wind blew around you, cold yet comforting. As you shivering, You turned around and just saw him right in front you. You gasped, trying to calm your heart down. His eyes just staring at you up and down, well, this is the first time you both see face-to face. You gave him the Almond Tofu and- huh? He is grabbing your wrist?!

His eyes gone wide as he stared at your wrist. It is your constellation mark, as much as you are proud of your mark, this is the VIGILANT YAKSHA standing in front of you grabbing your wrist. You cleared your throat to get his attention. Before you could ask, he swiftly pulled of his left glove and showed you a constella- wait...it looks like yours...huh.. w-wait.

The day ends with Verr Goldet called you to help her out. You gave him the almond tofu and just scurry off, overwhelmed. Since then, you haven't seen Xiao for the most of the time and...it seems like he is avoiding you? Whenever you tried to give him the Almond Tofu, he never shows up, but when it's Verr Goldet, he always comes in seconds. You never approach him, thinking it would be rude. So you settle with just glance at him when he is eating in the kitchen, or when you saw a glimpse on the balcony.

Yet, you also feel the same of someone staring at your back.

You told Verr Goldet about everything, she just chuckled and explained that Xiao just need time to process everything. But you started to think he might be against the Soulmate idea. Besides, you are a mortal, he is an adeptus. It will never gonna work out. He probably hates the fact that his suppose to be partner for life is a normal human bei-your thoughts cut off as you see a Qingxin on the windowsill of your bedroom.

Your training with YanXiao had come to the end. A gourmet dinner made by you was held in the kitchen. You gave your gratitude with YanXiao. With a short bow you gave your thanks to Verr Goldet and her husband for the hospitality.

"I will visit again as soon as possible!"

Verr Goldet just gave you a soft look, that felt more like a pity. Perhaps she would miss you as much as you miss her later. Ending the night, you bid goodnight to everyone and walked up the stairs to your room. You need to pack up your stuff for tomorrow journey back to the harbor.

Has it ever been this chilly in your room? Well, no matter, you just need a blanket to sleep tonight. It is been a while since you see Xiao, he didn't show up during dinner and when you passed the balcony

"Oh welI, i can bid farewell to Xiao tomorrow then"

"Why bid goodbye if you will never leave?"

You don't remember the last time you went downstair of the Wangshu Inn. Since that night which suppose to be your last stay here, Xiao been keeping you inside your room. He only allows you walking around the balcony and the kitchen. When the sun is down, he will sit on your window sill or at the edge of your bed, holding your chained hand. He seems mesmerized by HIS constellation mark on your hand.

You had been asking him why he kept you here.

"You are a mortal, the world isn't kind. I need to protect you."

Yet when you pointed out that the least he can do is not avoiding you, he explained something about karmic debt and how precious you are to him. He can't fathom why are you so upset with him just protecting you. Yet, he say nothing as you hit him with pillow or sulking by hiding under blanket.

Xiao glanced at the red puddle under his feet. The moonlight gave the red crimson stain on the ground a sparkle effect. He looked at his shoes and clothes, stained with blood. As much as he like the blood of the enemy as thropy, he knew you'd hate it to see him all bloody and smell like iron.

"This is all for you, my Qingxin"

The things he will do to protect you from these people who has been looking for you. Don't you understand?They are trying to take you away from him. He had been waiting for decades for you, now that you are in his grasp hold he will protect you with all his might. The least you could do is stay with him.

#imaginedraw #yandere xiao #yandere bennett #yandere aether #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin #xiao x reader #bennett x reader #aether x readee