#atiny author

[atinytokki]

My Way

viii. The Voyage

The first night in his new bunk was everything Hongjoong imagined it would be.

It could’ve been dirty, crowded, and doused in pungent scent and he wouldn’t have minded. Despite bustling crewmen and the pitch of the Stardust, he was consumed by an overwhelming sense of peace in the chaos. It was his own little corner of heaven.

He’d been hard at work helping the other crewmen to raise anchor and position the sails, and after a hearty supper full of introductions and recounted tales, he had found his way to the berth, guided by candlelight, and climbed into his hammock.

It was his hammock in a way that his four poster bed back in Jangwon Hall wasn’t his. He didn’t just exist in it, it meant something to him. Whether a different sailor took up that hammock a few months hence didn’t matter in the slightest, it was his for the moment and he was going to enjoy it.

For now that simply meant laying back and tracing the ceiling boards with his gaze, listening to the faint echo of the ship’s groaning as it cut through water, and resisting the pull of sleep that threatened to drag him away.

Hongjoong watched the men around him prepare for the night, some reading, some smoking, a couple conversing quietly, and still more shedding their boots and climbing into bed. The deckhand in the hammock closest rolled onto his side and motioned towards the candlestick.

“Best put that light out now, lad,” he instructed, no-nonsense but not unkind. “Or else pass it off to the night shift.”

Satisfied that he wouldn’t miss anything important in the darkness, Hongjoong leaned forward and blew it out, settling in with a blanket. Somewhere, a deckhand was already snoring.

“Goodnight,” Hongjoong whispered, imagining it to be Mingi.

He rolled over and closed his eyes.

The shrill blast of the boatswain’s whistle at the forenoon watch came as quite a shock after such a pleasant night.

Rushing out of bed and into his clothes, Hongjoong joined the others in his shift under the supervision of the Stardust’s boatswain, Minseob.

Commands and manual labour were no stranger to the boy from Jangwon Hall, but he didn’t mind being ordered around here, a place of freedom where he was more than a cog in the machine, where the riches flowed as soon as they were plundered. This was what he had been preparing for.

It was one thing to learn the ropes, it was another entirely to do the work— training the body in life at sea.

Working alongside him were a variety of older men. Some looked the part of a pirate; burly, tattooed and reeking of liquor, but most appeared to be regular sailors.

Even Minseob retained the bearings of a naval officer and, aside from his eclectic accessorising, stuck to his ways where order was concerned.

The break for lunch was sufficient to rest Hongjoong well enough for another shift if he was needed but Maddox found him belowdecks and informed him he had been summoned.

“To the wardroom. Come on now,” he chuckled when Hongjoong hesitated in surprise. “You’re meant to be cabin boy after all.”

The officers were eating together, though some had already finished and were playing a board game of some type with the extra time.

Sailing Master Jihan had spread out some charts on his corner of the table and was engaged in a conversation with Eden that paused upon Hongjoong’s entrance.

The captain looked up from his work at his protégé and pulled out a chair next to him, welcoming the boy to sit.

Obliging, Hongjoong was soon lit up with excitement as a variety of firearms were placed in front of him to chose from by Jonghoon, Master-At-Arms.

“But I’ve already got mine— well, your old one,” Hongjoong reminded Eden shyly.

“A pirate should have a minimum of two loaded pistols on or within reach of his person at all times,” the pirate responded vehemently. “You don’t want to be caught reloading in a close quarters fight.”

It made sense considering how long it could take to reload a gun in his experience.

“Do you think there will be a fight on this journey?” Hongjoong asked, careful not to sound too worried if it was the case. He could handle it, he was sure.

Eden glanced at Jihan again, who spread his hands, admitting uncertainty. “Perhaps,” the captain settled on. “Navy presence near the archipelago has increased lately, and we are headed south first after all.”

Hongjoong nodded and turned back to the selection in front of him. A shiny pistol was calling his name, so he picked it up and inspected it as he had been taught, ensuring all the parts were clean and well functioning. If the other officers had qualms about this strange boy handling their spare weapons so casually, they did not raise them. It seemed the men trusted their captain.

“Combat training isn’t over, though I’ll be busy day in and day out,” Eden went on, after approving Hongjoong’s choice of weapon. “Go with Babylon to help in the galley for now, and I’ll meet you tonight on the quarterdeck to practice.”

Hongjoong followed orders promptly, stowing the gun before collecting any remaining dishes from the crew and bringing them to the galley to wash.

The action was familiar to him, as he’d laboured in the kitchens of Jangwon more than a few times, but the galley window swung open and let in a sea air that made the entire experience a good deal more pleasant than being in that stuffy hall.

The cook himself sidled up to help dry the cleaned bowls and cutlery, looming with his tall stature and keeping a curious eye on their newest recruit.

“I understand you begged to come aboard with us,” Babylon reported. “Did you realise you asked for the worst job on the ship?”

Hongjoong snorted and passed the man a plate. That wasn’t a problem. “I’ll climb the ranks.”

“Oh, are you quite sure?” Babylon let out a chuckle. “You’ll need a ship of your own to go from cabin boy to captain.”

“Then I can build one,” Hongjoong answered, just as sure. He flicked some soap bubbles into the air mindlessly.

“Does Eden teach you that sort of thing?” The surgeon questioned him, watching the bubbles float away. Two of them popped against the wall but one made it out the window.

“Ship anatomy, cartography, astronomy, strategy, knot-tying, self-defense— all kinds of things,” Hongjoong listed, barely brushing the surface.

“Then I do believe you have the makings of a well-rounded pirate,” Babylon complimented indulgently, offering the boy a towel to wipe his hands when the washing was done. “Although you are missing a few things.”

“Like what?” Hongjoong crossed his arms and gave the man a challenging glare.

A twinkle grew in Babylon’s eye. “Have you ever shot a cannon?”

That was how Hongjoong found himself under the tutelage of Master Gunner Soomin for the rest of the day, bearing witness to a demonstration in the power of the Stardust’s cannons.

It was exhilarating and made for his most exciting lesson by far, but his ears were ringing through supper and when he arrived on the quarterdeck for scheduled practice with Eden, he was still fairly disoriented.

Thanks as well to the darkness of the moonless night and the chill wind that was blowing from the north, Hongjoong took more beatings than he handed out during their sparring session, frustrating himself immensely.

“You must become impervious to your environment, Hongjoong,” Eden scolded lightly, scraping him with the sword when he failed to dodge yet again and widening the hole in his blouse. “There are no city lights to help you here at sea. If your night vision is truly this abysmal, you’ll struggle to see an enemy sneak up on you.”

Gritting his teeth, Hongjoong parried the next blow and returned with one of his own, overreaching and struggling to maintain his balance. With a sigh, Eden merely nudged him with his sword hilt and sent him tumbling back over the rail to hit the main deck hard on his tailbone.

Groaning, Hongjoong picked himself up gingerly, observing the way the sailor on watch duty snorted and shook his head in amusement.

“I’m just not at my best today,” he muttered by way of an excuse, holding his head in his hands. It must be the pressure of so many people to impress.

“Then you had better find your best and never lose it again,” Eden’s voice answered, and Hongjoong glanced up to see him descending from the quarterdeck, sword sheathed.

“It’s about consistency,” he went on. “You’ve beaten me before and if you give your all, you can do so again. But the day your form isn’t at its best could be the day the Navy knocks on your door. And then you’d better hope they give you a chance.”

Hongjoong pursed his lips, riled up. “Give me his watch,” he demanded, pointing towards the clueless sailor on duty without a glance in his direction.

For his part, Eden looked pleasantly surprised. “What for?”

“I’ll show you I can handle it. Let me take the night shift.”

The pirate tilted his head in thought for a moment before agreeing and dismissing the now gleeful sailor to his berth.

“It’s four hours,” he reminded his apprentice, careful not to let his concern show but giving himself away with his hesitation.

“I know,” Hongjoong countered confidently. “I learned all the protocol. I can even take the wheel so we don’t spend the night anchored.”

“Very well,” Eden turned to head back to his cabin. “I’ll check on you halfway through.”

Hongjoong cracked a knowing smile. If the objective was weathering the elements, that was just what he would do. It was all a mental game anyway, he reasoned, he could stand the discomfort to prove a point.

He deserved to be here and he would earn his place every day if he had to.

The air was clear and the waves quiet in their lapping at the hull, reminding him very much of his family fishing days what felt like long ago now, back when he had been naïve to the dangers of the sea.

He watched the distant cliffs pass by and calculated in his head how far from Panhang they must have sailed by now. Surely his plan to navigate overnight would save them a great deal of time.

Every once in awhile the wind increased from behind, filling the sails until they became taut against their ropes and ruffling Hongjoong’s clothes. He felt the holes poked in his shirt more and more as the temperature dropped.

It was still winter on the northern coast after all, and that ushering wind was likely an arctic one.

Shivering and growing numb but determined not to give in, Hongjoong flexed his hands where they gripped the wheel and forced himself to focus. All he had to do was maintain their course, and if his legs gave out, so be it.

The sound of the door to the captain’s cabin creaking open distracted him for a moment, and the protégé turned to see his master approaching from inside with a blanket, slinging it wordlessly over his shoulders.

Hongjoong gladly accepted it but flashed the pirate a suspicious glance at his timing.

“Hyung, were you watching from inside this whole time?”

“W-What?” Eden coughed out, truly at a loss for words yet again due to this boy and his dropping of formalities. “Of course not, I merely noticed the chill. It looks as if it may snow.”

Hongjoong lifted his gaze to the cloudy sky and hummed in agreement, turning again to the starboard side for his last view of the cliffs. The last view of his old fishing grounds. He wondered what his parents would think if they saw him now. Maybe they were watching from somewhere unreachable.

After a moment of silence, Eden took note of the way he craned his neck for a final glimpse and asked him about it.

“What are you searching for out there?”

Hongjoong bit his lip and lowered his head. It felt stupid to try to explain the feelings of nostalgia bubbling inside but he could only picture his parents with this view, a view he’d had every day for most of his childhood.

“I know they’re gone, I saw their bodies. But part of me held on to the hope that they were still out there somewhere, somehow. That I just hadn’t looked hard enough.” He sighed and faced Eden again, continuing, “I know I won’t find them, but I’m looking for them anyway in a manner of speaking.”

The captain forced down a swallow and trained his eyes ahead on nothing in particular, as if afraid even a flinch would shatter his young apprentice.

“It can be dangerous to imagine ghosts in the places you wish to see them,” he whispered solemnly.

Hongjoong frowned. The pirate seemed as if he spoke from experience, seeing the ghosts he spoke of in a scene unfolding before his eyes.

“But…” Eden cleared his throat and shook himself out of his reverie. “Perhaps they are guiding your travels. Just out of view.”

With a nod Hongjoong told him that was how he pictured them now, leading him on his way from the sky.

“I thought the day they died, I died,” he admitted. “I never would’ve guessed I could come back out here one day. Certainly not like this.”

He smiled in appreciation for the trustworthy Stardust that carried him hence and Eden mirrored it, unable to resist.

“Steady on, Hongjoong,” he encouraged, heading back towards the cabin for bed. “Maddox will take the watch after yours.”

“Yessir,” Hongjoong called back, suppressing a giggle. Captain or no, if he could get away with teasing the Dread Pirate, he’d gladly do so.

As usual, Eden had been right and as the night wore on, Hongjoong’s vision did indeed adjust to the darkness. He wrapped the blanket around him to preserve body heat and stave off the cold, so the next problem was the matter of keeping awake.

He entertained himself with quiet singing and reciting random lines and poems he remembered, passing the time as best he could while confined to the quarterdeck.

Just as his four hours came to an end, the clouds dispersed to share the light of the stars.

They were brilliant already, having adjusted his sight, and Hongjoong could only imagine how much brighter they looked to the east with no light of civilisation to hide them.

Maddox’s teasing voice interrupted his thoughts as he joined him on the quarterdeck. “Look at you, standing at the wheel. It’s almost as big as you are.”

“And yet I did not waver!” Hongjoong shot back, insistent. Still, he couldn’t help but show his relief on letting go of the wheel that he was finally able to stretch away the soreness of standing in one place for so long. “Check the charts, we’re still on course.”

Maddox obliged and kept up idle conversation while he checked. “Not biting off more than we can chew, are we?”

“No, just taking on what I know I’m ready for,” Hongjoong replied with a grin. He was nothing if not ambitious for a first time voyager.

The quartermaster was quiet for a moment more before rolling up his chart again and returning a smile to the young pirate. “Fortunately for you, you’re correct,” he affirmed. “We are very much on track. Should I continue on or drop anchor as usual?”

Hongjoong gave the question a bit of thought. “Well, hyung— I mean Captain— didn’t say. But seeing as I don’t want to be finished with my first voyage too soon, I wouldn’t object to dropping anchor. It would give me a chance to capture these stars.”

“Capture them?” Maddox asked, confused.

In lieu of a proper answer, Hongjoong instructed him to wait while he fetched a plain canvas bag from below to demonstrate with.

Thanks to some helpful timing he also took advantage of Minseob’s presence on deck rousing the men to drop anchor to sneak into the boatswain’s lodgings and swipe his paint pots.

“Whose paints are those?” Maddox snorted, skeptical, when Hongjoong returned with his supplies. “Did you steal them just now?”

Hongjoong pulled up a seat and settled in, pretending to be affronted at the accusation. “Well we’re pirates, aren’t we? I thought stealing was part of the job. And it’s not stealing, it’s borrowing. I’ll give them back when I’m done.”

The quartermaster rolled his eyes fondly at the teen and refocused on the task at hand, still curious what the young apprentice was planning.

It was a bit difficult to distinguish from among similar shades of blue and violet, so Hongjoong opened his mouth to ask for a lantern to be brought only to find Maddox already approaching him with one.

“Thanks,” he chirped, positioning the bag on his lap and beginning to slather it in paint to make the background. “It’ll be just as good as carrying charts when I’m finished.”

“The stars?” Maddox asked for confirmation, realising what the aim of this spontaneous art project was. “You’re painting the stars over Panhang.”

Hongjoong hummed an affirmation, deeply concentrated on the act of placing each individual white dot in the correct location.

It took him a great deal of time to ensure his work was correct and precise and yet more time to bring it up to a visual standard with nicely blended colours to represent the sky.

Satisfied at last, two hours later, he drew his final stroke and hung the canvas bag to dry.

“There,” he said in satisfaction, mostly to himself. “Now they’ll always be with me.”

Overhearing this but unwilling to question him about it, Maddox remained at his post for the watch, waiting for Hongjoong to pack up his supplies before reminding him of the hour and nudging him along to bed.

Hongjoong stuck out his tongue in defiance but obeyed gladly, energy finally spent.

He was a pirate in training now, bedtimes were of no consequence.

He’d regret it in the morning, but his temporary guardian Babylon would have mercy and let him sleep in until noon when dishes needed to be washed again.

It was around lunchtime that Hongjoong emerged from the hold, reporting for duty in the galley and catching up on the washing after a quick meal of his own.

Yesterday had given him the chance to quickly get the hang of where things were located, and some of his free time in the afternoon when Babylon was busy with surgeon duties was spent in the food pantry and storage areas taking stock of what ingredients had been brought along on a trip such as this.

When it was time to get back to work, Hongjoong was deemed a cooking hazard after Babylon witnessed his method of frying eggs and relegated to lesser tasks around the galley.

So he sat atop a barrel shucking oysters instead, listening to the man go on about the delicate art of cooking until he grew bored enough to get lost in his own daydreams.

“And you had better stitch up the holes in that shirt, you know,” Babylon was saying when Hongjoong finally tuned back in. “I’m not sure if Eden will allow you ashore with us when we reach Keunhae to buy another.”

“Oh...” Hongjoong sighed, glancing down at the fabric, peppered with small tears that grew bigger the more he moved. It was nice and warm in the galley thanks to the fireplace, but on deck it would only take a slight breeze to send him shivering. “I would if I knew how.”

“You haven’t tried sewing yet?” The cook tutted disapprovingly. “It’s an under-appreciated but very useful pirate skill. There’s always mending to be done, especially on the sails.”

Hongjoong smiled in embarrassment. “I’ve watched my aunts and cousins embroider cushions before. I take it this is not the same thing.”

“Not exactly, but I’m sure they use a variety of stitches that may be useful to you,” Babylon explained, taking the nearest basket of oysters to add to the stew. “Finish that last batch there and find me in the infirmary after supper. It’s as good a time as any to learn.”

As the sun began to set in a spectacular display of colours and the archipelago appeared on the horizon, Hongjoong watched carefully while the pirate mended his shirt and then practiced stitching some scrap by himself late into the night.

Just as Babylon predicted, Maddox dropped in before bed to inform Hongjoong he was to stay with the ship when they anchored, disguised as a generic merchant ship.

The quartermaster then hurried off to see to the docking process, muttering about having to pay the wharfing fee.

Hongjoong didn’t become jealous until the morning when there was much more to see through the little porthole window by his bunk; activity on the docks and a village market just beyond. A flock of geese flew south in formation.

With Eden and the rest of the officers gone, there was only Minseob left to bother from among his friends, so Hongjoong spent the day playing cards with him.

Babylon returned distracted, toting a new purchase with him to his office; a spellbook of the mystic arts.

Hongjoong could manage chores in the galley just fine without him, but when suppertime rolled around he poked his head in the infirmary to ask what he should do.

“Nothing for now, boy,” Babylon shot over his shoulder, still elbow deep in his new book but pushing it to the side and getting to his feet. “I’ll see to the meal, you can go up on deck until the bell.”

The Stardust was leaving port and he was quickly needed to help weigh anchor.

Babylon’s new studying material took up all his free time in the following days, and Hongjoong only saw him at mealtimes for awhile, performing his duties regularly otherwise.

Running from place to place to bring food and drinks to the officers was the best part of being cabin boy for giving Hongjoong the chance to find out what everyone was up to throughout the day. Sometimes it was rigging the sails, sometimes cleaning the cannons, sometimes plotting their course.

Everything Hongjoong had left to learn, he took upon himself to try.

It was one of those afternoons where he sat reading in his hammock while the old pirate beside him napped away his pesky winter fever when the wind changed.

The Stardust had turned east, prowling the shipping lanes for easy prey, and hadn’t yet gotten a bite, and now it seemed something in the air had changed.

In the hammock next to him, the deckhand sat up with a groan and a hacking cough and peered out the window before shaking his head. “A storm’s coming.”

Hongjoong’s stomach dropped and his hands seemed to freeze on hearing his. “Is it?” His voice was little more than a whisper, and the book in his grip became a lifeline. “Are you sure it’s not the aches and pains of your illness?”

“They don’t call me the Weathervane for nothing,” the old pirate muttered gruffly, leaving the room and going up on deck to ensure the captain knew what was headed for them.

At this time of year, surely it was just a bit of rain. Not a typhoon like the kind that blasted through these waters in late summer. Not one like the storm that killed his parents.

For all his bravery in setting out for the sea once more, Hongjoong hadn’t pushed his luck in a storm since that day. Not since he felt the boat crack underneath him and the crash of the waves swallow him whole.

Distantly he could hear the cries of men readying to face down the tempest and retreated further into his bed. They wouldn’t need him on deck, what could he possibly do to help in this paralysed state?

True to the Weathervane’s word, clouds were gathering and speeding toward them at a rapid pace when Hongjoong finally worked up the nerve to go to the porthole window and look. Already the rocking of the ship was harsher than the rhythm he had become accustomed to.

It didn’t take much longer for the crack of thunder to grow louder as wind battered the Stardust and washed torrents of seawater over the sides and down into the hold.

A group of crewmen hurried down with buckets to bail the pooling water, and when it began to gather around his ankles, Hongjoong jumped in to join them.

It was backbreaking work and more than once Hongjoong found himself knocked backwards by the force of a sudden wave, soaked in the rising bilge water and shaking from the cold.

Minseob’s boatswain whistle sounded from above, the tune that summoned the officers and, wondering what their strategy was for safely exiting the storm, Hongjoong paused and considered going up to join them.

Handing his pail to another crewman and peering up through the grating, he watched the heavy rain, flying sideways through the air, and pushed back his fear.

He could do this.

History would not repeat itself.

Shakily, he climbed to the main deck, noticing the officers dispersing from their quick meeting to various stations around the ship. It appeared that some of them were assigned to oversee the working of the pumps, some to continue in the bailing efforts, and others to secure the rigging which was half done.

Eden himself was at the wheel, carefully navigating a veritable minefield of treacherous high waves. Hongjoong moved to the side and held fast to the bulwark, cowering from the storm but carefully watching the captain’s movements.

A scream from above suddenly captured his attention, the snapping of a rope and then the sickening crack of bones as a pirate in the rigging lost his hold, missed his footing, slipped in the rain, and tumbled down to the main deck.

Hongjoong’s heart jumped into his throat at the sight of the man, dead on impact with his limbs splayed in a most unusual way from the force of the fall.

Fearful eyes traced heavenward at the place where he had been securing the sail, the fore upper topsail yard.

He left behind a corner of the buntline which let the sail flap in the wind, needing to be hauled taut. None of the older riggers were able to do it, not with a broken lift rope and the tapering edge too small for them to perch on.

Babylon was rushing to inspect the body, but Hongjoong found himself walking to the shrouds.

He glanced back at Eden for a moment before ascending them. The captain met his eyes and nodded him on.

He had conquered his fear, now he must conquer the sea.

Scampering up the shrouds, Hongjoong met Youngsaeng in the topsails and followed him to the treacherous beam. He had quickly surmised the boy’s purpose there without any verbal indications.

“Are you sure about this?” The master rigger asked, grasping the boy by the shoulder and levelling him with his eyes, dead serious. He didn’t want yet another sailor’s blood on his hands.

Hongjoong nodded wordlessly and began to move on his own. He could do it.

The feeling of the mast shuddering under his hands was so familiar, but he pushed away the memories and willed his limbs to move.

“Help me now,” he whispered into the sky, hoping his parents could hear him from somewhere.

In the battering of the wind, the yard was very unstable, but Hongjoong clung to it with what strength he had and shimmied and reached forward, peering through sheets of rain to see the lines in front of him.

He knew his running rigging by heart, and it took only a few swift motions to fully lash the sail before he could scramble back to safety. A flash of lightning close to the ship made him startle in panic, but he tangled his arms in the shrouds and steadily made his way back down with Youngsaeng’s thanks.

Being the oldest officer aboard, it was probably not the easiest job for the man to distribute his weight properly on the precarious end of one of the smallest yardarms, rope or no rope.

Eden was busy angling the prow to avoid being beaten down by the waves, but signalled Hongjoong up to the quarterdeck when he noticed his reappearance.

“Well done,” he told him simply, as if he wasn’t also straining to maintain the Stardust’s heading. “You are much more powerful than you know.”

Relieved to hear such praise, Hongjoong’s heartbeat returned to a much closer pace to normal and he bowed in acknowledgement before rejoining the work belowdecks.

Though the next hour was not comfortable by any means, the worst had passed, and Hongjoong was satisfied when at last he could empty his bucket for good and curl up in bed with a warm blanket.

By night, the storm had abated to milder rainfall. The next morning, the Stardust entered a fog bank and continued east for the trade winds.

Hongjoong found himself feverish the next morning with a throat so sore he could barely speak and unable to rise to report for work. Embarrassed when Babylon himself came down to the berth to rouse him, he tried to climb up to the galley, but his head pounded and his vision spun.

Seeing the symptoms, Babylon brought the boy instead to the infirmary for a tonic to soothe the illness, one he’d been treating all week as it spread around the lower decks.

“Here’s an ointment for the cough, rub it on your back and chest and sleep here with your head propped up,” he instructed matter-of-factly, offering a blanket and a small bowl of the ointment.

“But hyung, what about the washing?” Hongjoong protested, not very strong of a protestation from him due to his present inability to stand from the bed Babylon was ushering him into.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be taken care of,” the surgeon reassured him, tucking in the blankets himself. “Your only orders for the rest of the week are to recover. I’ll inform the captain.”

Hongjoong meant to quip about what a great deal of power Babylon must have to be able to tell Eden what the orders would be, but began dozing off into a dreamless sleep before the thought fully formed.

He was awoken by the startling bang of a cannon and jumped into a sitting position, his headache hammering into his skull with every pulse beat. In order to find out what was going on, he crept to the main deck, blanket slung around his shoulders, and watched.

It was the man who had fallen from the mast during the storm, with his canvas hammock sewn into a shroud around him, the final stitch poking through his nose as was tradition, being sent to sea with a salute of the guns.

What possessions he must have brought aboard with him went also to the depths, aside from some valuables divided amongst his friends. Hongjoong hadn’t known the man— could only remember seeing him twice really—but it was a somber affair regardless and it spoke volumes to him that these pirates of all people had done what they could to give a stranger in their service the proper respect as he departed this world.

Silently returning to the infirmary, he took the tonic left there for him, struggled to keep it down, and settled in to sleep again when another patient shot him a dirty look. His thoughts kept him up for awhile, swirling around the fallen pirate’s sudden demise, Eden’s respect for the dead, Mingi fishing back in Panhang, and his parents as they’d gone to a watery grave in their final moments.

His dreams returned him to that fateful day, a little over four years ago now, when storm clouds had gathered and the fierce waves which rocked their boat had done so much more damage than they had to the Stardust.

It had stormed in his path yet again even after that night, as if the ocean kept coming back for him. And it kept failing.

In the days that followed, when Hongjoong was well enough to return to his own hammock, he sometimes wondered what was happening back at Jangwon. Was Yubin growing up well? What were his aunts up to today? Had anything interesting happened to his cousins?

They’d all collapse from the shock if they knew what he was doing now.

It was almost midwinter and the Stardust was presently bearing down upon a supply ship, overtaking it with ease and preparing to finally see some action.

Hongjoong geared up with his new weapons and stood by the rail, scaling a rope to see what was happening on the deck of the other ship over the heads of fellow crewmen in his way.

Again, Maddox was the bearer of bad news with orders from Eden that Hongjoong hang back and only cross to the ship when it was secure to help with loading.

But pirates were made for breaking rules, so he hung back until he saw fit to cross the boards to the supply ship, disarming three men himself (all of whom were immobilised by the shock of his apparent age more than anything) before it was officially taken, very proud despite Eden’s muted irritation.

The captain saved his apprentice the inevitable earful about how interacting with anyone outside the Stardust risked unmasking his identity and jeopardised his secrecy from Jangwon and instead fixed him with a warning glare before seeing to the transfer of pilfered goods.

Hongjoong didn’t really care if it meant he had his share of the fun.

The other officers didn’t quite understand the complicated dynamics of his life in the Hall or what being recognised by a civilian trade ship worker could do to him and so predictably were impressed and offered hearty congratulations on his first raid.

Well after the sun had gone down, Hongjoong was knocking on the door to the captain’s cabin and making his way inside with a request. As mere cabin boy, he shouldn't have such easy access to the area but the officers always let him in anyway.

He liked spending time in there, admiring the decor and the organisation and wondering how it might be improved or better suited to his own style.

Maybe some more colour in the windows or better ceiling storage.

Eden was hard at work apparently drawing on one of his maps, marked with his unmistakable bird symbol in the corner.

“What are you writing?” Hongjoong queried, peeking over his hyung’s shoulder.

Eden didn’t budge and didn’t offer any information.

“Nothing.”

And truly despite his pen strokes, the page appeared to be empty. Perhaps something was there in invisible ink. Hongjoong didn’t stop to dwell on it and shot back a quip, “Ah, I see. Very clever.”

He lingered until Eden sighed and looked up, indulging the boy who so clearly required his attention.

“What is it you want?”

“Join us!” Hongjoong proposed with a cheeky smile. “The officers are breaking out the rum in celebration.”

Scoffing, the captain raised an eyebrow at him, asking, “And when did you become an officer?”

“They invited me!” Hongjoong protested, pulling at his hand to get him up from the desk. “Take it up with them.”

Eden found himself dumbfounded again at the boy’s outstanding ability to charm his way into any relationship.

It seemed his men had gone just as soft as he.

“Very well,” he replied, pulling his hand back but giving in knowingly. If Hongjoong and the officers wished it, he had no choice but to make an appearance. "I'll come down when I've finished this."

Hongjoong was learning some of the more obscure sea shanties from Minseob when Eden finally showed his face in the wardroom.

They sang the raucous tunes together rowdily over the first few rounds of drinks and cards and soon Hongjoong had a plethora of melodies filed away in his memory.

He hadn’t sung like this in a long time, loud and carefree with a chorus of men around him. It was fascinating to hear the pirates’ voices, used in the daytime to keep the rhythm of their work alive but now lifting up in simple amusement.

Eden’s tone was softer than expected, and Maddox could reach the highest notes of anyone at the table, but not without prompting a match to see if anyone could beat him.

When the others piled on to tease Youngsaeng for announcing that he was heading out to read, Hongjoong took the opportunity to ask Eden a personal question.

“Hyung, I’ve been wondering about something.”

Eden blinked at him, curious and slightly wary, but said, “Go on.”

“When the Navy caught you and tortured you…” Hongjoong trailed off, biting his lip and wondering belatedly if it was too sensitive a topic before going on, “How could you stand it?”

The pirate downed another drink before answering the question.

“Torture is about control.”

He leaned forward and clasped his hands, explaining the situation as if giving a warning. “The enemy wants to take it from you, but if you refuse to allow them to break your will, you can emerge, scarred, but with the satisfaction that you’ve drowned their plans in silence.”

Hongjoong swallowed and traced the grain of the table with his eyes. He couldn’t easily imagine such a state.

“It must be difficult to endure,” he muttered.

“Until you learn how to distance yourself from your own pain…” Eden trailed off and then drew a long breath, as if giving bad news. “It is.”

Hongjoong tucked the information away for later, hoping he wouldn’t need it. It sounded like a technique best mastered through practice.

“It doesn’t always need to come to torture, though,” the pirate followed up quickly, an attempt at reassurance. “If you’re dealing with multiple officers, there may be another way out. Learn what you can about them, which you can piss off, which you can flatter, which you can bribe, and which you can threaten. In every situation, do what you can to know your enemy.”

Thinking it over for a moment, Hongjoong considered a different approach.

“What about those which you can recruit to your cause?”

Eden cracked a small smile and shook his head knowingly. It was a highly optimistic proposal from the young apprentice, but he couldn’t dismiss it entirely.

“If it is possible to infiltrate Navy power structures to that extent, I haven’t discovered how to do it,” the captain admitted. “Aside from Minseob I guess, which wasn’t entirely my doing.”

Hearing his name, the boatswain clinked glasses with his captain in salute and the rest of the officers ceased their side conversation to join in.

Sailing Master Jihan leaned over from next to Hongjoong and made a sarcastic aside in his direction. “Must be why he’s the only former naval officer aboard. Captain never makes the same mistake twice.”

Aside from Minseob who rolled his eyes in annoyance, the other officers broke out into a slightly drunken laughter.

Master Gunner Soomin piped up from his end with a remark, “I think our Dread Pirate Eden simply hasn’t been able to relax and relate to the more amenable lower ranked soldiers much yet.”

“One of his many regrets,” Babylon hummed in agreement.

“Forgive me if I only want the finest crewing the best pirate ship the world has ever seen!” Eden scoffed, punctuating his exclamation with a swig of rum.

“You and Admiral Kim, goodness,” Maddox tutted in fond amazement. “Two big egos, head to head.”

Head still pointed down in his drink, Eden balked at the mention of the Admiral, eager to draw a distinction between them. “He’s out for money and fame.”

Interested in the topic of the infamous enemy of pirates, Hongjoong caught his mentor’s attention and dug for more. “So, what, he’s jealous? Because you have both? Why doesn’t he just go dig for buried treasure instead?”

“Oh, maybe because he’s barking mad?” Jihan crowed with a jeering laugh that set off the whole table again.

Eden folded his arms and dignified his apprentice with a serious response. “Despite what you may have heard, we don’t typically bury our treasure. Not on purpose anyway.”

The smile fell from Hongjoong’s face. Where was the fun in that?

“Why save your gold for another day when your life could be over tomorrow?” Eden continued, a perfectly good explanation, before hesitating and downing another drink. “Typically.”

Stars lit up in Hongjoong’s eyes at the implication and he lowered his voice to a near whisper to ask, “Typically as in… you’re the exception?”

Eden sighed and rolled his head back to rest on the chair he sat in, eyes snapped shut in defeat. Hongjoong always managed to wrangle the truth out of him somehow.

“Well, it may yet prove to be lucrative in my case, given the Navy’s pursuit, to keep a hidden stash somewhere for myself and any successors,” he carefully divulged. “That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

By now enough strong drink had been consumed to lower inhibitions and Jihan’s volume was a bit too loud for comfort when he butted in once more asking, “Yonghwan-hyung is it me? Am I the successor—?”

Minseob quickly shot him a glare and a brief scolding for addressing Eden too informally.

“That’s ‘Captain’ to you, Jihan.”

“You let Hongjoong say his name all the time!” The navigator complained just as loudly but sat back in his own chair, yielding.

And it was true, Minseob had been especially lenient on their newest recruit which was entirely out of character.

“Perhaps I trust him more not to go blabbing about it,” the boatswain said with a shrug. “At the very least a codename would be prudent.”

“Oh, please,” Jihan whined, dismissing the idea. “I’m not calling him the Dread Pirate Eden while drinking in the wardroom. You go too far, dear boatswain.”

Hongjoong frowned at this and turned to him in confusion.

“Is that the purpose of a codename?” He asked, slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t known. Like many things the pirates did, he assumed it was just for flair. “I had always thought I’d prefer using my own.”

“Oh, you don’t really have a choice in the matter,” Jihan chuckled. “Pirates attract nicknames. If any old salt has heard of you, you can be sure he’s already nicknamed you. Sailors love to tell stories.”

“Just hope you don’t get something stupid attached to your persona for the rest of your life,” Maddox advised from his side of the table. “Reputation is everything for a pirate.”

“I liked Captain Seongho’s,” Jonghoon interjected brightly, quickly defending his choice when mention of the old disgraced Seongho proved unpopular. “‘The Shark’ is very fitting, his ship was even called the Hammerhead.”

Maddox turned to their captain and sized him up, considering his nickname. “The Dread Pirate is… well, could be worse.”

“Could be better,” Eden mumbled. It was a typical night for him, beset by his joking officers.

The revelry continued until most of the officers had retired for bed and Babylon collected the dishes, leaving them in the galley for tomorrow’s washing.

Before the captain and quartermaster could turn in, however, Hongjoong approached them with a humble request.

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask, a—” He interrupted himself with a dry cough, the last remnant of his earlier bout of sickness. “A favour.”

And that was how he ended up in the captain's cabin with his ears pierced several times over.

Maddox chuckled as he put away the needle he had used, impressed with Hongjoong’s insistence that it didn’t hurt.

“Now we’ve got to give it enough time to heal before we go to Panhang,” Eden pointed out from the seat at his desk. “Or else your guardians could notice it.”

“Unlikely,” Hongjoong responded, a bitter twinge to his voice even while he busied himself with inspecting his new jewellery in the handheld mirror Maddox had offered him. “I keep telling you, they don’t pay that much attention to me.”

“Regardless, it will be safest to lay low for a while after you get back,” the captain insisted with a tone of finality in his voice, barely glancing up from his maps.

Hongjoong’s mood darkened at the mention of the return journey. He didn’t want to think about that just yet.

“Let me live it up here first,” he argued, a tad petulant. It had always worked on the captain before. “That’s the point of my being here, isn’t it?”

Eden’s distracted grunt from the desk as he poured himself another drink from his private stores was answer enough, and Hongjoong grinned at Maddox in triumph.

It was his chance to experience pirate life, after all.

And as he looked at himself in the mirror, he realised he was beginning to look the part. Aside from the piercings, his hair was tousled and growing past his ears, a far cry from the polished appearance he was expected to have at Jangwon. Freckles sprinkled ruddy cheeks, a sign of all his time in the sun lately, and the mischievous smile he was sporting much better suited him than the bleak expression he was used to wearing at the Hall.

The colonies would be his new playground.

Hongjoong was sitting on the main deck with Minseob and Babylon, helping to repair some equipment, when Coral Harbour came into view. The Stardust had opted to bypass Kibo after receiving a tip that a number of navy ships were gathered there. It seemed they wouldn’t be the only pirates undercover for the midwinter festivities.

The lucky seamen without wanted posters of their faces plastered all over the island were permitted to go and celebrate for the night while they were anchored. It would take a bit more disguising for the officers, however, a fact which Babylon seemed to have forgotten as he got to his feet and turned to climb down to the docks.

“I’ll go and secure lodging,” he offered an explanation and climbed over the rail, stopped by Minseob’s panicked shout.

“They’ll recognise you instantly! Send one of the deckhands to do it instead.”

“No they won’t,” rebutted Babylon with a sly smile. Before their eyes, his form began to change into that of another man. His face was becoming warped and aged, and his height changed, shrinking down as if he had hunched his back. Even the clothing he wore was now grey in colour where it had been blue before.

Hongjoong’s jaw dropped and he and Minseob both went speechless.

This was magic of some kind happening right in front of him. Hongjoong had always presumed it to be possible but never so clear, happening plain as day and so fast you could blink and miss it.

If only Mingi could see this now, then all his superstitions would be confirmed.

“Very handy, isn’t it?” Babylon chuckled through this stranger’s face. Even his voice was different, much more than a mere added gruffness.

Hongjoong approached cautiously and reached out a hand to touch him. This was no illusion, it was like another man in the flesh. “Where did you learn it?”

“The spellbook from that village on Keunhae,” Babylon admitted, conjuring a hat for his head and adjusting it to fit properly. “There are a great deal many useful ideas in there. Not just on changing form but other kinds of magic. I’m working on making things disappear. Image how useful that could be! I mean, even the implications of this medically are astounding…”

“Well, carry on then,” Minseob laughed, amazed. “I didn’t know the gift of sorcery could be… developed… like this. We’ll have to consult the Mystic when we travel southwest from here.”

Hongjoong watched Babylon go with excitement, feeling as if an entirely new world was just unlocked for him.

“Did you know about this?” Minseob asked the cabin boy, a glint of delight in his own eye as well.

“No!” Hongjoong laughed, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “But I guess it makes sense now why he’s been so busy recently.”

And the new sorcerer’s work had paid off, for no one was the wiser when he purchased the officers a hallway full of rooms at the nearest inn to the docks and ushered them in under the innkeeper’s nose.

So dedicated was he that, when the others went out to see fireworks set off and dancers and acrobats in the square, Babylon stayed behind to study some more.

Hongjoong watched the festival show with a giddiness he hadn’t felt since he was a little boy. It felt like he was seeing the world for the first time in every new trick and trinket.

He spent a chunk of the money he’d saved up in the marketplace, trying a variety of street foods and buying some silver jewellery for his newly pierced ears. The atmosphere was a bit more chaotic than Panhang, but it had this vibrant quality to it that intrigued him. It was a colony of Jaecho, not at all autonomous but distant from mainland society and structure. Perhaps the further east you travelled, the more lawless and independent the islands became.

If they were all this colourful and animated, he’d gladly explore every one of them.

The festivities lasted late into the night, and by the time the men returned to their lodging, Hongjoong was fully prepared to sleep away his exhaustion.

In the morning, only boring work remained, like restocking the ship and careening the Stardust for repairs. Barnacles must be shed and leaks must be caulked to ensure she could travel at her swiftest, lest those navy ships lurking near Kibo catch up with them on their way to plot out the uncharted islands in the south.

The Mystic’s Island was supposedly located almost halfway between the colonies and the mainland, back the way they had come but southward, approximate in latitude to the Tae peninsula. Due to the large stretches of open ocean around it, and its measurable distance from trade routes, the area was relatively unexplored, hence Eden’s mission to explore the nearby uninhabited islands.

Despite their efforts, the way was blocked barely a few hours after they set out again by the Seabear, a navy ship directly in their path.

“I can handle this,” Babylon quickly offered when the sighting was called. “I’ll disguise myself as a whaling ship captain and you officers can wait below.”

Thinking quickly, Eden agreed to this plan and ordered for the colours to be changed. They had a number of fake flags to fly.

Hongjoong watched out of the corner of his eye while he brought down the flag as instructed and replaced it with a neutral one. The Seabear hadn’t seen them yet, but the closer they drifted, the more likely they would be noticed.

Babylon had altered his appearance yet again, this time to another strange face Hongjoong had never seen. He wondered if Babylon invented these alter egos entirely or if they were based on someone’s likeness.

Remaining nondescript and in the background, he observed Babylon at the helm taking on another character entirely, down to his manner of gesturing. When the Seabear drew close enough for conversation, he spoke with the navy officers for a few moments and then they were again on their way, two ships passing each other.

Despite how easily they had made it through, there was a dark cloud over the sorcerer when he returned to his regular form and work in the galley.

“That was excellent,” Hongjoong complimented from the table where he chopped vegetables, excited after such a risky encounter. It was just the sort of scheme that made pirate life rewarding. “The Stardust can get away with anything with you on board. How did you learn the ability so quickly?”

Ignoring the question, Babylon put his frustration into seasoning the meat, pounding spices into it and mumbling, “Could get away with more if we finished the job.”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong asked, confused. It had gone off without a hitch, it was the perfect escape.

“We should’ve killed them,” Babylon turned and stared at the boy like it was obvious. “They’re just in our way.”

“I-I didn’t think that was the way of things,” Hongjoong stuttered and his hands stilled. Sure, they were pirates but they didn’t pick fights and murder excessively. “We intimidate and take hostages, taking lives is a last resort—”

“And that’s why we keep running into them,” Babylon cut him off, stone cold. It was tensely quiet for a moment before he continued his cooking. “Because we refuse to eliminate our enemies.”

Hongjoong considered the possibility late into the night. He supposed with Babylon’s new skills the Stardust could go on the offensive and strike anyone who might strike them first. But what would that entail?

Combat with trained soldiers, not unsuspecting merchants.

And, as confident as he was growing, Hongjoong wasn’t ready for that level of fighting yet.

He approached Jonghoon the next day to get in some target practice, and the Master-At-Arms easily obliged. Eden had only been able to oversee Hongjoong’s training personally once or twice since beginning their voyage, and they all knew it would be good for the boy to work with the other officers as well.

Long range shooting wasn’t the easiest for Hongjoong, but the encounter with the Seabear had made him restless and so he took the time required to improve his precision and timing.

Jonghoon helped him with little adjustments here and there until he was consistently accurate.

Some mornings, the pirates who shared quarters with him would take their breakfast on the main deck to watch him shoot a row of bottles off the quarterdeck railing from the other side of the ship.

“Good,” Jonghoon coached him. “Now relo—”

He was interrupted by the bang of the pistol going off again as Hongjoong pulled out his second gun and began firing, no reloading necessary.

The final bottle shattered and Babylon laughed from his place on the starboard side, “I think he was paying attention on his first day.”

The squawk of a great frigatebird lighting on the yard above Hongjoong’s head distracted him from readying a teasing retort, and all of a sudden the pirates were cheering him on to shoot the thing down.

Without hesitating for more than a second, he took his aim. The large bird was just perched there on the mast momentarily, not paying any attention to the people down below.

“Go on!” Babylon hissed through his teeth, just in case it spooked and flew off.

Before it knew what hit it, the frigatebird was blasted out of the sky and fell to the deck. Hongjoong remained still, tensed with his gun trained where the bird had been a moment earlier.

He’d shot it down.

The spectating pirates clapped courteously and went back to their business, aside from Babylon who approached with a satisfied smile.

“They’re a lot like us,” he pointed out when he had the large bird by the scruff of its neck, ensuring that it was dead.

“How do you mean?” Hongjoong asked quietly, holstering his pistol. “I thought frigatebirds couldn’t swim.”

“They can’t,” Babylon agreed. “They’re like us because they’re thieves. They steal food from other birds you know.”

Finally Hongjoong exhaled and cracked a small smile at the surgeon’s humour. It was a bit unsettling to watch the bird die by his own hand.

“First kill?” Babylon asked him knowingly.

He nodded. “With the gun anyway. Fish and shellfish aren’t quite the same as shooting a frigatebird out of the sky. Do you think we can eat it? I’d hate to have killed it for no reason.”

Perhaps in Babylon’s eyes it was a little boy’s innocent affection for the bird talking, but especially from a pirate’s perspective Hongjoong knew the creatures of the sea were travellers there just like them. As meaningful a death as he could afford the bird was the proper way of things.

“It’s a clean wound, I don’t see why not,” came the response, and soon enough Babylon was bringing the bird down to the galley. “I’m sure it tastes just like chicken.”

Jonghoon patted the boy on the back as he turned to collect the broken bottles. “Your speed is excellent,” he complimented over his shoulder.

Pirate life, Hongjoong had discovered, required two important things; deception and speed. The deception was easy to understand, but there were many uses for speed aboard a pirate vessel. Sailing fast, quick thinking, the ability to jump into action with very little information— the list ran on and on.

The Stardust herself was a vessel of speed, known for travelling up to 12 knots in record time and routinely chasing down hulking merchant ships and leaving attackers in the dust.

But there was nothing to be done about attackers on the inside.

Halfway to the nearest island, a pirate disappeared.

Just a few minutes after a sailor reported his bunkmate missing, the Weathervane reported a strange stain of blood on the forecastle where someone appeared to have been standing.

The pirates in the berth were buzzing about the news though the officers remained tight-lipped about their investigation.

It seemed most likely that the missing pirate had jumped overboard, but the theory didn’t explain the bloodstain.

Being cabin boy, Hongjoong had more proximity to the officers than the average sailor, so he did his best to find out any new information while washing the dishes for the day. Babylon had scolded him once before for using too much of their limited water supply, so he was careful to finish quickly but took his time mustering the nerve to ask his question.

“What did you make of the bloodstain, hyung?”

If anyone was sure to have a professional opinion on it, it was the surgeon Babylon. He’d inspected the stain immediately after it was discovered but not deigned to announce his findings.

“Oh, terrible thing, that,” he tutted over his reading. Buried in the spellbook again. “But it could just have easily have been an accident.”

Hongjoong took in a breath to raise his objections, but Babylon suddenly fixed him with a gaze, intense but unreadable.

“Accidents are common at sea. You should know.”

Hongjoong’s mouth snapped shut. The pirate’s comment had hit just too close to home.

“What do you mean by that?” He gritted out, trying not to give himself away by his heavy breathing. A nerve had just been struck and the pirate had no right to be talking about this.

Sighing in annoyance, Babylon clasped his hands. “Very well, I’ll spell it out.”

He enunciated every word in a patronising tone, like Hongjoong should be grateful he was dumbing it down for him. “If he died due to his own stupidity, it’s no one’s fault but his own. Yes, it’s regrettable but that’s what the ocean does. Your parents were no exception.”

Immediately Hongjoong’s eyes filled with tears. What a callous thing to say, even from a pirate.

“What, so it’s normal to just tumble overboard with no explanation?” Hongjoong choked out, anger building inside. “You’re saying he deserved to drown?”

“Not everyone is cut out for it,” Babylon sneered, hardly bothered by the growing tension. “You respect the natural forces of this world or you die. So don’t waste your time being scared.”

Fists clenched until bloody crescent moons broke the skin.

“And if you’re going to cry, do it somewhere else,” Babylon waved a hand dismissively. “I haven’t the patience.”

Hongjoong was already gone, storming outside and climbing up into the sails, finally perching on the very same yard he had carefully traversed during the storm. A fall from that height would kill him, he knew, but he didn’t care at the moment. He just needed somewhere to be alone, somewhere the wind could dry the tears on his face before they were seen.

Here he had thought that after four years of feeling so alone, he had found a home.

But there it was; the tragedy that had ruined his life being used to define him, as a victim. Suddenly he didn’t belong.

How did Babylon even know about his parents? Hongjoong wondered about it as he angrily scrubbed his face. Could Eden have told him? Had it come out over a night like the one they’d had on the way to the colonies, with the officers drunk and carefree? Had everyone laughed? Had they joked about Hongjoong’s fear of the sea?

Babylon’s words seemed like a thinly veiled threat. That the ocean would not hesitate to take the weakest of those who set out on it. The missing pirate, his parents… even Hongjoong.

But he was no weakling, he was a pirate now. He wasn’t afraid of the ocean, he didn’t need to run away, and he wouldn’t cry in front of the men.

Babylon had been so kind and patient before. He’d nursed him back to health himself. He knew firsthand how Hongjoong had grown tougher. Closing his eyes and sighing, he wondered if he really was being too sensitive.

Few things annoyed him like that condescending tone of voice. Hongjoong hated being spoken to like a child.

He wasn’t one anymore. He hadn’t been for years now.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to trust the pirates. What a ridiculous notion, that he could trust thieves and killers. And yet he still wished to be part of their world, their community. To throw away the rules and go with the tides. The Stardust was where he came to chase his dreams.

Looking out at the boundless blue before him, Hongjoong wondered if this had been the frigatebird’s last view, in the seconds before he had shot it down.

It was dangerous but it was also peaceful. An untouchable refuge close to the clouds. From here, he could float away wherever he wished, an escape on the wind.

Still, he couldn’t hide up there forever and as much as he wanted to stay upset when he reappeared for suppertime, Babylon’s changed demeanour calmed him down considerably.

He looked apologetic as he placed a dinner plate in front of Hongjoong for his meal. The portion was a bit bigger than usual.

“Look, I’m sorry I upset you,” the pirate sighed, sitting across from him with his own untouched plate. He’d waited for the cabin boy to come back before starting. “But if you want to live out here—”

“I’ve gotten over it,” Hongjoong interrupted, avoiding eye contact and eating his food with renewed purpose. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”

After a moment of silence, Babylon nodded and began to eat, clearly still lost in thought. “Eden will be tightening his leash on you I suspect. But if he’s trained you well enough… well, you’ll have nothing to fear from falling overboard like that man.”

If that was really what had happened to him.

And as it turned out, three days later, that theory was beginning to look very unlikely. Another pirate went missing. Another stain of blood appeared.

Only this one was splattered over much wider a distance.

“It must have happened in the night,” the Weathervane whispered from his hammock while Hongjoong lay awake listening, unsettled. “Can’t have been an accident or a suicide. It looks like a struggle took place, like the body was dragged up to the forecastle.”

“But who would do such a thing?” Another pirate asked, fear seeping into his voice.

No one could answer.

Candlelit nights of stories, games, and laughter among the men became silent and tense, each one wondering if he would be next. Every time the Stardust creaked, it felt like the sound of a prowling killer.

More murders followed, each with the same evidence but a seemingly random victim, and the investigation quietly continued. Rules were instituted about where and when the pirates could go and a curfew confined them to their berth by dark. The officers rotated the night watches by themselves.

Babylon continued to be irritable, and to work late nights in the infirmary by the light of a single candle. He must’ve been lashing out from the stress of the murder case, Hongjoong reasoned. The surgeon had never looked this busy before, with pages from his books littering the room and shelves stacked with jars of blood he kept for some sort of experiment.

They were one day out from the nearest potential landfall when Hongjoong discovered the truth. It was late afternoon and he was supposed to stay belowdecks while he wasn’t needed in the galley, but he was bored and needed Babylon’s help sewing up a hole in his wool sock.

In accordance with the new regulations, he had to report his whereabouts, so he went up to the main deck first where Maddox was on watch and announced his intentions to find Babylon in the infirmary.

“You want to leave your berth? Not to scare you, Hongjoong, but a killer is at large,” Maddox reminded him sombrely.

“I’m not scared,” Hongjoong defended himself quickly, hoping he sounded more convinced than he felt.

The quartermaster sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “If something were to happen to you—”

Hongjoong jumped in to reassure him, “I can handle myself, hyung. Eden taught me for a reason.”

Maddox shook his head and smiled fondly. The boy just didn’t understand.

“Yonghwan doesn’t take apprentices, he doesn’t train pirates. He’s rarely so open, even with his inner circle,” he explained, placing a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “But you… you’re special, Hongjoong. You changed everything. So don’t do anything rash, please, he’d lose his mind if you got hurt.”

Removing Maddox’s hand and giving it a confident pat, Hongjoong carried on with his business. “I’m flattered, really, but I’ll be fine. It won’t even be long, I’m just asking a question.”

“Straight back to your hammock when you’re done, no detours!” Maddox commanded him, clearly still nervous. The Stardust was bigger than she looked from the outside, and there were plenty of hallways to be trapped in with an unidentified murderer.

The infirmary was dark and quiet when he entered, with a strangely metallic scent that smelled faint, like something had been burning but was now extinguished.

Babylon was at his desk as usual, whispering foreign words to himself that lilted like an incantation. He didn’t look up as Hongjoong entered, so he approached and spoke up to catch his attention.

“I was hoping you could help me with my stockings—”

“Run along,” Babylon cut him off distractedly, glancing at the cabin boy and the socks dangling from his hands before returning to his reading. “I have work to do, ask someone else to babysit you.”

Gritting his teeth, Hongjoong put aside his indignation to bargain with the pirate. “It’s just this one section, hyung. I’ll try to do it myself but if I could show you when I’m done, maybe you can correct it?”

Babylon didn’t answer, but Hongjoong wouldn’t give up that easily, so he took up a seat on an empty examination table and threaded his needle, getting to work on the difficult corner he was stitching.

Irritated after a few minutes that the seam didn’t look right, Hongjoong huffed and sat back, flinching when he pricked himself with the needle by accident.

Sighing at his own clumsiness, he watched the dot of blood begin to collect on the end of his finger.

Babylon was suddenly out of his seat and catching his arm before he could wipe it away. “Don’t,” he said simply, cradling Hongjoong’s finger and watching the blood begin to stain the grooves of his skin red.

Babylon appeared almost fascinated by it.

“Something wrong?” Hongjoong smirked, amused at the surgeon’s weird behaviour, until Babylon neglected a response and turned to rummage around in his supplies.

“What are you doing?” He asked him, the smile dropping from his face. The pirate was looking at a set of knives now and stopped moving to stare at him intently, still entranced.

He looked like he was weighing unknown options in his head, engrossed in some secret Hongjoong didn’t know about.

Uneasiness spread in the pit of his stomach and he rose from the table, slowly moving toward the door. Something was seriously wrong here.

“A necessary evil,” Babylon finally answered, resigned to whatever the voices in his head had told him to do.

Just as Hongjoong tried to make a break for it, he found himself pinned to the wall by the tall sorcerer with lightning speed, both of his hands wrapped around his throat.

Unable even to gasp at the shock of it while his air supply was slowly being cut off, Hongjoong made a number of failed attempts at squirming away, tears building in his eyes as he tried to understand what was happening.

His eyes landed on something on the shelf above the desk, and he realised what had been right in front of him the whole time.

The jars of blood.

It was Babylon.

He intended to bleed him to death and then throw his body overboard to erase the evidence. He was never investigating the murders, it was him all along.

The blood stains all made sense now. He had ambushed his unsuspecting victims, collected their blood, and disposed of them like they were less than human.

“Why?” Hongjoong croaked out through his raw throat. The pressure just kept increasing and suddenly he was fighting for his life, kicking uselessly with his legs while Babylon laughed an empty chuckle and shook his head.

“You couldn’t possibly understand.”

The moment he removed a hand and turned to grab a knife from the set, when his attention was split between his captive and the weapon, Hongjoong ran for it. Pushing Babylon’s arm away, he sprinted through the room and out the door, opening his mouth to scream for help.

Arms were quickly there tackling him to the floor, knocking the wind out of him and restraining his movements.

Footsteps sounded from down the hallway and Hongjoong struggled harder. Someone was coming, someone who could save him.

A kick to the face stopped him from trying to call out again and bought Babylon enough time to open the hatch above and stick his head out.

His only escape was up.

“Maddox!” He called to the quartermaster on duty. “Let me take the watch, I’ve been neglecting mine.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened and he fought tooth and nail to pry Babylon’s hand from his mouth. Maddox was right there, if only he could get his attention before Babylon sent him away.

“Are you sure?” Maddox called back, completely unaware of the situation just out of view. Hongjoong was trapped right below his eye level, in the corridor. And Babylon’s grip on him was iron.

“Yes, of course,” he suavely reassured the quartermaster, without a hint in his voice of the effort he was expending to conceal his prisoner. “Sorry I���ve been cooped up in the infirmary lately.”

Without argument, Maddox left the deck for the wardroom, and the moment he was gone, Babylon hauled Hongjoong up to the forecastle.

But he needed both hands to drag the boy behind him, finally leaving his mouth uncovered. As he pulled the boy up the steps toward the bowsprit, Hongjoong took his only chance.

“Help!” He yelled hoarsely, praying his voice would reach the other side of the ship where Maddox had been moments earlier. He had to hear, he had to do something or that was it. Retribution would be swift and Hongjoong would be dead.

Dead on a pirate ship without a proper goodbye to anyone.

Mingi would be shattered.

The scream didn’t travel far before Babylon intervened. Receiving a slap to the face for his disobedience, Hongjoong didn’t hear the steps approaching until Maddox’s shout startled him.

“What’s going on here?” He demanded, making his way down from the quarterdeck to investigate.

He had never heard the man so angry.

“Maddox—” Hongjoong cried in relief, trying to crawl back across the ship, but the knife was at his neck in an instant.

It was obvious now who the enemy was. There was no hiding it. Babylon didn’t contrive any excuse, he didn’t change form into the appearance of someone else, he didn’t speak at all. He was caught red handed and there was no explanation good enough for such a betrayal.

The quartermaster shook with rage, unable to come to Hongjoong’s defence.

“Please…” the boy whispered, trembling now as Babylon pulled him up and backed the two of them all the way to the rail. He could slice his throat and spill all the blood he wanted in an instant.

“Captain!” Maddox called sharply, and Eden was outside on the quarterdeck in an instant, followed by the officers who had been with him in his quarters, Jihan and Youngsaeng, who hurried to gather the others when it became clear what was going on.

“Babylon, whatever you’re thinking,” Eden warned darkly, a hand on his holster. He looked straight at the surgeon after a cursory glance at Hongjoong. “Don’t try it.”

“Come any closer and I’ll kill him. It won’t take much,” Babylon delivered the last line haughtily, lifting Hongjoong by the collar of his shirt and shaking him before repositioning the dagger at his throat.

“We can talk about this, Jongmin,” the captain insisted. “Put down the knife.”

He sounded so earnest, so pained to be facing down his own officer. Clearly he thought he could diffuse the situation still, and his eyes pleaded with Babylon to stand down.

“You think I’m bluffing, Captain?” He spat, digging the knife in just above Hongjoong’s collarbone where it began to collect blood. He tried not to whimper but fear had clouded his senses. Distantly, he heard the footsteps of officers climbing up to the main deck. Soomin’s voice gasped from somewhere.

No one could come closer while the knife touched him, slicing a little deeper the more he shook.

Eden whipped out a pistol and trained it on his former friend. “This isn’t you,” he gritted out, fuming.

“You don’t know me!” Babylon roared back, and his voice was loud in Hongjoong’s ears. He screwed his eyes shut and focused on his own shallow breaths. Blood was leaking down in a single stream and soaking his clothes, warm against his icy skin.

“I have a higher purpose now,” Babylon was saying. “And if you stand in my way, you’ll be the first to regret it.”

Eden pursed his lips and flicked off the safety on his gun. His arm continued to hover there, frozen with the inability to finish the job.

Babylon adjusted his grip on the dagger, sticky blood making it harder to grasp, but didn’t move again.

They were at a standstill.

So Hongjoong swung.

Finally he had managed to throw a punch of his own, landing the blow on the side of Babylon’s temple and knocking him back just the right distance to create enough room between his neck and the knife.

There was only one place to go. The very place Babylon had tried to send him.

Overboard.

Before Babylon could recover him, Hongjoong leaned back and somersaulted off the railing, kicking away from the ship and trying to position his feet downwards before he hit the water.

The ocean swallowed him whole without question, and he didn’t fight it at first while he sunk from the momentum of his fall.

Bubbles were foaming up from where he had entered the water, and when finally he could kick his legs and paddle up, they parted so he could meet the surface.

Gasping for air, Hongjoong propelled himself back toward the Stardust, towering above him and moving on at a steady pace.

With a grunt of effort, he followed after, feeling the resistance in the water as the ship’s wake washed him back.

He was being pushed away faster than he could recover his ground, and frustrated sobs punctuated his strokes while he fought back.

It wasn’t working, he was falling behind.

The salty water stung at his neck, but he ignored the pain and swam forward with all the energy he had left, looking up when a shout from the deck drifted down to him.

Minseob was there, and he threw a long rope down that Hongjoong eagerly snatched up, letting himself be pulled along behind and tucking his face down into his shoulder, shielding it from the water that splashed him along the way.

When he drew up to the side and was close enough to climb, he reached a foot out to take his first step, clinging to the rope and walking up the side. Portholes and gunports provided helpful footholds, and soon the officers were pulling him up and helping him over the rail, soaked and shivering from terror.

“Oh, Hongjoong,” Minseob cried in relief, enveloping him in a blanket. He was exhausted, the adrenaline finally starting to wear off, and so he let himself be hugged and cried into the boatswain’s shoulder.

“Yonghwan hyung…” he asked for the captain through hitched breaths, feeling vulnerable even with no sign of Babylon on deck.

“He’s locking Jongmin in the brig,” Youngsaeng explained, a calming hand rubbing the boy’s back.

Where had pirates learned to be soft and comforting like this?

Hongjoong nodded and reached up to rub the tears from his face, meeting eyes with Maddox who dropped to his knees beside him and wiped away the hair that stuck to his forehead.

“Thank you for hearing me,” Hongjoong whispered as loudly as he could through his sore throat, and he let out a sniffle when Maddox rested a hand on his shoulder. It felt so different than it had the first time.

“Thank you for calling,” the quartermaster said gravely. “Honestly, you saved yourself.”

It was frightening but true, Hongjoong realised with a hollow sobriety. His life had almost ended, just like that.

But he had taken a risk and propelled himself to safety. He had proven himself, and Babylon never saw it coming for a second.

The excitement had fizzled out and, when Minseob pulled him to his feet, a tiredness seeped into Hongjoong’s limbs. He was ready for his hammock again.

“Let’s clean you up first,” Eden’s voice broke through the haze and then he was there, carrying Hongjoong to the captain’s cabin and setting him down on the bed, officers trailing behind.

He sent them all out with a quiet command before helping Hongjoong into a change of clothes and bandaging his neck.

The wound had bled considerably but the cut wasn’t too deep, and to his great relief, hadn’t severed any important veins or arteries.

“You did well,” Eden told him when he was dry and safely nestled in the blankets. He said nothing more for awhile, burdened by the knowledge that a man he trusted was a traitor.

Hongjoong could see how much it took for a pirate to trust another. This betrayal was more painful than he could imagine.

“Stay here,” the captain instructed from his desk when the sun began to set and Hongjoong’s restless dozing had still not produced a peaceful sleep. “I won’t be sleeping tonight.”

With that, Eden left the room, likely to question Babylon, and Hongjoong was alone with his thoughts. A shadow by the door told him one of the officers was guarding the room while at the helm, and it was enough security to slowly relax the tension from his shoulders.

It was warmer in the captain’s cabin, which in these tropical waters would typically be stifling, but the chill of his near miss with death clung to him, so Hongjoong clutched the blankets close to him and wiped at the tip of his cold nose.

The golden sunlight began to fade to pink and angled through the windows, playing on the floor in a kaleidoscope of little rainbows projected through the glass.

Hongjoong watched dust particles dance in the sunbeam and let his eyes close when they grew too heavy to stay open.

It was night when he awoke.

Adjusting the blankets, he had rolled over to try to fall asleep again when voices reached his ears from the level below.

“Clearly it was premeditated!” Someone was arguing, Soomin from the sounds of it, and growing more agitated by the second. “The murders took place over more than a single week, Eden. Something like this doesn’t just happen repeatedly.”

They must have been arguing about Babylon, Hongjoong realised. Sitting up from the bed, he considered whether to go down and listen more closely to the officers’ meeting or try to block the conversation out.

It wasn’t his business what happened to Babylon. He just wanted to be far away from the man.

“And I don’t deny that,” Eden admitted, voice somewhat muffled but evidently trying to placate the Master Gunner. “But we all know he started dabbling in magic, why can’t we stop and think for a second what sort of spiritual forces might have been involved in this?”

“Because whatever they may be, he did this himself,” Jonghoon said, insistent. “He made a choice to take blood at the expense of lives. That’s enough information for me.”

Still Eden wasn’t so sure. “There’s something we aren’t understanding here…”

As he trailed off, Hongjoong sighed and slipped out from under the blankets. It wasn’t his business, but he had to know what they would decide concerning Babylon’s fate.

It was too large a question in his mind.

“He was acting strange recently, after he started the shapeshifting,” Youngsaeng was saying before Hongjoong tiptoed from the captain’s cabin and down to the door of the wardroom, listening outside in a crouching position should anyone glance out the window and see him.

Jihan was speaking when he rejoined the conversation.

“I never liked him.”

Minseob groaned and stepped in before the navigator could continue. “No one asked you Jihan. Keep it to yourself for once.”

“You saw his eyes when he had Hongjoong,” Jonghoon reminded the room, voice seemingly directed at Eden. “No regret, no remorse. He knew what he was doing and he meant to do it. To Hongjoong of all people.”

“To think what could have happened,” Youngsaeng shuddered as he considered it aloud. “He was alone with him any number of times.”

Maddox sighed and finally spoke up. “I’m sorry. That… that was my fault, I sent him in there during the lockdown.”

Hongjoong bit his lip anxiously. It really hadn’t been Maddox’s fault. He had insisted he leave the berth himself.

“Don’t put this on yourself, Kyungmoon,” Eden protested. “We both know this is my fault. Hongjoong wouldn’t even be here in the first place if—”

“It’s no one’s fault but Babylon’s,” Minseob broke in firmly. “What’s done is done. The only question is what to do with him now.”

A silence stretched on while the officers thought about the all important question.

“I say we keelhaul the blackguard,” Jihan volunteered an idea and Eden immediately shot it down.

“This is Jongmin we’re talking about! He fought by your side in countless battles against the navy and you won’t even afford him a trial?”

“A traitor who confesses to seven murders and is caught in the act of attempting to commit one more does not require a trial,” Jihan shot back, disgust evident in his voice.  “What would that accomplish?”

Maddox chimed in to remind the captain of his own rules for the ship. “Eden, the penalty here for murdering a crew member has always been death. Jongmin is no exception.”

“I say firing squad,” Soomin suggested. “More dignified than keelhauling but death is what he deserves.”

The sound of Eden collapsing into a chair startled Hongjoong momentarily. His lack of a response spoke volumes. It was just too difficult to sentence someone who had once been your brother to a merciless death, even knowing what he had done.

“Soomin, bring him in here. I’d like to speak with him.”

Hongjoong scrambled out of the way and hid behind the opening door as Soomin followed orders with a sigh.

He could only cling to the shadows when the pirate returned with the prisoner, walking with a blank expression on his face and not bothering to struggle.

There was the sound of a pistol clicking when he entered the room, someone holding a gun to his head while the captain questioned him.

“What were you doing?” He asked harshly, sharp words raising gooseflesh on Hongjoong’s arms as he eavesdropped.

Babylon sounded almost bored with his simple response, “A blood ritual.”

“Why?”

“As preparation for the entrance of the rightful rulers of this world,” Babylon answered, voice rising in volume along with his annoyance. “To expand my powers. To summon my allies.”

“The dark arts have no place on this ship,” Eden replied, his voice still strong but with a hint of fatigue. “You understand the consequences of killing seven men?”

He was still trying to get through to him, reasoning with a madman who knew full well what he had done.

“A mere foretaste of what’s coming. Worthy sacrifices in the name of progress.”

Eden’s sigh betrayed his agony. He longed to show the sorcerer mercy.

“That’s all the proof we need,” Soomin scoffed from his side of the room. “He’s not even trying to make up a decent excuse.”

“And when he escapes with his magic and we find Hongjoong dead in the captain’s cabin next, what then?” Youngsaeng postulated. “We’ll be wishing we’d ended him now. Right now.”

Hongjoong clamped a hand over his mouth to suppress the sharp gasp he’d made from reaching the officer’s ears.

Perhaps he’d been sleeping too soundly after the attempt on his life.

Jihan sounded just as panicked. “He can get out of the cell with his magic?”

“He’s a sorcerer,” Minseob answered him dryly. “We don’t know what he can’t do, so we have to assume he can. It’s a slaughter waiting to happen. He’s a liability we can’t afford.”

Babylon was laughing at their division, their fear over what he could do.

After a moment, the sound died down.

Eden must have been grimly staring the pirate down to shut him up.

Maddox’s voice sounded nearest the door as he begged his captain in a quiet petition, “Yonghwan. Please.”

Hongjoong found himself quietly echoing the plea.

“Jongmin, we will shortly be sighting land. It will be isolated and uninhabited,” Eden announced before finally proclaiming his judgment. “We will maroon you there with no provisions or weapons. I hope you realise you’ve chosen this yourself.”

It was certain death, but not by Eden’s hand. Death by the elements. By the natural forces Babylon so revered.

“Indeed I have,” Babylon responded, and he sounded as if he spoke the words through a wide smile. Arrogantly he went on, “Drop me wherever you like, Captain. But if you won’t provide means to survive, at least let me have my spellbook. A man needs his reading.”

And with no strong objections from the officers, Eden agreed.

What harm could he do, alone on a southern island devoid of resources? Even with the book, he wouldn’t last a week.

Questions more or less answered, Hongjoong crept back to the captain’s cabin and dove under the covers once more.

It was creepy how unapologetic Babylon sounded, how aware and uncaring of his own evil. When he had suggested to kill the soldiers of the Seabear, at least his violence had been directed elsewhere. But now he spoke of sailors on his own ship, under his command, like they were nothing. A means to an end.

Pushing dark forces and otherworldly evils from his mind, Hongjoong tried to sleep again. His stomach was unsettled for a long time and his heart pounded in his ears until at last, he drifted off into dreams.

Morning filtered in through the windows quietly.

Hongjoong was hungry after missing the evening meal yesterday, and the smell of porridge left for him on Eden’s desk was inviting. He wasn’t sure who had made breakfast, but it tasted just about the same as usual and soothed the pain in his throat.

The small hand mirror was there in its drawer, so Hongjoong took it out to inspect the damage Babylon had done.

His cheek was bruised red from the force of the slap, and a small gash scratched the bridge of his nose where he’d been kicked, but most of the damage was concentrated to his neck where a blue handprint wrapped around his throat and the bandage over the knife gash was beginning to leak.

Lacing up his boots, he ventured out onto the deck where business seemed to be going on as usual until Youngsaeng noticed him from the helm.

“Hongjoong, can I get you anything?”

His voice was stronger than it had been before, so clearing his throat, he asked for water and a new bandage.

He insisted on dressing the wound himself and went to keep a lookout in the crow’s nest while the Master Rigger was at the helm for his forenoon watch, winning over Youngsaeng’s protests. He had rested long enough and he wasn’t going to get anymore sleep than he had.

It was windy up in the rigging, and clouds blew overhead, crossing the sun and occasionally casting shadows down on Hongjoong’s perch.

It was the same sky he and Mingi often admired from the beach at Panhang, but so much wider and full of possibilities. Every horizon promised adventure, some thrilling and some dangerous, and he was still in search of it, despite yesterday’s sour taste.

A sound from below alerted him to Eden climbing up to the crow’s nest from beneath, and Hongjoong wondered where he had been for the remainder of the night.

Perhaps in Babylon’s bunk while its owner enjoyed the hospitality of a prison cell.

He didn’t prod the captain with questions when he settled in beside him, gaze pointed ahead while they travelled southwest.

“We’re going to maroon him at the first opportunity,” Eden finally said quietly, informing Hongjoong of the decided punishment he already knew about.

“That doesn’t happen very often, does it?” He replied, hugging his legs and watching Eden’s face for a reaction.

“Typically only in a mutiny. But nothing about this week has been typical.” He glanced at his apprentice with his eyes shining full of regret. “I’m sure this has been a pretty poor trial of pirate life. I’ve always told you I can’t guarantee your safety, but for the threat to come from inside… that was a surprise to me too.”

Hongjoong smiled to assure him and pointed out softly, “It wasn’t all bad. Just this past week, really. And I’m already on the mend.”

He pointed to the bruises on his neck, already a shade lighter than they’d been before bed.

The tension in Eden’s jaw gave away his anger at the sight of pain Babylon had caused.

It was easy to see that he felt guilty over ever allowing his apprentice to become involved in the first place.

“Will you quit?”

Hongjoong immediately shook his head.

“No. I’m committed to this path.” He knew Eden wished more than ever now that he would quit. But the captain didn’t seem surprised when he refused to give up.

Things had gone wrong, but he had never expected life to become perfect. “There’s so much left to do and see,” he reminded Eden, who nodded reluctantly.

“Following the original plan, I would’ve stopped at the Mystic’s island,” he explained when Hongjoong clearly wanted to know about their future travels. “I’d still like to speak with her to learn more about this magic of Babylon’s, but I think it’s time to end this voyage and get you home. That’s the priority.”

Hongjoong sat back with a frown but didn’t protest. He knew there was no arguing with him about it. He’d simply have to enjoy the time he had left.

“I won’t stay there forever, you know.”

Eden glanced at him with a question in his eyes.

“Jangwon Hall, even Panhang,” Hongjoong clarified. “If Babylon escapes somehow, he might come looking for me. He made some comments before that led me to believe he knows a bit too much about my background. He’ll easily figure out where to look.”

Face growing red, and not from the heat of the sun but a tinge of embarrassment, the pirate rubbed the back of his neck and acknowledged his wrongs. As usual, the boy was able to get under his skin with very little noticeable effort.

“I’m sure he conducted some research of his own, but yes, I’ll admit I told the officers a bit about you. Bringing an apprentice on is highly unusual for me, and the circumstances were important to understand. I wouldn’t have said a thing if I hadn’t trusted them all completely. That’s a mistake I won’t make again.”

Hongjoong accepted this and squeezed Eden’s hand for encouragement. He was the Dread Pirate and he probably didn’t need it but what comfort he could give, Hongjoong was compelled to try.

“But you’ll need to replace him,” he remarked, voice soft from the roughness in his throat but also from his own hesitation to bring it up. “Won’t you hire a new surgeon and cook?”

Eden snorted and gave the boy a sideways glance. “You’re thinking of putting your name forward for consideration?”

Exaggerating his act of false modesty, Hongjoong suppressed a smile and said, “Well, I don’t think I have much skill in either of those positions, aside from emergency situations.” The captain barked out a laugh at this and, giggling, Hongjoong continued, “So no, I’ll have to go for something else instead.”

“Good, because you won’t be hired!” Eden exclaimed, yet again in awe of his apprentice. “I know you can’t cook.”

Hongjoong punched him lightly in the arm for the joke and faked a bruised ego for a minute before seeing something on the horizon.

“Is that… land?”

He squinted at the distant shadow, snatching the spyglass out of Eden’s hands before he could use it himself. “It is!” He gasped with excitement. He had sighted land himself, yet another rite of passage. “Land—”

Coughing though his sore throat, Hongjoong realised maybe he’d have to let Eden have this one. “You should probably call it,” he rasped, offering back the spyglass.

Eden took it back with a raised eyebrow and leaned over the side of the crow’s nest, yelling, “Land ho!”

He motioned for Hongjoong to follow him, and together the two descended to the main deck, ready to get on with the business of the day, however grim it may be.

Youngsaeng had heard his captain’s call and quickly sent for Jonghoon and Soomin, who conversed with Eden for a moment and, when they had approached the desert island to an acceptable distance, escorted Babylon to the deck.

Hongjoong avoided the sorcerer’s eyes, loitering near the mainmast and trying to blend in with the crowd. He didn’t want the traitor’s attention on him any longer than it already had been.

Silence fell over the seamen as they witnessed their officer being led outside, restrained.

Confirming their suspicions, Eden positioned himself on the steps to the quarterdeck and gave a speech of explanation.

“Here on the Stardust, we hold to the standards of the pirate code. Each and every one of the officers who serve on this ship, myself included, do so at the pleasure of her crew.”

Hongjoong caught a questioning glance from the Weathervane and returned it with a weak smile. He’d understand soon enough why Eden was emphasising the democratic nature of pirate government.

“As such, the act of murdering seven members of this crew, those we have sworn to protect, is an especially grievous crime,” the captain was going on to say. “After fruitless investigations, officer Lee Jongmin, cook and surgeon whom you all know well as Babylon, was caught in an attempt to kill an eighth victim and confessed to his crimes.”

Gasps went up all around at this revelation, something most of the men hadn’t known about until this moment. One of their own officers, a man whose hands they regularly put their lives in, had betrayed them all in cold blood. And from the looks of his smug face, had done so without remorse.

“Therefore in accordance with our laws at sea and in keeping with the severity of the crime, to respect the lives lost, Babylon is hereby sentenced to death by marooning without provisions,” Eden announced, turning to face the accused and adding quietly, “May your end be swift.”

With no further ceremony, he selected a group of men to help with the longboat and loaded the condemned for his final journey, with nothing more than a spellbook and the shirt on his back. They hurled curses at him as they did so on behalf of their fallen crew members.

Eden rowed by himself, quickly closing the distance between the Stardust and the island, and Babylon turned his back to him, facing the bit of land that would be his resting place.

Hongjoong wandered to the rail with the other curious pirates to get a measure of the area. The terrain was somewhat jagged, with cliffs jutting out above the beach and most of the vegetation growing much higher than the longboat’s landing point.

“He’ll die there,” Jihan said solemnly from beside him, eyes trained on Babylon’s distant figure as he stepped out of the boat and onto the sand. Eden neglected to hand him the customary pistol with a single bullet that was traditionally offered to all marooned pirates and instead gave him his book and set out once more to pull for the Stardust. “But we won’t get to watch.”

“Avast with that sort of talk, the boy is listening,” Minseob scolded the navigator, disapprovingly.

“He’s no ordinary boy,” Jihan defended, smiling brightly at Hongjoong despite the circumstances. “He’s a pirate now.”

Relief flowing through him, Hongjoong beamed back. The officers and the men around them were in agreement.

He belonged.

Over the next few weeks of travel northwest, back to Panhang by way of the archipelago, Hongjoong tried his best to adjust to working with the different crewmen who rotated cooking meals.

Eden had also been keeping a closer eye on him, and Hongjoong didn’t mind his increased presence. It made up for the lack of Babylon, a once regular staple of his typical day aboard.

Mostly thanks to the traitor’s actions, a net loss of nine men over the course of the journey— including the pirate who had fallen in the storm— necessitated a stop in the archipelago to recruit.

Sitting in the infirmary, a room which still sent chills down his spine, and letting the captain remove his bandages, Hongjoong wondered why Eden was also hiring a new cabin boy.

“Do you think I’m a bad pirate?” He asked, downcast despite how excellently his body had healed so far. The bruises were mostly faded and the scar from the dagger wound was a subtly pale pink that blended in, easily concealed by his shirt collar.

“I know you’ll be an excellent one,” Eden admitted patiently, inspecting the boy’s neck and deeming it cured. “That’s what scares me.”

Hongjoong sighed restlessly and kicked his feet back and forth where they hung off the edge of the table. “Then when will I be ready? For another voyage?”

His first expedition was ending too soon, and the thought of getting by without his new friends for however many months until they reappeared was not a happy one.

“You know the answer to that,” Eden chided casually while he went about his business, tidying up the mess he’d made of bandages and ointments. The sickbay area had essentially become communal in the weeks since Babylon’s departure.

“When I’m old enough to leave the Hall?” Hongjoong responded, deadpan. “That’s still a few years away. You’d best hope I don’t forget everything you’ve taught me by then… otherwise you’ll have to keep on that new cabin boy.”

Unable to resist ruffling his apprentice’s hair, Eden opened the door to show him out and quipped back, “Somehow I don’t think that’s possible.”

And so despite his protestations, after many days of high seas and many nights of lively singing, the shore of Panhang became visible once more on a mild night in early spring.

Hongjoong said his goodbyes to the other pirates in his berth and to the officers who had welcomed him so gently, promising to see them again.

Eden insisted they row a significant distance to keep the Stardust out of view, should anyone recognise it.

To Hongjoong it simply meant more time to take in the coastline and chat with Maddox.

“There they are,” he said, gesturing upwards with his head. His hands were busy holding the lantern that lit their way. “The stars I painted when we left the coast.”

“An excellent likeness,” Maddox praised, comparing the painted bag to the patch of sky they could see through sparse clouds.

Hongjoong shook his head in wonderment as he watched them come in and out of view. “So much has happened since I was here last.”

How could the time have flown by?

Eden finally spoke up between grunts as he pulled on the oars, “I’ll admit, I worried for you. The storm, encountering the Navy, Babylon’s betrayal… But you persevered and you’ll do just fine.”

Grinning at this admission, Hongjoong perked up.

“You think I can be a pirate captain myself?”

“Hold on now!” Eden protested, amused. “I mean you’ll do just fine as my cabin boy, don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

Hongjoong childishly put up a hand to halt the pirate’s excuses. “Can’t take it back now.”

Maddox laughed softly and gave his captain a light kick to the shins. “Well done, now you’ve put the idea in his head,” he teased.

Eden returned swiftly with a sarcastic remark, “Oh, it was in his head long before—”

Smile dropping from his face, Maddox shushed him and the mood suddenly darkened. “Hold on, stop the boat,” he cautioned. “Someone’s on the beach.”

A figure stood on the sand, jumping and waving his arms, having just run down from the lighthouse.

“Mingi…”

Maddox was confused.

“Who?”

“Song Mingi,” Hongjoong hurriedly explained. “I know him, he—he’s my friend.”

Captain and quartermaster glanced at each other in some sort of unspoken conversation, a serious air between them.

“He’s seen us,” Eden stated the obvious with a frown.

That was a problem.

Brows furrowed in thought, Hongjoong set the lantern down beside him and interjected, “Wait, let me handle this. I’ll think of something.”

When they’d pulled up almost to the breakers, he said a reluctant goodbye and shouldered his bag, diving into the water and immediately regretting it as the cold waves washed him towards shore.

He had done the best he could, so Hongjoong smiled awkwardly through chattering teeth and waded through shallower water to meet his friend.

Mingi was standoffish in his confusion, and it was all Hongjoong could do to reassure him and swear him to secrecy after letting slip in his indignation that Yonghwan was the one who encouraged him to go back on the water again.

Thankfully, when the pirates in their longboat set out for the Stardust again, he managed to procure a secret from Mingi about his nightly studying, making them even.

The pair sealed their deal with a handshake and invited some levity in the form of more mundane topics of conversation.

Hongjoong had missed Mingi, a fact he couldn’t deny even when it confronted him with their diverging paths.

When they reached the fork in the road, the younger boy would skip away in the direction of his home, the seaside cottage of Hongjoong’s childhood memories, and he would be left to trudge further up the hill to Jangwon Hall and pretend none of this had ever happened.

He’d just have to manage it, he decided while he took a detour to the top of the bluff to watch the Stardust fade into the night.

It had been terrifying at times, but it was an adventure, a peek into another world that offered him a brand new life.

The beauty of every day out there on the sea was so alluring. Brilliant sunsets on the Stardust, colourful fireworks over Coral Harbour, the gentle spray from the deep blue ocean.

What was life without some risk?

He knew firsthand that he had what it took to be a part of it all. So now he was left to bide his time, to close his current chapter. He would lead a secret life with expert duplicity.

The ocean was calling, and he intended to answer.

...

A/N: Wow when I tell you I cried?? I MEAN THAT! I last updated this work in 2021 I think which is inSANE... So much has happened, I finally got over my writer's block and ended my hiatus, you guys got back to back updates here on tumblr, and it was not a fluke guys. This chapter is not a fluke!! I'm not going to disappear because I've been planning this for years and there's so much more to come even in the last 4 chapters of this spinoff, let alone the rest of the series 😭 This chapter is, what, 17.5k??? And that's AFTER I split it??!! That should tell you all you need to know lol

A few quick notes: As always, I will recommend you read or re-read The Windy Road (Mingi's backstory) Chapter viii: Alone in conjunction with this and the next chapter of My Way, it'll make everything hit different, trust me. And if you want another punch to the feels, go read One to All Chapter 3: I Love My Desire and thereabouts for a refresher on that Babylon storyline if you've read the main series before coming here~

ANyway thanks so much if you're a reader who has stuck around and returned to this Treasure universe with me, it means sooo much more than you know, and if you're new, welcome aboard!! and I hope you decide to stay :) Don't forget to comment, reblog, all that good stuff to let me know what you thought and come scream with me about this story on twitter (I refuse to call it x) I know I have more to say, maybe you do too :,D

Thanks crew!!! See you soon <3

← Previous | Masterlist | Next  →

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

My life. 😅

[sugawhaaa]

Hi gang ermmm

So I just came back from the hospital and I won't go into detail about everything buttt I was diagnosed with a UTI and potentially a kidney stone yippee!!! I need to take at least a few days to let my body relax and try to heal. If things don't improve I will need to go back to the hospital and get some more tests done and get some more medication.

I will update yall soon 🙏 that is if I don't die LMAO its not actually that painful

[slowee00]

That ateez concert was something…

I hate jumping and grabbing attention from people; judging. I don’t like to be stared at but I just had to jump up and scream for 8 men who don’t even know I exist… they were unreal, Seonghwa was so pretty and I just wanted to hug Jongho especially after his solo performance.

Their encouragement for Atiny is something else…

So let’s do it!

I’m gonna complete fashion school, chase my online business in the future and maybe, maybe, become a stylist for idols. I want to travel, I want to express myself greatly and at the same time matter. Ateez don’t need to tell us to move forward, it’s in their music, their faces, yet they do anyway.

Don’t call me delusional, I know I am.

Their men who don’t even know that most of us Atiny deeply care about them. And that’s just it, it’s nice to be acknowledged by them, but it’s also nice to hear those words leave their lips. “Go towards the light” ���never give up,” “keep going” encouragement. And that’s what everyone needs.

They’re never see this but thank you Ateez, when I feel like giving it up, I’ll push, because I know there’re many people out their waiting for me or us to succeed in life, I hope you will/could meet us there at the end of the finishline.

From a random Atiny from Canada 🍁 🩷

[reallychaoticwoo]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 100 likes!

I'm totally not crying 😭😭🖤🖤 thank you, beautiful peoples 💜

[synoclaire]

Wil's AO3 Fanfic Masterlist

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Started: 04/06/24 Last Updated: 10/12/24

Welcome to my fanfic masterlist! I'm a (mainly) kpop fanfic author who posts on ao3. I'm planning on posting mainly Ateez, TXT, and NCT (and probably chainsaw man and bsd too). This is mainly for anyone who follows me on ao3 lol.

note: none of these fanfics will include smut or blank x reader. This list will be updated every time I post something new on ao3 and my work will only be posted there.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

ᯓ★ ATEEZ

This is a Life - Chapters: 5/20 - Main Pairing: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi - Inspired by The Real (MV) by ATEEZ and Everything Everywhere All at Once - Song Mingi-centric - Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort,

ᯓ★ TXT

N/A

ᯓ★ NCT

N/A

ᯓ★ MISC

N/A

[mglorraine]

Our editor collects K-pop albums! (Stray Kids, ATEEZ & Tomorrow X Together if you were curious!) - MG Lorraine 📖🖋️

[maybemarapeace]

And the sponsor of my inspiration - ✨Ateez✨

To write 2 chapters of new book it's not fuckin' bad

Perhaps, at this rate, I'll return to the one already out

[jooieluvr]

I’ve got some stuff in the drafts… just need to get some time to write!!! I CANT WAIT TO SHARE SOME OF THIS STUFF!!🩷🩷

[bvidzsoo]

texting fiancé!ateez about their Coachella performance as you weren't able to attend it

author: bvidzsoo

pairing: ot8 x reader

tw: cursing

genre: smau, reactions, idol!au, fiancé!au

a/n: well, I can 100% surely say Ateez wrecked all Atiny with their performance at Coachella today (or yesterday for some), and maybe this is my way of coping??? Will I be over it soon? Certainly not lol, when I catch you Song Mingi, you better have prepared yourself cuz I ain't ever again letting you out of the dungeon, sir. Let me know your thoughts, as always, I hope these are good enough and enjoyable. Thank you for checking it out! (divider)

⚞ Masterlist ⚟

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaaa @aaa-sia @sharksandminhos @gong-fourz

❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[kozukensgf]

hey author

can i request for older brother seungcheol whos kinda overprotective?

yo anon your idea literally just cured whatever writer block i’m having. i’m posting again after ages can u imagine?!

protective brother scoups texts!

character: choi seungcheol

genres: fake texts, smau, fluff?, protective brother, siblings text, love-hate sibs relationship

warnings: his friends are red flag, mentioned of nudes, shorts, lmk if i’m missing anything

note:: for last text: that is infact, wonwoo

masterlist

taglist! join my taglist here

@worldpeaceforyoongi @sunooslover @forever-atiny @qockiestt @mystverse @blaycke @jaslwr @weird-bookworm @clownprincehoeshi @aaa-sia @http-mewchuu @heeseungthel0ml

@toplinehyunjin @aervera @arkynz @Hawshiiiii @jenowithjaem @chhnc @do-you-remember-summer-127 @unlikelysublimekryptonite @lesuneczka @tinyelfperson @codeinebelle @fr-freaky @cherrylvrr @dcrlingyou @hq3lo @jkbabiey

@sarabencze @gyuguys @dunixxd @glitterhosh @jihoonsbbygirl @tacosandbitch @dwaekki-bee @darkypooo @theidontknowmehn @ma-riiii @elein041 @enchantingellee

[minkiverse]

KANG YEOSANG FIC RECS

Poly!Ateez Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Kim Hongjoong - Park Seonghwa - Jeong Yunho - Choi San - Song Mingi - Jung Wooyoung - Choi Jongho

PRETTY PRETTY YEOSANG!!!!! I think there is a reason that so many fics on this list are fluffy and its because Yeosang is the most precious person in existence!!!!!! n e ways everyone send me more Yeosang fic recs i NEED more!~

DISCLAIMER none of these works are mine and majority are MATURE 18+, please read all warnings before reading!!!

Key:

✨ - My Favs

🔥 - Smut (MINORS DNI)

⛈️ - Angst

💗 - Fluff

🍑 - Humor

SERIES

Oddeleny - @songmingisthighs ⛈️🍑 Ghost AU ✧ SMAU

the twists are twisting and the turns... oh they are turning 👏👏 this series is basically a mystery of how yeosang got trapped in the mc's phone and basically everytime there is a lore drop on either mc, yeo, or woo i go a little bit more crazy 🤪🤪

ONE SHOTS/DRABBLES/ETC

winter blossom - @atzfilm 🔥⛈️ Alien AU

Stretch you out - @pyramid-of-starrs 🔥 Gym AU

quiet - @nebulousbrainsoup 🔥💗

Relax - @moonhoures 🔥💗

masturbation - @kitten4sannie 🔥 College AU

gemini - @ncteez 🔥💗 Virgin!Yeosang

untitled - @bandgie 🔥

kang yeosang as your boyfriend - @mybelovedwoo 🔥💗

untitled - @kittyyeo 🔥

lessons in intimacy - @honeyhotteoks ✨🔥Camboy AU ✧ Barista AU

i revisit this fic once a month AT LEAST! this author's way of writing blows me away every single time 😮‍💨😮‍💨 the smut is toe curling and so intimate (hence the title) its just how kind and genuine both yeosang and the mc are written and how they communicate and the smut that constantly bring me back 🥹🥹

Only text me when you need me - @pyramid-of-starrs 🔥💗⛈️ FWB AU

pretty in pink - @byuntrash101 🔥

sensitive - @puddingyun ✨🔥

i just love how atiny tend to write yeosang so softly and intimately because he is just so precious and needs a "handle with care" sticker on him at all times and this fic epitomizes that feeling 🤤🤤 like how gently the mc treats him is just 🤌🤌

hungry yeoyeo - @ateezscupid 🔥

Longing - @sxcret-garden 🔥💗

vanilla and cream - @k-hotchoisan 🔥

untitled - @thetypingpup 🔥

operation: passenger princess - @sungbeam 💗⛈️ College AU

fortune teller - @seonghwaddict 💗

A Small Adjustment - @kitten4sannie 🔥Personal Trainer AU

yeosang & a situationship - @yunhoszn 🍑

[7:29 PM] - @edenesth 💗

boyfriend texts w/ yeosang - @beenbaanbuun 🍑

Stay - @sorryimananti-romantic 💗⛈️ Royalty AU ✧ Archer!Yeosang

untitled - @thetypingpup 🔥

untitled - @thetypingpup 🔥Dragon AU

Muse - @desirehorizon 🔥💗Royalty AU ✧ Prince!Yeosang

Wash It All Away - @ja3hwa 🔥💗⛈️ Idol AU

Evolve - @nebulousbrainsoup ✨🔥💗⛈️ Ateez Lore ✧ Biker!Yeosang

even though i can't say i fully understand ateez's lore, i love any fic that is based around it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what i do know of it is so compelling and interesting im shocked that i dont see or at least have not found yet more lore based fics 😭😭 BUT THIS ONE☝️☝️ is sooooo good!!!! i love how yeosang is still yeosang even in his situation, i love how the mc is like immediately intrigued by this faceless biker guy who can blame her 😩😩, i love how they get to know each other and THE SMUT 😮‍💨😮‍💨

untitled - @sxcret-garden 🔥

untitled - @everyonewooeverywhere 🔥

[atzfilm]

𝐚𝐭𝐳𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦'𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 .ᐟ

all works of writing/summaries are not owned by me, and all credits go to the respective writers! this list will be updated periodically with stories i have read ♡ i thought that as a writer myself who consumes talented stories on this site, it would be good for me to show you all a fraction of what i read myself tehe (i read majority poly!teez/mc so that category will be filled!!) ☆

— note: 90% of these fics will contain mature themes, since it's all i read! please read the specific author's notes before reading!

❤︎ - personal favorites

ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ

— ❤︎ mists of celeste (??/reader, several pairings) by @hongism

genre: scifi/space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut, fluff

summary: sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you.

notes: as an atiny on tumblr.com, i feel like it's a rite of passage to read moc. it's one of the best written works i have had the privilege of reading. it's gripping, it's heartbreaking, it's filled with yearning and love, and has you hoping that the characters survive this ordeal. san i love you most you can tell by the masterlist alone that she has crafted a whole space pirate universe intricately and with the utmost care. she deals with the trauma of the characters so so well and i cant lie ive cried a lot reading it jdhdksjddj, it's the fic that made me start reading ateez ff, i mean, i started reading before even knowing ateez and i had to have a separate tab open to remember who was who. that alone can tell you how much of a work of art this is. omg, im blabbering, but please read this.

— hotel california (ot8/reader) by @mint-yooxgi

genre: yandere, demon!au

summary: checking in to a hotel ran by yandere!Ateez, the boys decide she can no longer leave

my notes: im not too sure how i came across this work, i think it was an endless scroll of me trying to find something to read, but nevertheless, this story. i have not finished it yet (a great and utter pity) but from what ive read so far. im actually very concerned on how much ive read of this in one night 😨, i think the plot is so so unique, i love a strong mc who does not take any shit whatsoever, i love gaslighting demon!ateez 🙂‍↕️. i had to stare at the wall several times while reading,, felt like jim in the office truly. UGH it's just so good??? i can't recommend enough!! PLEASE READ.

— ❤︎ the answer (ot8?/reader, side pairings) by @berryunho

genre: cult au, thriller

summary: life is great until your best friend goes missing your senior year of university, leaving little more than an apology and goodbye. Months later, you’re determined to find out what happened to him and discover a situation much more complicated than you would have ever anticipated - as in - Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers 'sect.'

my notes: i first discovered this fic on ao3 and somehow found out lauren had a tumblr blog but i digress – i found this one night and was so excited that i found something so so unique and different and i am pretty sure i didn't sleep until 4am reading everything omg . it's truly so funny and i adore the main character more than anything, the snide remarks truly encompass and make you feel their emotions? cult leader hongjoong is something else... without spoiling hfjdjf. i beg lauren often for a spoiler because it's just that good. please read.

— OUTLAW (ot8/reader, side pairings) by @staytinyville

genre: wild west!au, smut(?), angst

summary: you thought you would be spending the rest of your life tending to the hotel your family ran. while you knew it was common to see bandits come and go in your town, you felt safe in your home. at least safe enough with a weapon at your disposal. however you were no match for eight men who were known to most as outlaws around the plains. hawt kind of adventures did they go on?

my notes: i started reading this a while back and have yet to finish, but so far the premise is so so so interesting and i love readying cowboy aus rjkfjkdrfkj ITS SO GOOD!!!! I CANT WAIT TO CATCH UP

— sway with me (ot8/reader, wooyoung/reader) by @luvt0kki

genre: sci-fi/space/futuristic!au

summary: former noble turned space pirate, wooyoung was now part of one of the most revered and hunted group of pirates of the galaxy. sure he’s only known them for six months but there’s only so much you could do in a ship when you travel from one planet to the next. the ship was their home, his home…and the members of this crew were friends that he felt he was fated to meet.

my notes: tokki already knows all of this but,,, i started this a month or so ago? and i read the first chapter and i legit lost my mind,,, in the calmest way possible... the first chapter is gripping and it sets a environment that i very much would love to live in??? it's just so so well written, and the reader is very much my type NDFAKKJ ANYWAY... it's told from the pov of wooyoung and i love it??? so MUCH?? please read ok bye

— one more rep (woosan x reader) by @cheollipop

genre: smut, f2l, trainers woosan

summary: san got a little too excited watching you exercise in purple – his favourite colour – and wooyoung was nothing if not a tease. turning their attention back to you, they didn't expect to see you equally worked-up.

my notes: ???? i actually read this a few times,,,, this fic yall.... i cannot... the mental image of woosan in the gym makes me delusional enoughdsjkaskfjksd PLEASE.

— like a dream (yungi x reader) by cheollipop

genre: bf!yungi, smut

summary: with only the orange hues of the lamp illuminating the room, they have you for the first time, and it feels just like a dream.

my notes: yunho and mingi are my weakness,, so the both of them together.....

sᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

to be added!

ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

— horizon by @pxedpiper (ft. ateez/f.reader)

genre: pirate!au

summary: once a princess of a kingdom you loathed to call yours, you have somehow found yourself aboard a pirate ship, stuck on the ocean waves. now you try to figure out how to escape them, but as you continue to journey with them, you find yourself wondering if you even want to.

my notes: i just found this the other day but remembering reading it a while ago! it's so so well written and i enjoyed it sm 🥹

ʏᴜɴʜᴏ

to be added!

ʏᴇᴏsᴀɴɢ

to be added!

sᴀɴ

to be added!

ᴍɪɴɢɪ

— safe haven (mingi/reader) by @atxxzist

genre: bodyguard!au, fluff

summary: your father has had enough of your shit, and hires Song Mingi; his best friend's son, to be your personal bodyguard

my notes: is it possible to fall down the mingi hole deeper than i already have? maybe! this fic pretty much lives in my head,,, endlessly,,,, i love mingi. i love this au so much and i especially love bodyguard aus, i think it's one of my favorite genres and this deepens it.... PLEASE READ.

ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ

— rough rider (wooyoung x afab!reader) by @choism

genre: smut

summary: In which you meet a hot twink at a club who has a slightly unhealthy obsession with the 2000's and y2k bimbocore.

my notes: i......... there's no way i can describe this fic... if u yearn for wooyoung the way i do. read this.

— what happened to slow down? (bf!wooyoung x reader) by @ja3hwa

genre: smut

summary: coming back from a house party, you and woo couldn't seem to keep your hands off one another. everything was happening so fast. you two didn't even make it to the bedroom.

my notes: insert a photo of someone throwing a phone and screaming crying, then picking it up to read the rest. thats me kjrfakfajkf

ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ

to be added!

[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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[newworldwritings]

NewWorldWritings Recs! (ATEEZ)

gif by @graphicstorage

these are some writings that i have read that i would love to share with the rest of atiny/readers. some of these quite literally made me cry, laugh, and relate.

let me know if any of the links don’t work!

more will be added too #newworldwritingsreblogs !

some of these do contain smut, dark themes, & lots more. so please remember to read the warnings that each author put in their works.

❕= SMUT/DARKTHEMES

-

OT8 x reader

❕player 1117 @peachesyeo

(series -> ongoing) obessive!gamecharacters!ateez x villainess!reader

❕morning mist @mint-yooxgi

(series -> ongoing) Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

❕The Library of Illusion @kwanisms

(series -> completed) ateez ot8 × fem!reader

Want You Back @whimsicalwritingsandmore

(series -> completed) werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

❕Circus @lani-heart

(series -> ongoing) ateez ot8 x reader

❕trope @bro-atz

(series -> completed) ateez member/gn!reader or ateez member/afab!reader

❕Black Ocean @bvidzsoo

(completed) Ateez members x female readers

❕room for three @honeyhotteoks

(56k series -> completed) nonidol!yunho x nonidol!seonghwa x reader

❕splish splash @atozfic

(20k) nonidol!san x nonidol!seonghwa x nonidol!wooyoung x nonidol!yunho x fem!reader

undying bonds @edenesth

(series -> completed) Hongjoong x fem!reader, Seonghwa x fem!reader

❕whichever way @igbylicious

(series -> ongoing) woosan x fem!reader

Hongjoong

you’re hongjoongs bias @jnginlov

(8.6k) idol!hongjoong x idol!reader

captains favorite @edenesth

(1.1k) captain!Hongjoong x doctor!reader

Black and White @atinystraynstay

(2k) Kim Hongjoong x fem!reader

Seonghwa

❕The Way to His Heart @edenesth

(series -> ongoing) general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

Cold Snap @ennysbookstore

(4 part series -> completed) nonidol!Seonghwa x Reader

❕Dancing With the Devil pt.2 @bro-atz

(2 part series -> completed) assassin!seonghwa x afab!reader

❕the trouble with hating you. @baekhvuns

(33k) badboy!seonghwa x reader.

Bingo @gummygowon

(1.8k) single dad!seonghwa x reader

❕you’re the one that i want @ateezmakemeweep

(series -> completed) bad boy!seonghwa x fem!reader

Yunho

❕Guerrilla @sorryimananti-romantic

(27k) serialkiller!dr.yunho x writer!reader

What Builds a Home @cosmicdumpling

(7.2k) husband!yunho x fem!reader

❕Memoir @baekhvuns

(16k) nonidol!yunho x reader

all i want for christmas is you @starrysvn

(11k) yunho x gn!reader

Yeosang

❕lessons in intimacy @honeyhotteoks

(14.5k) camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader

Siren. @sorryimananti-romantic

(27.8k) siren!yeosang x sirenhunter!reader

San

❕ceilings pt.2 @yoongiseesawmp3

(2 part series -> completed) pe teacher!san x single mom!reader

❕The Art of Climbing the Corporate Tower @ennysbookstore

(2 part series -> completed) nonidol!san x reader

Love Poem @frenchkisstheabyss

(3.5k) dad!choi san x pregnant!chubby!fem!reader

❕Crafting Christmas @yoonguurt

(15.2k) single dad!San × reader

destiny @tainsan

(25k) idol!San x nonidol!reader

❕ch_i san @atzfilm (this one made me cry my eyes out)

(19k) android!san × reader

Mingi

❕nightmare, daydream @mingigoo

(11.1k) tutor!femreader x popularboy!Mingi

❕Shower Ecstasy @myhimbomingi

(1.6k) song mingi x afab!reader

❕Grease and oil @bvidzsoo

(5.6k) mechanic!mingi x fem!reader

Wooyoung

instagram @roomsofangel

(series -> ongoing) nonidol!wooyoung x fem!reader

❕Home for the Holidays @highvern

(24k) nonidol!Wooyoung x fem!reader

❕Midnight Kisses @mingigoo

(5 part series -> completed) bff!Wooyoung x single parent!femreader

Still You @edenesth

(15k) exbf!Wooyoung x fem!reader

Change of Heart @hotteoki

(5k) suitor!wooyoung x princess!reader

Jongho

to yours, jongho @halaboyz

(1.8k) busker!jongho x gn! reader

when strangers kiss @starlitmark

(5.4k) nonidol!Jongho x fem!reader

Guarding Hearts @edenesth

(15k) bodyguard!Jongho x actress!reader

[crimsonbubble]

am i delusional or did the fortune teller just confirm that yunho and hongjoong are mostly just doms while mingi and jongho are too timid/soft to do anything 😭 while seonghwa is just happy to help where he can (even if it ends up not being as helpful or practical as he could be) while san is just a big baby who just wants to make others happy i can’t 😭😭😭 (ik it’s me be delulu 🖐🏽😞) (im also aware that a of it are things atinys can see by just actually watching ateez content and how they interact with each other but usually when it comes to fortune/tarot readers company’s try and chose people who don’t know their artist it seems) now im just yapping 🧍🏽‍♀️

- 🪼

THATS EXACTLY WHAT THE FORTUNE TELLER SAID ‼️‼️

to sum it up (in freak terms); hj + yh are doms with authority, jh + mg are sub tops, san (and possibly sh) are akin to service tops 🤞🤞

wy + ys seem to be wild cards 🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️