#psh : hwables.

[kireiwoo]

[7:15am] # park seonghwa.

“oh! seonghwa, look at this one!” you exuberantly exclaim, holding up a shiny, serrated shell. it’s creamy white in complexion and holds little flecks of blue and orange gradience, and you hold it towards your boyfriend’s direction with a petulantly prideful beam. he darts a lazy thumb up from his position laid on your striped towel in response to your hard-worked finding. you’d practically begged him yesterday to start the day fresh and early; the forecast had wonderfully called for some morning sunshine, to which you couldn’t resist the temptation of.

soft and calm waves grazed the shore as you hopped around ecstatically. you aren’t quite sure where the random burst of energy crawled from but you weren’t exactly opposed to it; the haze of the morning wake helped clear your mind up, gaze growing sharper and a youthful glow appearing on your countenance. the rusted street lamps were still dimly lit and the world was asleep, but you frolicked joyfully upon the blocky sand, periodically shouting to your lazing boyfriend who insisted on catching up on sleep while you worked.

another seashell popped colourfully in your peripheral, making you skip over as seonghwa opened his bleary eyes, counting the dawn-set clouds. grasping a purple and red infused shell, you squealed at the combination of colours conjoining in the middle. seonghwa peered over in worry before adjusting his position to observe you. he enjoyed how you conducted your nuanced lifestyle; finding joy in the mundane normalcies that, to others, would seem like laborious tediousness. shell collecting is one of the oldest activities in the book, especially when you live by a beachside town, but the task seemed more and more interesting every time you did it.

“another one! seonghwa do you see this? they’re so pretty!” he can barely hear you over the gentle breeze and the ocean laps, but the foggy octave of your voice makes him conjure a smile. he clicks his tongue and sits up, dusting the towel before zipping up your bags and necessities. he deduced that he might as well join you on your little escapade—you’d already been chatting with him as if he was awake and kicking, so why not humour your inquisitiveness?

after leisurely padding his way over to you, he analytically scans the net-knitted bag that holds your innumerable amounts of seashells. each pattern is unique and individual to its own design, and seonghwa recalls fondly that you didn’t like repetitiveness—another quirk to your characterized habits. he finds it cute that you’d go to such lengths in order to collect something as basic as seashells. you could go online and buy a bag of genuine, polished and laminated seashells—maybe even some extra dried nautical cosmetic appliances for decorative needs, but for some reason you persisted with the concept of finding your own. something about ‘the experience having more meaning’, as you wisely phrased it.

“and what, pray tell, are you gonna do with all of these shells?” seonghwa chides, placing his large hands in the pocketed confines of his light brown khakis. the action is almost arrogant but you dismiss it with a blissed out sigh. you hadn’t thought about the aftermath of your crazed search, but so many possibilities filtered through your mind with reckless abandon all at once. you could make beaded necklaces, place the shells on your mantle, make a tacky but effort-filled picture frame of your sweet boyfriend—heck, there were so many ideas that you couldn’t even begin process it properly. seonghwa stood, waiting for a response as you paused mid collection.

there was an ear-to-ear grin on your face, possibly concerning if not for seonghwa’s prior experience with the expression. and this usually meant that you were satisfied with yourself or what you were thinking about. “seonghwa, there are so many possibilities,” you screech randomly, running a hand through your hair. seonghwa gulps as he see’s the strands frame your face in a way that makes his heart palpitate unfairly in his chest. the fact that you aren’t even aware of what you’re doing is the hammer on the stake for him.

“we could make vase fillers, give them to little kids, and oh! we could give them to our neighbour...” you trail off excitedly, bouncing forward while explaining your train of thought, a hand wildly flailing in the air. seonghwa can only respond with a simple and silent affectionate glisten in his eyes. the sun peaks from the horizon as seonghwa stands by the shore, damp sand tickling his toes and his mind wandering to how much he adores you.

seonghwa isn’t particularly used to inconsistency. and truthfully; he’d say that he loathes it. he loves continuous regularity and the comfort that it brings, as well as the affirmation of routine it promises—but somewhere along the line, he fell in love with your spontaneous and absurd quotes, your mismatched clothing and your need for solidarity in difference.

every moment is a new valuable memory and every day is another wanderlust-filled adventure. he quite adores it—but park seonghwa knows that he wouldn’t be able to tolerate it with anyone but you, his beautiful angel who loves collecting seashells at the crack of dawn.

[kireiwoo]

[1:28am] # park seonghwa.

“dude, so you’re like the epitome of innocent?” you chortled, holding onto your empty stomach while clutching your phone over your ear. you’d been conversing with seonghwa about the latest trend of threads on twitter; specifically speculating about his apparent first life as told by a kindhearted palm-reader. although you may have pretended to be surprised over the phone, you’d scrolled through many of the tweets with tears in your eyes from the raw adoration every fan exhibited towards your sweet and gentle best friend.

“yah, respect me! i’m pure!” seonghwa cursed at you softly, probably blushing or awkwardly smiling bashfully. it was considerably late, seonghwa only called earlier to check up on you as the lot of you haven’t had time lately with his busy schedule to chat or physically meet up. the intent to check up turned into a widespread conversation about the moles on the back of his neck and conspiricies that each dedicated atiny wrote.

you heard a yawn over the phone and ushered seonghwa to sleep. it was one of his days off and you didn’t want to hinder him from resting properly. you know that anxiety probably consumes him most days due to packed performances and shows, so you wanted to make sure he was healthy and happy. seonghwa, not wanting to argue and feeling tired anyways, agreed to your mothering and offered to text you tomorrow after promotions.

once the dial tone commenced, you laid back on your ruffled sheets and held the phone to your chest. you felt a lovingly bitter smile curl onto your countenance, eyes squinting up at the ceiling as you pursed your lips together. you’d been thinking about a tweet that you saw earlier revolving around how if this was seonghwa’s first life, then he would have yet to experience romantic love. it would all be a first for him. and your chest ached with the fact that his first love most likely wouldn’t be you.

“that’s okay. i’ll love you in your next life. and i’ll wait a million more as long as i get to be by your side. you make my days brighter and life worth living, park seonghwa.” you knew seonghwa couldn’t hear you. he was across korea, probably sleeping soundly while dreaming about that same green-eyed dragon.

you weren’t sure what the future holds. perhaps fate has twisted ways of conveying its friendliness; but you know that you’d love seonghwa in his second life. and third. and fourth. and every life after; because the beauty of love is that you find it in the least expected places, over and over again.