VMINKOOK / THE ART OF BEEKEEPING

62

— PART SIXTY-TWO.

Park Seona is the exact obverse of Yee Juri's mother, and that's made abundantly clear as soon as the latter appears, in her tasteless, hideous attire. With cheeks punched red, and eyes deeply blue, Yee Hana arrives with a burst of hyacinth perfume, that manages to infest the nostrils of any person who dares near her. Her dress is incongruous to the code, long and floral and lace and blue, in a shade that looks as if she'd rolled herself in opaque paint before she'd stepped out into the sun. Her husband is tethered to her, with his matching tie and shirt, and his ugly, brick shoes. His eyes are tired but serious, and his nose is pointed upward, as if he had any reason to be judgemental.

"I would've gone for daffodils, you know." Hana tells her husband when she thinks no one listens — no, scratch that, she says it when she knows people are listening, because she likes the feeling of having people try to question her.

The wedding takes place in the fields that the PJs own, the one with all the rabbit holes now perfectly filled up; it's bedecked out in a scene of amour, just in the gulf between the beehives and a wet, black pond. It's decorated to perfection, with silken ornamentations and contusions of fluorescent life; Seona had good taste in design, if nothing else.

"Ah, such a lovely idea, to embrace the spring." Hana smiles terrifically at the other woman, and one of her front teeth is greying a little.

Park Seona, dressed in accordance with the code, in a subdued shade of grey, which is supposed to be silver, but hangs like something less splendid from her jutting frame, smiles tightly. Her patience had been tested a lot recently, and she struggles to keep a lid on it when conversing with a woman she couldn't bare to pretend to respect.

Beside her, her husband, Yohan, scratches at his head, and he's already snacking on some sort of nut-mix. The place is not yet full, guests only just starting to file in, and Seona is undoubtedly thankful for them, as she can busy herself with greetings, while avoiding the woman who was soon to be part of her family.

The Jeon's arrive in a churning of silver, all sparkling grins and champagne-smothered skin. Miran saves Seona from the conversation she was shrinking into upon arrival, and the children scatter to hide away from as many irritants as they can. Junsu stands beside his wife, and watches the way all the pretty people pretend to care for one another.

There's a pond just a little aside from the array of tables, residing beneath the hill of the main event. A pristine surface of clear blue acts as a canvas for the splotches of green water-lilies, despattering the vast azure of water like paint swatches. The serenity is ornamented by the dainty petals of various pinks that brush against the surface of the water. The tranquility is only briefly squandered by the innocent hubbub of dragonflies, flashing their fragile wings, disappearing in streaks of colour into the entanglement of green weeds.

Unfortunately, the idyllic milieu the pond is upholding, doesn't manage to bring forth enough peace of mind for any of the wedding-goers who actually have a mind to tend to.

Jeongguk notices something is wrong as soon as he sees Jimin, glaring at his own reflection in the crystalline water of the pond. "Your face..." He remarks in a whisper, as soon as he gets close enough to observe the discolouration of it. The person who'd coated it in foundation had done a pretty splendid job; if Jeongguk weren't so obsessed with every one of his features, he supposes he probably wouldn't have even noticed the slightly darker shade his face takes up.

Jimin bites his lip and shrugs, continuing to stare at himself.

The wedding hadn't started yet, and Jimin still feels this immense lump in his throat at the idea of what he was willingly allowing to happen. Though, he supposes, there's not much he can do, is there?