1947, Mokpo
Hongjoong's shoes aren't built for this, the hard leather failing to grip the jagged rock he's hurrying over, but he doesn't really care.
He's so happy, having met Seonghwa's uncle and felt the kindness and warmth of family, having wandered around the house that holds all of Seonghwa's best memories, watching him touch the things his mother touched.
Being shown all the best hiding places and all the best trees for climbing and saying hello to the old dog that lives in the temple premises and comes by every now and then just to say hello, he's happy.
And now, now that his uncle has gone back to work with the promise of returning tomorrow, they're running off to the beach for a while, before Juinnim returns.
They've already run through the long, long grass past the backyard of the house, taken a thin worn down trail through the shrubbery beyond the grass, buzzing with midges, that fresh green smell in the air, and now they're here.
He can hear the ocean, smell the salt, he's so excited.
Uncertain footing on sharp rock, he's a little more careful than Seonghwa is being, eyes on the ground.
"We're here!" Seonghwa announces.
Hongjoong looks up.
That familiar silhouette standing alone on a cliff edge, wind whipping his hair back, catching the fabric of his shirt.
He squints up ahead at the jagged rock path against the bright sunlight, a strange feeling gripping his heart.
He takes a few steps forward, and the ocean comes into view beyond Seonghwa and the rock edge.
Shimmering in the afternoon sun, brilliant, but stubbornly grey, white tipped waves, breaking over the sandy beach twenty feet below.
He loses his breath, it's so beautiful.
So strange.
He's staring, moving closer, closer, it calls to him quietly.
Come, stay, stay here, never go back.
A familiar lull, the ocean, the rocks, the sharp, rocky path, the faint lingering notes of lavender in the breeze.
"Your first beach," Seonghwa says, grinning happily.
"Yeah," he says breathlessly.
A leaf falls from the branches above.
His eyes follow it, its gentle, fluttering path, Japanese maple, still bright green, just the tips turning to a beautiful fall colored red.
How stunning this would be in late autumn, he thinks.
Crimson, beautiful, crimson.
__
Seonghwa's voice is soothing, Hongjoong thinks idly.
Something madly calming about that familiar drawl, the gravel in his voice at the end of the day.
They've settled down under the tree, large for a Japanese maple, twenty feet he reckoned when he craned his neck up to see the sun lighting up the leaves.
YOU ARE READING
↱SEMPITERNAL↲ ⇾seongjoong⇽
FanfictionA story where Hongjoong and Seonghwa find each other in three lifetimes. "What if I said I'd find you in lifetimes to come? What if I loved you in all my lifetimes past? Wouldn't that be lovely?" "I think I'd say you're a god awful poet."
