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While the bells toll throughout the town and scrolls are still lethargically stuffed into bags by students suffering the aftermath of dry alchemy theories, Hansol’s long legs are already pumping up and down hard on the pedals of his bicycle. Cutting through the town square and winding along the curve of the road that overlooks the ocean, the mint-green bicycle is a magnificent chariot that carries its owner over boundless skies and the roughest waters - or Hansol likes to imagine every time he cycles to the cottage nestled at the edge of the hill.
The breeze from the coast brings with it the playfulness of the huckleberry trees, the sweet aroma of their ripened fruits wafting his way even from a distance. The thought of spending an hour answering their riddles while he pops juicy berries into his mouth is indeed a temptation he finds hard to resist. But the breeze also carries a hint of meat pies and coriander breads baking in his grandmother’s oven, reminding him that each second is not to be wasted if he wants to finish his tasks before dusk paints the skies and Seungkwan’s voice blesses the summer solstice ceremony.
Newly appointed as Head Choir Mage of the town, this is the first time Seungkwan will be singing the Year Song and Hansol knows that the boy’s hair will turn a livid shade of red if he misses even a second of it. The cold fury of his best friend is really not something he wants to incur again, after the disastrous spell that involved the choir mage getting magically stuck to Mingyu for a whole day.
(Never mind that the incident actually gave Seungkwan the courage to confess his feelings to the gentle giant, never mind that Mingyu had actually been nursing a hopeless crush on the choir mage for the longest time and never mind that they will be tying their souls together in the coming winter solstice.)
Between chaining his bicycle to the fence and hurriedly weighing the pros and cons of bringing the herd to graze in the grassland next to the lake, he has failed to take notice of the nine-tailed fox in the cottage’s garden, sniffing and burrowing its nose in the potted plants curiously.
If he had, then maybe his heart wouldn’t have lurched at the sight of long legs draped over one side of Junhui’s armchair and slender fingers caressing brittle yellowed pages. Maybe he wouldn’t have stumbled and probably, his voice wouldn’t end with a nervous squeak too as he calls out the other’s name.
There are a lot of maybes and probablys in his current situation, all of them rolled into a great ball of mortification that he wishes to be crushed under. Except the floor is nowhere near his face, there are arms hooked around him and when he looks up, he is greeted by the amusement tugging Wonwoo’s thin lips upwards.
“I’ve got you, kiddo.”
(Two years since Wonwoo walked out of town with a backpack filled with more books than garments, the nine-tailed fox sprinting delightedly ahead of him and Hansol still finds himself hooked to every word that slips through the curl of Wonwoo’s lips, still finds his heart tripping over every lilt in the older one’s husky voice.)
Untangling himself from the other’s arms takes a little more than his uncoordinated limbs, all wiry and awkward from his body’s recent growth spurt, could manage but Wonwoo is considerate enough to keep a hand on his arm until he’s planted firmly on his own two feet. (There’s a trail of tingles blossoming under his skin, chasing after the heat of Wonwoo’s palm as it travels down to his fingers.)
“Hyung, you’re back …” He says simply (stupidly), not trusting his speech filter enough to say more but also not quite liking how his courage always drains away in front of Jeon Wonwoo. What are you afraid of, the mini-Seungkwan in his head screams at him and yet the unsaid words (I’ve missed you) are thickening on his tongue, like sawdust choking whatever nerve he has remaining.
His head slightly cocking to one side, Wonwoo’s eyes travel the four corners of the living room before he turns back to Hansol with a sheepish smile, as if he too can’t quite believe that he’s back home, with the loving familiarity of family and friends surrounding him once more.
“That I am, kiddo. Though… I should really stop calling you that, look how much you’ve grown in the two years I wasn’t here!” Wonwoo says this but it still doesn’t escape the attention of the younger boy the way he now stands a little straighter and taller, probably as an attempt to prove some point unknown to no one else, save for himself.
When Wonwoo raises a hand to ruffle soft tawny hair, it takes all of Hansol’s willpower not to lean into the touch, but he can’t help fall deeper because Wonwoo’s grin is wide and bright, the exact same one he always found to be directed at him many a times over the years they have known each other.
Reminiscence for simpler days floods the space between them and it feels like the older one has never left in the first place, in search for magic he could not find here (and taking a piece of the younger boy’s heart along with him, like it was hidden in the folds of his cotton shirt the day he left). The afternoon sun bathes the pair in the golden glory of its rays, accentuating in Wonwoo’s eyes the sparkle of pride and tenderness that is permeating enough to course through Hansol’s body and fills his heart with the abundance of his happiness.
Sunlight shifts behind clouds and with the precarious contrast of light and shadow framing Wonwoo’s facial features, he catches something quite exquisite in the way the other is looking at him – a fierce affection that he feels Wonwoo isn’t willing to explain right now and he doesn’t understand well enough. But it vanishes as quickly as it appears and he hastily leaves it at the back of his mind as a figment of his imagination, when Junhui’s voice calls out from the kitchen urgently.
“Hansol! Why haven’t you-” The winter mage stops in his tracks, his eyes flitting between the both of them before his eyes narrow into a mischievous slit at Hansol and his lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Woo, you’re still here? Didn’t you say that you were going into town to say hi to the others?”
The question seems to shake Wonwoo out of his reverie but it also seems to present an internal dilemma within him and his lips pursed in a tight straight line. As Hansol and Junhui waits for a decision to come, the youngest wishes wilfully that Wonwoo will stay for the rest of the afternoon, that he can forget about his tasks and linger beside the older one, and that most of all, he hadn’t kept silent to Wonwoo’s talks about leaving the town two years ago.
(But of course, how could he have asked Wonwoo to stay? When he knows full well that the older one’s eyes are always looking to the night skies with a heart yearning for age-old magic, buried in the depths of ancient burial grounds and ritual sites?
He couldn’t, not when Wonwoo is made of stars, mystery and the boundlessness that governs the universe.)
“I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take the herd out since I haven’t seen them in a while and Nornu will probably love to play in the lake… Kid- Hansol, I’ll see you at the ceremony later.”
“See you later, hyung.” Hansol nods, barely hiding his disappointment as Wonwoo disappears out of the door, though a small smile later appears on his face at the sound of a whistle and a nine-tailed fox’s thrilled yelp out in the garden.
But of course, Junhui has to be a terrible person and ruin everything with a disdainful scoff. “So how was the tearful reunion? Did you guys hug? Kiss? Did you confess your undying love for him?”
Knowing the volatility of his magic at this time of the year, the flora mage clenches his fist at his sides in an attempt to drive away the urge to wrap the winter mage up in merciless snaking vines, but it’s annoying, all the same, to see the smugness dripping from Junhui’s smile. “Hyung, I don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“Junhui.”
The voice from the doorway is soft and deep; nevertheless, it is enough to render both Hansol and Junhui into a shocked silence, wondering how much of their conversation has been heard as Wonwoo gazes at them with an unfazed expression.
“It’s strange how there’s a sudden blossom of yellow acacias in the centre of the lavender field when it wasn’t there in the morning… it’s beautiful but I don’t think the colours of the flowers match.”
There is a moment of silence as glances are exchanged between the pair and Junhui shoots Hansol a look of annoyance, but it is also laced with a relief that the youngest share too. “Right, it must be Grandmama experimenting with the soil. Did you hear that, Hansol? You should let her know. Thanks Woo, for your two cents worth.”
A nod is all Wonwoo gives in reply and wordlessly, he turns to leave through the garden. The bell tied to the cottage’s gate rings, assuring the remaining two in the living room that the dimension mage is indeed out of earshot. The winter mage’s smile turns dangerously gleeful immediately and a sudden impulse to bolt out of the room into the safety of the greenhouse creeps up the flora mage’s back.
“You know what I used to read in one of Grandmama’s books about flowers, Hansol-ah? Yellow acacias – that’s flower language for true friendship. Or more accurately in your case, secret love.”
Within seconds, a blossom of purple marvel-of-Peru blooms in a corner of the living room as Hansol’s cheeks turn a dark shade of red and Junhui’s boisterous laughter bounces off the walls of the cottage.
The sky was draped in the velvety of purple and pink as Hansol made his way to the grounds where the ceremony was going to take place. Squeezing into the front of the crowd next to Mingyu, he clasped tightly to himself the pot of coral roses he had been carefully nurturing for the past three months.
The townspeople grew quiet when the first note of the Year Song played and Seungkwan’s voice rose to the clear skies, the blessings he called forth from heaven for the town embedded in the dulcet and soothing tones he offered up as a pleasing melody to the gods. After the final notes of the song had floated up and away, a roaring cheer and applause rose from the crowd (the loudest of them all coming from Mingyu), and if Seungkwan had burst into joyful tears on his soulmate’s shirt after he came down from the stage, Hansol and their friends pretended not to notice.
(Although Seungkwan became more of a crying mess when the pot of coral roses was presented to him and a kiss was left tenderly on his left cheek, clinging to the front of Hansol’s shirt and laughing through snot and sobs at the protests from the floral mage about “crumpling the precious roses I painstakingly grew!”.)
Darkness continued to bleed into the sky, its blood consisting of twinkling stars and the kindness of the crescent moon that shone her beam of light unto the wishing tree standing in the middle of all the festivities. The lights from food stands and game stalls threw a kaleidoscope of colours on every face on the festive ground and yet none of them wore the one Hansol was looking for.
Slowly, as the night wears on and the town enters into the wee hours of the new day, the crowd disperses either to return home or move to a new spot of unending celebrations. Long abandoned by Seungkwan and Mingyu, Hansol roams around the festival grounds with one hand still holding a bottle of rose ale (purely a coincidence that it’s Wonwoo’s favourite beverage) and the other jammed into his pocket, his heart distracted and his mind not knowing what he’s exactly waiting for.
So when purple neon lines start appearing on the ground in front of him, he brushes it off initially as a hallucination of his brain, lulled to silliness by all the meat pies, the marshmallow he stuffed into his mouth in a stupid game of Chubby Bunny and the three bottles of beer he had to drink as punishment afterwards.
“Kiddo, I’m waiting for you at the usual place.” Someone near him reads the characters made by the neon lines and he feels like laughing because the words oddly sound like what Wonwoo would say to him.
As always, he is minutes too late in realizing the current situation but when he does, he sprints in a way he has never done in his entire life.
The lighthouse is dark when Hansol runs up the slope to it, having being unused for the past ten years but the white tower is still in pristine condition with the salty surfs cleansing it from any grime or dust. Rounding the corner, he sees the soft glow of the electric lamp illuminating the pile of blankets, the various packets of snacks and the silhouette of someone lean and sturdy. His pants and loud quivering breaths catch the attention of the other, who swings long legs over the wooden railings and jogs to him in obvious high spirits.
As he is tugged by Wonwoo to their usual spot on the lighthouse’s entrance, he is once again reminded of the many times they had sneaked in here after hours with snacks and blankets just to gaze at the stars and talk about nothing important. Somewhere between the sightings of the Aquarius constellation and the Cancer constellation, between hot chocolates and searing touches, he has allowed the simple admiration and respect for a hyung to grow into something he can’t understand nor explain.
Coming here may be a mistake for him and the messy knot of feelings in his heart but it’s too late to turn back now and it’s way too easy to sink into the convenient excuse of “for old times’ sake”.
“Is the bottle of rose ale for me? Thanks, Hansol… for this and for remembering that it’s my favourite.” The bottle is passed from one hand to another, and Hansol doesn’t say anything but he is suddenly acutely aware of how the touch of Wonwoo’s fingers linger a little on his skin.
“Hyung, you don’t have to change the way you call me, you know.” His voice is hesitant and stuffy, walking the hazardous line between the casualness of a joke and the clinginess of a boy too hopelessly in love.
“Don’t you think it’s time I stop thinking of you as just a kid brother?”
Under them, the sound of the wave crashing against the cliff is muffled and echoing, like the withering beats of a dying heart - Hansol’s probably.
Wonwoo shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and continues to speak, despite the younger boy’s slacked jaws. “I mean you’re growing too big and too tall. The blankets I’ve brought from home might not even be able to cover you fully anymore.”
Ducking his head to hide his burning cheeks, Hansol pretends to look through the pile of blankets for his favourite one – there it is, an atrocious green one with snowflakes, Christmas elves and chimneys decorating it. A snort and a soft “I still can’t see why the ugly thing is your favourite” can be heard beside him but he knows better than to retaliate, preferring to lie down and wrap himself in its burrow, just like the good old days.
Ugly as the blanket is, it always smells a little of home, chestnuts burning in the fireplace and the pine cones hanging in Wonwoo’s room.
(There’s another reason why it’s his favourite. As if lovingly stitched right into the fabric, the secret told to him by the older one’s grandmother years ago rises to the top of his mind again – “Don’t tell my silly grandson I told you but this had always been his favourite when he was a child. Only God knows why he even allows you to use it.”)
No matter how far and high the celestial bodies are from them, in this place where there are just the two of them, it always seems like he can hear the wistful sighs and secrets of the stars. But now, faced with someone who found it so easy to leave everything familiar and safe, he can’t stop his thoughts from trying to understand the enigma of the many universes wrapped up in the older boy in front of him. What other wonders has Wonwoo has seen while travelling? What could be so marvellous as to keep him away from home, without so much as sending home a postcard or an owl’s letter for the past two years?
“Hyung, tell me the things you’ve seen in your travels.”
There’s a punch to Hansol’s guts, knocking the air out of him and leaving him dazed when Wonwoo lies down next to him and tugs the blanket so that it now covers them both, when an alluring genuine smile appears on the older boy’s face – one that he didn’t know he misses with an aching heart till it’s right here in the flesh. It is the same one that accompanied the stories told in Wonwoo’s low melodious voice, while amazement glazed his eyes because he too played the role of captivated audience to the tales of Irish kings and African shamans that poured from his own mouth.
It is no different now, Hansol realizes with gladness, as he tucks his elbow under his head and his mind spins with the images evoked by Wonwoo’s recounts. The darkened wood of the long tables and the dignified silence in the grand Library of Eurelias, the maroon sandstorms coating the Tens of Sorrows Desert with bloodlike destruction and the Guiyin Lake offering thirsty and tired travellers the sweetness of its lilac water and a kind of ethereal sanctuary that one can never find anywhere else – these filled Hansol’s imagination with colours beyond the dull tints and shades that exist in the small town.
Wonwoo speaks of ancient burial grounds of forgotten kings and abandoned temples with a tinge of sadness Hansol rarely hears in his voice. “All the glories and treasures, just sitting there trapped in layers of rust and dust, all because people forgot about them too easily, Hansol-ah.”
“But here comes the good news.” He continues, the excitement building in his voice again and even Lady Moon shines what little of her crescent beam unto his face, as if she’s listening attentively to his tales too. “I finally convinced the Cartographer Society that there are more ley lines in the areas I’ve travelled to so they are sending teams to map them down.”
“That’s great, hyung! I mean it’s something you have a huge interest in and I think it’s awesome that you’re actually part of something grander, like what you have always wanted!” Exhilaration bubbles up in Hansol and he knows that it’s glaringly obvious to the other, what with his teeth already bared and his lips stretched in a stupid grin but he can’t help delighting in the achievements of a dear friend.
“This is true. I’ve always wanted to do this since I learned about ancient magical sites and ley lines…” Wonwoo’s voice grows quiet, barely a mumbled whisper among the swishes of the waves and the breeze caressing their faces. “That’s not all. The society will also be sending in funds and tangible resources in support of my next set of travels.”
That’s when the roar in Hansol’s ears begins and it grows louder, drumming along to the rhythm of his heart beating slower and painfully against the cage of his bones. The fizziness of his previous exhilaration hardens and now there’s a heaviness lodged at the back of his throat and he thinks it may have started from the left of his chest.
“You’re leaving again.” Three words that burn on his tongue before they are spitted unto the ground, like pellets of hot coals.
Of course, he should have expected this; a farewell disguised as a reunion. Of course, Jeon Wonwoo would never stay in a small town like this. He understands all these and yet, the pain has a tight grip on his chest and it’s getting harder to breathe by the seconds.
A panicked expression ghosts Wonwoo’s face and he rushes to explain, as if it could do away with some of the finality in Hansol’s words. “Not now… I’m taking a break and I need to do a lot of research in the university before I can start to make preparations.”
“Mhm.” Hansol says nothing more, and though he knows he’s being uncharacteristically dramatic, wants nothing more than to hide his face under the blanket, because stars are burning on his eyelids and the crescent moon has ended up cutting his heart into pieces again.
“Hansol… kiddo… don’t you want to know what my new project is?” Wonwoo’s voice is muffled, sounding like an echo from a place faraway, and that’s when Hansol realizes that somehow he has shielded his face in the safety of the blanket.
The grass beneath the older boy rustles when he turns to lie on his back and rests his arm below his head, leaving the younger boy to wonder what spectral he does see in the silent night sky but Wonwoo continues speaking, his voice light and free from all the mundane care of the world.
“I’ve been thinking that constellations have a part to play in the formation of ley lines, or at least the stories that surrounds the signs. If I could draw the different constellations on the old maps and find their points of intersection, then maybe I can find more ley lines or sites. … I’m hoping I’m not wrong but I do think one of the hidden sites might be in the middle of the Everlasting Forest…”
There’s a bait hanging in the pause, Hansol can tell from the electrified tension hanging in the air but he takes it nonetheless, peeking his head out to see the hint of a small smile playing at the sides of Wonwoo’s lips. A little of the hardness lodged in his throat clears away, enabling him to breathe deeply and allowing the fresh air to soothe the pain in his lungs, as though he’s already physically standing in the depths of the Everlasting Forest.
“I’ve read about the forest in books and it’s one of the places I’ve been hoping to go. There are hundreds of oak trees in it and the forest seems to stretch out for miles and miles, for years and years, because the trees are so huge and were the first ones to be planted by the gods on this planet. It’s been said that the trees are infinitely wise with patience running as deep as their roots, that a word from them is better than a thousand words from a powerful clairvoyant mage, that a person with only the kindest and innocent of intentions can enter the forest without harm.”
It’s silly, he knows, how childish wistfulness washes over his voice when there’s less than a hopeful chance that he’ll ever get to leave the town, much less travel to a place halfway around the world. But even if he can’t be honest about his feelings for Wonwoo, he still feels that there’s a certain degree of truthfulness required from him now; if not for the older one’s sake, then for his own sake.
“It will truly be an honour to be able to see the trees with my own two eyes, hear their whispers in the breezes and take in the poignant air they give out.” With that confession, he turns on his back and perhaps it’s just his eyes playing a trick on him or the kindness of the dimension mage next to him, but a chortles escapes him when the shape of an oak tree forms amidst a cluster of the brightest stars.
“Hansol…”
His name is called out so timidly that he turns to lie on his side, bravely facing Wonwoo again after all that have been said. But nothing prepares him enough for the warmth of the palm tenderly laid on his neck and the words that are to come.
“Does this mean you will go with me?”
This must be a joke, he thinks. It even sounds funny to him and he has to resist the urge to laugh in Wonwoo’s face. And yet, his heart races at the flare of that fierce affection in the older boy’s eyes, the same one he glimpsed in the afternoon, with the only exception this time round being that it doesn’t disappear. It stays and the fear of disappointment, the fear of something that he probably shares too, creeps along the edges of Wonwoo’s irises the longer he stays silent to the question.
More than a simple “yes” or a “no”, another question worms its way to the tip of his tongue, because hope is one of the two four-lettered words that have killed men far greater than him, and he has to know for sure now.
“Why did you come back?”
Wonwoo furrows his brows and his eyes narrow in confusion at the sudden question but he quickly takes it in his stride. “Are we playing Questions & Answers now? Fine, we’ll take turns asking and answering each other’s questions.”
A deep breath is taken by both boys simultaneously and the older one casts his gaze away from the searching eyes of the younger one. “For the past two years, I had a lot of time to think about myself, about you, and about us…. Certain revelations have made me realized that perhaps we’re both waiting for the same thing. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of waiting … tired of making you wait.”
There are a few things Chwe Hansol doesn’t excel well in – one of them being the ability to read between the lines, causing more than a few misunderstandings and inside jokes among his group of friends. In contrast, Jeon Wonwoo is a master of subtlety, preferring to wrap his opinions in intricate mazes of syllables and hide his emotions behind a wall of blank expressions.
Yet, all these differences fade away now, when one leaves the comfort of grey ambiguity and takes a tiny step of courage, and the other stops running away and stills his heart long enough to hear, loud and clear, the confession behind careful words.
The wisps of their breaths rise and entwine in the silence as they lay staring at each other, with the same stars and fabric blanketing them. When the chill of the night settles on their skin, they draw closer to each at the same time and light giggles erupt from the both of them.
“My turn now.” Wonwoo grabs the chance before they lapse into an uncomfortable silence, his voice a low whisper that teases the shell of Hansol’s ear. “Were the yellow acacias for me?”
What is the point of denying now? But still Hansol keeps silent, his cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink which he’s pretty sure Wonwoo can see or feel, even though a murky darkness surrounds them. Looking away in shyness, he can already imagine the satisfied curl of thin lips and the crinkle around crescent-moon slits on the face that is just a few centimetres away from his.
His eyes focus on the hazy outline of the bottle of rose ale sitting beside Wonwoo and he recalls how the bottle had been left aside unopened since he passed it to the other. “Why aren’t you drinking the rose ale?”, he blurts out but immediately regrets how his curiosity got the better of him.
“So that I can be absolutely sober when I do this.”
It’s all too sudden, but also all too perfect, the way Wonwoo closes the distance between them and kisses his cheek first, the side of his mouth second, and tenderly on his lips third; three kisses that are fleeting like a dream, searing like the burn of a phoenix’s flame, wonderful like the colours of a fireworks display.
Already, he craves for more because Wonwoo is right – time has been slipping right between their fingers when there was never a need for all this waiting. His fingers grip the front of Wonwoo’s shirt before the other can pull away but the older one doesn’t seem to mind, a silly smile in display for him to see, for him to mirror and kiss again.
“My turn again.” Wonwoo whispers in the closeness between them. “Will you go with me in my next set of travels, and the next, and the next, and probably the next five sets, till there’s nowhere else in the world our feet have not brought us to?”
There’s already a perfect answer to the question, one that his heart has already been preparing since the day the yellow acacias blossomed in the left of his chest, behind the safety of his bones, for Jeon Wonwoo.
“Ask me again tomorrow.”
But for now, Hansol buries the singular syllable again and plays the innocent.
“I drank three bottles of beer in the evening and therefore, I am not sober enough to answer you properly. Ask me again at noon, when I can be sure this isn’t just a dream.”
Of course, he’s sure that this isn’t a dream but it sure feels sweeter than one as he falls asleep to the older one’s heartbeat in the burrow of long arms, nuzzling his nose into Wonwoo’s collar bones.
(When the sun is sitting high and mighty in the bluest of skies the next day, when somehow on the way home from the lighthouse, they end up in the middle of the lavender field, Wonwoo does and kisses him in every way loving and lingering, soothing away any remaining hesitations and doubts within him.
The winter mage’s raucous laughter can be heard from the cottage but it soon stops. When the flora mage walks away from the field, with his fingers fitted between the dimension mage’s fingers, he harbours a secret satisfaction of having Junhui gagged and bound up in crawling vines for the next hour or so.)
A year later, they stand in the middle of the Everlasting Forest, where enormous oak trees dwarf them and the wisdom of the ancient beings can be heard in the wind. Ahead of them, a well glows bright and radiant with pink neon lines spread out from it to all areas of the forest. As they race towards it with child-like delight and joy, jasmine blossom along their path.