𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍.

“Maybe some discouragement would do you good.” It’s less exasperation than warranted, a sentiment more akin to a plea, approximating a willful capitulation inevitable even in its measured approach. Coveted and lovingly delayed, even as it pulls at him with each word spoken in the hushed expanse between them, the call of his name somehow commanding, absolute in its allure. He cedes, a delightful surrender punctuated by the kiss, the venture to bargain with time, with him, beginning anew as the space between them expands, Boa sitting back with a quiet hum. “Mmm, let’s try again. Be good.” Amusement twinkles in his eyes, lifting his face into an easy smile, unassuming, body returned to its previous position; gaze expectant. “I think you’ve got the posture down, don’t you? Just do as I do.” Gradually, the simmering energy will seep out of him, softening sharp smiles and meaningful looks as focus is finally turned to the task at hand. “I want you to breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth, like this. Deeply, from the stomach.” He demonstrates, gesturing towards his own chest with an almost bashful smile. “No pushing or pulling, just… breathing, purposefully. Hold just a second or so before you switch between inhale and exhale, and try not to switch too harshly. How long you’ll do each will be in a sequence later, but you can just kind of do it on your own at first; to see how much your lungs can expand.” There is a brief, though genuine touch of vulnerability settling over him as Boa’s instructions come to a pause, eyes fallen unto the other’s own, gently inquisitive. “… Does it make sense so far?”

His abidance is all intemperate love. An attentiveness, his mentor enshrined therewithin, canonized atop the figurative throne in his mind, a kingdom subdued by the illustrious and uncontestable ascendant: Boa. He had been told to breathe, so he had breathed. His lover has led with a knowing tenderness not replicable by anyone. His own attempt comparatively tense, nevertheless sincere, however —   softened by a sensation he had roused within himself. He had likened the phenomena to spring, something ...  in bloom. A metaphorical flower at his absolute pith, spreading like silk-wings of pink, loosening throughout him like a splay of curious admirers, all-adoring fingers, tingles.

The Jaeseung House weren’t strangers to grief, Kwangshik even more so. It felt like some ancestral rite that descendants of the unfortunate house would be bound to suffer a sufficient bout of loss and suffering in their lifetime. This was the witch’s thinking, at least. If there were something other than his own misfortunate to blame for everything that happened around him, it would be that.

What’s more, the misery was to be repeated and remembered every damn year. For years, Kwangshik had excluded himself from the depressing house activities, relying on his other family members to pay their respects to the ancestors. Now, at the age of 25, it was his turn. But not by choice… he just happened to be the only one left alive at the moment. He’d likely see a couple of cousins and distant aunts & uncles, but the thought of it made him recoil.

In the witch’s itty bitty mini-breakdown, he spilled the details of the ancestral mourning to his boyfriend’s friend, Inshik. Junho had to attend to his familiar duties with Areum, which was not an issue to Kwangshik whatsoever. The loneliness was the issue. To his surprise, Inshik jumped at the opportunity of accompanying the Jaeseung witch to this strange ass graveyard ceremony.

Kwangshik had decided on all-black attire as opposed to their other traditional color, forest green, to wear to the ceremony. In absence of a formal suit, it was a black button-up and skinny jeans. The best he could do…. or the best he cared to do. The white veil hung over his face much to his disdain, evident by the way he blew at it every time it tickled his nose.

At the sound of another voice, the witch flipped his veil up immediately to look directly at Inshik, the nerves tangling in his stomach beginning to unbind itself. With a sigh of relief he thought was subtle, he tried his best to smile. “Sorry. About the weird veil thing. Required attire.”

“You really didn’t have to do this, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

The bookkeep had been duped: he is no intimate. His cozenage, however, is hieroglyphical, supported by an intrinsic humanity, commiseration, readymade gauds to pander to what the other required most ...  Whatever that fucking was. His smile is deliberately too tender to claim its presence outright, adorning his countenance glowingly, feeble with modesty, a gauzy scintillation, coy as he encroaches, as though he was cautious, wanting only the best for the other. “I don’t think it’s weird. It’s admirable to upkeep tradition. Though ...  I could be biased.” A wink, gesturing to himself, his race the unspoken clarification between them. “Your ancestors are thankful, do you know that? You’re carrying their memory onward and one day, someone will do the same for you. You’re keeping your heart open, despite your tragedies.” A pause, deliberate, head at a ruminant cant. “If no one has said it already: thank you for enduring, Kwangshik.” Reverence subdues his body to a quick descent, hand extending its flowers, realigning.

He considers it a certain ...  patronage. His own, charitable benevolence. The punctuality is just a veritable and indiscernible auspice, prophesying a hopeful betrayal in the silence of a delusory simper, lips modeled by a beguiling grace, kindness. His words are the softest caresser, voice easily silk, attentive, tender with adherence —  the witch was mourning ... “I came as soon as you messaged me.” His worry thickens, appreciable and discreet with disparate motive, encroaching the other with a nonphysical brush, the graze of his eyes, approaching steps feline.

“I’m so sorry, Kwangshik.” A patented tranquility to his speech, almost dully, deliberately hypnotic (believable), colorless lilies a cornucopian bouquet laid bridal amidst his arms. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, which is why I won’t let you go through it alone.” His little insistence, ostensibly harmless, flowers his one-sided exchange, smile. Fucking dog. “Life is meant to be celebrated.” Easy in the mind of an immortal. “Maybe there’s something else we can do to show our reverence for your ancestors. I’d like to try, at least.”

“Hey, bitch.” He’s slouched, comfortable in another’s chair, elfish, amused by halfway swiveling, spun ‘round finally to flaunt himself, impudent. “Nice suit! I think it’s so cute when your sisters help you pick out your clothes.” His lean-forward, chin perched atop his opened palm with aforethought smirk. The commentary is deliberate, as though to emphasize luxurious opulence as it draped from him. Loose-fitting silks accentuated by black, cat-eye lens, as unnecessary as he had hoped it would be, juxtaposed to the monotonous, workplace environment. 

“I wish I had that going for me, but you know.” A little drawl in his voice altogether, unabashedly cliché, preppy. “I like to leave a good impression and not completely cede all individuality to the day-in and day-out rigmarole of a boring fucking life.” A smile, acute, applied with shimmering pressure. “I think it works for you, though. I mean ...  Look at you. So gross.” A wink, seat rotated again. His transition is casual, enough to denounce any previous animosity, all of it impermanent banter in his mind. “I actually got that new place and a new boyfriend. It’s kind of incredible that I literally cannot lose, ever. I just triumph again and again in every situation life presents to me. It’s almost like it’s my destiny. I am sincerely just not meant to be like you.” Even turned away from him, the shape of his lips as he speaks is quite obvious. “Enough about me though. What’s going on with you, bestie? I feel like it’s been so long.”

“Are you saying you’re not invested already?” It’s an exhaled disbelief, melodic in its teasing lilt, knowing and airy with amusement. Unfaltering in his composure, he inhales upon the other’s approach and allows a hum of appreciation as the familiar scent crowds heady around him. He revels in its sweetness while his body moves in a reflexive shift, instinctive in response to honeyed words - though their deceptive nature is far from lost on him. He’s being distracted. The curve of his smile speaks for itself in its indulgence, a roll of his eyes preceding another quiet burst of laughter before he’s fluid, in motion again.

The distance between them is further erased, eclipsed by his intent to adhere to the request. “That’s a lie.” His retort is smooth and quick, followed by the deliberate press of his hands exactly where they need to be; no doubt unsatisfying in their brevity. “We’re only doing breathing exercises in the lotus position today, so it should be easy for you.” As he recedes, the curve of the other’s jaw is the first to beckon a kiss, and Boa complies readily, pressing his lips across skin in a trail leading to a mouth, soft, beckoning too. Disarmed, he pauses, gaze rising to look into deep, brown eyes. “Just indulge me, I think you’ll like it. It’s quick, I promise.”

It’s an ...  especial duende, his ogle coruscating and inseparably anchored, nonverbal intrigue he troths, delicate with truthfulness, attentive in the lover’s way, unmoving. “Do I not breathe correctly, or ... ?” His words are breathily evanescent, still hoarse with early inexperience, reacquainting with strengthening daylight. A yawn, he smirks, “I do also prefer the stretches ...  I mean, it’s like you gave up on me once I asked for help and now I don’t even get to have a say? That’s not how you teach someone, Dhanin. Do you want to discourage me?” 

“You promised.” The words coil around a feigned vexation, unconvincing as they fall from a mouth twitching in an effort to restrain its subsisting smile. He’s stretching, if only lightly so, skin rising with small bumps in the cool air before he repositions his arms and holds. The burn is welcomed with a long sigh, a rumble from within his chest following the quick flutter of eyelashes before finally, the tension is released. An adjustment to his posture, the slow descent of his hands to their original place on top of his knees return him to his original position, and he savours the realignment, the totality.

“Are you really?” Opening his eyes to meet those opposite him makes him realize they had fallen shut in the first place, coaxing a quick laugh. “Interested in learning, I mean. You can talk if you want, but only if you can listen, too.” It’s now unhindered, both the smile and the deliberate scrunch of his nose as he gives a careful once-over. Intending to scrutinize the posture while making an honest attempt not to lead himself astray, his gaze dips, rises, ventures where it need not, indulgent and reverent. “Ready?” Unashamed, he finds his grin sharpening before he gestures towards himself. “You can start by doing as I do. Straighten your back, hands on your knees.”

“... I’m still doing this, aren’t I?” He is purposeful and meticulously provident, gaze acute, ineludible, his nominal mania just a shimmering portraiture of a very ...  special love, unbound in its plenteous captivity: their togetherness. His lips impart a smiling resplendence, soft but indicative, like he’d been juggling a private, personal joy. “You know ...  I like when we both stand to gain something, Boa ...  It ensures we’re both invested, especially in something as vital as our health.” 

His routinely avoidance had veered that day, persuaded by early dawn as it would adorn the figurative and slumbering eden beside him. The beginning light inspired a very, very tender adulation, wherein his lips catered to the other’s skin like reminiscent phantoms regaling a silky and bodily altar, kisses barely grazing traces. His adoration had transitioned to eager complaisance. A vow murmured somewhere amidst the ear, into the neck, his head nestled top the other’s shoulder, sowing absentminded promises there. Something about mutual satisfaction ...  His quiet and sweet reassurance almost like a charming invocation, warm ...  Amiable good mornings, was he comfortable and was he awake? There were better things to be doing than sleeping, weren’t there ... ?

It led him to the present, centered crisscrossed in their suite and attentive, though certainly not to the current demonstration. His amusement is subtle, though his subtleties seem to always loudly project, beguiled smirk only partially obscured by the hand he’d perch beneath his chin, head turned, observant. “You’re really into this, aren’t you ... ? You know, when I said that we could do anything you wanted after, this wasn’t what I had in mind.” He winks, playful. “Though ...  That isn’t to say that I do mind. I am actually deeply into spiritualism.” Something like that. “I’m very interested in learning about its physical medium, too.”