#cespires

Sohee decides to work during that strange hour when the heat of the mid afternoon is so overbearing that even the shade from the apple trees does little to cool anything that rests underneath it — despite this she continues to work. She gathers apples and tosses them into a nearby basket without bothering to sort the ripe from the rotten. Each fruit is the same to her anyway, each poisoned from within.

It’s not as if the orchard is a place worthy of interest. Aside from the trees in perfect rows that continue to grow despite her efforts to kill them off the grass is overgrown with weeds and nettles that shelter snakes and other wildlife. And yet, there’s still a soul that lingers. 

“Who are you... what are you doing here?” 

The soul is pale and the way it flickers from transparent to solid leaves Sohee uncertain if the ghost will even be able to answer her before it fades entirely — she reaches out to the figure, inviting it to approach her she speaks soft. “I can help you move from this world... is that why you’ve found me?” Sohee stands still, waiting. 

It occurs to her that perhaps this is not an ordinary spirit with a last wish that keeps it bound to this earth. Given the strange aurora that surrounds her grandfather’s home and with the appearance of Hyuna and with it the sun goddess’ pigued interest the area may be a place of interest after all. 

Another thought occurs to her that perhaps this spirit also the force behind the gardens will to survive. 

@cespires

“that’s just how it is.”

ii. In many ways her silence is a riddle, even when their nights are long he knows only one thing: that he doesn’t want to go home. He never wants to go home, feeling so brave at heart because he’s an avid keeper of silly notions so he holds firm to the belief that he can take on the challenge of the thousand years that weigh heavily on her shoulders. 

iii. He knows that she’s lived a thousand times over him. And he’s foolish to think that he can count the layers that make up Jieun when she’s already centuries ahead. That for every century he gains he’s still short a millennium. It’s only plausible to understand that for every minute he takes one step forward, he’ll still be the same distance away from her as when he first started. This doesn’t stop him from wearing her ink-stains like the battle paint of a warrior that’s proud and vigilant.  

iv. The way the red wax falls on the letters are just another reminder that for people such as them most relationships are sealed in blood— he has to be careful— because he’ll willing break his heart everyday for her and still gather up the pieces to offer it as a token, dirt and all. Heart break, and all. It’s just another reminder that all things in the shade of red, burgundy wine, pomegranates, and lunar eclipses are theirs for the taking.

( meme status: not accepting! )

If there was one thing (among many, many things) Candy loved unconditionally, it was dogs. She was weak to each one she met, stopping and petting them, even if their owners didn’t appreciate it. They would forever take up a huge chunk of her heart with their round eyes full of life and adoration. Each person a dog met was their new best friend and Candy wished to somehow strive to be the same.

But a certain Lee Jieun already occupied that status and neither of them would allow it to be given up.

After much coaxing from other people in her life, Candy decided the best way to battle the loneliness, which swept over her nearly empty apartment, was to get a fuzzy companion. Hours within the journey across various animal shelters, she stumbled upon The One. She was all black and more than eager to hold out her paw in greeting. Not only was she friendly, but she exuded the softness, which Candy longed to have herself. It was love at first sight.

“You’re just like a princess, aren’t ya, Zelda?” she cooed, scratching the dog behind her floppy ear. Zelda, who seemed pleasantly pleased with the new moniker, wagged her tail and bounced excitedly.

On the day Zelda came home, Candy wanted to go out and get some last minute toys and treats, but didn’t want to leave the dog in a foreign environment. There was just one option as to who to call for babysitting duties. Jieun had always been nervous around animals (for whatever strange reason), but she didn’t trust anyone else to look after her place and pet.

She was gone for an hour. An hour and a half at the most. Yet she came back to a war zone. At least three of her beloved plants had been knocked over, dirt and water strewn across the floor. Lamps had either fallen or were completely busted. But the worst part was her new custom painted pink mouse had been mangled beyond all recognition.

“What happened?” Candy finally managed to ask, an extremely nervous Jieun stuck in a nearby corner.

Her friend relayed a story of how Zelda tried to jump on her (”She just wanted to love you!” “No! It was scary!”), so she ended up running around the living room, trying to avoid her. In the process, a huge mess was made and the dog made a nice plastic meal of the mouse.

“I’m sorry. I was out of control. But it was mostly her fault.”

And while this was true, Candy had never been one to hold a grudge.

Thankfully, she had emergency money saved up for such an occasion.

Wrapping an arm around the still shivering woman, she leaned her head against hers. “It’s okay. Obviously, I need to shell out for a dog sitter next time, so you won’t be traumatized. But―” she spoke sternly, “you and Zelda have to get along! You’re both my loves and I won’t have you getting into fights or destroying my apartment every time you come over.”

This would end up being much easier said than done.

The same clock from before daunts him, every click a reminder that they do not exist in the same scape; that time has estranged them back to strangers once more.

He nears the frame, fingers grappling with the edges with an attempt to remain in place. Every time she looks away, he peers upon her, again and again, with a kind of tenderness that could murder. He probes the way age sits upon her features, how it has not been kind to her hands, and how rough it has been to her skin. Caught up in the act, he soon notices her, staring right back, with him, an open book for her to read. 

He doesn’t mean to catch her eye but it is his heart that keeps him from disappearing away from her gaze. He only meets her glance, eyes asking for her to come to the window once more, as they had done the first time, when her heart was as young as her curiosity, begging to be answered, pleading to find something worth more than the four walls enclosing her in this place she called home. His hands pry the window open, just enough for his voice to pass through. 

Then carefully, he calls, “Jieun.” 

-- and gives up everything in just the spoken syllables of her name, the one thing that has stood against the test of time. 

(I know you wanted to wake up, but that doesn’t mean you miss the dreaming.)

(...)

“...huh.” he hadn’t thought about clothes. “i guess i wouldn’t really wanna go in my underwear.”

he knows that look--  people always think there has to be meaning behind everything. kid with the smile, you gotta have a sad story, a fucked up childhood... something, right? yeah, fuck that- he’s all about living in the shallow end. accepting everything at face value. you trust someone or you don’t.  jieun might not be his ride-or-die, but he knows a good confidant when he sees one.

he’s still a kid, but he’s not stupid.

“fuck yeah i would.  this is why you’re my favorite jieun.” his only jieun. whatever.  the curve of his lips grows twofold, broad and evidently pleased with her answer.  life doesn’t follow rules, so he doesn’t waste any more time worrying about the end scene.  she swivels on her stool; he follows suit, reaching out afterwards to place his hands on the seat of hers.  

"when i die, i’m gonna go down in history. with a bang.” he’ll make sure to clean up the city first, though. bang.

end of discussion. 

it happens by accident— there’s too much clutter beneath her bed, and in an act of defiance (because she really should be practicing right now), she’d lowered herself on her hands and knees to sort it out.  amidst the dust several neglected trinkets emerged: a dusty peach-shaped keychain, the beaded bracelet she’d gotten two birthdays ago, a lone sock.  squinting into the dark, she’d just managed to fish out her old phone charm when something knocked against her hand. something solid, worn at the edges.

a book.

nestled in her lap, she examines it silently.  the cover had faded in color, aged by disuse, once a vibrant blue.  fingers trailing along the spine, she breathes in as if it’d restore old memories- old stories she’d once cherished. how many months had it been?

she remains where she sits, phone pressed to her hand, mouth pressed tight in anticipation.  pick up, pick up- “unnie?” she can’t make out a reply, so she presses forward. “it’s me. jisoo. i’ve been thinking….was thinking, just now, actually.  about you.”

We'll lay here for years or for hours Your hand in my hand, so still and discreet — So long, we'd become the flowers

( 04:36:07 ) 

Jieun’s face is an anomaly that Christo despite having seen a thousand times, only wishes to see a thousand more. He and her ghosts, study the contrast that her skin and dark hair leave against the green cut of the grass, he admires the rose staining her cheeks, lips, and the tips of her fingers that twitch ever so slightly in her sleep. 

Even from the slight distance he sits away from her, he can feel that her blood flows, albeit slow, it’s warm and sweet much unlike the spirit that takes her entirety from him during her waking hours. The dawn always approaches so suddenly, striking him violently but the morning stirs the spirit within her gently, rousing her to wake — he lets her fingers go just to turn back time.

( 04:01:00 )  

With each new turn of the clock, sometimes Christo will lay his body next to hers. Then, and only then does he’s certain God created one of hands for holding one of hers. The other is made to brush away the ghosts who like to stroke her hair, fascinated as he is by such a radiant lovely thing to be within their grasp.  

Other rewinds of the clock, he uses his time biding the foxes, urging them to take interest in the songs he’s written for her. Eager, their fur is as cold as it is red and on nights like those, his fingers ignore what they’re made for and will play the strings of his guitar, allowing the melodies to fade one into another. Sometimes he’ll play until his fingers bleed just so he can remember that like these foxes, his blood flows slow, cold and black.

( 05:21:05 ) 

Then there are the times when he can’t hold her hands when his are painted in the shades of someone else’s red, he can’t bring himself to look her in the eye, so he hires the fireflies.

Christo lures them. The fireflies come one by one in lines searching for the sweetness of the honey inside of them. With each close of a lid he whispers a silent plea that each will live, he selfishly asks them to stay alive long enough to chase off the dark lingering in Jieun’s eyes. 

Christo then tucks each individual jar into his pack saving their light for a night when somewhere on the other side of the thick of trees there’s a girl he doesn’t want to lose, he bends the rules of magic to get back to her safely — he leaves the woods, crosses the border of this world and the on intertwined unnoticed.