@eternaljouska - Tumblr Blog

"sunflower garden" and joshua for the title request thing 🌻💐💕 thanku!!

∆∆∆∆∆ Title Request 2/6 ∆∆∆∆∆

w/c: 4.3k

a/n: I am so so sorry this took a whole eon to finish. Thank you so much for requesting and waiting for this~~ I hope this is satisfactory. Also, I don’t know why this is so long when my plot is, again, questionable lololol

Sunflower is just a little price for such as little happiness. It’s gaseous, happiness. You can smell it. Before it’s gone with the wind just like that. But it’s worth it.

You wonder what would happen if you’re to give out diamond instead. Would people look at you crazy? Lord, even with the obnoxious yellow-orange flowers in your hands, people already look at you crazy.

You are out for a walk near the Han River—it’s a walk for today, not a run, not biking, but a walk—handing out one sunflower for anyone you deem needs some cheering up. There’s a little plastic tag attached to each flower; you’d take your time to write a short encouragement to hide inside it whenever you wait for the florist assistant to prepare your regular. And then you’d go on your way, hunting for gloomy people on your stroll. But that’s it, as long as the stock is still available.

There are people who’d be weirded out by your sudden involvement in their sweet miserable life. No offense. Really. You think all lives are just the same: sweet and simultaneously, miserable. Sometimes, not even sweet at all. But there are others who’d be pleasantly surprised.

There was this one kid from two weeks ago. She had cried, you didn’t know why, but you swept in anyway with your sun in the smiling flowers—please, excuse the poor attempt at replacing a knight in the shining armor. You had continued your pilgrimage after you wiped her tears dry and made sure that she smiled. But when you’re about to start on your religious self-reflection on the bridge, facing the holy sunset of the Han River, someone tugged at the hem of your baby blue sundress.

It was the little girl.

She stood in front of you, a bright smile challenging the sun behind you and a fresh baby breath posy inside both of her tiny palms. You fell on your knees and pulled her in a hug. Lord, you needed a hug. Before you pulled away, you noticed a shadow of a man standing a few feet away under the shade. It must’ve been her father, you’d thought and couldn’t help but think that sunflower needed to cost a lot more than it was.

That was the one time you’d felt the magic at its strongest. And just like humans did, you craved for more.

This kind of outing usually ends with you donating some water to the Han River. But that day, it didn’t. After the little girl ran towards the man, you’d turned around to face the sun with teary eyes. But you didn’t cry. You felt happy. And happiness was every drop of water swimming in the river in front of you. You just stood there, until it swallowed whole the dying sun.

However, today, you cry.

It’s not an ugly cry. People would think you’re a lunatic if they saw you like that. It’s just water, tears, streaming down your eyes and into the river. Your gaze follows the infinitesimal droplet giving in to gravity. You smile. You always think that you’re such a bad person. But now you feel like the best altruist, donating water for the Han River.

Lord, what a joke.

You see your tears falling to your arms hanging from the rail and then continuing their journey somewhere you can’t keep your eyes on. They rarely even fall into the river, just a very insignificant amount does. And now you’re acting as if at least a quarter of Han River is your tears.

You wish everyone was that little girl. Or her father. You wish that after almost a year doing the same set of activities would make people recognize you and finally return the hospitality with a simple hi or a ghost of an acknowledging smile. No one besides the people from the flower shop does. And as you cry, you think about why nobody’s ever walked to you to ask the reason for your tears.

Maybe they know not to meddle in such a sacred act of crying. Or maybe after almost a year, they know to let you be because you’ll stop eventually and go home. Until the day comes again for you to repeat the habit.

Maybe you should actually change sunflower with diamonds hanging from your neck and circling every inch of your arms, spending your ten-minute walk trying to blind everybody’s eyes. Maybe only that way would people see you. Or maybe not, since they’d be even more blinded to see.

You chuckle at the image of you with a pair of shiny sunglasses copying a supermodel, strutting with hands spread out to make an exhibition out of the diamonds in your possession. You’d lower the sunglasses when people look and throw one random bracelet their way and a necklace to the others. You swear you’re such a funny person, too bad nobody would stick around long enough for that side to start emerging. But then when your laughter dies, you feel pathetic. Have you been crying here because you want someone to notice? What an attention seeker.

And Joshua would have said otherwise and defended you—like he usually has—if only he hadn’t been caught completely off guard.

Joshua’s afternoon exercise is cycling from his neighborhood, around the Han River, and back home, the route only interrupted by a quick stop in his favorite smoothie shop. He rarely brings his friend with him because most of the time, they’ll very likely ruin his zen. They’d start an unnecessary race that messes with his pace and force him to pay for their smoothies and even have the nerve to blame him for the sweat their own bodies produce.

Today, he’s accompanied by Seungcheol and Soonyoung, both of which are clingy—as hell. And the amount of stress he got from his unwise decision was enough to last him half a lifetime. They had argued about who had the largest shadow—very important, he knows—and when Joshua pedaled faster to get ahead of them both, the disaster began.

Soonyoung was the first to realize his attempt to escape, and so he said, “See, Shua can’t take being close to you any longer. I know he only likes me.”

The guy reached his right in no time and Seungcheol, being the mature one that he is, raced him and singsong, “He can only tolerate you because I’m here, though.”

So that’s how Joshua wished a truck would kindly and gently run them over.

But that much stress he could handle. The additional dose they added when they started looking at you weirdly, he couldn’t.

Joshua walked out of the smoothie shop later than usual. All because his highly intelligent friends couldn’t notice the urgency of his tapping foot, the urgency of wanting to be in the right moment and in the right place. He already didn’t see you in his round about the Han River. There’s no way he’d miss you on the bridge. So he did what he knew would raise Seungcheol and Soonyoung’s interest: betting in a race.

Once they all reached the finish line, which obviously was picked by Joshua for a specific reason, Seungcheol and Soonyoung immediately noticed you and wondered aloud as to why you’re crying in front of the bridge. Soonyoung squeaked and almost shouted at you, thinking that you’re planning to jump over the bridge.

It was a fair thought. Joshua was like that the first time he saw you. He’d hesitated to say something, so he waited. He waited with bated breath until the sun completely set and you wiped your face with your hands and left. You rode a lemon-colored bike that matched the yellow of the sunflowers in your hands. You had caught him following you home, and Joshua could only stutter out his explanation. But in the end, when the shadows of worry cleared out of your eyes, you smiled instead. And with a thank you, you gift him the last of your sunflowers.

Joshua doesn’t see your bike anywhere near you, and that fact is somehow unsettling. He has come every weekend, sometimes early enough to witness you doing your sunflower patrol, to know that you only leave your bike home when you do your run. And you doing your run means that your day is worse than usual.

So today is one of those days.

And on those days, he, more than anything, wants to give you back all the sunflowers in the world.

But his friends, flanking him, are watching you with pity in their eyes. The balloon-seller who stopped Soonyoung from shouting for you earlier had told them to let you be, saying that you’ve been here a lot and perhaps just like the attention people give. It had made Joshua wondered for a split second, just how many people in the park recognize you. But it was the least of his priority. It’s the middle-aged man’s remark and Seungcheol’s question that came after he left.

She’s attention seeker or something?

Joshua would’ve defended you against the balloon seller’s comment and his friend’s question any day if it’s not for the fact that he’s too late—if it’s not for the fact that you’ve been listening to the exchange all along.

You meet Joshua’s dark orbs and grasp the worry swarming within them. It’s almost like the first time that you saw him, when you confronted him for following you home. Only back then, his worry was slightly muted by a hint of curiosity. And now, listening to the conversation of the men around him, you think you have an idea as to why he’s looking at you like he’s ready to throw himself under a bus.

The words that his friends said didn’t hit the mark, not after you just admitted it to yourself earlier, admitted that you indeed want the attention, just not the one that people have been giving you—if they even spare you any. You know that Joshua feels horrible about his friend’s question or the seller’s comments. Or maybe because of the fact that you heard them, you can never know.

You’ve seen him around on the weekends, Joshua. You’ve seen hovering around the bridge, watching you—or the sunset. And sometimes he might follow you to your neighborhood. You know you should be worried, but after that first meeting, you’ve accepted his presence in your periphery. If only he would move a little bit to your line of vision.

Joshua never said hi. He never uttered any more word after he left with your sunflower that first night. And he blames his insurmountable stupidity for that. He likes to conjure up his ideal next meeting with you, the perfect words, the majestic setting. There would be no more of that, he’s afraid. His friends have ruined it. You had met his stare for long seconds before you turned around and left for the direction of your neighborhood. And Joshua hadn’t been able to follow you because of his hellish friends. They finally noticed that his expression was made up of not only of exhaustion only when they invited him to Wonwoo’s house for games.

Joshua brushed them off, but they knew. As hellish as they were, they’re still his friends. So he told them about you. Their reaction at the end of his story, the immense guilt written in the line of their faces, was a little victory for him. But then they forced him to go to where you live and send their apology before they do it themselves since she doesn’t know them yet.

And so here he is, standing in front of a house approximately a third of his in size, but of which small lawn is in much better care than his wider one. He smiles at the variety of flowers that it has, imagining you crouching in front of each one and giving them such meticulous attention. He realizes it then that he knows nothing about you other than your love for flowers. You must have spent a lot of money on flowers alone, but the house in front of him gives him the impression that you come from a more humble family. Do you work? Or are you still in school? Do you live with your parents at all? Are they still present? Suddenly, the prospect of talking to you, trying to draw an explanation of your daily ritual, seems very absurd for him, for someone who has no clue of who you are. It seems beyond personal. It seems out of the line.

Joshua grunts and knocks his head to the solid surface in front of him and let it stay there only to realize five seconds too late just what it was that he has done. He heard the running steps first and then suddenly you’re in front of him.

Joshua’s eyes are blown wide in surprise as he takes a few scurrying steps backward.

You still have your face on the window, flipping the curtain a little bit to identify the person outside your door, but Joshua is stupefied. You were so close to him, so close that if the window isn’t there, his lips probably have had brushed against your temple. This is so not the moment for him to think about such a thing, not when he could’ve broken your glass window with his head bump. Not when you’re standing on the doorway, eyes equally wide, with your almost translucent long white nightdress.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“Is this about your friends?” In the span of a couple of seconds, you have closed the door behind you and stood less than three feet away from him. You’re hugging yourself. The night air must be cold for you in your nightdress, and Joshua feels a knot forming in his stomach. He can’t imagine you chose to sacrifice the warmth of your house as to not let him inside is a good sign. But after he let it settled, he knows it’s the sensible option. He would be wary if you had let him in that easily, he’s still a stranger after all.

And to be frank, if you had the time to consider your action, you don’t know what choice you would choose. You had been hiding under your blanket, going over the conversation you heard and kept listening to a couple of hours earlier when there’s a glaring sound coming from outside. You had jumped out of your bed and ran to your window to see, but you weren’t prepared for the sight in front of you. It took you a fraction of seconds to put the name into its face, and without being completely aware of what you did, you had opened the door and walked a few steps towards Joshua.

He scans your stance, takes a short glance towards your house, and then stares back at you, which makes you feel suddenly conscious of how you present yourself in front of him. “Say it,” you demand, placing more force on your voice than necessary.

“I’m, I’m sorry. They’re sorry. They wanted me to say it because they don’t know how to do it. Because you don’t know them.”—he clears his throat again—“Not that we know each other, but you know, I’m more, um, familiar with you, you know. But they want to say sorry too, I mean, I come so that you can meet them, that is, if you want.” You hear him grumbles, probably scolding himself for the quality of the words coming out of his mouth, not that you think they are bad.

“Hm,” you mumble noncommittally before you continue, “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel sorry.”

“But—“

“Their words missed the mark. I do want attention. That doesn’t make it right, but… I was thinking about their words, and, um, they brought out some truth I’ve been struggling with. So it’s okay, I guess.”

Joshua doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how to, so he just looks at you, struggling to contain the questions building up inside of him. He wants you to share that truth. He wants to know more about your sunflower patrol, but he’s not certain you would tell him even if he begs you. Lord, he wants to know. Why had you forgiven his friends’ words so easily? Why had you accepted them? He was about to burst when you finally slice the thick silence and blurt out, “You never said hi.”

Joshua blinks. And he can feel his whole body burns red with the shame washing over him. All the whys he’s asking is now turned inward. Why, why hadn’t he said something? Why hadn’t he come to you? What’s his reason? His excuse?

When he finds the answer, he let out a soft scoff. “Because I’m afraid. Because I’m a coward.”

He would never guess that you could deviate so far from his expectation, but you did. You smile and whisper, strangely proudly, “And I’m an attention-seeker.” He doesn’t know why, but that brings out a smile out of him also. But then you turn around and walk towards your house, to quickly for him to register. His smile was almost replaced by panic when you say, “It’s cold. Let’s talk inside.”

She brews him a cup of hot chamomile tea, and Joshua has the sure knowledge that the warmth within him comes not from that tea or the four walls encircling him. “I, um, I’m sorry. I was afraid you’d think of me strangely if I walked to you when you, um, you know, when you were crying on the bridge.” She laughs at that, and the sound of it warms him even more.

“And yet you follow me home after,” she taunts. Joshua’s eyes grow wide again, he always makes sure to keep his distance and to bike away once you enter your neighborhood. He’s never followed you home completely like that first night he saw you. “Don’t worry. After that first night, I don’t mind your presence anymore. But I do wish you’d just come to me and offer your company directly.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just—“

“Stop saying sorry or I’ll kick you out of my house.” Ah, right, your house. He hasn’t had the chance to look around with his nerve eating up him. But this house… The white wall opposite of the window, the wall in front of him, has considerable amount of picture frames: some containing real pictures, some with dried flowers inside. So you live alone, he concludes. The sound of a cleared throat snaps him out of his attempt to learn more about you by observing your home, and Joshua wishes he could be clever enough to try a more subtle method.

“I wanted them to be diamonds, you see,” you start, but Joshua has no clue of what you’re trying to say. “The sunflowers. I might not seem like it, but I have the money to do so. But that would attract the wrong kind of attention. Even sunflowers already did so.”

Joshua’s heart races at the realization of the direction this conversation is going. You’ll let him know. You’ll let him know. He bites his lips to prevent himself from saying stupid things that will make you stop telling him your story.

“When you do something good, is it so wrong that you wish a little something in return? I just want to be that unexpected kindness someone’s hoping to make their day better, you know, like when you have such a bad day, and the smile of the bus driver acknowledging you is like the greatest present you’ve received in your life? I can’t hope people stop and compliment me every time I have a bad day to better my mood. I used to go to this park back then when I was a child. They have a small section dedicated for sunflowers. I remember how happy I always was when I visited the park. So I tried one day, giving out flowers, sunflowers, to stranger on the street. And I keep doing it. Because the surprise on their faces, their smiles, they make me feel good about myself. Wow, I realize it now. Saying things out loud really makes a difference, huh?”

“W-what?” Joshua stutters out, caught off guard once again. “It’s not—It’s not bad that you do it to make yourself happier. It may sound self-centered, but everyone is all about themselves first anyway, right? That’s how it supposed to be. You take care of yourself. And what you do while doing so, it makes other people happy also. So that’s good, right?”

You let out a single laugh. “You think so? I just— the people who are there a lot, they say things that make me feel bad about myself. After hours of going around with flowers, I’d hear them say those things and the happiness just gone. It becomes a burden, somehow, I don’t know.”

Joshua doesn’t know what to say, and never in his life before does he feel more useless than he does at this moment. That is, until he remembers what he shoved inside his pocket before he rode his bicycle to your house. He jerks into movement and he can feel your apt attention on him. He reaches into his pocket, takes the small object out, and offers it to you.

You accept the small pin from his hand. It’s a sunflower pin with eyes and a curving lines on its face and some words engraved on the bottom part of it. I am a smiling flower, it says. It’s so pretty, so so pretty even with tears starting to blur your vision. “I’m not good with words. I’m always scared of saying the wrong words, so I resort to not saying anything,” Joshua says, his hand reaching for the back of his neck now. “When I saw that pin, you came to my mind, so yeah… Um, I know not everyone appreciates flowers, but I know you do. You… I think you’re like a smiling flower, so I hope that more than anyone, you can appreciate yourself, like you do flowers.”

You’re stunned, still looking down at the pin, but with tears clearly lining your eyes. You look up and smile at him. You notice his surprise at the sight of your tears, but you pay it no heed. You rise from your seat and he follows suit in reflex, but that action allows you more freedom to do what you want to do next.

Joshua believes he’s already dead when you wrap your arms around him, but his thundering heart crushes that belief. It’s not his current main problem, though. His ultimate problem now is where he’s supposed to put his own hands, which are now limp on his side. He raises them slowly only to find that you already let him go. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Oh? Yes, no problem,” he answers instantly. His heart still won’t calm down, but that’s not what bothers him at the moment. He knows it’s coming. Goodbye. It’s coming any time now. And he’s not ready. He doesn’t know if he’d have the courage to talk to you again if he has to say goodbye now. Quick. Think of something. “Oh!”

“Oh?”

“The, um, the meeting with my friends? Can you, would you want to do that?”

“Ah, that,” you chuckle softly, “of course.”

Both of you share a few moments of silence until you chuckle again, “Goodnight, um…”

“Joshua,” he says. In all honesty, you already know his name, but you refuse to present yourself like a creep that you’d already know his name, in case he doesn’t know yours yet. You walk him to your door and repeat what you said, “Goodnight, Joshua.”

“Goodnight…”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he speaks your name as if it’s the first time he’d heard it, and it may be so, for you don’t think even the sellers around the Han River know your name. You don’t have friends that would holler your name like crazy as Joshua’s friends, that’s why, although you imagine that that certain friends would meet you soon enough for their said apology.

Just before you close your door on him—knowing that he would not go until you do so—you call him, “Hey, Joshua.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not as cowardice as you think you are, you know. I’ve seen you defending me against people’s comments in the park.” His eyes widen again, and you decide that is one of the cutest things you’ve ever seen. When it’s apparent that he’s handled the surprise of you knowing his small act, you say your request, “Talk to me tomorrow?”

There, there, his eyes grow even wider, and you chuckle. “Make sure that you do. Be careful on your way home. Goodnight.”

“Y/n, wait.” The closing door stops moving and you open it a little bit more to let your head out. “I know this place. The, um, the owner is my mom’s friend. She loves flowers too, has her own garden and all. But only recently did she become obsessed with sunflowers. You know, one day her youngest daughter brought a sunflower home, and she suddenly felt this renewed and expanse fondness of sunflowers.” Joshua’s stare flickers upward and finally notice the eyebrow you raised at him.

Your point? You seem to say.

“My point is, I want to take you there. I can ask for her permission and take you there,” he finishes with a long exhale.

“For the meeting with your friends?” you ask.

“No! I mean, no,” he clears his throat, “No, for, um, our talk, tomorrow. I’m going to make sure that I do.”

He smiles at the end of his sentence, and you return it. “Can we bike there?”

“It’s pretty close, yeah.”

“Alright, then. Pick me up anytime.” You bite your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing and for the third time tonight, you half-whispers, “Goodnight, Joshua.”

“It is,” Joshua murmurs after you closed your door, his smile bigger than the one on the sunflower pin’s face. “It is a good night indeed.”

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs