chapter 3: the songs you hear on the breeze
synopsis: reader and seonghwa sit by the river; seonghwa sings, reader draws, something shifts.
a/n: hoping to give you a little more action after this chapter, but also hoping you'll enjoy it anyway <3
note about the song that seonghwa sings: "arirang" is an old korean folk song, and therefore is meant to imply that this character version of seonghwa is also from korea. they say to write what you know, and what I know is the north american climate/environment, so that's approximately where they are now i guess (though you're free to imagine whatever, obviously!)
warnings: for this chapter: none!
tags: park seonghwa x reader. fluff, friends to lovers, romance, slowish burn, fantasy au, nature spirit!seonghwa / nymph!seonghwa. childhood best friends.
thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think!
(divider by @cursed-carmine)
The two of you sit on a log just a step or two away from the small waves lapping at the rocky sand. You stretch your legs out into the water to enjoy the coolness, not caring if your sandals get a little wet. Seonghwa follows suit, his long legs extending just a little further than yours. Eventually, a few fish come up to poke their little faces at his feet, and you spare a glance at him. The smallest, fondest smile is on his lips.
“What--” You hear yourself speaking before getting the chance to evaluate it-- “What kind are you?”
Seonghwa’s attention is pulled away from the little fish for only a few seconds to look at you. “Excuse me?” He teases, “Is this racism? Man, you really have changed--”
“No! Oh my god,” you panic but laugh, “Stop, you know what I mean.”
“What kind of spirit?” He clarifies, chuckling at your reaction.
“Yeah. Like, I remember your mom telling us there were different kinds. In my head I thought of it as Avatar: The Last Airbender.”
“It’s not like that,” Seonghwa laughs. “Well. Not exactly. There’s no ‘fire nation’-- no fire spirits. Fire belongs to air & atmospheric spirits. They’re not very…interactive…with the rest of us. You don’t see them often. Kind of reclusive.”
“Then there are earth spirits, but a better descriptor would be ground spirits. They’re all about rocks, minerals, geographic features. The solid stuff. The stuff that doesn’t grow, just shaped over time.”
“Then there’s water and life spirits. They’re like…sister types. You can’t have life without water, you don’t need water if you don’t have life.” He hesitates, looking at you, checking your reaction. “I don’t know if I’m making sense. You must still think I’m crazy, right?”
“Not at all,” you smile encouragingly. “I’m just taking it all in.”
“Okay,” Seonghwa says gratefully, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m actually…kind of both water and life. Somewhere in my ancestry, water and life spirits mixed. I’m very comfortable around water, but I’m so alive in, well, a place with lots of life-- plants, animals, you know. Forests.” He reaches out to dip his fingertips in the water, and the fish swim to it, nipping his fingers or giving little kisses, you can’t tell.
“Is it ever difficult? Being both?” you ask.
“No, not really. I feel very lucky, actually. I get to have a little of both lives,” He pauses. “And a little human, too. I think that’s the hard part.”
“Because humans are so destructive,” Seonghwa says lowly, his tone shifting from reflective to almost angry, something simmering just under the surface. “But they’re also a major part of life.”
You’re not sure what to say to that. There’s something so heavy in his voice, and you don’t feel quite ready to ask him about it. Not yet.
He nods to the canvas bag sitting beside you. “What are you going to draw?”
“I’m not sure,” you say, tentatively pulling the sketchbook out while glancing around the shore. “I usually don’t draw until inspiration strikes me.”
“You’re telling me you don’t find all this inspiring right now?” Seonghwa gestures, a genuine, private smile spreading across his lips as he looks around, like he’s experiencing it all for the first time: the violets and daisies in the tall grass, the warm wind dancing off the water, the gentle waves brushing his and your skin, and the cloud-dotted, bright blue sky. It all seems to reflect in his eyes, colors blooming in his normally dark irises.
Your inspiration has struck after all. You pull out some pastels, set the sketchbook on your lap, and open a page.
Seonghwa turns and blinks at you as you choose your colors. “Oh? Find something worth drawing?”
You simply nod and begin sketching lightly, loosely outlining the general shape of his head.
“What is it?” He looks around again, comparing the shapes on the page to your surroundings. When he can’t find it, he tries tracking your eye movements, then looks behind him. Finding nothing comparable, he turns back to you. “Why are you looking at me?”
Your quick sketching stops only long enough for you to smirk up at him.
“Oh, me?” He laughs, surprised. “Why me?”
The question catches you off guard, causing a line to stray. Picking up your eraser, you think. “I don’t know. I guess…it’s just nice to have you around again, Hwa.” Why your neck suddenly heats, you can’t tell why. “Especially here, where I’m happiest.”
Something between a laugh and an exhale escapes Seonghwa. “It’s nice to be here. It’s nice to be with you again.” He nudges you with his side, meaning to be affectionate, but you gasp (dramatically) as it makes you smudge an important outline. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Seonghwa laughs as you give him a faux glare. “I’ll be an obedient model, I promise!”
Seonghwa, somewhat unsure of what one actually needs to do as a portrait model--as well as if he is even allowed to breathe-- resigns himself to staring in one direction across the river and staying that way. You say nothing for a while, and he assumes that to mean that you’re satisfied with his pose.
He thinks about the past 24 hours. Yesterday, he was so alone. He wasn’t sure, fully, what he was doing. He felt the call of the forests here, a longing call for him to return home, so he did. But he didn’t know why he had to come back. But thank the Earth that he did, because not only was he not alone anymore, but he was with his first friend. His human. His delightful, beautiful, talented, and kind best friend.
There was a familiar swelling in his heart, as he thought about these things and gazed at the horizon in the late-day sun, and he began to hum softly.
When you hear it, you glance up at him, your drawing continuing. The song is lovely, and it sounds so familiar to you. It feels melancholic, yet sweet.
Your curiosity gets the best of you. “What song is that?” You ask while shading some broader parts of the portrait.
“Arirang,” Seonghwa says, still dutifully looking forward. “Old song from South Korea.”
“Ah, so that’s where you’ve been. Right?”
He nods slightly. “That’s where my parents were born. Me too. Mom decided to go back after…you know.”
You’re still unsure about the Yawning Grave story. It seemed so fantastical, unreal, the idea that the earth could open up and take revenge on its inhabitants. Seonghwa’s mom had told the stories well, had captured your young imagination so easily. A small, bitter part of you wondered if it was just Seonghwa’s excuse for leaving so suddenly. A thought you pushed away, of course, because it was Seonghwa-- he wasn’t cruel, he wasn’t a liar, and he was, in fact, a nature spirit from those stories. He’d proven that. So why would the Yawning Grave be any less real?
It wasn’t something you were ready to even try to understand, you realized. Instead, you focus on the song.
“Can you sing it for me?”
“Won’t that affect your drawing?”
“Oh, all the details are already sketched out,” you grin, briefly flipping the page toward him to give him a sneak peek, then flipping it back. “I’m just shading and coloring now.”
“Hmm. No,” you tease, and Seonghwa huffs. “Still need to get the lighting right. But singing won’t affect the composition.”
“I’m just a prop to you,” Seonghwa mutters. “You really want me to sing?”
“Yes, please.” You suddenly remember him singing when you were kids, silly songs from movies or ones his mom had taught him, when you would wander the woods together. He was good then. You wondered if he would still be with the voice of an adult.
The answer was yes, you soon realized. His voice was rich and deep, but he was able to hit the higher notes of the song with ease. The notes rose and fell in slow waves, washing over you with warmth.
It felt as if the wind itself was drawing the music from Seonghwa’s lungs, carrying it away down the current of the river. Part of you wondered if they could hear it miles away, imagining his voice carried in soft whispers by winds blowing onto the shore.
“Wait.” You lift your head from your work, brow furrowed as pieces slowly come together. “My mom-- I heard her singing this song a couple times!”
“Really?” Seonghwa’s head tilts sideways. “I’ve only ever heard it sung in Korea, and from my mom, obviously.”
You shrug. “I know for sure that it was that song.” You didn’t know what to think of it now, but you distinctly remember hearing her singing it softly when she would garden, or paint, or when your family went hiking. You remember vaguely wondering why she was singing a song in a different language. Brushing the thought aside, you remark, “You’re a good singer, Hwa.”
“Is that,” you look at him for a moment, squinting to assess certain shadows along his jaw and just beneath his eyebrows, “Is that at all related to the spirit stuff?”
“Yeah, actually,” Seonghwa chuckles. “Not really an inherent trait, but spiritual and cultural things can add extra energy and power to our connection with the Earth. The arts, you know. It’s a sort of…worship. Praising the Earth using the bodies it gave us. Lungs, in the case of singing.”
“So, like, the more--or better, I guess-- you sing, the stronger your bond with the Earth?”
“And the more at peace it is,” Seonghwa sighs, as if growing more peaceful himself alongside the settling world.
“That’s beautiful,” you say softly, adding some final highlights with an eraser and a white pastel.
“Your art can do the same thing,” Seonghwa speaks low. “You’re praising Earth when you make a beautiful recreation of it.”
You look up at him, half for the purpose of checking your work, half in awe of his words. You stare at him, beautiful in the intense glow of afternoon sunlight, and smile. He returns it, head still turned away from you, but sensing your contentness beside him.
“All done,” you hesitate, holding the sketchbook further from your face to get a better look.
“Well, show me! I’ve earned it, sitting here so patiently.”
You slowly rotate the artwork toward him, and his heart flutters a little. You’ve drawn him so beautifully, he thinks, and not because of his own lucky looks, but because of the intentionality you’ve put into it. Every mark and blend is purposeful, and the colors aren’t just realistic, they’re ecstatic -- pinks, blues, oranges, greens blending to make his skin and complimenting each other in the background in shapes and lines. The negative space holds flowers, plants, and--his favorite parts-- the fish in the water, colors brightened for the sake of the composition.
It’s like a confession, he thinks. He hopes. Like you’re telling him how happy you are to be with him. Like you--
“You hate it,” you grimace, turning it back toward you defensively.
“Absolutely not!” Seonghwa scoffs, gently prying the sketchbook from your hands to admire the piece more, his eyes dancing across the page. “I’m stunned. It’s beautiful, y/n.” His voice drops lower, as if reverently. “It’s fucking amazing.”
A laugh escapes you. “Thank you,” you say, finding it difficult to not to blush. It’s been so long since you've shared your art with anyone, much less have it be complimented.
Carefully, he hands the book back to you, and now it’s your eyes that have his full, undivided attention. It’s so intense, you almost feel goosebumps crawling up your spine.
“I think the Earth must be pretty happy with you right now,” Seonghwa says, eyes bright.
“Shut up,” you wave him off as you start putting away your supplies.
“I’m not kidding!” He gingerly takes your wrist, and you freeze. His eyes search yours, something between confusion and awe swimming through them. “I can feel it, Bug, the connection–” he looks down– “Ah, it’s so hard to explain. Everything feels a little stronger. Nature is humming a little more loudly. You’ve given it more life.”
You blink at him, intensely aware of his hand over yours, your heartbeat quickening at his words.
“I know it’s been a lot, everything I’ve told you,” Seonghwa says, pulling his hand away and turning out toward the water, pulling his knees up to his chest. “But I’m so glad you’ve…accepted it. You haven’t run away. It’s nice, being able to talk to someone about this.”
Behind him, you’ve stood up, and you stare at the river, searching for what he sees there. You put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay for dinner, Hwa,” you say, and he hears the fondness in your voice.
He takes that as a silent agreement. A sign that you want him there. That you won’t run away.
thank you for reading! feel free to leave a comment!
©máirewrites on tumblr. ©oncomingstorm13 on ao3. please do not repost without permission. this is a work of fiction intended for entertainment and does not accurately represent the personalities, identities, morals, or ways of life of any real people mentioned.
