#bloomingrites

[ssaecularis]

hwayang had seemed very nice when jungil had met him at the farmstead where, apparently, most of seomri’s manicured gardens had their seeds coming in from. he says apparently, because he hadn’t really believed it at first. but then again, perhaps he should have taken it at face value the second his inquiring had led him to darken the shop's doorstep, laying disbelieving eyes on the rows and rows blooms just off the side of the property.

it had been a spur of the moment thing, an impulsive action that jungil couldn’t quite explain other than that he had this poorly formed idea of setting down some flowers along the side of his home – the side that faced the neighboring abode to its left. he’d been quite set on it, thinking about how nice a little neat of row blooms can spruce up the place while he tried to get to the more complicated projects.

so he had bought an assortment of mixed blooms, all with hwayang’s informed suggestion. he’d kept particular care with the fact that jungil didn’t have a green thumb and that anything more fragile than a patch of weeds would probably die under jungil’s care. no, jungil needed a batch of sturdy and perhaps perennial blooms; a grouping of mixed colors, no preference expressed, that jungil could manage and care for without having to be all that knowledgeable on the subject.

hwayang seems just as nice now when jungil stands at the counter again, looking real sorry and tinged with embarrassment.

“my flowers drowned.” jungil says, frowning, refusing to meet the younger’s eyes. “i meant to put them in the ground today but yesterday’s rain caught me off-guard; i had the flowers soaking in a little bit of indirect light in a spot in the garden, and i didn’t know that the drainage there was poor. i…” he grimaces, locking his hands in front of himself, palm over palm, “i need to repurchase the entire order again, if you have it…”

⸻ blossom / s. @bloomingrites

[foldingdoors]

inconsolable, ft. @bloomingrites

yul doesn’t look at the time, but it’s a bit after he showered and dried his hair and changed his shirt. he texted hwayang and invited him over for wine, no thought given whether hwayang is available or even half decent. it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. the dinner table usually cluttered, as you’d expect the living space of two men to be, is now cleaned up. laid atop of it are two glasses — the grocery store ones bought just yesterday after he’d finished up his shift, and a bottle of wine. him and minseok usually opt for beer.

white wine pairs well with fish, but it’s an effort too high for something casual or he’d forgotten to cook it. he’s a glass down with the drinks before hwayang knocked on his door. there’s no excuse for this — getting carried away is an amateur mistake and he’s someone who usually rations and controls his drinking along with everything else and god can hwayang stop staring at him like that. words bubble up in his mouth like carbonation.

he passes his greetings and gives hwayang a squeeze on his shoulders and they talk about things that aren’t all that important. before yul knows it, he’s two glasses down. he’s not fucked up, he just reached highs that take a little time to come down from. everything a hike up to everest. everything so high octane all the time. he’s sure hwayang wouldn’t mind.

“a lot of shit when i was away,” yul says, words slurred and blinking slowed. he’s not sure how they got to this conversation, but he sways his head and runs a hand through his hair. approval and validation comes in different doses but he wonders how far he can push it with hwayang, is what he would think if he was sober. 

“it just made me think i’m not as great as people think i am. it’s just a lot of shit to deal with and i’m not, like, proud of myself for what i’ve done to keep it up, right?” he raises his eyebrows, trying to get a response.