THE COLOR OF ALMOST SPRING 🌱 @anagnorizein
it's a new week. it begins with trampled daffodils and crocuses.
hwayang thinks he comes close to what he imagines cardiac arrest might feel like. he's only twenty-four — too young for his body to be betraying him like this — but the sight of pewter blues and dusty pinks, blooms that had only just begun to open last month, flattened into the thawing soil at the far edge of his garden makes him violently ill from panic. it hits him so suddenly he has to run home to vomit.
he couldn't let the rest of his flowers see him like that. if they did, they would know something was very, very wrong.
the white, short-haired cat that has recently taken to appearing at dawn's rest startles him out of his thoughts later that week — a sharp gasp pulled from his chest, the hose nearly slipping from his hands as he waters the beds he'd painstakingly replanted.
the cat is impossible to miss against the green slowly breathing back to life as april stretches its days longer and longer. she is all white, and she announces herself with a loud hiss from behind a thicket of blueberry bushes.
there, he finds the culprit behind the ruin of his garden.
truthfully, hwayang is a little intimidated by her. yuna stands past his knees, all muscle and teeth, and looks like she could take him down if she wanted to.
she seems to like the scent of fresh rosemary, and he uses it to lure her all the way back across town on foot. his gardening sandals aren't made for distance; by the time he reaches jaehee's front door, his soles ache and grit clings stubbornly to his skin. he can already feel the ball of his right foot blistering.
"do you not own a leash for your dog?" he asks. he doesn't make eye contact, but his voice still comes out firm — more statement than question, despite his intent. "she was in my garden again. yesterday, too. she trampled my flowers."
his gaze flickers to jaehee for only a moment before drifting somewhere just past his shoulder. he presses his lips together, searching for something more measured, something polite — something that doesn't sound like an accusation, especially directed at a veterinarian of all people. but even after the pause, it still comes out wrong.
"you should keep better control of her." another pause. this time, it takes less processing to find the words to say as he glances down to his feet, covered in a light layer of dirt and looks back to the older male. "also — i need a ride back home. the walk wore out my sandals."