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