Archive of Our Own

letters to busan

 

“You are.

You have been.

You will be, forever.

 

    Stardust and planets,

    fossils and forests.

 

You have been so many things, 

my love. 

 

    Don’t you remember?

 

You are not a stranger here.”

The room is freezing cold when the first sunbeams dance through the thin white curtains, bathing Jeongguk’s sleeping face in a honey-like, soft shade of orange. He rubs his feet together, tugs the bedsheets closer to his nose until it’s buried deep into that pure familiar warmth- tastes sweet on the tongue, smells like vanilla whenever he breathes in. Part of his pillow is soaked, tiny drops of water still falling down from the damaged roof. Jeongguk hears them fill the bucket near the door, one after another, and sighs contently- it means they have more water to use, and he won’t have to go to the well to fetch some more. 

Winters are slowly becoming colder as years go by. Jeongguk’s only sixteen, but the clothes he wears are getting too thin and too short for his arms and legs. He’s growing quickly, and his mother worriedly counts the remaining coins left in the jar to buy her son new ones. He always tells her that it’s fine, it’s okay, he’s a grown man now and he can bear a few shivers down his spine- they should save money for food, instead. Meat is expensive, so is fish unless you catch if yourself in the pond near the hills, and wheat is hard to find because of the cold season, so vegetables will have to do. Jeongguk remembers going fishing with his father, before his old man had to join the army and serve his country because of a war that spared no soldier. Jeongguk woke up early, shared a bowl of rice with his family and helped his father carry the equipment. They didn’t catch many fishes that day, just three little ones, but Jeongguk felt proud nonetheless- they had a nice dinner that night, and they ate with much appetite.

If the weather wasn’t so cold, Jeongguk would go again alone, even. Provide food to put on the table, bring a smile to his mother’s face- lift a burden from her shoulders. Jeongguk would do that- wants to do that, if he just was a little braver.  

The faint sound of rattling coming from the kitchen makes Jeongguk stir in his sleep. The mouth watering smell of kimchi pancakes comes next, and it’s enough to make him slowly get out of bed- his stomach is grumbling from skipping dinner last night, and having a bite of spicy, soft heaven is exactly what he needs right now. The floor is gelid to the touch, but he’s quick to wear his purple hanbok; maybe, if he wraps his arms around himself, warmth will comfort him quicker.

Jeongguk sits by the fire where his mother is frying the remaining couple of pancakes. She smiles and offers him a piece of those sweet donuts that their neighbor kindly baked for them, and he devours it in a heartbeat. It tastes like sugar and cinnamon and happiness, and Jeongguk presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth to remember the taste for as long as he can. He sucks on his fingertips too, just to catch the sugary crumbs still stuck on his skin, and his mother chuckles. Their neighbor truly is an amazing baker with a huge heart, and if they had a couple of eggs to spare- Jeongguk’s mother would make something for her in return. Maybe a cake, or something salty. Spring is right around the corner, so hopefully berries are already starting to adorn bushes and trees- she could make liquor with those, too, and wrap a cute red ribbon around the neck of the bottle. Jeongguk tried it once in secret, but the alcohol burned his throat like he just drank liquid fire. 

The village is quiet after dawn. Jeongguk chews his last bite of pancake without any rush, he doesn’t know if he’ll be lucky enough to have lunch later, so he better savor the taste while he can. The path to the temple is a muddy mess of gravel and grass, but Jeongguk does his best to avoid puddles of water. He breathes in the crispy morning air until his lungs ache, holds the matches tightly in his hands and climbs up the hill- the temple is right there, a shiny wooden gem surrounded by cherry trees. He greets his ancestors with a bow that brings him to his knees and then gets to work, grabbing the cloth hanging from the tiny altar so he can dust the columns. Jeongguk doesn’t know his ancestors very well- actually he doesn’t know them at all, just remembers their names and a few things here and there because his mother used to tell him about them after tucking him into bed. 

Jeongguk often wonders about what happened to them, after they passed away. Daydreams about a world that knows no poverty or war, a universe where men know no evil. He talks to them sometimes, if he feels lonely. Jeongguk asks about what hides behind the other side of the moon, if seasons change, if the water that flows is fast like a thunderbolt or slow like the sunset. He asks them if they’re happy up there, if perhaps they’re watching over him- he’d like to ask if his father has joined them, as well. Will there be a place for himself, too? 

Jeongguk lights the big red candle on top of the altar and presses his hands together to pray. He asks for food mostly, and maybe a fistful of coins, so his mother would stop spending nights sewing precious cloths to sell the morning after. He would keep her company sometimes, helping her choose the right fabric, wetting the thread to pass through the needle, folding the tiny works of art so they can be ready to be sold at the market. Handkerchiefs probably are his favorites; his mother always uses such bright colors and sparkly threads that a million specks of glitter start to dance whenever the sunlights hits them, creating a mesmerizing rainbow of blues, reds and yellows. Jeongguk used to have a handkerchief for himself, too, and it was the prettiest his mother has ever sewn. It was purple and lilac, soft to the touch but allowed no tearing, and it also had his name beautifully written near the corner. He wishes he didn’t sell it for nothing more than a sack of potatoes’ worth of money, honestly. That night, when he came home with a basket of eggs and vegetables but with no handkerchief, his mother cooked dinner but a veil of sadness gently fell on her face. No matter how full Jeongguk’s stomach finally was, the guilt weighted on his shoulders like a rock for years. 

On his way back from the temple, Jeongguk spots a bunch of pretty red poppies not too far from the torrent. They’re gently swaying underneath a peach tree, shielded from the sun by its velvety pink gems. It’s weird- Jeongguk has never spotted that tree before. It stands in the middle of nothing, just an ocean of grass, and it’s the first tree that bloomed no matter how cold the weather is. Jeongguk sits with his back resting against the dark brown bark and picks a poppy that’s still quite young. He carefully opens the green bud and barely gasps when tiny white petals meet his eyes; he opens another, a bigger one, and this time its petals are pale pink. Jeongguk cradles them in his hands, lets the breeze dance through his hair, tastes spring on the tip of his tongue. He should pick a small bouquet for his mother before coming back home, she’d absolutely love them. Red is her favorite color, too, and it’s been a while since Jeongguk brought her a gift. 

“You are not a stranger here.”

Jeongguk lets the petals fall from his hands and jumps, startled, as if a snake just bit his ankle. He presses his palm on his chest and feels as his heart beats angrily in his throat, stands up so quickly that for a second he sees a multitude of glittering black spots right in front of him. A stranger? Of course Jeongguk isn’t a stranger, he lives here, in this village- he was born among these woods, just like the rest of his family. 

A boy shyly appears from behind the tree, a mess of pitch black hair falling on his eyes and cheeks redder than a peach, full lips curved into the prettiest of smiles and a maroon hanbok way too big wrapped around his thin body. Jeongguk thinks he somehow looks familiar, but maybe it’s just his brain playing tricks on him for some reason. The boy is rather short, so he has to look up to meet Jeongguk’s gaze- the taller boy’s stomach churns a bit at that. 

“You are, though.” Jeongguk replies, a little unsure. Where does he come from? Did he hide somewhere? The tree’s not thick enough to hide someone, and even if he actually hid himself there for the whole time, Jeongguk would have seen him. There are no bushes nor houses, so he probably fell from the sky- he does look a little like an angel, to be frank. Jeongguk doesn’t tell him that, of course.

The boy’s smile falters, but stays on nonetheless. He introduces himself, tells Jeongguk his name is Jimin- he says so with a pinch of sadness that Jeongguk can’t help but frown lightly. His name, just like his features, is not new to him. 

“Jimin,” Jeongguk repeats, and as the name softly leaves his lips, he discovers that it’s familiar to his ears and tongue, too. “I’m Jeongguk.”

Jimin nods and plops down near a couple of dandelions, he picks one for himself and offers the other to Jeongguk. When he blows on it, Jimin’s cheeks get so puffy that they do resemble two ripe peaches, which is pretty ironic since they met underneath a peach tree. Jeongguk sits down next to him, not really knowing what to do, and mindlessly plays with a long strand of grass. 

“I’ve never seen you around.” Jeongguk confesses, not daring looking up from the patches of green where his eyes are stuck. He wishes he wasn’t so shy with people- always afraid of saying something weird, of doing something wrong. 

“I only visit in spring.” Jimin does explain and doesn’t at the same time- Jeongguk’s still confused, but doesn’t push to know more. From there, their conversation dies and silence falls upon them. It’s a bit awkward at first, but as minutes go by, Jeongguk finds out that Jimin’s presence is calming, safe. Now that they’re sitting close to each other, Jeongguk can see how tiny Jimin’s hands are, and how chubby his pinkies look. They’re cute, just like the reddish freckles on his nose, like the toes of his bare feet, like that lock of hair that no matter how many times Jimin pushes it back- it keeps falling on his eyes, and Jeongguk has this weird urge to touch touch touch touch because Jimin’s so familiar yet so mysterious and that situation is starting to mess with his head. 

“I have to go, Jimin.” Jeongguk is on his feet in a heartbeat, legs ready to walk him home where his mother is probably doing laundry. Jimin looks up at him, nods and reaches for something right behind the tree. Jeongguk sees gold glittering in between his fingers, and his eyes become the size of the moon. Before handing him the five coins he found, Jimin presses his lips together and tilts his head.

“Will you see me again tomorrow?” 

Jeongguk’s heart aches at how hopeful that question is, and before thinking about it twice, he nods vigorously. Jimin opens his hand and tells Jeongguk he found them out of luck, they were stuck in the bark of his tree and he didn’t want them to hurt it. Jeongguk takes them with gratitude and does his best to ignore how Jimin called the tree his, and how attached he is to it- he thanks him with a deep bow, but Jimin simply shakes his head with a smile. With those coins, Jeongguk would be able to eat for two entire weeks, he could buy meat, or even a piece of fat to roast, or new fabrics for his mother, and medicines, and a new hanbok that would actually fit him. 

“Wait, Jimin,” Jeongguk barely grabs his arm, a worried expression slowly blossoming on his face. “Don’t you need this money? It’s truly a lot, we can share. Buy yourself something warm to eat.”

“I have plenty of food at home, don’t worry.” Jimin reassures him tenderly, closing Jeongguk’s hand with his own. Jeongguk looks at his fist, feels the cold metal as it starts to get warm, and bows once again before getting on his way. Jimin yells at him to come back tomorrow, same place same time, and Jeongguk promises he’ll be there. When he turns around to ask Jimin if he wants to tag along so they can go back to the village together, Jimin isn’t there anymore. The tree stands quietly, undisturbed, as a single flower falls to the ground. 

Jeongguk spends the first coin in exchange for a piece of meat and half a chicken, a couple of potatoes and a huge, enormous sack of rice. The old man offers him a handful of dried anchovies for free, and Jeongguk wonders if Jimin likes them- he accepts the kind gift anyway and starts to walk back home, excited to show his mother his purchases. They won’t have to eat cauliflower soup for dinner tonight, and if he tries hard enough he can already smell the spicy aroma of grilled beef, accompanied by a side of roasted vegetables. Jeongguk talks about Jimin while he’s setting the table, says he made a new friend who generously gave him money- says he’d like to give him something in return, as well. He decides to bring hotcakes, since they’re sweet and savory, plus everyone kinda likes hotcakes. Jeongguk likes them a lot, especially with a spoonful of honey drizzled on them while they’re still warm. What if Jimin doesn’t like honey? He’ll bring bean paste too, just to be sure. 

The weather is not the best, the morning after. Jeongguk wakes up to grey, angry clouds that promise nothing but a downpour, and yet he grabs the hotcakes and starts to follow the path that leads to the temple. The wind is so cold that he feels it in his bones, fingers stiff and shoulders trembling- Jeongguk wonders if he made the right choice, at some point. He tells himself he won’t stay long, if Jimin actually doesn’t show up, that is. 

The peach tree is right where he saw it for the first time, no sunshine dancing through the flowers. Jimin is already there, sitting in a pool of pretty pink petals, with his cheeks red and knees pressed to his chest. His eyes are closed, and a peaceful expression marries his features with harmony as if the storm was just part of his imagination- if he wasn’t a person made of flesh and bones, Jeongguk swears he was looking at a painting instead.

“Jeongguk, hello.” Jimin’s tone is relieved, and his gaze falls curiously on the basket Jeongguk’s holding. 

“I brought hotcakes, it’s the least I could do.” Jeongguk manages to say while sitting down, careful not to let the sweet treats fall on the damp grass. Jimin beams in awe, tongue wetting his lips in anticipation, hands already asking for one- Jeongguk opens the basket and doesn’t hesitate to pass him the warmest, leaving the coldest to himself. They chew rather quickly, satiating the hunger that somehow seems the worst in the morning; Jeongguk wonders what the hell he’s doing when he realizes he’s having breakfast with a stranger in the middle of a field, right before a thunderstorm turns them into wet, frozen treats for wild animals. Jimin still seems unfazed, he eats with appetite and keeps his mouth full, lips sucking on his fingers every now and then. 

“Jimin, I think we should seek shelter,” Jeongguk mumbles when a thunder echoes in his chest. “Let’s go to the temple, it’s about to rain.” 

Jimin looks at the sky, now painted with a menacing shade of indigo, and tugs worriedly at his sleeves. “Is it far? How long?”

“About fifteen minutes, if we’re fast.” Jeongguk replies, already urging Jimin to stand up. Right before he’s ready to run for his life, Jimin stops abruptly and looks back at his tree- he wants to stay. He looks anxious, so Jeongguk intertwines their fingers to bring him comfort somehow, and it seems to work because Jimin finally joins him. As they’re running towards the temple, shoes hitting the ground and heavy raindrops turning into dots on their hanboks, Jeongguk feels like it happened before. He already ran somewhere with Jimin’s hand in his, he remembers that feeling, he remembers the shape of Jimin’s hand, its warmth. 

The temple ends up being a good shelter, overall. The wooden structure protects them against the howling wind, and now that they’re sitting with their thighs touching, the cold is a bit more bearable. They’re quiet, at first- the incessant sound of the rain fills the silence, but it’s not loud enough. Jeongguk still thinks he should say something, even just to make his mind shut up for a second because there’s so much he wants to ask Jimin about. Does he too feel like they’re living everything again, although they met each other yesterday for the first time? Does he remember, maybe, running away from something, Jeongguk’s fingers wrapped safely around his? Does he remember the way Jeongguk’s name flows on his tongue, caresses his lips? Does he too, feel his heart beat in his throat- like it's longing for something?

“Why did you want to stay underneath that tree?” Jeongguk’s words are barely a whisper in the dark. Jimin stirs a little next to him and exhales, blunt nails scraping the fabric of his hanbok, and when Jeongguk opens his mouth to ask him to pretend he never spoke- Jimin talks.

“It’s part of me.” Jimin says so with such simplicity that Jeongguk finds himself agreeing, mentally swearing for asking such a stupid question. But- but it’s not a stupid question, right? It’s legit, right? How can a peach tree be part of a human being? 

“Isn’t it weird?” Jeongguk goes on, not really minding how Jimin’s head rests on his shoulder. “I feel like I’ve known you for years.”

“Maybe you have.” 

Maybe he has. Perhaps they were brothers in their previous life, if such thing exists. A previous life- how can someone recall small, insignificant details such as the warmth of someone else’s hand? Yet Jeongguk does, he traces Jimin’s lines on his palm blindly, fingertips running along them like it’s a map, he knows where lines start, where they stop. He remembers the high pitch of his voice, the small mole on his neck. Jeongguk just wishes memories were clearer, just wishes he knew the reason why Jimin doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore. 

“Jimin, we met yesterday, we-” Jeongguk breathes. “We barely talked. This makes no sense.”

Jimin stands up from the corner he’s sitting in and pushes the door open, nose barely peeking out, nostrils filled with the humid smell of rain. The storm cleared a little, letting a few lucky sunbeams pass through the thick clouds to bring light upon the village. 

“Does it have to?” Jimin wonders with his fingers dancing along the column of the temple. “Make sense, I mean. Does it have to?”

It doesn’t, Jeongguk thinks. It should, but it doesn’t, and maybe it’s okay. They don’t talk anymore after that because neither of them knows where that conversation is supposed to be going; they end up returning to the peach tree where they met, Jimin’s favorite spot in the entire universe, and Jeongguk silently watches as Jimin rests a hand on its bark. It is a part of him, in a special way. Jeongguk still doesn’t get why, but he’s willing to learn if Jimin’s willing to teach. The sunset is now a bright shade of coral, and the remaining traces of the storm gently disappear in the horizon, towards the mountains. When Jeongguk asks Jimin if he wants him to walk him home, Jimin kindly declines- he says he’ll be here tomorrow too, if Jeongguk wants to spend the afternoon together. They wish each other goodnight and then they part ways, but a part of Jeongguk’s soul slowly falls on the ground right were the pink flowers meet the green grass- Jimin holds it in his hands, brings it over to his chest and smiles, eyes admiring that precious iridescent gem that fits perfectly with his own. Jeongguk’s not a stranger here, not even to Jimin’s soul. 

That night, Jeongguk falls asleep with a head full of dreams and a taste of the warmth he didn’t know he was longing for. 

It still remains a mystery how winter lasts for ten eternities and spring disappears like a breath. It’s April now, and every tree in the surrounding orchards has bloomed prettily, ready to bless the villagers with juicy fruits in the following season. Jeongguk remembers sucking avidly the sweet nectar from a ripe peach when he was little- he’d roam around carpets of bright red strawberries, steal cherries from someone’s garden, stuff his cheeks with the plump flesh of apricots that shared the same shade as the setting sun. 

It’s been a few weeks since Jimin took a place in his everyday life now, and no matter how many afternoons they spend sitting next to each other- consuming salty pumpkin seeds, making silly bracelets with grass, plucking petals from daisies- Jimin still hasn’t said much about himself, and Jeongguk doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask. The shorter simply looks pleased with being in Jeongguk’s presence, and sometimes he’d rest his head in the taller’s lap. He’d tuck locks of hair behind his ear, and say how pretty the mole underneath his bottom lip is. They don’t talk, but somehow it feels as if they have said enough in another life. 

It’s a tepid Sunday when Jeongguk brings dried seaweed to share, and Jimin greets him with a waving hand and a blinding smile, tongue more than ready to savor the toasty taste of Jeongguk’s snack. 

“Jimin, is your house nearby?” Jeongguk asks after they’re both satiated, trying his best to sound casual. “You never let me walk you home.” His heart is beating like crazy, because what if Jimin gets offended? Then what? What if he gets angry, never wants to meet him again? 

“The tree is my home, Jeongguk.” Jimin’s voice is veiled with melancholy, but as much as Jimin tries to explain- Jeongguk can hardly understand him, because a tree can’t be a house. It could be for birds, but for a person?

“What do you mean?”

Jimin sighs, but then stands up. Jeongguk does the same, eyes fixed on the boy whose hanbok still looks a bit too big for him. Jimin starts to walk around, arms barely spread open, nose up in the air to inhale the intoxicating smell of fresh flowers. 

“I was walking around here, a long time ago,” Jimin starts, “And I saw this pretty, pretty bunny!” He exclaims with wonder painted on his face. “So I decided to follow him, and-” Jimin walks as if he was recreating the exact same scene from that time, same steps, same childish grin. “And, suddenly, I fell into the pond, but I couldn't get out.” 

Jeongguk stops breathing for a second. Jimin stands with his arms now wide open, a trace of glittering tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. He wipes them away with the sleeves of his vest and kneels on the ground. 

“It was so cute, Jeongguk. It was little, and its fur was a breathtaking shade of ashy grey.” He murmurs as he looks at the base of the tree, where roots are slightly visible, like the bunny was there. Jimin stays silent for a while, and Jeongguk waits patiently right next to him. 

“When I woke up the first thing I saw was this tree, and when it blooms, so do I.” 

Jeongguk tentatively caresses his cheek, and Jimin leans into the heartwarming touch like a starving man. 

“Is that why you said you’re only around in spring? Where do you go afterwards?” Jeongguk’s words are a murmur, hushed, maybe a bit scared of the answer. 

The answer doesn’t really come as a mess of stumbling words; it comes as a hug, and when Jimin shakes his head, tired, Jeongguk only then realizes that perhaps Jimin isn’t entirely a person- there’s magic flowing in his veins, an entire galaxy trapped in his eyes. Jimin’s presence is temporary, and for the first time since their meeting, Jeongguk wishes spring was endless. 

“I remember you, and it’s okay if you don’t.” Jeongguk feels Jimin’s fingers brush against his nape as he talks; he says that perhaps he came back because he didn’t get to meet Jeongguk in his previous life, and if soulmates do exist- he might be his, after all. Jimin speaks of frozen hills, of torrents where the water was quiet, of golden fields, talks about how his soul recognized Jeongguk the second he saw him. Jeongguk listens, listens, listens. His heart aches in his chest, unable to remember all those details that Jimin holds close to himself; but he does, too, feel like Jimin somehow completes him. So he tells him, and the tears that hotly wet Jimin’s cheeks are from happiness, this time. 

If spring days are pretty, spring nights are prettier. Jeongguk decides to stay, since his mother has to care for their sick neighbor anyway; he’ll come back early in the morning, and it would be like he was never gone. Resting his chin on his knees, he inhales the chilly evening breeze, looking at how Jimin’s chest rises every now and then right next to him. Twilight comes after sunset and it brings darkness along, too, but Jeongguk doesn’t mind, too busy admiring how the first stars start to reflect themselves in Jimin’s eyes as if they were mirrors. Jimin begs Jeongguk to tell him about his family, his everyday life- so Jeongguk speaks of his mother, of how hardworking she is, speaks of his father, of the day he left with his armor on and fingers wiping the tears away. Jimin holds him a little tighter when he begins to cry, and Jeongguk tries to absorb the comfort like a sponge dropped into the river. 

It’s unclear who fell asleep first; maybe the sound of crickets helped, or perhaps the night sky was particularly calming. Jeongguk wakes up with the rising sun, and after leaving Jimin with a promise of coming back and a kiss on his temple, he follows the path that leads back to the village. 

Jeongguk does come back later, and the day after, the day after that, sometimes with food and some other times with games to distract Jimin from the fact that their friendship has a deadline. He’s not sure he’s doing a good job, to be honest- Jimin spends entire nights gathering the fallen flowers, watching the others as they dance before joining the ones in his hands. He knows summer is right behind the corner, and if he’s scared, he doesn’t let Jeongguk know. 

“Even when I’m gone, I’ll leave a part of me for you to remember me.” Jimin says one warm day at the beginning of May, when the peach tree has no flowers left on its branches. He doesn’t know when it will be time to go, so it’s hard to stay serene- they cherish every minute like it’s their last together, and Jimin is thankful for that. He knows Jeongguk will be waiting for him, even after three seasons, and that thought only is enough to make everything more bearable. 

Jimin ends up leaving one night right before dawn, and Jeongguk isn’t there when it happens. The realization sinks in at midday, as the sun shines brightly in the blue sky; Jeongguk sits underneath the tree, now filled with emerald leaves, and stares down at the spot where Jimin would usually sit. The feeling of emptiness gently blossoms right where his heart beats, lonely and tired, as the stream runs fast down Jeongguk’s cheeks. 

Summer approaches the village in less than a month, and life somehow starts to be easier; the vegetables on the market are painted with beautiful colors, the pond almost overflows with fish. It’s easier to work in the fields, too, because the earth isn’t frozen anymore. 

Jeongguk stands in front of the peach tree, thinks about Jimin and his promise. Looking closely, he spots a multitude of precious, juicy yellow peaches and his vision gets blurry- Jimin wasn’t lying. He truly left a gift for him. 

Jeongguk picks the smallest one, almost as small as Jimin, and tastes it while its nectar runs down his chin. Even though his lips are now sticky and a sour taste lingers in his mouth, Jeongguk feels like Jimin is right there with him. 

And somehow, that’s just enough.

Jeongguk meets Jimin again when he’s seventeen and winter’s not completely over yet. There’s still a bit of snow on the path that he usually follows, but the tree welcomes its first pink gems just like it happened the year before- and so Jeongguk hurries, runs, walks around in circles with short and shaky breaths. He’s starting to worry, because the tree is blooming but Jimin isn’t here, what if they’re not meant to see each other again? What if Jimin wakes up somewhere else, in another universe, oceans of time separating them? As Jeongguk begins to realize that maybe it’s still too early, a gentle hand rests on his shoulder. Jimin’s right in front of him, same soft cheeks, same messy black locks, same glossy eyes that hold so many untold stories. 

Jeongguk pulls Jimin by his wrist and hugs him, nose nestled in the crook of his neck, nostrils filled with Jimin’s familiar fruity scent. Jimin’s chubby fingers grip the taller’s hanbok like he’s about to fall and the fabric’s the only thing that could keep him alive- he then kisses Jeongguk’s cheek, and his forehead. 

It’s weird how their relationship goes on as if an entire year didn’t pass. Jimin doesn’t have anything new to say- it’s like his dream is over, and now he’s finally awake. Jeongguk tells him about his new job, about the tender meat he can now purchase for his family, about the shooting stars he wishes they saw together- Jimin listens, beams, wants to know more. He keeps asking questions Jeongguk sometimes doesn’t have the answer for, but they’re happy to be in each other’s company anyway, so it doesn’t matter. 

It’s just a matter of time before Jeongguk accepts Jimin’s touches, melts between his fingers, falls asleep with his face pressed on the shorter’s chest. There’s no heartbeat and it’s scary, but Jeongguk relaxes when Jimin’s lips leave itty-bitty kisses on top of his head. 

“I’m always scared to wake up and find you gone, Jimin.” He confesses on a rainy day. 

“I’d find you. In a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality-” Jimin breathes, “I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

Jeongguk wonders if that’s even possible- living a life after another, searching for the same person, finding them and then losing them all over again. He trusts Jimin’s words unconditionally, but what if they won’t be as lucky next year? No matter how often Jimin rambles about destiny, Jeongguk doesn’t remember anything about his past life and sadly, he doesn’t remember being Jimin’s lover either- but his soul remembers, his heart does too, Jeongguk knows Jimin was his and if the Gods want them to be together then they’ll find a way, he believes.

When the peach tree is in full bloom, Jeongguk tells Jimin he made a new friend recently, a boy named Namjoon whose family owns a couple of horses nearby. They met by chance and they clicked instantly, and Namjoon was so kind to teach Jeongguk how to ride a horse, so in return Jeongguk taught him how to sew pretty garments. His friend is quite tall, always wears something blue- always carries sunflowers seeds with him, always drowns himself in books, always speaks of past wars like somehow they left a scar on his skin. Jimin listens, always does, happy to know that now Jeongguk won’t be as lonely without him. It seems like they share a lot together already, they’re a good match, and the possibility that Jeongguk would choose to spend his days with Namjoon makes him tear up a little- even so, he doesn’t let it show, because he’d rather see his soulmate happy than be the one who holds him back. 

Jeongguk is with him when spring ends and Jimin’s comforting presence vanishes just like it happened last year. They’re gathering vegetables to feed the horses, some hay as well, and when Jeongguk asks him to tag along since he wants to visit Jimin one last time before sunset- the tree welcomes them with its shadow, but Jimin’s isn’t there anymore. Jeongguk cries again, and all Namjoon can do is pat his back, reassuring him that spring will come again. Spring always comes back. 

Jeongguk’s eighteen now. His hair falls delicately on his face, soft dark brown curls barely reach his jaw- he has to tie it in a bun when he helps Namjoon with the horses, and his mother always tells him that the’s starting to look like his father a lot, since they share the same handsome facial features. Whenever Jeongguk misses Jimin, he does his best to distract himself; he helps around the house, cooks, fetches water at the well. No matter how hard he tries, Jeongguk still longs for that warmth that spring brings, wants to have Jimin in his arms, wants to stumble on his words whenever the other would kiss him on the cheek, sweet and almost imperceptible. All he can truly do is wait, so he does.

Jeongguk waits. Waits when fall comes and the peach tree slowly begins to lose its leaves and the wind is too cold to sleep outside staring at the stars- waits when it’s winter and snow dances and twirls and lays a thick white layer on the entire village, forcing him to stay inside and making sure the fire in the kitchen doesn’t die overnight. Jeongguk would stare at the icy stalactites hanging from the roof and beg for spring to come faster, and when drops of water would start to fall he’d get a little hopeful, because warm weather means he’d get to see Jimin, and even a month spent away from him feels like an eternity.

Jeongguk’s still eighteen and now Jimin is by his side, fingers intertwined and head resting on his shoulder. 

“Did you miss me?” Jimin asks with a sleepy voice. Jeongguk swallows, unsure if he’s allowed to admit that Jimin was the only constant thought floating in his mind. Was it too much? Would Jimin think badly of him?

“Of course I did. Every second of my days, I kept thinking about you.” 

Jimin hums, pleased with his answer. His eyelids feel heavy, and for the first time since they have been together, Jeongguk wishes he could kiss him. 

“Won’t you get tired of waiting for me, season after season?”

Jeongguk is in love with Jimin. He has always been, in the back of his mind, unconsciously, since the day they first met. He’s in love with the charming pink blush that dusts his cheeks in the early morning hours, with the way his breath tickles his neck whenever they take naps, with his chubby pinkies that Jeongguk held so many times during their pinky promises. He’s in love with the way he stuffs hotcakes in his mouth until breathing becomes hard, with how his eyes reflect the moonlight, with the way Jimin always knows what to do, what to say. Jeongguk likes Jimin on his good days, on his bad ones, when it rains and when it’s sunny. He likes the warmth of his skin, his squeaky laugh. Jeongguk’s in love with Jimin.

The river in between the hills is quiet when Jeongguk kisses Jimin. It’s just a brush of lips, really, and it’s clumsy, awkward, but Jimin’s fingers find their way through Jeongguk’s hair and times suddenly becomes an illusion. It’s almost evening when they let go of each other, lips bitten raw and red, and Jeongguk wonders if it’s possible to fall for someone all over again. 

If time could be stopped, frozen, Jeongguk would take that chance. Be there with Jimin, make spring endless, be young forever. The letter comes on a sunny Saturday morning and it lays still on their table- Jeongguk’s mother stares at it, cradles her head in her hands and sobs, not knowing how to accept the fact that her worst fear just materialized in a bunch of words. Jeongguk joins her an hour later, holding a bucket of fresh water so they can make beef stock for lunch. He sits next to her, rubs a hand on her back trying to comfort her a little even though he has no idea what just happened- until he, too, spots the letter. He doesn’t even have to open it to know its content; he knows the red mark on it. His father received the same letter before he had to leave. 

Jeongguk holds his mother’s thin frame close to himself, murmurs that he’ll be fine, he’ll be strong, that time will fly. Tells her that he’s made of iron and rock and no sword could ever push him into death’s embrace. 

“If I don’t go, they’ll hurt us both.” 

Jeongguk knows they will, because it happened. He saw it with his own eyes, a blood red stream running down the path, a kid left with no parents because her father couldn’t join the army due to this old injuries. The General spared him not one single glance as his spear passed through his chest, and Jeongguk cried in silence. 

Namjoon knocks on his door shortly after, and he’s holding the same letter as well, with shaky fingers and tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. Jeongguk thinks of Jimin- he doesn’t know how to tell him. He doesn’t know when he’ll come back, if he’ll come back in one piece. He doesn’t want to leave. 

Lunch is rather silent, and Namjoon decides to join them. If they speak, it’s about the war that’s about to start again, and if they don’t- their minds are filled with the same thoughts anyway. They both have to leave on Monday, which leaves two days to gather stuff and properly say goodbye to their dearest. Two days is too short at too long at the same time- Jeongguk would spend the following hours with a lump in his throat, wishing he could just get over with it, and then he’d burst into tears because his time with Jimin is running out and he can’t do anything to stop it. 

Jimin’s tears are clear, bitter. Jeongguk kisses them away one by one, but the flow never seems to end, and even though Jeongguk’s words are positive, reassuring, he doesn’t even believe them. 

“Jimin, I’ll write to you. I’ll write letters everyday and when I come back I’ll give them to you. I promise.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jeongguk. I have crossed oceans of time to get to you.” His lover’s voice is hoarse, rough from crying so much. 

“I just found you and-” Jimin starts, fingertips running along Jeongguk’s lower lip, “You’re already being taken away from me.”

Before dawn comes, Jeongguk pays one last visit to Jimin. It’s Monday, and the basket on his back weighs nothing compared to how heavily his heart beats inside his ribcage. Jimin looks ethereal with his halo of sunbeams, soft cheeks, a slightly red nose from the crispy morning air. He holds his hands and promises a thousand things, and Jimin keeps his head low so Jeongguk won’t have to deal with his tears before leaving. Jeongguk says he’ll write, that the war will be over in not even a year, and begs Jimin to wait for him next spring. He promises he’ll take him to the beach, where the water is a pretty shade of aquamarine and the sand is white, almost cold to the touch. He promises he’ll kiss him when the sun meets the moon, and that nothing, not even death will tear them apart.

Jimin kisses him on the lips one last time, hoping fate will be on their side, and watches as Jeongguk becomes a tiny black dot in the horizon. 

Spring always comes back. 

Namjoon rips a piece of cloth from his vest and wraps it around Jeongguk’s arm to stop the blood from overflowing. It’s night and the soldiers are gathered around the fire, some of them wounded, some others busy making sure enemies won’t attack anytime soon. Namjoon’s hurt too, and his horse was killed near the torrent where an ambush happened. His jaw is clenched, finger stiff and eyes glossy, and Jeongguk knows he’s holding back the tears. He decides to write for a while, or for at least until his eyelids allow him to see- he misses Jimin, and even though the things he writes aren’t the happiest, he wants to keep his promise. He writes about his everyday life, the friends he made and the friends he lost along the way. He then writes about his General, how hard it is to get a spoonful of boiled rice, how much he wishes he was there, drunk with Jimin’s familiar scent. 

Days are hard, nights are harder. Jeongguk’s armor is heavy and his arm hurts, and if his stomach grumbles and sleep is just a hallucination, he still slashes the enemies’ throats like he was trained for that. He doesn’t know how many battles he fought, how many men he saw falling to the ground. 

Jeongguk keeps writing. It’s winter now, and their General is euphoric. Apparently, war is over. 

They can go back home. They won. 

Jeongguk doesn’t feel like they won, he feels the stickiness of the blood clinging to his skin, the hunger from weeks spent without food, the dryness of his throat, now begging for a single drop of water. Namjoon lost an eye, soldiers lost arms, legs, their lives. Walking back home seems harder than any other obstacle they faced until now, because Jeongguk’s legs start to feel like concrete, and if he could ask for one single thing he’d ask for some rest, and maybe an hour of sleep. 

“Namjoon, can I ask you a favor?”

Namjoon’s washing his face into the water of a lake not far from their village. He nods, and Jeongguk kneels next to him. He washes his face as well, and his hair, not really surprised to see red water coming off of it. 

“Can you bring these to Jimin? The General said he needed to talk to me.” Jeongguk hands him a bunch of letters that he managed to write when they had time to put on some kind of camp. Namjoon nods and carefully places them inside his pocket, assuring Jeongguk that he’ll do his best to deliver them as soon as possible. 

It’s almost, almost, almost spring. February is coming to and end, and even though the biting cold makes him shiver in pain, Jeongguk finds the strength to keep on walking until their village can be seen from behind a hill- he’s home. If he squints a little he can see the peach tree right in the middle of the field, but it has no flowers yet. His mind travels to the days spent with Jimin, the warmest ones, when their limbs were tangled in a messy knot and Jimin’s hair was sprawled on the green green grass. It’s a sweet thought that he allows himself to have as a reward, and he’s about to tell Namjoon of that time when they almost caught a rabbit when he hears them. 

It happens so quickly that Jeongguk doesn’t have the time to think, to react, to grab his sword. It’s another ambush, and this time they’re not prepared, there are too many soldiers. 

Jeongguk’s so close to home he can taste the kimchi pancakes his mom liked to make when he was younger. He’s so close to Jimin that he can feel his warmth spreading inside his chest, can feel his lips molding themselves against his own, can hear his voice murmuring about fairytales and lost worlds. 

Jeongguk’s ears start ringing, he understands that he’s too tired to fight. Still, the tip of his sword puts soldier to their knees, paints the grass with deep, rich burgundy. There are a couple of red poppies not too far, and Jeongguk’s memory goes back to the day he met his lover. He kneels, too, coughs blood and tries to breathe, and the peach tree is still there in the horizon just like a kind, reassurance that Jimin will be there soon. 

Jeongguk’s eyes are fixed on it while he’s dragging himself towards the poppies he saw earlier. His mind is at peace now, and even if his chest now feels incredibly warm, he doesn’t stop. 

Jeongguk picks a poppy, the smallest one, and looks down at his bloodstained palms. There’s a spear in his chest. 

But Jeongguk feels finally at home. 

Jimin opens the last letter at sunset.

“Till death do us part,

they say.

I say,

I will love you till this life to the next. 

And if next life won’t grace me with you, I will still love you till the next one,

and the next, and the next, till death finally gives up on us.

yours, jeongguk”

Spring days are slow to come, March has just begun. Jimin looks up at his tree, catches a flower in his hands, watches as another falls down. They all fall down, one by one- his tree is dying. 

Jimin stares at the bright blue sky, counts the clouds until his vision gets blurry. He lifts a hand to cover his face from the sunlight, and when the last petal touches his lips, Jimin closes his eyes. 

He is dying, too. 

Jeongguk sometimes wonders if he did the right thing by leaving Seoul to come back to his hometown, Busan, just to attend college. He could have chosen a random university in Seoul, one of the many that accepted his applications, but there’s just something special in Busan that made him pack his stuff in not even a week. His parents decided to stay along with his older brother, but thankfully Jeongguk’s grandparents offered him a place to stay until he’s done settling down in his dorm. 

Busan’s pretty. Jeongguk doesn’t remember much, but he does remember spending part of his childhood staring at the sea from the tiny window in his bedroom, toy soldiers scattered on the floor, a half bitten sandwich forgotten on his desk next to his homework. Maybe that’s why he misses this city so much- maybe he misses his childhood, instead. Seoul’s big, alive, filled with skyscrapers and colorful lights that glitter when it rains. He didn’t make many friends in school, but that’s okay, things will be different now. 

Jeongguk’s grandfather picks him up from the train station on a rainy Friday morning, and starts rambling about traffic right away. Jeongguk follows him with his backpack hanging from his shoulder, a knowing smile on his lips and a bubbling feeling in his tummy. His classes start in a couple of weeks, and he can’t wait to see the campus and the classrooms and the cafeteria and the parking lot and- he can’t wait to meet people, maybe have a relationship if he doesn’t fuck up right away. 

Jeongguk wants to be a movie director when he’s older. He joins the photography club in a heartbeat, and in between classes he updates his journal with new techniques and new cameras and all those accessories that cost more than his life but that he desperately wants to buy. Parties are fun but he’d rather spend his Friday nights taking pics of the skyline instead- trying to find the right lights, the right angle, the right second when the sun’s not down yet but the moon’s shyly floating in the sky already. 

He meets Namjoon, his new roommate, and he’s like the older brother Jeongguk never had. They watch Netflix when it’s past two am, play video games until cramps force them to go to bed, have pizza for both lunch and dinner. Namjoon likes reading a lot, and Jeongguk’s relieved when the older replies that he literally doesn’t mind that Jeongguk’s gay. He introduces him to his other friends, too- Hoseok, Yoongi, Seokjin and Taehyung. They end up being quite inseparable, always planning road trips, getting food after school, talking about music. Jeongguk feels like he just found a piece of the puzzle that is his life, but something’s still missing. 

College’s fine, but sometimes it’s hard not to have mental breakdowns in Chemistry class at seven am. Jeongguk watches as his partner pours a can of energy drink into a cup of coffee, and that’s enough to make him understand that the pop quiz won’t be easy this time. 

“You sure you don’t wanna join us for lunch?” Hoseok asks Jeongguk on their way to the dorms. 

“Gotta work on my project, sorry. I’ll meet you guys later.” They part ways, and Jeongguk wanders around trying to find a place quiet enough to work until thankfully he spots one. 

There’s a bench placed underneath a peach tree not too far from the cafeteria, and it’s surprisingly empty even if lunch break is just about to start. The project is due tomorrow so he better not procrastinate, but the poppies gently swaying near his feet are so pretty that he decides to pick one. Its petals are an elegant shade of red, velvety to the touch. This somehow doesn’t feel weird, or new- it’s like Jeongguk is living that moment for the second time, and that’s borderline impossible and yet- Jeongguk remembers. His fingertips follow the stem, his eyes meet the soft pink mess of flowers hanging from the branches. It’s familiar, so familiar that his hand automatically reaches for the closest and brings it to his nose, inhaling the flowery sweet scent that his soul immediately accepts. 

Jeongguk spends minutes, hours with stumbling thoughts running through his mind. He sees flashbacks of scenes he’s sure belong to his past, feathery kisses, a carpet made of thick, cold blood. The peach tree blossoms, too, when the winter morphs into spring.

There’s a name on the tip of his tongue, black hair and tender eyes printed behind his eyelids. 

Jimin.

 “You are not a stranger here.” 

A high pitched voice reaches his ears, and when Jeongguk turns his head to search for the boy’s gaze, he meets pale, blonde hair and a pair of slick glasses resting on his nose. He then meets the same trembling lips, the same eyes that now are open wide, scared, but still blessed with countless stars that form the most beautiful galaxy. His tone is unsure but still somewhat kind, relieved. And that’s when Jeongguk understands. 

He stands up, looks down at Jimin’s puffy red cheeks, and wipes away his tears with the softest of kisses.

“You’re not, either.”