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Summary
“It’s been growing fast...Faster than it should. Look,” He turned the dish so Wooyoung could see the fine roots spreading from the base of the vine, thin as a spiderweb and already close to the edge of the dish
Wooyoung’s brow furrowed. “But didn’t you only find it today?”
Yeosang smiled faintly. “Yes.”
The air crackled, sounding almost like electricity along high-tension wires and Wooyoung felt slightly nauseous at the sickly scent of flowers that shouldn’t still be blooming this late in the season, as if growth rates were outstripping natural parameters. He reached for the dish, but Yeosang stilled him. His grip was firm yet gentle, and the heat of it shocked him like current.
“It’s sensitive to touch.”
“It can feel us?”
Yeosang’s gaze dropped to his mouth before returning to his eyes, pinning him in place. “All life feels, Wooyoung, but plants don’t have language like us, so we can’t always understand when they tell us.”
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A little gift for spooky season
Title from the song by Jeff Buckley and Elizabeth Fraser