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Seonghwa wakes up and finds it hard to breathe.
As sleep pulls away from his consciousness, the first thing he registers is the tightness in his chest. It sits right beneath his sternum, a firm pressure that pins him to his bed and makes it impossible for him to move, and he knows that once he moves the pressure will turn into an ache that renders him incapable of thinking about anything else. Something is wrong, something has shifted out of place and thrown everything out of balance, but as always, he can never figure out what it is. There's an insidious presence in his mind has convinced him that danger is imminent and he can't make it go away.
He closes his eyes and tries to conjure up images of what he'd dreamed of. Maybe he'd had a nightmare and the remnants of the fear he must've felt in the world of the dream still cling to his psyche. Even if he can't remember what he did or what he saw, his body always remembers how he felt.
Seonghwa wants so badly for it to have been a bad dream that he can shake off with a couple of deep breaths and the knowledge that he's awake and away from the creatures that haunted his sleep, but he knows that the piercing weight in his chest is something worse. It's the syrupy, sticky feeling that coats his veins slowly, like tar that's weighing him down from the inside out.
By the time his chest starts to hurt, Seonghwa knows that he's already lost. All he can do is brace himself and hope that it doesn't pull him under.
He quickly becomes aware of all the things that feel wrong: the heaviness of the blanket covering him, the sweat on the nape of his neck, even the knots in his hair all come together to add to the discomfort that's taken over his entire body. Seonghwa wants to move, to try and rectify everything that's been thrown out of whack, but he can't.
These are the days that are the hardest for him to deal with on his own, but he rarely has any other choice. There is no one that can save him from the shadows haunting his mind. He'll wait it out. He'll make it through. He always does.
An indeterminable amount of time passes before Seonghwa finally feels like he can move something. He turns his head on the pillow, grimacing at the feeling of the cool air hitting the sweat on his neck and his knotted hair tangling even further on the pillow. The sunlight filtering through the opening in his blinds is bright, so he knows that at least he hasn't woken up too early. He lets his gaze fall over the different parts of his room to remind himself of where he is. The books on his desk are in the same place he'd left them the night before, and his laundry basket next to his closet door is overflowing with clothes that need to be washed.
In the monochrome uniformity of his room, a burst of color catches Seonghwa's eye: there's a pile of red fabric crumpled on the floor next to his hamper. It could only belong to one person—the only other person Seonghwa allows to enter his space and leave traces of himself for Seonghwa to find days later—and rather than irritating Seonghwa for being somewhere it shouldn't be, the red scarf comforts him instead.
There is a world that exists outside of the confines of his apartment, beyond the confines of his mind, which means that Seonghwa isn't alone even if it feels like he's trapped right now.
Seonghwa focuses on the red scarf and thinks of Hongjoong, his boyfriend, as he struggles to breathe around the pressure in his chest.
He thinks about Hongjoong having stopped by his apartment just a few days ago, his cheeks and the tip of his nose almost as red as his scarf. He'd come on his way home from a long day at his studio, bringing over trinkets and little projects he'd finished over the course of the week to show Seonghwa. In return, Seonghwa had sat Hongjoong at his desk to read over his latest set of poems while he spread out Hongjoong's offerings on his bed, rubbing the tips of his fingers over a smooth, ceramic tree frog and a gnarled statue of a mountain spirit.
Then, Seonghwa remembers unwinding the scarf from around Hongjoong's neck as his boyfriend talked about his poems, asking questions that Seonghwa had only been half invested in answering. He's always appreciated his boyfriend's attention to detail and analysis of his work, but in that moment he'd wanted nothing more than to hold him close and feel him real and solid in his arms.
In the same moment that Seonghwa had unwrapped the scarf and tossed it aside, Hongjoong's hands had settled on his waist, and their lips had come together so easily, the way they always have.
Seonghwa smiles at the memory. He feels the knot in his chest loosen just enough for him to turn onto his side without feeling like he's going to suffocate, so he shifts off of his back and feels only mildly perturbed by the shift of fabric against his skin.
Sometimes, on the days that are especially bad, it's hard for Seonghwa to keep his thoughts straight. His mind roams farther than he can keep up with and he can do nothing but wait to come back to himself, feeling like a raft at the mercy of the tides. On those days, it feels impossible to figure out what he needs, much less what his simple wants are, but today he's firmly aware of what he wants—or rather, what he doesn't want.
He doesn't want to be alone.
More time passes, the light in his room brightening further as Seonghwa musters up the energy to rise out of bed. He feels a little disconnected from his body, so he runs his hands over his arms and combs his fingers through his hair until he feels more present.
The ache in his chest does not disappear when he showers, nor does it disappear as he dries his hair and rubs lotion into his skin, but he can finally breathe around it and that's the most that he can ask for. Seonghwa doesn't let himself stare into the mirror for too long, either, no matter how much he wants to convince himself that he's real. Once glance in the mirror tells him everything he needs to know: his gray eyes—normally a shining silver on the days he feels best—are dull, and his skin is pallid. He looks as depleted as he feels, which means that his magic is hidden somewhere below the sticky, gooey dread that coats his insides.
It's hard not to lose himself in this feeling. Sometimes he does. But today he has just enough space in his chest to breathe and a scarf to return, so he keeps moving.
Seonghwa doesn't let himself stop moving until he's outside of his apartment building and far enough away that turning back would make him feel worse than pushing ahead. He lets his mind drift a little now, his body moving on autopilot toward the path that leads away from his apartment complex and into the forest. He's walked this route a thousand times before and he'd know the way even in his sleep.
The sun is bright but the air is cold. Seonghwa is grateful that he'd had the foresight to wrap Hongjoong's scarf around his neck and the lower half of his face because it provides a welcome shield from the biting wind. Despite the sting of the air on the exposed parts of his face, he's grateful for it, too. The brief bursts of cool air bring him out of his head, allowing him to appreciate the beauty of the forest: the crunch of dirt and dead leaves beneath his feet, the breadth of the tree trunks all around him, the sound of critters skurrying across the forest floor and birds singing in the trees. Everything serves as a reminder that he's real and also part of the world around him.
It's not a long walk from the edge of the town to where the cottage that functions as Hongjoong's studio is nestled comfortably within the forest. He'd wanted it to be close to nature, but not so far that children couldn't find their way to it. It's a little refuge of sorts, a place where people can enjoy the purest forms of their own magic, untainted by the sights, the sounds, and the lights of the city.
Seonghwa had stumbled upon it by accident one day when he'd been walking through the forest in an attempt to clear his mind and ease the persistent ache in his chest. On that day, he'd watched Hongjoong ushering out a group of students from his spot at the fork in the path, his eyes gaze flickering between their bright smiles and the brightly wrapped packages in their hands. When the last student had passed Seonghwa on the path, Seonghwa had looked over at Hongjoong once more to find the other man already gazing back at him.
That day, Seonghwa found something worth the effort it often took to get out out of his room, his apartment, and most difficult of all—his head.
The magical energy surrounding the cottage envelops Seonghwa slowly as he approaches the front door. The knot in his chest loosens even further until it's a steady ache instead of a suffocating pressure.
Seonghwa pushes open the door and finds exactly what he'd been expecting.
The shelves are overflowing with projects, half-finished pots and vases and statues covering all of the available horizontal space. Smaller trinkets float near the ceiling, spinning and shimmering in the air as they dance across the room. There's a kiln in the far corner near the back door, the lid propped open as it waits to be used.
In the middle of it all sits Yeosang, friend and studio assistant. Seonghwa takes comfort in the sight of Yeosang at the pottery wheel, his foot on the pedal steady as he carefully shapes the clay with his hands. He, too, had stumbled across this studio once upon a time, looking for a place where he could put his elemental magic to good use and hopefully create something beautiful with trembling hands. He'd taken to it naturally and become a comforting presence within the four walls of the cottage, one that Seonghwa could find strength in on the days that he couldn't find it within himself.
Yeosang lifts his head at the sound of Seonghwa's footsteps, easing his hands off of the clay and his foot off the pedal. "Seonghwa hyung," he says, a bright smile on his face. Seonghwa does his best to muster a smile of his own, but whatever expression he's making causes the brightness in Yeosang's face to dim. "Just give me a second, okay, hyung? I need to get this cleaned up."
While Yeosang cleans up his station, Seonghwa wanders around the studio, looking over new projects that hadn't been on the shelves during his last visit. He's glad that he didn't come to the studio in the middle of a class, but even if he had, it still would've been better than being alone in his apartment, wondering how long it would take for him to feel human again. He runs his fingers along ceramic in various stages of completion, some of the pieces smooth and shiny while others are still a little rough, closer to their natural state.
Each piece has its own story to tell and a little bit of its creator's magic imbued in it. Seonghwa can feel his own magic pulsing faintly in his body now, yearning to reach out, to meet the magic that fills and warms this space.
"Have you eaten yet?"
Seonghwa turns at the sound of Yeosang's voice. His friend has removed his apron and cleaned his hands, and he approaches Seonghwa carefully.
"No, I don't think I could eat right now even if I wanted to," Seonghwa says. His gaze drifts from Yeosang's face. "I just didn't want to be alone. I'll stay out of the way, I promise."
"You're never in the way, hyung," Yeosang insists gently. He rests a hand on Seonghwa's arm and guides him toward the back of the studio. "We do have a class starting soon, though. You're welcome to relax in the back room while the kids make a mess in the front."
The back room of the studio is just as cluttered as the front. A big, orange velvet couch takes up most of the space in the narrow room while Hongjoong and Yeosang's projects line the walls above and around it, and a small kitchenette takes up the space at the far end of the room. Seonghwa has spent a lot of time here, too, napping or writing or reading on the days he doesn't want to be alone.
It's warm and it's safe here. The familiar magic in the air soothes his racing heart and gently pushes at the knot in his chest until it unfurls even further.
"I'm going to go set up the front, but Hongjoongie hyung should be back soon," Yeosang says before he leaves Seonghwa alone in the small room.
Seonghwa removes his coat and Hongjoong's scarf, setting them on the couch before moving toward the kitchenette. It would be nice to make some tea, to find something simple to do that will also keep his hands busy. He navigates the small refrigerator and the cabinets with ease, going through the familiar motions of lining up three mugs and filling the kettle with water to boil.
On a good day, he'd be able to heat the kettle himself with a little bit of magic, but today is not a good day.
As the water boils, Seonghwa tries to uncap the glass bottle filled with honey yuja marmalade with hands that have begun to shake. He frowns when he can't properly grip the metal lid the first time and focuses all of his effort into twisting the lid until it pops off. He carefully scoops the marmalade out of the jar, but the spoon clangs noisily against the side of the mug even as he does his best to avoid the sides.
"Come on," Seonghwa huffs. He's portioned out enough for one drink, but two more mugs await. The task feels more difficult than it has any right to, and now his hands are refusing to cooperate.
Unexpectedly, there's the gentle pressure of familiar hands on his hips and a comforting warmth against his back that pulls Seonghwa out of his near-spiral.
"Hi," Hongjoong murmurs. He tucks his chin over Seonghwa's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Seonghwa's waist. "Whatcha making?"
"I'm trying to make tea," Seonghwa sighs.
Hongjoong’s hands glide along Seonghwa’s forearms and the back of his hands. His touch is gentle and grounding—exactly what Seonghwa needs.
Seonghwa only realizes just how much tension he’s been holding in his body when he relaxes into Hongjoong’s embrace. Had Hongjoong not been directly behind him, Seonghwa thinks he might’ve collapsed.
“Try again,” Hongjoong murmurs.
It’s easier for Seonghwa to get a steady grip around the spoon this time, so he portions out enough of the marmalade for the remaining two mugs. The water has finished boiling, too, which makes it easy for Seonghwa to stay in motion now that he’s gotten started. He pulls the kettle off of its base, filling the three mugs to the brim. Hongjoong kneads his waist like a cat the entire time, his touch keeping Seonghwa tethered to reality.
The tea is too hot to drink at the moment, so Seonghwa carefully pushes the mugs away from the edge of the counter and turns to face the other man. His boyfriend is already looking at him without a hint of judgment in his soft gaze.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Hongjoong says with a smile. “What a pleasant surprise for me.”
“You left your scarf in my room,” Seonghwa says like that explains his sudden appearance at Hongjoong’s studio. He could’ve kept it until Hongjoong came around again or sent him a message. He could’ve shown up at Hongjoong’s studio without a reason, too, because Hongjoong has almost never told him no. It’s also easier to admit that than it is to say what really spurred on this surprise visit, but he forces himself to do it anyway: “And I could barely breathe when I woke up this morning.” It’s Seonghwa’s way of saying I was on my way to having a bad day and I was afraid of being alone.
“Ah.” Hongjoong wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s waist again and leans into him. He waits until Seonghwa meets his gaze before speaking. “Then in that case, I’m glad you came.”
The sound of excited children entering the studio forces Hongjoong to pull away, but he doesn't leave without brushing a kiss against Seonghwa's cheek. He dashes out of the back room, leaving Seonghwa with three mugs of hot tea in his wake. Seonghwa grabs one mug with steadier hands and curls up on the couch, smiling as he listens to Hongjoong and Yeosang guide their students to their stations.
It finally feels like he can breathe, the pressure in his chest all but gone. Seonghwa sips his tea while he listens to the sound of eager voices calling out for Mr. Kim and Mr. Kang's attention. In the meantime, he catalogues all of the places in his body that felt too big, too strained, too wrong earlier and takes comfort in finally feeling like a person again.
It's a testament to how out of it he'd been in the morning that Seonghwa had come to the studio with nothing beyond the clothes on his body. Normally, he'd bring a book to read or a journal to continue working on his own writing in order to keep himself busy while Hongjoong and Yeosang worked, but today he'd been so focused on just making it to his destination that he couldn't think of anything else. He feels relaxed despite his boredom, but it's a small price to pay to finally feel at ease.
When he's finished the last of his tea, Seonghwa sets the mug next to him on the couch and closes his eyes. The sounds of laughter and chatter coming from the main room of the studio fade away as he focuses his energy on channeling his magic. It's much easier now that his body no longer thinks he's being threatened, and the silvery threads of energy running through his veins pulse happily as he begins to prod at them. He feels his power growing steadily now that leftover residue of fear has seemingly been washed away.
Finding his magic again after spending hours feeling like it's been smothered for good is never easy, but somehow, Seonghwa always does it.
Seonghwa spends a long time reacquanting himself with his magic and his body on that couch, breathing deeply, feeling each pulse of his heart, following the tendrils of energy as they travel through him. It's comforting to know that no matter how lost he feels, he can always find his way back to himself again.
Time passes strangely when Seonghwa finds himself in this sort of state. He doesn't know how much time has passed, but when he opens his eyes, Hongjoong is there in front of him, watching him patiently.
"There you are," Hongjoong says. He takes Seonghwa's hands. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," Seonghwa replies, and it feels true. He can breathe. He can feel his magic. And it doesn't feel like his mind is going to cave in on itself anymore.
"I'm glad." Hongjoong smiles, bringing their hands to his lips so that he can kiss Seonghwa's knuckles. "The kids' class ended a little while ago, but Yeosang and I could use a little help glazing a few things if you're up for it."
Seonghwa nods. His eyes drift over to the kitchenette where two mugs still sit waiting to be drunk. "I'll bring the tea out, too."
Yeosang is glazing his own pieces when Hongjoong and Seonghwa appear out of the back room, but he pauses his work to watch them approach. "Hi hyung," he says, his gaze briefly sweeping over Seonghwa before settling on the older man's face again. "Are you feeling better?"
"Much better," Seonghwa says. He hands one mug to Hongjoong so that he can grasp the other with both hands. He focuses his magic into his palms, then channels the energy into heat so that he can warm Yeosang's tea. "Here, have some tea."
"Thank you," Yeosang says, immediately taking an appreciative sip despite the temperature of the drink. "This is just what I needed after two hours of speaking over a dozen children."
Both Seonghwa and Hongjoong laugh at Yeosang's exasperation, but Seonghwa knows that Yeosang loves the work that they do.
"Give me your mug back," Seonghwa says. Hongjoong hands it over immediately, and Seonghwa pretends that he doesn't see his boyfriend watching him fondly as he heats his drink, too.
"Your eyes are silver again," Hongjoong says. It's an innocuous statement, but coming from Hongjoong who must've spent the past two hours wondering about his boyfriend in the back of his studio, it's his way of checking in, of letting Seonghwa lead the conversation that they need to have.
"I feel like myself again," Seonghwa says softly. He sits down at the station next to Yeosang, the one he knows has been set up for him between both men. "I'm sorry for just showing up, but…thank you for letting me stay."
Hongjoong is standing behind him now, both hands resting on Seonghwa's shoulders. He raises one to cup the underside of Seonghwa's jaw, gently guiding his head back to direct his gaze. "You don't ever have to apologize or thank me for letting you come here. You know that." His lips are gentle when he leans down to meet Seonghwa's in a kiss.
"I do," Seonghwa concedes, smiling against Hongjoong's mouth.
Yeosang clears his throat loudly beside them, but when Seonghwa glances over, he can see the smile stretching across his friend's face.
In the warmth of the studio, surrounded by magic and love, Seonghwa can finally breathe easily again.