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“Falling, never to fly again.
Darling, together when everything's fading,
The shade of the trees in the dark.
I’m in love with the idea of dying
With you in my arms but not like this.
We can’t really help who we are.”
-The Bird Song by Noah Floersch
Early spring winds whisked away the falling plum blossoms across the mountains. Winter had just given way to grass dewy from the last remnants of snow. The Disciples of Mount Hua were finally getting back into their regular training schedule. Well, all the disciples except one rowdy bandit-like man who was sneaking off with a similarly bandit-like man.
In a small clearing sit a man in white lounging against the base of a plum blossom tree, the man wearing green resting his head against the other’s shoulder. A few words were passed between the two before the younger man in green tilted his head up and pressed his lips against the other’s mouth. They slotted together like puzzle pieces, quiet in how they fit together but undeniably made for each other. Their kiss had barely started as rustling could be heard close by. The lips that slotted so perfectly together quickly parted as they jumped apart from one another.
Another man wearing white clothes, looking barely older than the other two, came into the clearing soon after. “ChungMyung, you were supposed to be-” the words stopped and the man cleared his throat, “ah, Tang Bo, I didn’t realize you were here today.”
The oldest looked between the two younger and just missed the slightly kiss swollen lips the others sported. Looking back to the other man in white robes he spoke once more, “I suppose you can postpone your duties until later. Dinner will be ready soon.” With those last words he walked back the way he came after giving a slight nod in acknowledgement to them.
The two men sat in silence for a while longer until the rustling stopped. They released a breath neither of them knew they were holding. They couldn’t be caught, not even by someone as understanding as the sect leader. Everyone would call it unnatural, unclean, disgusting even, if they knew how deep the two men’s affections ran for each other.
*****
Tang Bo’s lungs burned as his breathing shallowed, nose used to poisons of all kinds stung with the acrid smell of congealing blood mixed with demonic Qi, the slow throbbing of his chest reverberating through the metal embedded there. Pain shot through his entire torso every breath as the sword jostled with the movement. Tang Bo’s limbs started to numb as his blood soaked through his Hyung-nim’s robes. No matter how much crimson stained the two men, or how much it hurt to force himself to keep his eyes open all Tang Bo could do was smile up at ChungMyung. Smiling was the least he could do for his Hyung-nim while he held the bloodied man so gently in his trembling arms. Vision starting to darken at the edges, Tang Bo lightly choked on the blood bubbling up his throat.
“My family… my..” he coughed, “..my sect…. protect them.” Tang Bo sputtered through crimson trying to drown him.
Lifting a weak hand to ChungMyung’s cheek, it was wet. Wet, and far too cold, turning blue and pale, wrong. It was all wrong. The stiff fingers barely pressed into the soft flesh of ChungMyung but it felt like he was pushing three iron carts stacked on top of each other.
Neither of the men looked away even as ChungMyung’s eyes stung with tears and TanBo’s smile felt heavier than ever before. The air was thick but all that the pair could feel was the other. The world was shrunk to only include the two shaking men, only their breathing, their bodies, their voices. An all too warm hand encompassed Tang Bo’s own.
“Bo-ya, don’t you dare fucking leave me.” ChungMyung’s voice cracked as he continued to plead with the green turned red man in his hold.
With all the strength left in Tang Bo’s arm he pushed into his Hyung-nim’s face just a bit more. “I love you Hyu-.” The words halted on his tongue as his once steady voice weakened. His body slackened, smile twitched off his face, and the light in his eyes dying along with him and his thudding heart.
The sky was dark long before he left, gently sprinkling tiny snowflakes as ChungMyung screamed and pleaded and cried for what felt like days. Finally picking up his dead lover and carrying him away snow was starting to leave a thin layer of frost.
Winter was starting, and ChungMyung had no way of finding even a hint of spring. Spring was dead in his arms, how could ChungMyung ever see blossoms the same ever again?
*****
The sky was clear that day, clouds drifting around lazily through the soft breeze. Branches gently swayed with the light pink blossoms, but ChungMyung’s eyes only saw how dull the flowers were. The sky wasn’t all that blue and the grass was hardly green, more of a muted yellowish color. ChungMyung had a far away look about him as he stared at the lackluster colors surrounding him.
The disciples of Mount Hua were all laying black and blue across the tiled courtyard. All that could be heard were the collective groans leaking from their mouths. Some of the battered white robed people staggered to their feet when they saw the sect leader scurry toward the front gates. The five standing disciples looked at the youngest of all of them with odd expressions.
A whisper from one of the girls carries on the breeze to the others, “He looks so… he looks almost.. sad.”
They all look at Tang Soso and give a slight nod before Baek Cheon spoke. “He gets like this every spring, like he’s looking for something that’s just not there.”
The silence that permeates the air is heavy.
“And… we don’t know how to help at all,” Jo Gul trails off when fast but light footsteps approach the training grounds.
“Hyung-nim!”
The shout rings through the wide space, echoing off the surrounding walls. ChungMyung’s head snaps toward the sound so quickly his neck pops. Robes green as memories dash toward him, chestnut hair trails not far behind and the most beautiful jade green eyes meet pink plum blossom ones. His heartbeat speeds up and his breath hitches with eyes blown wide. ChungMyung is quick to change his stance to brace for impact and opens his arms. All that’s left for him to do is wait and breath out a name he’s kept hidden in his heart for years.
“Bo-ya.”
The sound travels despite how soft it is, causing the green to barrel toward him even faster. Even as the air is knocked from ChungMyung’s lungs and he falls backwards, he can’t seem to care. The colors ChungMyung sees around him have never been so vibrant than they were in that moment. Though, the colors didn’t matter anymore as his world was focused solely on the person crashing to the floor with him.
The other Mount Hua disciples looked between the two with confused faces. Who could ever touch ChungMyung without getting hit? Apparently there was an exception for this green ball of robes.
The confused and, honestly, a bit concerned gazes didn’t matter to ChungMyung. His Spring was back.