↱SEMPITERNAL↲ ⇾seongjoong⇽

thirteen

102nd year of Joseon, Hanyang.

Hongjoong stands by the persimmon trees, dressed in his best jeogori from Gongju, a deep violet colored fabric, heavy black beads weighing his gat down and keeping it in place.

In one hand he holds a simple paper lantern, soft yellows and blues, and in the other, a bag with a full set of women's attire, two strips of calligraphy.

He came before sunset, purchased his lantern, and stood like a sentinel by the bare trees.

He watched as the shadows grew longer and the slow march of gloaming against the dying light, lamps being lit one by one and the calls of vendors rising slowly like a swelling tide.

All around him, the bustle grew, the narrow streets of the marketplace filling with people.

He stood and searched every passing face, every gat, every jeogori, every shoulder that brushed past him.

He sighs, rolls his tired shoulders, looks down at his feet for a moment, and when he looks up again, he sees him.

In little glimpses between all the people passing by, his eyes, his nose, his mouth cast in shadow, hidden by the nervous dip of his chin when he fears he would be caught.

Hongjoong smiles, true and happy that he can see that face again, those eyes searching the crowd for Hongjoong's face.

He steps forward, maneuvering through the crowd carefully, so as not to damage the lantern, closer to Seonghwa.

In that moment, with the gentle ebb of people all around them, all the scents and sounds of life all around them, with the push and pull of a crowd all around them, Seonghwa's eyes find his face in a myriad, and he blinks once, still slow to realize, and then he smiles.

Slow and relieved.

In that moment, in Seonghwa's smile, like Hongjoong was the shore, like Hongjoong was his home, caught in the midst of all these people and all this life, Hongjoong is a man brought to his knees.

__

"Is that for your sister?" Seonghwa asks.

They are standing in an empty alley, and Hongjoong is holding out the clothes he has purchased earlier.

"No, it is for you," Hongjoong replies.

He watches, bemused by the puzzled tilt of Seonghwa's head, reaching out to examine the clothing.

"Is this not a chima?" he asks.

"It is."

Seonghwa's lips purse for a moment.

"Forgive me, Hongjoong, but I do not understand. Shall I give it to my mother? What do you mean?"

Hongjoong chuckles, mischief tickling him to laughter.

"I mean," he says. "I wish to go to the festival with you and release a lantern into the sky with you and it would look positively bizarre if two men were to release a lantern together."
Laughter rumbles deep in his chest when he sees the confused sequence of emotions passing through Seonghwa's face.