[ 1 / 1 ] - FINAL
Fragile DaysTitle: Fragile Days
Rating: PG
Length: 1556 words
Summary: It’s Autumn, and Jongdae, the spirit of Dosan Park, is in the process of painting the leaves in hues of orange, yellow, and red. A young man who comes to visit the park every day seems particularly pleased with his work.
Warning/s: Supernatural/spiritual elements, intangible relationship.
Notes: my dear recipient, please enjoy my interpretation of your prompt! i’ve always wanted to write something like this, so i can’t thank you enough for the opportunity and motivation. my intentions for this au was very indistinctly, vaguely reminiscent of a certain part of spirited away. i hope that feeling was conveyed? nevertheless, i also hope this was in the ballpark for what you intended from the very beginning!
When the wind carries whispers of crunchy leaves and caresses pinkened cheeks with a tender chill, that’s when Jongdae makes his rounds. He likes to work at night, away from the prying eyes of parkgoers who gawk shamelessly at the lot of his perennials. But sometimes — sometimes — he’ll continue on into the early hours of the morning, just for the sake of marveling at his work. At dawn’s first blush, its swirls of golds and reds and purples parallel that of the leaves he’d painstakingly painted by hand — one by one, each as unique as every snowflake that nestles on its branches come winter. But, most of all, his freshly-painted leaves match that of a certain parkgoer. It’s been weeks since he’s noticed the man meandering about — his tawny locks coiffed neatly, cheeks and lips a dusted roseate, chin buried into a thick, deep purple scarf. His hands are always nestled into his coat’s pockets, unless he’s reaching out to inspect a freshly-colored leaf, effectively urging Jongdae to beam with pride. He’ll give each little leaf — big or small, soft or coarse — a little smile, and even engage in soft utterances with himself about it. All compliments, of course (because Jongdae was a nosy little guy, and always listened in). Really, no one truly appreciated his work more than this handsome stranger, and the spirit had no other wish in the entire world but to thank him. After meeting him, actually. Jongdae wants to introduce himself to the man, but it’s difficult, as humans can’t see spirits. He doesn’t necessarily allow this longing to discourage him, though. Despite living on an entirely different plane of existence, he finds the smallest of ways to get his daily dose of interaction with the handsome stranger. It started with a more innocent; playful means of attracting his attention. Fallen leaves would seem to part at his feet to make a clear path for him whenever the wind blew. When he’d take a seat on a bench to enjoy his cup of coffee, he’d be treated to a complementary show — leaves swirling, twirling, and seemingly dancing; waltzing with each other. Joonmyeon always watched, and he always laughed, as if he knew the pavement entertainment was really meant for him. These days, Jongdae’s become bolder. Instead of intervening with the other’s surroundings from afar, he takes it upon himself to keep Joonmyeon company during his strolls. When he’s feeling particularly adventurous, he caresses Joonmyeon’s soft cheek. And he knows the man can feel it, because he’ll tilt his head just slightly and raise his shoulders, as if he’s nuzzling Jongdae’s chilled palm with the smallest of shivers. It’s the same when Jongdae manages to catch Joonmyeon’s hand, fingers settling into the gaps between the latter’s own snugly. He’ll give it gentle little squeezes and tugs here and there, and he swears that the man returns them every single time. It’s nice, Jongdae thinks, settled into Joonmyeon’s side as they wander a lesser-taken path together, taking in the sight of a row of freshly-painted trees. He makes it easy to pretend, Jongdae sighs, to no one but himself. His hand is gripping the handsome stranger’s own so tightly now, almost urging him to slow down; stop. And though the man couldn’t possibly feel Jongdae’s useless tugs or sense the sluggish way he’d been lagging behind, he pauses, and rests his free hand atop the one Jongdae’d been holding. Jongdae can feel Joonmyeon’s hand settle over his own, the pads of his fingertips tap-tap-tapping against the back of his hand in a soothing, yet impatient manner. The spirit can’t help but smile bashfully, murmuring a little apology to the man. Joonmyeon doesn’t hear it, with Jongdae’s voice being replaced by the chattering of rustled leaves to his own ears. Nevertheless, they continue onwards when Joonmyeon’s ready. If Jongdae didn’t know any better, he’d think that the man was waiting for the wind to settle down, as every sharp gust matched the lovesick flutter of his heart. Though he knew the truth, he’d like to believe that Joonmyeon knew; that he understood. But the man never looks twice at him. In fact, he’s never looked at all, but Jongdae likes to believe he did once before. It was a vacant, passive look and it made him feel more transparent and less real than ever before, but it was a look nonetheless. Jongdae’s attempted to replicate how he’d managed to catch Joonmyeon’s attention the first time, but to it’s left the spirit huffing and puffing fallen leaves aflutter. Honestly, he thinks the man’s doing it on purpose, as Joonmyeon’s interests always lie in the things Jongdae can manipulate instead. So, the spirit learns to live with that. He finds comfort in being noticed even tangentially. Besides, it’s easier to stare when there’s no chance of being caught (even though Jongdae blushes and averts his gaze in shame occasionally). And he thinks it’s more romantic this way, too. Forbidden love, subtly; secretly requited between the two of them. It’s that much more intimate. Joonmyeon would like to think the same. Between himself and his psyche, he’d like to believe that these odd occurrences Jongdae’s involved himself in really were happening just for him. He’ll mumble something about the dancing leaves and tender, concentrated chill on different parts of his body to himself. He’ll muse the probability that some gentle, playful higher being just wants him to know that they care and appreciate his presence. Cue Jongdae flailing his arms beside Joonmyeon, desperately attempting to communicate that he’s onto something. It’s not your imagination! I’m real! ...Aren’t I? “Maybe I’m just crazy,” Joonmyeon sighs instead, and seats himself down at a bench after mulling over the possibility yet again. He looks down towards his palm, curling his pinkened fingers just slightly. As sane as he’d like to believe he was, he felt that something was missing, now that Jongdae’s hands weren’t in his. They’re clasped together in an almost pleading manner, and he’s facing Joonmyeon, waiting. “Maybe I should stop coming here,” the handsome stranger concludes, and Jongdae visibly deflates as the gentle breeze slowly dies down. Don’t leave me, Jongdae tries again, quietly; defeatedly. He rests a hand atop Joonmyeon’s thigh, giving it a wanton squeeze. I don’t want to be alone anymore. You’re the only one that notices. You’re the only one that cares… aren’t you? “It’s getting too cold to sit out here,” Joonmyeon murmurs, idly brushing at the odd chill settled atop his thigh, sending an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. Jongdae’s hand is pawed away in the process, and the spirit watches the stranger, aghast. But I love you. “And I hate the cold. Wouldn’t want to get sick before winter’s even here,” he says bitterly, lifting a hand up to gently rub at the tip of his reddened nose with a quiet sniffle. Come back in Spring. My hands won’t be cold anymore. I won’t make you sick. Joonmyeon isn’t having any of Jongdae’s one-sided pleads. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, and checks the time — as he usually did when he was prepared to leave. Jongdae instinctively throws his arms around Joonmyeon in a feeble attempt to keep him planted onto the bench, but all it serves to do is cause the parkgoer to cringe away from his brisk embrace. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again — floundering along with his internal struggle to both find the words buried in the deepest niches of his heart, and to keep himself from uttering more verbal embarrassment. But he decides to continue, because, after all, no one’s around to hear him, anyway. “My mother used to tell me stories about playful little spirits that inhabited ‘inanimate’ things, such as trees and rocks. And leaves. Everything had its own unique, distinct personality, just like every animal and human alike. I used to really believe in that when I was a kid. But… now that I’m older…” he trails off, voice wavering. Jongdae stares at Joonmyeon, remaining silent and still. He only moves to take the handsome stranger’s hand once again, giving it a tender little knead to urge him to continue. Joonmyeon just smiles, reclining back in his seat. And Jongdae reclines along with him, tilting his head back to eye a branch extending out above them. A leaf is plucked off of the bough, and carried by the soft wind onto Joonmyeon’s lap. The man peers down towards the red little leaf in idle surprise, delicately lifting it up to inspect it. “Thank you,” he sighs. “I was lonely, too. I mean, it must be lonely…” The trees fall silent as Jongdae lowers his head, tucking his chin down towards his chest bashfully. Joonmyeon stands after having ruminated in the silence for far too long, leaving the young spirit hunched over in his seat. Joonmyeon mercifully pauses for the briefest of moments, gaze wandering back to the bench behind him as he adjusted his scarf. Jongdae peers up towards him with just a sliver of hope left within him, but none of his prayers are quite answered with the man’s expression of uncertainty. “I’ll be back next year,” he promises, giving that bench a smile as gentle as the way he pockets the leaf he’d been gifted. “And many years after that.” Jongdae gives Joonmyeon a silent nod, even though the man’s halfway out of sight by then. He’s left alone once again, the trees nearest to him forfeiting their toasted and warmed leaves far too early to scatter themselves around the spirit in droves. With a heavy, hardened heart, winter comes early that year. |
Comments