and you'll give me blue blooms

 

You’re like the summer sun—bright and scorching, playful and warm

Behind the stormy gray clouds you wear as a mask

 

He met the boy a few days before the spring sunlight melted the remaining snow.

The stranger boy was randomly pulling out tufts of grass with his hands, his lower lip jutted out in concentration. He did not look like he was really pulling them out—as if he was only doing it to keep his mind out of something.

Yet he didn’t care. He didn’t want to share; he didn’t want anyone to have his meadow.

“Hey!” he shouts to the boy—but not too much, as he might be heard by any roaming soldier. “What are you doing here?”

The boy jumped, startled, and turned to look at him. He had rosy, soft cheeks with pretty brown fox eyes that widened, then narrowed as he stared at him.

“What’s it to you?” the boy snapped back, and he found his words and accent strange in his ears.

It took him a moment to place the accent, and a chill ran down his spine.

He took a step back and tried to look stoic. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said to the stranger.

The boy smirked. “Why? Because I’m from the North?”

He stiffened and managed to say, “Y-Yeah. You’re not allowed here.”

The boy laughed dryly. “Speak for yourself, South kid. You’re not allowed here, either.”

“Why do you care?!”

“Listen—why are you so worked up? Just because I am a supposed ‘enemy?’”

He opened his mouth to retort, but he saw the boy’s fox eyes darken with something else other than irritation. Probably . . . sadness? Loneliness?

“N-No,” he managed to say, softening slightly. “I-I’m just surprised to see somebody else here.” Here in my peaceful place.

The boy blinked. “Oh. You don’t seem so afraid of me now.” He didn’t sound arrogant or anything—just plain surprised as well.

He sighed, walking closer, albeit cautiously. “I may be from the other side,” he said, “but I was raised to at least respect people and never judge them at all.”

The boy slackened his stance and looked up at him. “You’re . . . odd, for a Southerner.”

He shrugged, and sat a few feet beside him.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Seungyoon. Kang Seungyoon,” the boy replied. “And you?”

“Mino. Song Mino. I’m sorry I got . . . angry at you,” he replied.

The boy named Seungyoon laughed—a surprised, but delighted laugh. “You really are different, Mino. I wish every South person was like you.”

“I’d probably say the same thing,” Mino muttered, looking down.

A few minutes of silence pass between them, then Seungyoon asked. “What are you doing here? You sounded like you were mad because I . . . somewhat intruded you.”

Mino looked up, shock and wonder in his face. Seungyoon’s face was bright with curiosity, but his eyes were observant as he gazed at him.

Mino felt his face flush as he said, “Well, this is my, uh, favorite place. I always go here every early hours of the morning, and leave as soon as the sun is high up in the sky.”

“No wonder I never see you,” Seungyoon mused. “I go here every twilight though, after all my labor’s done.”

“Is this . . . your favorite place, too?” Mino asked tentatively.

“You could say that,” Seungyoon said, leaning back. “I’d say this is a place where I could breathe.” He gazed at Mino sideways. “You also find your life at the South difficult?”

“Well, not really,” Mino said, stuttering a little. “Just . . . a little overbearing sometimes, what with the tension between the two areas.”

“I was about to say that you people have it lucky compared to the life back in the North,” Seungyoon remarked, his eyes on Mino, “but looking at you now . . . looks like our lives aren’t much different.”

Mino blinked at him, wonder and confusion warring in his mind. Common sense told him that he must run, that he must stay away from Kang Seungyoon as far as possible. As far as the South’s ‘norms’ say, residents from the North are volatile, violent people by nature—they are not the people you must be with.

But right now, as he sat there and absorbed Seungyoon’s words, he didn’t think that he was dangerous. He was just a boy, like him—only differing in personalities and where they came from.

“You may be right,” Mino agreed. “I mean, you don’t look bad or what to me. You’re just . . . Seungyoon, that’s all.”

This time, it is Seungyoon who blinked at him, and he burst out laughing. Mino would have been quite offended by such response—if he wasn’t so mystified over Seungyoon’s bright, cheerful face that seemed so out of place for his somewhat snarky personality.

His laughter was so rich, so free—if it was a shade, it would be a dash of yellow and light orange.

“You really are different, Mino,” Seungyoon finally said when his laughter died down. “Can I be friends with you?”

“Me?!”

“Yeah, you. We don’t have to meet every single time here and play—but I would really like you as a friend,” Seungyoon said earnestly, his eyes twinkling. “Can I?”

Unthinkingly, Mino took his proffered hand. With a wide smile he said, “Sure.”

 

Needless to say, they always meet before the dew drops evaporate and after the sun sets. They part when the sun rises and when the stars glow brighter in the night sky.

 

Sometimes you suddenly melt away like snow in the budding spring

 

--

“You seem quite excited, brother,” Dana commented as Mino walked down from his room upstairs. “Something going on?”

Mino shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Nothing, Dana. Can’t I look positive just this once?”

Dana huffed at him. “You always look positive—but there’s that strange glow in your eyes tonight.” Then she grins knowingly. “Are you gonna meet a pretty girl?”

“What? No!” Mino exclaimed. “Why would I even do that?”

“Brother, Mother has always asked you to bring home a bride.”

Mino rolled his eyes once more and sat down on the table to eat his breakfast. Dana joined him, and he’s thankful that she didn’t bug him anymore with questions.

Truth is, Mino was too excited, too jumpy ever since he learned that the Northerners and Southerners will be free to come to each other’s area for the fests. It’s an annual event for each area in order to ‘re-explore each other’s area, trade goods and ideas, and settle the peace talks.’ There’s no school and no work for a week, so everybody can participate.

While it looks festive, in reality, these fests are also dangerous, as it meant spies can come at each other any day. There’s still tension between the areas, after all.

But Mino doesn’t care of whatever consequences that may happen. He’d waited for this—to have the opportunity to see him again.

After hurriedly finishing his breakfast, he dashed towards his room and grabbed his satchel. Bidding a farewell to Dana, he headed out in the bustling streets of Hongdae in hopes he might meet him there.

 

But you come back, you always do—I find myself gravitating towards you

 

Mino was staying outside an old vintage shop in Hongdae, trying to avoid the bustling crowd—when he saw him.

Several years had passed between them, but Mino still found it surprising that he managed to recognize him.

Seungyoon’s fox eyes were still bright and sparkling, his skin still creamy pale and cheeks still rosy and soft for a teenage boy. But he has definitely grown taller and leaner than the last he’d seen him, and has he ever looked this beau—

“Mino!” Seungyoon called out in his fake Southern accent, waving. Mino was snapped out of his thoughts, and he found himself waving back at him. Seungyoon weaved towards the crowd, then embraced Mino with his free arm upon reaching him.

He’s here he’s here he’s here he’s here—

“It’s been so damn long!” Seungyoon smiled, his face flush with happiness. “How have you been?”

“Well, I’m fine,” Mino stuttered, feeling flustered at Seungyoon’s nearness.

“Hey, you don’t even seem sincere!” Seungyoon chuckled, his expression that of mock hurt.

Mino rolled his eyes. “Still the same annoying kid I met before, I see.”

Seungyoon hits his head playfully with a fist, and they burst out laughing. Hongdae is alive with merchants selling their goods, teenagers giggling over toys, street musicians singing folk songs and dancing in the streets—yet Mino could not recall the place being this . . . colorful and vibrant.

He could not even remember why he wanted to see him again in the first place.

 

They spent the day roaming some of the streets in Seoul, tasting food and buying some things Mino wasn’t even sure he would actually use. Seungyoon was so animated all throughout—he told Mino about the recent changes in the North, how their government was trying to be just as advanced as the South, and the possibilities—theories, Seungyoon had emphasized—that the tension might be lifted one day. In return, Mino regaled him with rise of visual arts in the South and how it has kept men away from farms, as well as the budding influence of the Western World within Seoul’s metropolis.

“Annoying, really,” Mino complained over his pork stew. “Can you believe that some of us are now slowly being forced to learn English? It’s as if last year we were drilled into thinking that we must be proficient in Japanese—and now this!”

Seungyoon chuckled. “At least they don’t force you to memorize the Communist law and master the Chinese alphabet.”

“How long will you be here in Seoul?” Mino asked him.

“I don’t know, maybe for a week,” Seungyoon shrugged. “I’m also assigned here to study the Southern culture—specifically here in Seoul. I was supposed to be somewhere in Jeolla, but I could not understand the dialect. Also,” he paused, smiling like a child, “I wanted to catch up with you. It feels awful not to be with you, y’know?”

Mino could not speak—or rather, he wanted to say something, but a million words were jammed in his mouth and his heart was in his throat.

Then Seungyoon’s smile turned devilish as he added, “There’s no one for me to annoy the living hell out of, you see.”

“You fiend,” Mino growled, and Seungyoon laughed.

 

A million questions surface in my tongue when I step closer to you

 

It was almost nightfall when the two of them arrived at an inn where Seungyoon would stay. It was only a few streets behind Mino’s place, much to his secret delight.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Seungyoon said, smiling slightly. “Or maybe bump into you on any of these streets.”

“Maybe,” Mino echoed. For some reason, he didn’t want to part with him. He wanted to explore Seoul’s vespers with him, but Seungyoon was tired and Mino’s mother would look for him.

And he wanted to know—

Seungyoon grinned. “I guess I’ll just try to maximize my stay here.”

Then stay here, with me.

Mino rolled his eyes and pushed Seungyoon inside the inn’s threshold. “Get in, you punk, if you want to ‘maximize’ your time.”

Seungyoon laughed lightly. Turning to Mino, with his hand on the doorknob, he whispered, “Good night, Mino.”

Mino smiled. “Good night, Seungyoon.”

 

Before I could even ask everything has melted—what should I do?

 

(That night, Mino painted a picture of a smiling youth with twinkling brown eyes under a sea of stars.)

 

An unexpected visitor came by at Mino’s house the next day, much to Mino’s annoyance and surprise.

Lee Seunghoon was one of his distant relatives whose family lived by the seas of Busan. He was slightly taller and more buff than Mino, but totally annoying—at least in Mino’s opinion.

“Mino!” he hollered, seeing Mino walk towards the living room. “I thought you died along with your canvas.”

“Piss off,” Mino muttered, making a beeline for the kitchen and desperately wishing for him to disappear.

Of course, being the annoying cousin, Seunghoon followed him to the kitchen and sat on one of the chairs. Mino sighed, knowing that he would be subjected to one of Seunghoon’s Inquisitions.

“How are you holding up?” Seunghoon started.

“I’m fine,” Mino muttered, his back on him as he prepared stuffed pancakes.

“That’s some very helpful information, Mino-ya,” Seunghoon said in a sing-song voice, and Mino rolled his eyes.

He sat down on a chair across from Seunghoon’s and pushed a saucer with a pancake towards him. Seunghoon took it, beaming, his mischievous eyes never leaving his cousin.

“You seem to glow, Mino,” Seunghoon observed.

Mino did not say anything; he just continued to chew on his pancake.

“I’ve never seen you like this . . .” Seunghoon continued, “well, or should I say, it’s been years since I’d seen that odd glow on your face.”

“What do you mean?” Mino asked, his words muffled by the bread in his mouth.

“When you were still a kid, whenever you went come back home from playing—you always had a smiling, happy aura wrapped around you,” Seunghoon said matter-of-factly. “Not that we minded it—in fact, we were all happy for you.”

Mino tried to finish his food as Seunghoon went on. “But one day, you came home with a sad face, and you refused to talk to anyone. I’d assumed it was just you trying to avoid me, as usual, but you never spoke a word for almost a week. And after that . . .” Seunghoon trailed off.

Mino sighed. “Your point?”

“My point is, Song Mino, I thought you would always stay that way until Dana told me earlier that you were . . . smiling when you came back home last night,” Seunghoon said, his small eyes boring into Mino’s.

“And?”

Seunghoon let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, I’ll get straight to the point—whoever you’ve met several years ago who painted a smile in your face then washed it away after a while and painted it all over again years later . . . is it the same person?”

Mino’s eyes widened in shock, and Seunghoon smirked. “Bingo.”

“Wait—what—” Mino stuttered. “What are you talking about?”

Seunghoon rolled his eyes. “Stop playing dumb, Mino. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Mino sighed in resignation. It would be useless to deny more at this point—Seunghoon, for all his obnoxiousness, can be very sharp as well.

“Who is this person, if I may ask?” Seunghoon inquired.

“He’s a friend,” Mino said lamely.

Seunghoon waited, his face expectant. Annoyed, Mino added, “His name is Seungyoon, and yes he was my playmate when I was a kid, and yes we hung out last night after several years of not meeting him.”

Seunghoon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “A playmate, huh? And you met him again—I’m confused.”

Mino tried to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. “He didn’t show up one day on the meadow, okay—and went on for weeks until I was convinced that I wouldn’t probably see him again. I stopped hoping—not until the festival, at least.”

His eyes were on the tabletop as Seunghoon processed the information, and he prayed that the latter would not jump into the craziest of conclusions.

A moment of tense silence passed, until Seunghoon said, in a hushed tone, “A Northerner, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Mino mumbled, feeling like an errant child.

Seunghoon sighed. “Mino, you know that I have nothing against Northerners, so why are you acting as if you’ve been caught doing some egregious act?”

Mino scowled at him. “Yet you always had negative comments about the North—”

“I have a problem with their government and how they try to raise their citizens,” Seunghoon cut him off. “Besides, why would I even ‘hate’ a Northerner if he was someone who made my sad cousin smile again?”

Mino was speechless.

 “How this Seungyoon person managed to drag you out of your own personal dilemma, I have no idea,” Seunghoon mused. “But humor me, cousin—if you were so convinced that you would not probably see him again, why were you looking forward for the festival?”

Mino gaped at him in surprise, taken aback by his words.

He scrambled for words in his mind, trying to come up with a plausible explanation. “B-because I had questions to ask him,” he stammered. “Like why he never showed up again.”

Seunghoon’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve had playmates that came and went, Mino, yet you never once complained about them.”

Mino opened his mouth, about to argue back, then closed it when he found nothing good to say.

“Mino-ya,” Seunghoon asked softly, “Is it really just the questions or is it the wanting of simply seeing him again?”

 

Deep inside, I am terrified of something I don’t even want to know

 

“I have to admit, summer nights here in Seoul are more acceptable than in Pyeongyang’s,” Seungyoon muttered as held an ice cream stick in hand and sat down on an empty swing. “This city has sweet ice creams.”

Mino snorted and sat on the swing beside him. “Sometimes I’m convinced that you went here in Seoul to have the ice cream to yourself.”

“Speak for yourself—you’ve been hounding on all the sticky treats I gave you earlier,” Seungyoon retorted, and Mino laughed.

It was Seungyoon’s fourth night in Seoul, and he and Mino were hanging out on an abandoned playground near the city’s metropolis. Compared to the last time they met, it was Seungyoon who found him this time (in a painting store), and the former wasted no opportunity to spend some time with him.

Sometimes Mino is convinced that Seoul is just a small city with too many people and buildings—because how on earth would they even manage to bump towards each other?

“I never thought you had interest in painting,” Seungyoon remarked. “Well, I did see you scribble once, but painting’s a different thing.”

“Just a hobby,” Mino muttered. “Nothing too deep or whatever about it.”

The atmosphere was quiet, the night breeze passing by between them. Again, a lot of words surfaced in Mino’s tongue, yet Seungyoon spoke before he could even let them out.

“I’m sorry,” his words were hushed. “I really should have said something about it, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Mino asked, although deep down he knew what he meant.

Seungyoon smiled ruefully. “Me suddenly ditching you years ago.”

Mino’s breath caught in his throat, and he stared towards the night sky. “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“ . . . Why?” Mino managed to say after a few minutes.

“Our laws are different from yours,” Seungyoon replied, his voice still quiet. “I wanted to come back . . . but if I did, it would put your life in danger.”

Mino felt an unexplainable ache in his chest, a tightening he couldn’t describe. Yet he said, “Maybe you could’ve done something to warn me or what?”

Seungyoon chuckled humorlessly. “It would make everything worse—especially for a non-Northerner.”

A hundred million more questions bubbled in Mino’s mouth—you could’ve probably just sent me an anonymous note nobody would know why did you just ditch me like that I thought we would always meet there I thought it would stay solid I thought I thought I thought—but he swallowed them down. It would be no use, he knew, and Seungyoon was right.

It would make everything worse.

“Well,” Mino said gruffly, smiling at Seungyoon, “you better make it up to me.”

“How?” Seungyoon stared at him, surprised and confused.

“I don’t know,” Mino replied, shrugging, because he did not even know what he was saying.

Seungyoon snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re so odd for a Southerner.”

Before Mino could retort—and make a fool of himself—Seungyoon fished something from his coat’s inside pocket. He handed them to Mino, smiling crookedly.

“Are these enough?” Seungyoon asked, his eyes twinkling.

In Mino’s hand were blue wild flowers that grew in the meadow every spring. Mino looked up at Seungyoon in shock, bemusement clear in his face.

“I went there early in the morning,” Seungyoon explained. “They bloomed all around, and I’d thought of bringing some to you. You did say something that these were your favorites, didn’t you?”

A rush of emotions filled Mino’s body as he stared at the flowers on his hand—emotions he’d felt and never felt before, thoughts that passed and never passed in his mind—and he was so overwhelmed he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even breathe, let alone blink.

“It’s not enough, I know,” Seungyoon chuckled, a bit shakily, “but I’m in for a good start, ain’t I?”

Mino knew that he should say something, must say something, but his heart felt heavy for some reason he couldn’t think straight.

He wanted to cry, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to hold Seungyoon and never let him go ever again.

But all he did was to smile at Seungyoon and say, “Yeah, it’s not enough.”

 

I don’t want to know, I don’t even want to feel this; this is heaven wrapped in hell’s flames

 

(In his haze of drunkenness and confusion, Mino painted again. He didn’t know what he painted—even when he looked at it again when he woke up with a hangover—but he was sure that the splash of colors that were scattered all over his canvas reflected the subconscious truth he’d always tried to run away from.)

 

But then again, you’re the sun—and I am only Icarus with wings trying to reach you.