The valley is beautiful. Dizzying, almost, with all the plants Jongin has only heard of, has only seen in textbooks with wonderfully illustrated (if old-fashioned) watercolor paintings. It’s almost enough to make him forget his exhaustion. It’s been a long journey.

 

Perhaps we should start over.

 

Jongin is a Bay City boy, born and raised. Descended from a long line of (very distinguished) herbalists from the Willowwood countryside. But his grandmother had been invited to teach at the Bay City University (she’d sniffed, said herbalism wasn’t something that could be taught in such a sterilized place); when his grandfather died, off on some expedition, his grandmother found the offer appealing. It was steady income, the comfort of settling down with two children, still young. So Jongin’s mother was raised in the city (and took a job as a nurse; grandmother hated that. Healing was supposed to be natural), learning from his grandmother despite his mother’s disapproval. In fact, mother had encouraged him to look into other fields, far more grandiose than the one he was so keen on pursuing; he didn’t listen. But, to please his mother, he studied herbalism at the University (his grandmother never let him hear the end of it), and had set off to explore new species of plants in far off places. He even planned a trip to Willowwood with grandmother, to study the plants of her youth in person.

But Jongin is a dreamer, and he’s fixated with the study of mythical plants; plants he isn’t sure exist (but surely they must, if they’re so prolific in stories). Some of these plants turn out to be real; he’d found, on a trip to Pine Pass, a grotesque, extremely poisonous berry known locally as red claw; on a trip to Mistymere he found the frog blossom, a shrub with green flowers that clustered (very oddly) into the shape of a frog; at Sandy Cove City, the sand shrub, which produced a gritty looking bean used for a famous local dish. Yet there was one that still evaded discovery: the honey berry.

The University had some old records (labeled all as folklore) that spoke of honey berries in the Sundell, which didn’t exist. Except one record identified Sundell as the area known as Buttervale; it was a slim chance that this was true, but Jongin has worked with less. So he’d planned it all (with a grant from the University, which he did not expect) and left two weeks ago, with his grandmother’s blessing. He set out in early September, at the start of the new semester, when the foliage would still be green and the sun still warm.

There are three urban centers in Buttervale; Jongin’s destination is Honeyville, the city in the center. But, as he expects, Buttervale is considered a lesser province, and transportation is not as frequent or reliable as he would’ve liked, hence the time it takes to get there. At Dawngrove, a tiny village halfway between Bearpost —the city at the entrance of the valley, and the biggest of the three— and Honeyville, he is given two options: walk, or pay for a ridiculously expensive taxi. Jongin is already worn out by the excruciatingly slow train ride to Bearpost. Walking “three hours north, give or take a few wild animals” as the clerk at the village’s only information center told him, sounds unappealing. So he forks over the cash and resigns himself to skipping a few meals.

Which is how he ends up at Honeyville an hour later, the pain in his lower back flaring up (as it does when he sits for too long), stomach gurgling its protests at the shoddy meals he is forced to eat when traveling. What he does not expect, however, is for a young man to be waiting for him at the Honeyville Association of Herbalists (HAH, for short; Jongin is a little too tired to appreciate this at the moment).

“You must be Jongin,” the guy chirps, holding out a hand.

Jongin shakes it, trying, as best he can, to return the brightness of the smile.

“From Bay City University, yes,” he says.

“I’m Jongdae, mayor of Honeyville,” the cheery guy replies.

Jongin gapes. His manners escape him, but really, Jongdae doesn’t look much older than himself.

“B-but-”

“I’m young, yes, I know,” says Jongdae, but the laugh that follows is good natured. “It’s a holiday today, so the association isn’t actually open, but how about I give you a tour?”

It’s the last thing Jongin wants, actually. He wants a hot shower, some nice food, but it would be too rude to say no, so he offers what he thinks is a polite smile.

“Lead the way,” he says.

Honeyville is both smaller and bigger than Jongin expected. There are a few high rises in the center (well, they look paltry compared to the Bay City high rises, but ten stories at Honeyville means they tower over all the other buildings). The houses look mostly modern, which surprises Jongin; he expected quaint brick cottages with overgrown ivy and round windows, but most of the houses seem fresh and sturdy in that new-built way.

“It depends on who you ask, really,” says Jongdae. He’s been explaining things, but Jongin tunes in and out of the constant stream of conversation. “We’re both a very large town and a very small city.” Jongdae laughs at this. “We always take care to be eco-friendly, though. It’s our legacy, after all. We’re very proud of preserving this part of Buttervale. Bearpost is far too focused on urbanization.” A sniff of disapproval. “Do you have a place to stay?”

Jongin goes a full beat without answering; he hasn’t realized he’s been asked a question.

“Oh, uh, no?”

Jongdae scrunches his nose at this.

“Mm, shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” he says, in a totally cryptic way. Jongin should’ve taken this as a warning, but he doesn’t.

The tour continues. They’re stopped often, mostly people who want to greet Jongdae, give him a snack (it’s the ahjummas who do this), or give him an update on their puppies, or to offer a firm handshake. It makes for slow going; it should also have given Jongin time to realize they’ve been walking for quite some time, and he was missing something very important.

“We’ll take the bus here, yeah?” says Jongdae when they reach a wide road that branches off of the main street. “How long will you be staying with us?”

Jongin adjusts his bag.

“Well, the grant is for a year.”

“A year and you only have one backpack?” Jongdae asks, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.

“What- oh ,” Jongin sags against the glass of the bus stop, letting his head drop back against it.

“Ah, left it in the taxi?”

“Yeah,” Jongin groans.

“That’s no problem,” Jongdae chirps.

In his exhaustion, he can’t (doesn’t) control the incredulous look he gives Jongdae. The mayor doesn’t seem bothered.

“No offense but-”

“The benefits of small towns, Jongin, we all know each other,” says Jongdae.

The bus sighs to a stop, and the doors pop open. Jongdae greets the bus driver, who flashes them a wide grin. It’s odd, all this amiability. He’s used to the fast paced, aggressive nature of Bay City. They take their seats, and Jongdae whips out his phone.

“What was the cab company?” he asks.

“Uh, Dawngrove Taxi Company, I think?”
“Mm.”

With Jongdae occupied on his phone, Jongin takes the chance to unfocus, to let the rattle of the bus (which is, he realizes with a pleased smile, far less than that of Bay City; the roads are much better here) and the blur of green and buildings rush past. The bus route meanders through clusters of houses until they grow farther apart. The variety of the plants, oaks, pines, hawthorns, cypress, and birches, keep him awake; there were even a few orchards, red pears and yellow apples half-formed on the branches. Among the trees are also a great many stone fruit trees, peaches, nectarines, cherries, plums, and apricots, which would no doubt have heavy branches come spring. He’s fairly certain they’ve crossed the entirety of the town by the time the bus putters to a stop in front of a grocery store (which is super cute, the kind of storefront to be featured on 99 cent postcards) in an expanse of green. Jongdae stands up then, waving at Jongin to follow him. They get off, and Jongin can’t help but take a deep breath. From the store, the road forks into two; a field of apple-pears takes the expanse on the far right, while the triangle in the middle boasts a stationery store and a fruit market. To the left, just beyond a thicket of trees, is a two story house drowning in plants, ferns and willow branches curtaining the walls. It’s probably a modern looking house, but under all the green it’s hard to tell. A breeze blows, parting the cascade of ferns to expose the charcoal tile. To the left of the house is a greenhouse, the glass roof gleaming in the noon sun.

“They should get your luggage here later today,” says Jongdae, walking with such confidence past the gate that Jongin nearly chokes on his spit.

“Oh, that’s good. But, uh, where are we exactly?” Jongin asks, taking timid steps toward the house.

“Well, the association has records and all that, but the resident plant expert of Honeyville is Kyungsoo,” says Jongdae, knocking on the rich brown wood of the front door.

Jongin’s stomach sinks. It isn’t the prospect of speaking to this Kyungsoo guy; he’s just too tired to handle much more. And yet, he finds he just can’t manage any sort of protest when Jongdae is flashing him such a brilliant smile, so he rubs his face and sighs.

“Hey, Jongdae- oh, hi,” Kyungsoo (well, Jongin assumes it’s him) pokes his head out, a wonderful smile blooming on his face.

Jongin blinks; he certainly didn’t expect the resident plant expert to be so cute. But, yes, there’s no mistake about it as Kyungsoo opens the door further. Cute and soft; Jongin wants to bury his face in the fleecy fabric of Kyungsoo’s eggshell white sweater. He also wants to nuzzle Kyungsoo’s hair, which looks so silky, and no doubt smells lovely (unlike Jongin). He’s suddenly self-conscious, aware of how greasy his hair must look, how the exhaustion is stamped under his eyes.

“Kyungsoo! This is Jongin from Bay City U, he’s an herbalist and he’s gonna be in town for a while,” says Jongdae. “I figured he’d want to meet you first, given your expertise.”

Pink dusts Kyungsoo’s cheeks. Oh, now Jongin wants to nuzzle those warm cheeks.

“Oh, sure. Come on in,” says Kyungsoo, stepping aside.

Jongin does so, slipping off his shoes (he really regrets wearing his travel-worn pair, they look so shabby) and placing his backpack on the floor next to the shoe rack.

“I actually have to go. They’re waiting for me at the banquet,” says Jongdae.

Jongin almost curses. What is he supposed to do when it comes time to leave? But Jongdae seems unfazed by the bug-eyed look Jongin is giving him.

“Gym banquet?”

“Nah, Cherry Bend Senior Home.”

“Mm,” Kyungsoo nods. “Have fun.”

Jongdae pulls a face, waves, and turns to walk away.

“W-wait,” Jongin sputters, but Jongdae doesn’t hear him. The mayor starts to whistle, walking with a skip in his step.

“Would you like some tea?” Kyungsoo asks.

Jongin grimaces, but the opportunity to rest outweighs his worries about where to stay at the moment, so he nods.

The house is quite cozy. The stairs are just to the left of the entryway, and the living room is tucked behind them, two plush sofas facing the tv, while large windows face the greenhouse. The kitchen and dining table are enclosed behind the living room, and to the right of the kitchen counters is a wooden sliding door that leads to the backyard. To the right of the sliding door is the entrance to a room. What surprises him most (though it shouldn’t have, he is in the home of a plant expert, after all) is how green the house is on the inside. Leafy monsteras, lush ferns, a few curling and cascading bonsai, air plants in whimsical glass containers, terrariums propped on small tables, a moss covered rock, snake plants in the dim corners, pothos plants by the windows, and the magnificent lolling leaves of monstera plants. There are more plants in the kitchen, herbs and vegetables no doubt, but Jongin resists the urge to run over to see them.

“What brings you to Honeyville?” Kyungsoo asks, jolting Jongin out of his reverie.

“Oh, uh, well I specialize in mythical plants,” Jongin says, rubbing his ear.

Kyungsoo fills the kettle with water, raising an eyebrow.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Well, I find out if they’re real or not. For the University.”

He curses himself for being so flustered; it only takes one cute guy to make him a mess (one really cute guy with beautiful big eyes and a wonderfully warm smile and— no, he needs to focus).

“Just the University?” Kyungsoo asks, leaning against the counter.

“Ah, no. Mostly for me. My grandmother is an herbalist,” Jongin explains.

Kyungsoo nods. It’s common, expected actually, that the position of herbalist stay within the family.

“Which mythical plant brings you to Honeyville?”

“The honey berry,” says Jongin.

He swears Kyungsoo tenses at that, but it passes in a moment, and Kyungsoo wears a mask of mild interest. How strange.

“Mm.”

“Ever seen one?” he asks.

“Oh, sure,” says Kyungsoo, busying himself with the tin of tea leaves. “Wrong season for them though, it’s a spring plant.”

Jongin curses, apologizing when Kyungsoo gives him an amused look.

“Guess it’s a good thing this place has enough plant diversity to keep me occupied until then,” Jongin grumbles.

Kyungsoo hums in agreement, pouring the water into the teapot and placing the strainer with leaves into it.

“Sugar?”

“Oh no. Unsweetened is fine,” says Jongin.

Kyungsoo takes the cups to the living room and places them on the coffee table before he goes back for the teapot. Jongin, who follows him to the living room, takes one of the cups in his hand; it’s ceramic, black, but with three different finishes defining the stripes. It’s beautiful; his grandmother must be rubbing off on him, he thinks with a smile.

“Where will you be staying?” Kyungsoo asks as he pours the tea.

Jongin watches the steam curl, sighing.

“I, uh, figured I’d get that settled when I got here.”

“Mm.”

Kyungsoo blows on the tea, sending a wave of the earthy green scent in Jongin’s direction.

“You could stay here.”

Jongin stubs his toe against the leg of the coffee table, muttering a heartfelt as he bent over to rub his throbbing toe.

“I can’t possibly do that,” he says, once he’s recovered.

“It won’t be a problem, plus it’ll be cheaper for you,” says Kyungsoo, unfazed.

“It’s a whole year,” Jongin insists. “That’s too much to ask for, I can’t-”

“I’m offering, dummy,” says Kyungsoo, and Jongin is strangely not offended by this. “Bes