“We keep this place running,” Minseok said as they were trudging across the grassy pastures that surrounded his home, “not with monetary intentions, but out of obligation to the society. This town has a small community, but amongst them, there’re still the rich, and there’s only so much you can do to humour yourself in a town whose primary attraction is an expansive body of water. So they keep horses, but private stables are too large and the overall construction and mantainance is costly. This land has been handed down my family for generations as a family heirloom. My grandfather started renting out the old stables, taking in some of those horses out of pity and caring for them on behalf of their owners. Word spread, and more people came. He couldn’t bear to turn them all down, so it ended up being a family business.”

Junhee hung onto his every word with interest, keeping pace with him as he talked. Minseok had a way with drawing a person’s attention, through both his gentle tone and humble manner of speech. He spoke of the family business with passion and care, with delicacy, as if to honour his grandfather (whom she learned was deceased) and surety, as if he couldn’t see himself doing anything else but care for his equine companions.

“If we were to close down, where would all the horses go?” he added, offering her a quick, forlorn smile before stepping forwards to open a rickety gate.

“You really should get that oiled,” Jongdae remarked as he breezed past him, spinning around in his heels, camera in hand to take pictures of the rolling fields bordered by emerald trees.

“I’ll give you some grease and an old washcloth to clean your hands with,” Minseok offered. “Then for once in your life, you’ll finally be useful to me.”

 Jongdae laughed. “Nah, as far as part time jobs go, I’m all set.” He patted his camera.

They made their way across the field, the grass the soles of her open sandals as they trudged down its length. The sun blazed overhead; the wind breezed past them, skimming the tops of trees and threading its invisible fingers into the leaves and the soft grass underneath their feet, tickling their bare skin with soft gusts. The field was meant for the horses, Minseok had said, when the stables get to stuffy or when the boxes needed cleaning. He pointed some out to them, tall, proud creatures with glimmering coats of bay and caramel.

“Some of them aren’t very friendly to strangers,” he said, as if to clarify the distance the horses kept with the group.

Jongdae had already pulled out his camera, testing various angles, taking experimental shots and frowning as he adjusted the dials.

They finally emerged at another gate, set opposite to the one they went through when they came in, and it was then that Minseok paused in his little speech about horse care to speak to Jongdae. “So, are you going to see the stables or –”

“The race track,” Jongdae replied within a beat. “Show her the race track.”

Minseok shrugged, veering away from the large, wooden structure which she assumed was the home of the horses. They looped around the side, passing a large set of double doors which she assumed opened into a large interior subdivided into little sections. Soft whinnies echoed behind the wood, interspersed with the sounds of shifting hay and clopping hooves. She stared at it as they walked past, curious of its inhabitants.

“I told you you’d be interested in them,” Jongdae whispered to her when he caught the longing look in her eyes.

She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled a little on the inside.

They emerged at another part of the land, an area fenced in by wooden bars that ran the entire circumference, curving into an oval. Another layer of fence formed a second, smaller oval, and sandwiched between the fences were layers of dry sand; it formed the track, extending to width large enough to accommodate four horses shoulder to shoulder. The heart of the race track was a large patch of grass, gleaming bright green underneath the sun.

Shouts echoed from the race track, a mixture of garbled human speech and neighing. Billows of sand spurted underneath heavy hooves; they drove into the ground, collecting dry sand underneath curved metal shoes, and then sent it flying in arcs over the air in a single, powerful lift. They left behind them a trail of upturned sand and hoof-shaped marks, smeared at the edges and compressed by the weight of several more bodies passing through.

The horse leading the race –its coat a beautiful chestnut, its mane a streaming black shadow –sped past them as they neared the fence.

She managed to catch her hair before it whipped across her face, holding it out of her eyes as she watched three more zoom past, hot at the chestnut’s heels.

“It’s just a small scale racing track,” Minseok explained, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the sound of thumping hooves and cracking whips. “It’s just meant for small, private races between riders. They race for fun, mostly to wear off their horses’ excess energy or just for the sake of the adrenaline rush.”

“Well, they certainly give me an adrenaline rush,” Jongdae remarked, camera at ready.

“Maybe you should run the track,” Minseok joked. “Anyway, I have to go. There’re water buckets to fill, horses to groom. You two stay here and watch for as long as you want. Those kids don’t mind spectators. Gives them a chance to show off.”

Junhee’s whipped around to stare at Minseok. “Kids?”

“Yeah,” he said, his mouth curling into an amused smile upon seeing her expression. “They’re just fresh out of high school. Adults have way too many things in their hands to participate in biweekly races.” He waved at them and jogged off.

“Man, people here are richer than I thought,” she muttered quietly, turning face the track again.

“The chaebols like keeping vacation houses here as weekend getaways from the city life,” Jongdae explained, his body folded over the wooden fence, hair whipping in every direction. “But not all of us are that rich. I’m not.”

She eyed him in slight disbelief. “You own motorbike –and an expensive one at that.”

Jongdae waved it away. “That was my brother’s before it was mine, and he bargained for it at a junkyard –though admittedly it was one of those rare cases where the owner didn’t have enough patience to wait for a repair work and decided to just dump it in favour of a new one.”

“Still. Expensive motorbike.”

“I brought you here to look at the horses, not discuss my ride,” he said teasingly.

The horses zoomed past them again, wind gusting in their wake. It plucked the stray strands of their hair, tugging at them until they fell askew. Jongdae’s head of dark brown hair drifted upwards before falling in progressive layers over his eyes, uneven and jagged at the edges. His dark irises peeked at her from underneath sheets of coffee-coloured locks.

Her hair was floating around her head too, pressing against the skin of her cheek and wafting into her eyes. She reached up to push it away, but Jongdae had already caught it, holding it between deft fingers that brushed lightly against her cheek. In one smooth motion, as if he wasn’t completely aware of what he was doing, he tucked in behind her ear.

She felt them going still when he realised what he was doing.

“Um, yeah, horses,” he said, laughing nervously as he withdrew his hand. “We should really start paying attention to them, if we ever want to find out how this race would end.”

The awkward tension sizzled between them even though they’d turned away to face the track. Junhee listened to the sound of hooves getting progressively nearer as the horses completed their laps; they way they thumped against the ground, hard and rhythmic and loud, mirrored the way her heart was beating erratically in her chest.

The horses zoomed past them again, and she saw Jongdae raise the camera in front of his eyes. Quick, barely half a second clicks marked each shot he took. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from him, from the soft curves and lines that made up his profile and his knuckles, visible underneath a layer of translucent skin. She reminded herself that she was here to observe the horses.

The chestnut was still leading, and right on his heels was a handsome black, a dark shadow that moved with impossibly fluid grace. Two bays made up the rear, going neck and neck. She watched the muscles ripple with every extension of a leg, the way necks arched forward and manes fluttered behind them like streaming capes. The chestnut and the black had exquisitely gleaming coats; the black especially, seemed to glow as the light from the sun glossed over its body. She stepped closer to the fence, squinting in the bright light, trying to make out the details on every steed: their markings, glowing white on their muzzle and foreheads or extending upwards from their hooves like soft woollen socks.

The horses zoomed past them again, and a whip cracked somewhere behind the sound of thundering hooves.

She stepped back just before the sand kicked up could get into her eyes.

“Don’t stand so close,” Jongdae advised her. “At least, not when they pass by.”

She noticed that he had been moving back and forth repeatedly, hanging onto the fence when the horses were halfway across the oval, and quickly stepping back just a second before they completed their laps. He placed a cap on the lens every time, protecting it from the gusts of sand that the horses sent streaming in their wake.

“It’s the only way I can see them,” she argued, now back on her toes as she leaned against the fence. “How am I supposed to draw them if I can’t see them? All the details –every toss of a head and every hoof extended to bear its weight –I need to see them to make my drawings complete.”

“You’ll get them,” Jongdae assured her. “I promise you’ll get everything before you leave.”

She was about to ask him what he meant, but Jongdae had already uncapped his lens and was back to facing the track, camera raised to his eyes. The question died in just as the horses zoomed past them, completing another lap.

“Was that what you meant?” she asked him as they leaned over the fence that encompassed the grassy field where several horses grazed. It was sturdy when touched, but the wood used to make it was less strong than the wood that enclosed the race track. It was fairly pliable though, and curved a little when it had to bear their full weight.

“You’re going to have to specify what I mean, because I don’t know what you mean when you say if whatever I did was what I meant.” Jongdae shot her a playful smile, squinting at her in the afternoon light.

“Please don’t speak in riddles,” she said drily. “Because I refuse to speak with you if you do.”

He laughed. “Alright. What do mean?” he amended, toying with a little blade of grass that he plucked somewhere next to his feet, watching it flutter in the light breeze and catching it before it could slip out of his hands.

“That answer you gave me earlier. You said something about beauty. Was that what you meant, the horses?”

Jongdae twirled the blade of grass between his fingers, eyes glazed, distant, as if he was lost in thought. His gaze was trained onto something faraway, further than the horses whose muzzles brushed against the soft grass, past the opposite fence, and through the thicket of trees that surrounded the estate. She didn’t know what he saw, whether his gaze encompassed the whole scene or was just focused on one being.

She took it as an excuse for her to study him, to trace the lines of his face and memorise the tiny details that made his features so exquisite. There were slight curls at the corners of his mouth, she noticed, small, but perfectly defined lines flicking upwards, cutting just slightly into the bottom half of his cheek. It made his smile cheeky –the aggravating naughtiness akin to that of a five-year-old boy’s –but it didn’t mean that it was any less genuine.

“Well, not really, but they are a part of it,” he finally said. He sighed, as if looking for better words to explain what he saw. She sympathised.  Jongdae expressed his feelings in pictures; he was used to showing his feelings rather than composing them in words.

“You saw how those horses moved: power hidden within skin and bones, evident with every lash of a tail, every lift of a leg. I know you saw it because it was what you had been looking for when you complained to me that you needed to see. You and I, we weren’t looking at the colour of the horses or the muscle and sinews that made up its body; we were looking at its movements, they way it ran, its response to its rider’s command. My pictures –most of my pictures –are made up of it.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking unsure. “I hope you get it. What I’m saying is that it’s not external beauty that makes something stunning; it’s the grace, the flowing elegance of simple motion, that makes it gorgeous.”

She blinked, breaking herself out of the trance cast by his voice, but didn’t say anything yet.

“That was what I wanted to show you,” he said, finally letting the blade of grass flutter away. “That’s what I meant by beauty.”

She leaned back, listening sound of the rustling leaves as she processed his words. “We really do see things the same way, don’t we?”

“That’s why I knew you’d understand.” He smiled at her, and all she could think of was how it was as blinding as the sun.

“Jongdae, I don’t think this is a very good idea,” Junhee whined, trying to dig her feet into the ground as far as it could go. Her resistance managed to stall Jongdae, though only a little while. He just tightened his hold on her forearms before exerting more force into his push.

“Don’t worry, it won’t bite,” he said encouragingly into her ear, though his voice betrayed his amusement –she wondered if it was because of the poor fight she was putting against him or because he relished her misery.

Why didn’t I wear heels today, she grumbled to herself. Although heels were tedious to walk in, they would have been wonderful aids in this situation. With heels, she could apply more pressure to dig them in deeper, and would have probably successfully cemented herself into the ground so that Jongdae couldn’t push her any further.

Instead, she was forced to contemplate the reality wherein she and the horse were getting closer and closer to each other.

She saw it eyeing her, dark eyes as calm and cool as the shadows underneath the trees that surrounded the estate. Its honey coloured tail flicked upwards in calm swishes, its mane ruffling as Minseok threaded his fingers through it in slow, easy . Its colour was light, almost blonde in the light of the sun, and she remembered vaguely that Jongdae had told her that the shade was more appropriately referred to as champagne.

“You said we were going to see horses, not ride them!” she hissed at him, anxiety rising with every step closer to the horse.

“You rode my motorcycle. What’s so different from riding a horse?” Next to the steed, she could see Minseok’s lips curve into a smile; clearly he was enjoying their bickering.

“For one thing, a horse is alive,” she said, putting much emphasis in the last word. “Your motorbike adheres to your commands like a machine; this one has a mind of its own.”

“Minseok’s horses are perfectly trained. They’ll listen to you just fine.” With one decisive push, Jongdae managed to get her to stand beside the saddle, holding her in place by the shoulders. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach increase.

“Yes, and this one’s the most obedient of the lot,” Minseok interceded, patting the horse fondly on its neck. “I’ve raised her since she was a foal. Never disappointed me throughout her life.”

“But...” she hesitated, eyeing the horse with much trepidation. The horse didn’t look the slightest bit ruffled, unlike the agitated stallion that she’d seen Minseok try to placate in the stables with repeated murmurs against its muzzle. She was the picture of gentle tranquillity, and Junhee was reminded of the dark waters of the lake she had witnessed for the first time with Jongdae underneath the moonlight. That didn’t do much to calm her though.

“Look, Junhee,” Minseok began, taking on the gentle tone he’d been using on the horses to speak to her now, “I’ve ridden her a lot of times. She’s my own horse! And I will confidently say that Honey isn’t the least bit aggressive. Suitable for beginners like you.”

“It’s a onetime thing,” Jongdae offered. “You wouldn’t want to pass up this opportunity. And besides, aren’t you on vacation? It’s good to have a little bit of adventure in your life.”

 “I know, but I’ve never ridden one before...”

“Try petting her,” Minseok suggested, “and see if you can connect with her.”

She reached out a tentative hand towards the horse’s mane, letting the tips brush against the surface, before relaxing and threading her fingers in deeper into the tangles. The caramel sheen of the mane was especially prominent underneath the sunlight, and she let her fingers explore each hair, resting them against her palm to peruse. Minseok waited for her patiently and Jongdae hovered behind her. She could smell his cologne, blown from his collars to let linger in the air.

“Ready?” Minseok asked her, smiling that contagious smile of his.

She took in a deep breath and handed her bag with her art supplies to Jongdae. “Sure.”

“Okay, first put your foot on the stirrup and then slowly swing your right leg –”

She shrieked when a pair of hands suddenly lifted her from behind by the waist.

Minseok sighed. “You should have let her do that herself.”

Jongdae grinned. “I’m just being the gentleman,” he said, shrugging as he tucked his incriminating hands into his pockets.

“Are you alright, Junhee?” Minseok asked, looking up towards her.

“Um, yeah,” she smiled nervously at him, hands clutching the reins for a dear life.

“You might want to loosen up your grip.”

She did as she was told as Jongdae chortled. She had an overwhelming urge to kick him on the chest, but fear of falling kept her feet tightly glued to the stirrups.

“Now relax, and I’m going to slowly lead her.”

The lunge of the first step made her heart drop for a while, but it soon steadied into its natural rhythm as she realised that she weren’t going to fall. She listened to the clip clop of its hooves, muted by the soft grass. It had a rhythm to it: quick, staccato beats that seemed to meld with the sound of rustling grass and whispering winds. She could feel the shifting muscles against the sides of her legs, the strange smoothness of its glossy coat as the skin stretched and relaxed.

Minseok was leading the horse by the muzzle in a slow round around the field. He cut through it about halfway, tugging the horse sideways and away from the other horses eyeing them watchfully from the far end of the field, and back towards where Jongdae stood, grinning.

“A snail could have made that round and finished it before you,” he teased as they neared him.

“Oh, shut up, Kim Jongdae.”

Minseok chuckled and then relinquished the rein to him. “Your turn. I have to go. Dad’s not gonna be pleased if he found out I left my chores unattended. Just call me when you’re done.”

“Wait! You’re not really going to leave the rest of my riding experience in his hands, are you?” she asked desperately. “I’m having serious doubts that he would make a good memory out of it.”

Minseok eyed her amusedly. “You trusted him enough to get on his devil of a motorbike,” he pointed out.

She opened to protest, but he was already walking away, leaving her in the hands and care of Jongdae.

“So, want to try a faster round?” he asked, eyes glinting.

“So long I won’t end up with a heart attack,” she said resignedly, and Jongdae laughed.

“Still having regrets about coming with me?” His voice carried towards her, muffled by the deafening lashes of wind against her helmet and the purr of the engine.

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?”

She felt him shrug underneath her hold, bone pressing against her cheek in a five second gesture. “I would appreciate it if you do!”

“Well, I am starting to regret trusting you,” she yelled over the din of passing cars. “But no, I don’t regret coming with you. Minseok’s a nice guy. I like him.”

“I hope you don’t mean that romantically,” he joked. “Because as far as I know, his horses are the love of his life.”

“Do you always have to do that?” she chided him, smacking him on the back. “Do you always have to twist my words into something else?”

“It’s fun. I like seeing your reaction; it’s cute.”

She blinked inside her helmet, not quite sure if she heard him right or if the wind was playing tricks on her. “What?”

“Nothing!” he yelled back.

“It wasn’t –ah! KIM JONGDAE!”

He had made a sudden left turn, leaving her clinging onto him like a koala bear to a tree. She felt his shoulders lift and fall. He was chuckling.

“You know, you were right about the horses not being so bad,” she screamed at him as he zoomed past storefronts. “You are definitely worse.”