Geonhak has never been the type of person that one would refer to as 'superstitious', but when he spots something right out of a fairytale during one of his dives, he just knows that there's more to it, there has to be.
And suddenly, he finds himsel...
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༉ · ─────── · 𓆝 · ─────── · ࿐ . .⃗ . 3,9k
Later that day, long after the last blaze of sunlight had retreated behind a horizon of rippled blue, Geonhak was taking turns staring either at the monotone ceiling of his apartment or outside the window where, in the distance, he imagined the glow of streetlamps to paint the ocean waves a glistening orange like he had seen it happen so often.
Hours had passed since Geonhak and Seoho had parted, and yet Geonhak felt as wide-awake as when Seoho’s apricot hair had first peeked from behind the rocks, leaving Geonhak busy capturing all of what was sculpting Seoho so mesmerising, unreal, dreamlike and yet so very human.
“Meet me here again? Tomorrow, same time. I want to show you something.”
Geonhak recalled Seoho’s words, pictured how he had smiled at him, how his irises had struck Geonhak inscrutable and bottomless like the sea itself, and it was that moment Geonhak knew – doubts and fright swept away, – he wanted to know more about him.
He was the slightest bit upset with himself that he had been too inoperative to ask questions; Seoho hadn’t seemed bothered or irritated by the fact that Geonhak was barely uttering coherent sentences and therefore left him with all the talking, but it was itchy and pestering how badly Geonhak wanted to get to the bottom of not only the ways of Seoho’s kind but Seoho himself – how he lived, what his likes and dislikes were, what he wanted to show him tomorrow, why he had been there and showed himself to Geonhak in the first place.
Geonhak couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come, but he was scared regardless; not scared of Seoho – not anymore – but of the thought, the possibility, of closing his eyes and waking up to all of this having been nothing but a mere dream, or to Seoho having changed his mind and never show up.
Geonhak rolled to the side and sighed, heart restless in the best and worst way possible.
Already adjusted to the grey dark of the apartment, his eyes focused the walnut-sized scale that he had deliberately placed into a small bowl on his nightstand, and Geonhak didn’t know whether the light from the city’s nightlife flickering through his window was sufficient for colours to be visible, but Geonhak caught the slightest polish of cyan and rainbow toppling over the surface of the scale before his eyes fell shut – he dreamt of stardust that night.
