Golden Sands [FIC] 1/3
Apr. 18th, 2022 01:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
notturnitowarnings:
- lots of mention of food
- yeosang hongjoong seonghwa use they/them pronouns (ppl will interchangeably address them with both neutral and gendered honorifics like hyungnim/noonim, but they don't mind it)
- at some point wy jokingly asks ys to spit out food (from Jongho mouthing How was your day? to Okay, Mingi needs to step in right now,)
- ys jokingly suggests to throw wy off cliffs several times
im not korean, and am definitely not an expert of korean mythology. this fic will just have elements from the myths and folklore, and is intended to be its own separate thing. please dont expect accuracy ;-; i just wanna write sth that panders to me myself and i. but i hope if you do read on, you will enjoy it as much as ive been writing it. thank you for giving this fic a try :)
*
Mingi's life as a shopkeeper assistant is as mundane as it gets, despite working for a shopkeeper who cannot leave their shop and having shamans as semi-colleagues semi-friends. Has he mentioned about his complicated love life which involve an imugi and an ex-merfolk?
The sunlight is warm.
It’s the stream of light through his window that stirs Mingi awake, aware already of the beginning of the day. He lazily stretches before he rolls to his side. The pearl pendant of his necklace is pressed against his neck, having fallen out of his shirt from all the tussling Mingi’s done in his sleep. As he lies there with unfocused consciousness, faintly he registers the distant cries of the seagulls, as well as the delicious smell of his mom’s cooking. It’s most likely bulgogi with rice today for breakfast.
If Mingi strains his ears enough, he thinks that he can hear the telltale crash of the waves.
Oh well. Mingi finally forces himself to sit up, racks his hand through his hair—messy from sleep. He peels the teardrop-shaped pendant from his sticky neck before, gingerly, he tucks it under the collar of his shirt.
With a groan, Mingi finally shoves himself out of the bed.
Another day in his life.
He is right: breakfast today is bulgogi with rice. There are also soft, steamed eggs and dried pollack soup. With his more flexible work schedule, his mom likes to sit him down before Mingi goes to the shop so that both of them can have breakfast together. Not that Mingi will complain about it—though his brother does.
“I wake up earlier and help make breakfast,” he sulks, all jutted lips and deep, exaggerated frown. How old are you, Mingi wants to ask his hyung sometimes, “but it’s Mingi-yah who gets to enjoy it with eomma."
“Aish,” their mom swats at him. “You should go now before you’re late!”
Mingi laughs at them, typical. He finishes breakfast much later after Nam-il goes to work, still staying behind to clean up the table even as his mother takes her leave as well—though not without a soft kiss to Mingi’s forehead, her floral perfume a lingering waft even after she’s gone.
The sun is already high up when he finally leaves the house for his own job, its warmth deterred by the cooling sea breeze.
Mingi is lucky that Yeosang’s shop is not too far from where he lives. It’s only ten minutes of bicycle ride, though Mingi's no longer such a sickly kid that he'd collapse midway through the ride. Their neighborhood is nice and with even pavement, though the road tapers off to more soil the further Mingi cycles, the row of houses shifting into columns of trees, the crashing of waves and the strong scent of salt even more palpable as though a slow, engulfing embrace.
This side of Geumseong feels untouched by civilization, even as Mingi can spot the assembly of three shrines from their glistening, dark gable roofs from afar. It’s strewn with cherry blossom trees already past their blooming time, elegant next to the striking-green of ardent maple leaves. Equally as graceful, is the loom of black pines framing one lone building standing nearby – the shop where Mingi works.
When Mingi was younger, far before he met Yunho, he’d always thought the shop abandoned—just like the Moon Deity shrine by the cliffside. Now, he knows better, despite the shop’s thatched roofs, its yellowing walls, the lack of activity there.
Still, it doesn’t come as surprise to Mingi when he finds no one in the shop as he enters through the doorway.
Yeosang’s probably not awake yet. But then again, they’re never awake whenever Mingi comes in to do his job.
He leaves his shoes by the sill and just makes his way only in his socks to—well, it’s his office? It’s a small room with sliding doors made from hanji papers, with wooden floor panels. As usual, though, there’s already a file of yellowing papers placed on the low-rise table, as well as a stack of the antiques Yeosang's shop is more specialized in. That’s Mingi’s task of the day.
By antiques, Mingi doesn't only mean items such as… the comb of a forgotten concubine from the Three Kingdoms era or a jade piece dating back from Joseon. Nor does he only mean ancient swords, their steel rusted from battlefield blood and grime. There are also… oddities: the arrow shot by Yang Manchun that pierced the eye of Emperor Taizong of Tang, the fox fur from one of Tamamo-no-mae's tails, one crow feather shed from the Sun Deity's headdress.
Going on that line, Yeosang’s shop is unlike other shops.
But it’s not Mingi’s part to worry about the lack of customers—Yeosang’s shop will never be bereft of them, in any case, and they always transfer his salary upfront every month, which is as good as any job. Mingi’s actual job, however, is to transcribe old texts and catalog the new items Yeosang’s gotten from their transactions.
And so, he tucks in his legs to fit under the table - picks up leaves of white paper and a pen. He plucks the first text he sees, spreading it on the surface conscientiously.
Then, Mingi goes to work.
In truth, Yeosang doesn't really want Mingi to continue working there if they can help it.
"Yunho is out there with Hongjoong-noonim, with Seonghwa-noonim," they once said to Mingi, the careful tone of their voice soothing and deep. "I know you've promised each other, but there are other places besides Geumseong. You can always come back when it's time."
His reply was only a small laugh. "Yeosangie," Mingi had grinned, "you think too much. You don't want your favorite assistant around anymore?"
"Not after you stopped being polite to me, no thank you." Yeosang gave him a dispassionate glance. "Also don't say that around Wooyoung and San; they thought they're the main contenders for that spot." And that topic was never brought up again.
But Mingi did go.
When he turned sixteen, having been accepted to the dance academy he'd always aimed for, he went to Seoul. He spent two years there never looking back, just to see if he could. And he could, do it, up and just leave. But on the night the Destiny would finally anchor, Mingi decided to return and see… if Yunho had changed his mind, if the past eight years of memories were only a figment of Mingi's imagination. If he did, Mingi wouldn't blame nor hold a grudge. Five years is a long time, after all. He would just think of it as the fleeting, sunlit golden memories of his youth, and he would move on.
In hindsight, Mingi shouldn't have worried at all; as he'd learned later from Yeosang, Yunho's original nature will never allow him to let Mingi go so easily.
And so, Yunho stayed for the one night he was allowed for, before he sailed off at dawn.
Afterwards, Mingi finished his dance academy in Seoul. He took the CSAT before he went back to Geumseong again, starting his work for Yeosang. He chose an arts college nearby just so it'd be easier to commute back and forth, and then he finished that too within three years. For the rest, he's been just spending it in Yeosang's shop. Save for the one day Hongjoong's crew, Yunho included, has berthed in Geumseong.
Mingi is twenty-four now. In a few weeks, it’ll be two years since he’s last seen Yunho.
He doesn’t know what to feel about that.
With a sigh, he puts down his pen. Stretches his back until he hears a satisfying pop from his spine. Leans back on both his palms.
Transcribing the last bits of Samguk Sagi—that Yeosang personally edited to include other authors' forewords about Baekje and Silla—should’ve been more than interesting, but all Mingi can think of is just When will Wooyoungie get off work? He promised me beef tripe and intestines. Better not back down from that, I swear.
The thought of food reminds Mingi to eat his lunch. He takes his inkigayo sandwich to the front steps so that he can at least get some sunlight.
The routine gets a bit mind-numbing in noons, especially during customer-less days like these where Mingi is just filing away things. Then again, when they do have customers, Mingi only receives and sends them away, making tea and standing on the side while Yeosang is the one doing the interesting talking, except for the times he has to accompany the guests outside the shop.
Not all the customers are locals too. In fact, most of them are tourists from all over the peninsula, curious over the two miraculous things Geumseong is known for: how the moon is always at full during night time, and how there isn’t one any longer if people set sail from Geumseong’s waters. It's the reason locals shrugged whenever asked about the night view or the wave height. It's Geumseong; it's always full moon, it's always high tides.
As though there is a boundary along the shoreline that separates the night sky in this small town and the night sky at sea.
Gah, he has to stop thinking about that. It’s time for Mingi to stop stalling and go back to the shop, anyway.
He transcribes several chapters from an unpublished poetry collection by Li Shangyin that Yeosang compiled. Working in their shop gives him pretty useful skill sets like reading and writing hanja, but Mingi's pretty sure he'll never use that outside of this job. Afterwards, he begins with the item catalog. An old wedding ring; a silken piece of scarf; a worn-out copy of The Little Prince—it seems the last transactions are pretty sentimental; an old, chipped brush—which actually reminds Mingi of a customer from years back. He was a painter who had lost his muse, and he’d come across this shop when he was visiting Geumseong for inspiration. By the end of his transaction, Yeosang only asked him to pay them with a favor: paint them a recent good fortune.
The man gave them a sketch of falling flower petals, to which Yeosang had smiled at.
“He’s a prophet,” they had explained to Mingi, mood inexplicably pleasant after seeing the forsythia sketch. “It’s different from the Choi clan's generational musogin, but in any case, he’s now in touch again with his god. Now, help me frame this?”
That sketch is now standing on the main customer room’s table, along with a vase of actual forsythia flower. It makes a nice decoration, though Mingi’s sure everyone’s eyes will always be drawn to the ancient scroll painting on the wall: of a blond figure’s backside dressed in hanbok, the full moon hanging vividly in the background. Mingi has always wondered whether the figure in that scroll was Yeosang, though he’s never outright asked them about it.
But yes. An old, chipped brush; a golden coin; and—
Mingi pauses.
… a hairpin, specifically a danggot to pin men’s topknot; even an amateur’s eyes can see that it is of high quality.
It’s also one of the items that Yeosang received from Hongjoong’s crew, instead of being transaction payments. More specifically, it’s something that Yunho personally recovered in the sea.
A bittersweet feeling washes over Mingi, souring his heart and his chest. Longing. He misses Yunho; he’s always missing Yunho. Logically Mingi knows that it’s a bit ridiculous—longing for him to this extent when he’s just received Yunho’s letter several days ago, kept inside a sealed glass bottle and washed over to the cliffside shore, their letters delivered only through the enabling of Hongjoong’s grace. But it will be three more years until he can see Yunho again. It will be three long, long years without him…
"Mingi-yah!" Three enthusiastic knockings ensue. "Mingiii, I'm here!"
It snaps him out of his thoughts- and San's loud steps on the panels are quick enough for Mingi to think, I'll give this to Jongho-ssi later, before the door slides open.
"Mingi!" San brightly grins, his dimples sweet on his cheeks as he holds up takeout bags with both hands. "I got food!"
"Yah! Don't you dare spill my beef tripe!" Mingi gets up to his feet, also grinning.
They both take their food to the living room once Mingi has tidied up his logs. San takes out the gas burner from his backpack, no doubt having just finished closing up his family's taekwondo studio judging from the insane amount of sweat on his skin. Mingi rolls his eyes when San wipes himself with his balled up uniform- and shouts—not screams, mind you—when the smelly, sweaty dobok is thrown at his face. Only Wooyoung is into that— … and Yeosang, maybe. In any case, Mingi hipchecks San just hard enough to cut his cackling short, making him stumble as he passes by Mingi with a large pot at hand, having grabbed it from the shop's nearly bare kitchen.
"Mingi-yah," San rubs his hip with a characteristic pout once Mingi comes back to the living room, three bowls of microwaved rice at hand. "Why do you have to hit me so hard? I'm so sore already; you're so mean to me."
Despite the couch, Mingi opts to sit on the floor next to San, legs crossed. He can't help grinning as San starts the burner with gas lighter, though his voice comes out grousy when he replies, "You already have fourth dan belt but still so shameless. What will Uncle Choi say?"
“You’re unfair, Mingi-yah, threatening me with my old man.” He goes quiet as Mingi pours the soup into the pot carefully, before putting it on the burner. San turns it to the medium flame without much prompting, and Mingi puts the lid on. Then, San continues, “After all that I’ve done for you, after I’ve gotten you this delicious beef tripe stew—”
“Don’t lie! You just picked it up from Wooyoungie!”
San sighs, leaning back on both palms. Mingi watches the stream of light falling on San's face and turning the edges of him sharp, his cheekbones even more prominent. The right corner of his lips is tucked up, as though he is trying to hold back a smile and realizing he's failing at it.
"I did," he says, sighing again. Then, his gaze turns dreamy and a bit perverted. "And he looks… oh, yeah…"
Mingi would laugh so hard if he's not a bit disgusted. "Sannie, I'm begging you- please stop thinking. Get your mind out of the gutter."
Another sigh. "Fine, fine. He's gonna drop by later, anyway," then San slyly looks at Mingi, his smile mischievous. "But, you know who else I also saw? In the restaurant? Someone who can lift up crates stacked taller than him? Someone who will also drop by later on~?"
Mingi feels his cheeks burn, all the way to his ears. "Shut up."
Ignoring San's annoying snickers, Mingi turns to the beef tripe and opens the lid though it hasn't even simmered yet, closing it again in defeat. He tries not to think of Jongho, with his ridiculous skinny jeans that he's taken to wearing everyday ever since Mingi brought him to buy human clothes. He's probably lifting those crates like they weigh nothing.
San is nicer to him about this, though. And Mingi's also lucky it's not Wooyoung here; he would be nosy and loud about it. Like that one time all of them—Wooyoung, San, Mingi—got drunk together.
"I don't get why you just-" he had screamed in frustration, his voice bubbling in a crack. San covered his ears, curled up on the ground next to them. "Mangi-yah, Mingi, my adorable, sexy, tall drink of a friend, listen, I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he looks when he's talking about Yunho-yah. It's literally the same face you make when you think of Yuyu— see! See, it's that face! Ugh, it's really not that hard, Mangi; I mean Sannie and me and Yeosangie-ssi had it rough in the beginning too, getting together, but trust me it's also the same with you three! Not the rough part, of course, but- you know what I mean!"
Wooyoung had burped aloud and nearly fell to the sidewalk after that, so… yeah. It's good that Wooyoung is not here… yet.
Instead, both San and him just sit there in silence with the soup starting to bubble in the background, watching dusk settle through the windowpane. Days in Geumseong pass this way—like a swift blitz. The sun blazes long and hot enough, until it suddenly doesn’t, and all that Mingi has for it is just the last bits of sunset glow seeping through the blinds of the shop’s windows, the swirling dust motes as though golden sands of time.
The sun sets.
And then, the light switches on behind them.
Mingi and San turn their heads just as Yeosang steadily walks into the room, shaking their head in exasperation. "I have these nice couches," they lament, dramatic as always, "but all you people do is sit on the floor, not making use of them. Sadness. Despair. Hunger."
Mingi snorts, handing Yeosang a bowl of rice once they join on sitting down on the floor, graceful as usual. San, on the other hand, greets them in reverence, his back straightened. "Yeosang-nim."
Yeosang smiles at him. "San-ah," and then, they glower at the soup, "I see that Wooyoung is still adamant about not cooking me chicken. Where is he? Hiding from me?"
San’s answering smile is— Mingi scrunches his face. Disgusting; someone get Mingi out of here.
“Young-ah is still held up at the restaurant but they’re gonna be here… most likely after we finish dinner.” He grins again, his gaze still filled with tender affection. “He also told me to tell you this: ‘Stop being so picky with your food and let Mingi-Mangi have his beef stew this time! If you don’t like my food that much, just order from somewhere else!’”
“I see that I should throw him to the sea, next time,” Yeosang contemplates. “The sky and the sea will be happy to accept him… or not.”
Seonghwa and Hongjoong will probably cough him back out, and he’ll return more insufferable than before, though just as lovable and charming.
All three of them seem to have reached the same conclusion, judging from how San grimaces. “Let’s not do that, Yeosang-nim,” he suggests, just as Mingi says, "Yeosangie, no."
The soup finally boils. As usual, Yeosang has the first spoonfuls, though they really don't have to do anything. They can just sit down as San ladles the stew for them; without even having to open their mouth to ask, he will hand their cup of tea as well.
It's probably so habitual to San, not counting the relationship he has with them, to attend to Yeosang. Even before Mingi properly became friends with him when they're thirteen years old, he's always known that the Choi family is the keeper of Geumseong's shrines, their daughters the mudang of sea and sky divinities. Generations of San's family have been taking care of Yeosang and their shop, even before his first baksu-mudang ancestor came to be, even before the abandonment of the Moon Deity's shrine.
This time, the Choi family's baksu-mudang is San.
"Noona was sooo annoyed," he'd told Mingi, grinning. He remembered it being summer in their teens, the clouds wisps of white against the blue sky, looking just as sticky as the ice cream running down Mingi's cone and San's wrists. "She didn't wanna be one herself, but everyone was so sure it'd be her, y'know? And then she was about to perform her first ever initiation ritual- but bam! I was the one possessed. Not that it's supposed to happen, cuz we're not like those who are specifically called to do this line of job, y'know? We're not like actual mudang, but more like simbang…? Like in Jeju? But oh well! Here I am with Yeosang-nim!"
Which, okay, Mingi is still a bit confused that there are such differences between shamans? Musogin? Okay. Thankfully, San took it in stride when the divinities called Wooyoung to be Geumseong's other baksu-mudang, though it sent the Choi elders into a frenzy once they had found out about it, moreover since Wooyoungie is not a Geumseong local.
It was a wild year, Mingi recalls as he starts to cut the cabbage into the pot. He ignores Yeosang and San's twin grimaces; they really should eat something else besides meat and chicken. After the cabbage pieces have softened, Mingi scoops the soup into his own bowl, going to eat them in relish.
But yes, it was a wild year when Mingi returned back, bringing Wooyoung with him. They'd met in Seoul; Wooyoung had attended Mingi's rival dance academy, and they'd butted heads whenever their teams glimpsed each other in competitions. But Mingi was still raw and hesitant over Yunho's existence, their relationship. Furthermore, Mingi had never had any other friends prior to him, though he found a tentative friend in San after everything that had happened.
This way, Wooyoung was a breath of fresh air in Mingi's life.
He'd encouraged Mingi to return, even barging into his dorm at two in the morning to help him pack up, before shepherding a still bleary-eyed Mingi to the train station. It was in the middle of the three hour train ride that Mingi's mind cleared up and he finally realized that Wooyoung was coming along as well.
He'd settled Wooyoung with his family—his biggest mistake, honestly, never had his mom gained another son that quick—and in midst of the chaos of Feelings and Wooyoung's loud encouragements and everything, he didn't even have the time to register that Destiny would anchor at daybreak. That is, until he went to the cliffside shore in an attempt to clear his mind.
Yunho was waiting there, standing on the beach.
By the dawn of next day, Mingi came with Yunho to the same place - this time to send him off. He’d watched as Yunho rowed away on the small boat he’d moored on the shore, his tall figure becoming smaller and smaller and nigh unnoticeable when that small boat reached the much larger Destiny.
On the beach, Hongjoong had stood beside Mingi—he knew not from when.
"If you seal your letters in bottles, and throw them into the sea, I will make sure they are delivered to him," they had told Mingi, their dark hair all jutted up and smelling of sea brine. "In return, please take care of Yeosangie for us."
They had grinned; their only visible eye that's not covered by eyepatch curved in the same half moon shape as Yeosang’s whenever they smiled.
In the blink of the eyes, they were gone. Destiny blipped out of existence for their journey in the netherworld, leaving Mingi alone, only with the kinder ebb and flow of dawn tides and the tiny pinpricks of wayward stars overhead as company.
Then, Mingi had visited Yeosang's shop, Wooyoung in tow with him. In the same week, Wooyoung was chosen as Geumseong’s other baksu-mudang.
Yeosang likes to joke that ever since Yunho's saved Mingi, he has entangled a web of fates. “Or perhaps, it is by divine will, after all,” they tease, though they cannot hide the soft lines of their smile. It’s also what they told Mingi after they’d given Wooyoung an impromptu reading of their future, though Mingi didn't understand it at that time.
Now, he thinks he sees the red thread of it all: Yunho's meddling, Mingi's altered predestination, and the butterfly effect taking place.
"Mingi-yah, do you want the udon noodles as well?"
Startled, it is out of his bantering reflex that Mingi gripes back, "Is it beef tripe stew if it's not with udon noodles, Sannie?"
San rolls his eyes though he still opens the package of noodles, feeding it to the pot. As San turns the flame to high, Mingi feels someone's gaze on him—Yeosang's. True to his sense, he finds Yeosang staring at him, their eyes too-knowing.
Aish, Mingi's hand swats playfully at their direction. They're too gentle at heart, and as such, too meddlesome.
Yeosang doesn't even roll their eyes at him. They continue staring at Mingi, brows slightly knotted, before their attention is diverted by San handing them their bowl—now filled with noodles.
They finish the noodles, getting two servings each, and the entire pot is also emptied not too long after. San is in the middle of telling Mingi and Yeosang about how one kid he’s teaching accidentally fell flat on her face, when a familiar voice calls from outside.
“Yeosang-ssi! San-ah! Mangi!” Wooyoung lists them one by one, his voice honey-like. “We’re here~.”
Cheerfully, Wooyoung bounds to the living room and- alright, Mingi can see why San goes into dreamland like that earlier. He’s donning a nice black slacks that matches his black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show veiny forearms. Recently, Wooyoung has gotten a haircut, his black hair now shorter and parted to show his forehead. Very handsome, very handsome, indeed. As usual, he's already latching to San like honey to sweet rice cakes.
But Mingi’s attention lies more on the brown-haired figure in tow with Wooyoung, his adorable face scrunched in a perpetual pout. Something must’ve happened in the restaurant, he thinks, after thanking Wooyoung for the food he'd sent. He should ask about it later.
But then Jongho catches Mingi’s eyes. His previous frown suddenly dissipates, replaced all too readily by a warm smile that reaches his sweet brown eyes.
I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Wooyoung’s voice supplies traitorously—to which Mingi shoves into the back of his mind. Stupid Wooyoung and his big stupid mouth.
Thankfully, Yeosang chooses that exact moment to banter with said man, distracting Mingi from thinking about the way Jongho sidles up to his side at once.
"You can cook beef tripe for Mingi but not chicken for me?"
Jongho smells like fried garlic and stew from working all day in the restaurant, and also the distinct saltwater of the sea. With that in mind, Mingi can only briefly register Wooyoung's answering quibble, all bratty and without actual heat, "Well, you seem to have scarfed it down just fine, Yeosangie-ssi."
Yeosang sniffs at the same time Jongho tugs at Mingi's sleeve. "I don't usually eat beef either. Not the tripes." Mingi looks down to him, seeing Jongho mouthing How was your day? with curious eyes.
"Cough it back up, then. Come on, here, into my palms."
Okay, Mingi needs to step in right now, because San isn't doing anything. He mouths a speedy 'talk later' to Jongho before he turns back. "Wooyoungie, can you not," he says, feeling his own face scrunch in disgust, the rest turning toward him at once. "I just cleaned the knives and books for the ritual, so."
Wooyoung looks at him with wide, innocent eyes. He slowly lowers his palm to the side of his body. San is shaking his head, near tears from holding back laughter. Useless.
Yeosang chooses this moment to speak up. "You smell like sacrifices. Perfect. Let's bundle you up for the gods."
"Yeosang!"
At some point, Mingi and San manage to leave the room to retrieve the equipment needed to practice for the upcoming byeolshin-gut. When they return, the book of Geumseong’s oral myth in Mingi’s hands and a janggu drum in San’s embrace, the room is not destroyed yet—which is a good sign. Wooyoung is conversing with Jongho as Yeosang stands on the side, though at the sight of both of them, he backs off immediately. Before Mingi can ask, he’s already gotten his speakers out, ready to play the song for the practice. Thanks Uncle and Auntie Choi as well as the rest of Choi family’s elders for letting Mingi record them playing.
However, with San and Wooyoung preparing for the ritual for bountiful fishing, that leaves… Mingi with Jongho. As always.
He’s known Jongho ever since Yunho brought him up in his letters, and so, when Jongho was dropped off the Destiny, it seems the natural progression for them to spend time together. Yunho had asked Mingi to take care of him, a funny message to leave behind, especially since Jongho is older and even more powerful than Mingi. But it's Yunho—he can't say no to him. So, he takes Jongho to the Choi family, gets him registered under their family. He takes him shopping for more clothes, Jongho at that time having donned only sackcloth robes and leather armor, his belt looped with assortments of chiming red jade. He persuades Jongho to change to modern clothes, to work in the restaurant and help around the studio so he'd be accustomed to human customs, despite Jongho's initial judging and ragging.
And Jongho is nice, beneath all that prickly and dramatic facade. Adorable, too; how can anyone resist those pretty, doe eyes and pretty, pouty lips is beyond Mingi. He can also make Mingi laugh so hard he could’ve ruptured his lungs from the constant wheezing.
It’s just that Mingi has to go ahead and have a crush on him, on top of everything with Yunho.
Wooyoung and San realize that as well when Mingi and Jongho are about to leave, evident from their not so subtle leers and cheeky grins. Wooyoung’s eyes still wander to Mingi’s hair, though, at times, and it’s almost like Mingi can hear him say it, “I can never get used to your natural hair, Mingi-yah.”
He resists the urge to tug at his bangs self-consciously; he’s never gotten comments in Geumseong about how his hair suddenly became gray ever since he’s thirteen years old—side effect of the deal and all. But the rest of the peninsula isn’t like here, and so he’d dyed it black before he went to the academy, to not catch unwarranted attention.
“Oh right,” San suddenly says, just as Mingi and Jongho are saying their goodbyes. “Jongho-nim,I’ll see you tomorrow then? At the studio?”
“Mm, see ya, San, Wooyoung,” Jongho blasely acknowledges, tugging on the back of his sneakers. Then, he straightens up, paying the proper deference to Yeosang. “Hyungnim, I will see you again tomorrow.”
Yeosang gives a small, relaxed wave. Beside them, Wooyoung drapes himself over San’s shoulders, tucking his chin snugly as his hand comes to rest on San’s waist. “Bye-bye, everyone,” he takes San’s hand and waves it instead, bursting into a laugh when San swats at him.
Before Mingi leaves, Wooyoung manages to give him a teasing wink as he looks meaningfully at Jongho’s already turned back. Mingi can’t help but to grin at that, rolling his eyes. What do they want from him? Make a move? As if.
He follows Jongho exiting the shop, closing the door behind him. At once, all the sounds dim.
In this part of the town, the stars seem to shine brightly. Mingi spares a glance to the downy, dark blue sky bridged together by visible constellations, the firmament as though a heavenly river that streams overhead. Unlike the town, where everything is loud and buzzing with human life, it’s quiet here around the shop, safe for the light coming out from the windows. Here, there is only the offshore breeze, the chatter-hum of insects, and the rolling tides, sifting muted sands.
Mingi sighs. He turns—and promptly freezes, caught off guard as he finds Jongho staring at him. His gaze is unreadable, the shadows rapidly shifting on the planes of his soft face. It’s rather disconcerting, seeing such an expression on Jongho’s youthful features, being reminded of his agelessness. With Yeosang, Mingi can always act more casual—in fact, they prefer that than San’s sort of deference. Then again, Yeosang’s been around humans longer than Jongho has been.
Mingi feels himself swallow his spit, simply out of nerves. Jongho is just… being himself. After another beat of silence, he asks. “Have you eaten, Jongho-ssi?”
“... I have.” This up close, Mingi can see how the pupils of Jongho’s eyes are slitted. The wind breezes by, sweeping the tufts of his brown hair until the strands fall over his left eye. It’s gotten too long for him—his bangs; Mingi will have to cut it sometime this week.
“Let’s go down the beach?”
Jongho’s remaining visible eye does not break his gaze. With a small nod, he acquiesces.
Not too many people know this, but there is a grotto facing the ocean, carved into the belly of the cliff that makes the shrines' sacred grounds. You go down the rocky pathway on the cliffside, all the way until you reach the shore in front of the grotto's gaping mouth. There you can sit on the soft sands, letting the tides ebb and flow in languid laps that brush the feet.
That's where Mingi takes Jongho.
Naturally, the moon is always full, its light turning the grains of sand silvery. It sheds light on the rock-strewn reefs before Jongho and him as they sit on the sands.
Those reefs are where Mingi first saw Yunho, peacefully sunbathing on the shallows just after the shoreline. Yunho’s hair back then was still turquoise, its color making him near indistinguishable from the blue-green waves of Geumseong’s tides.
Mingi only noticed the tail, the same shade as Yunho’s hair, when the glitter of scales caught his eyes—and then he saw it gracefully glide in between the waves, in place of where the human legs should’ve been. As it broke through the foamy tides, it reflected the sunlight just like a thousand jewels.
Now, Yunho’s hair is a soft, sunlight-yellow. Anyone who doesn’t know any better would’ve thought he’d dyed it.
But this is Geumseong.
Here the moon blooms limpid against the vast dome of the sky, the mercurial sea alive in ways unimaginable. Here is where the boundary of myth and civilization smudges, the path between life and death traversable, and the divinities roam amongst humans.
It would not be an exaggeration, if Mingi were to say that he met a merfolk right here, sixteen years ago.
… it’s been sixteen years, huh. The place is still the same; the stars flagrant overhead and the waves ever so fickle. Mingi, too, is the same—always ending up right here, eyes peeled on the horizon.
The company he has this time is different, though.
With a sideways glance, he notices Jongho also looking at the seas, enjoying being surrounded by his natural element. This is just the way they are, comfortable with needed silences. Despite Mingi’s feelings, or rather because of it, he can always lapse back and lose all pretense around Jongho.
The land breeze brings an even stronger scent of salt and brine. Mingi doesn’t know if he should attribute it to the sea or Jongho himself.
“... how was your day, Jongho-ssi?”
Jongho doesn’t blink in surprise at Mingi’s sudden attempt at conversation. Instead, a small smile washes over his face, soft and slightly knowing, before he turns around, his eyes finding Mingi’s gaze and holding it evenly.
“It was good, the usual,” he cheerfully begins. “Wooyoung had me lift the crates and open the boxes for the new chef. She's a bit clumsy, accidentally burned herself first day on the job." Before Mingi can express his concern, Jongho slyly glances at him. "... you're clumsier, though."
Mingi feels his own mouth gape open and close like a fish. "I-" he flounders in outrage. "Yah! How dare…!"
Jongho starts to giggle, his eyes curving adorably. "May I remind you, that I am older?"
Mingi closes his mouth, unable to find any retort to that. Does this mean he has to start calling Jongho hyung? Mingi, really doesn't know how to feel about that. "I don't want to call you hyung, Jongho-ssi."
Something flickers in Jongho's eyes. "Hmm. Say that once more?"
Mingi glowers.
Jongho keeps his smug smile, until the lines of his face softens, his smile turning more genuine. "Kidding, Mingi. I don't really care. Your kind… humans can trouble themselves so."
He looks down, extending his hand towards the waves. The water laps up, a stream defying gravity, slithering through the sands until it reaches Jongho's pointer finger. It recedes as soon as it touches, returning back to its place in the sea. Jongho’s lips upturns at that.
It’s good, though. Jongho’s slightly unhappy expression earlier must be from Wooyoung’s teasing. That’s good.
“And your day?”
Mingi blinks in surprise, “Oh, um, it’s the usual? Cataloging… transcribing… Oh! I finished transcribing the Samguk Sagi, so… if you want…"
From this angle, Mingi can see how Jongho's smile fades. He doesn't look up, the lines of his shoulders curved in silence. Only his hand moves—beckoning forth the small stream and receding it back several times.
And then, "It's alright. He died before there were the three kingdoms."
"Oh." Mingi fidgets. "I…" don't know? I'm sorry? Are you okay? His mind runs haywire.
He dug himself into a hole by breaching this subject, even while knowing how sensitive Jongho still gets when he has to talk about his previous… the person who used to own the danggot he found in the shop. And yet Mingi still manages to be careless. If there is a way he can fix this… Oh!
Mingi digs around his pocket, exclaiming in triumph when he feels the pointy tip of the hairpiece. Jongho is looking at him in curiosity when he brings it out, eyes immediately latching to the tiny object. It takes him a while to recognize it, but when he does, he looks… disbelieved, his breath stolen from his lungs.
With a tiny grin, Mingi gently takes Jongho's strong hand, placing the danggot at the center of his palm.
"Yunho-yah… he brought that back two years ago, with you. I know the sword is with Yeosangie, but this one… I think this one is yours. Rightfully."
Jongho looks at the danggot, his eyes bright with the starlight reflected. He finally closes his hand around the hairpiece, before he looks up at Mingi. His face… it is open with honesty.
"Thank you. Truly."
Mingi smiles, before he turns to the sea again. "You're welcome."
He leaves Jongho to review his thoughts, letting his own line of sight affixed to the distant skyline. He knows that if he tries to go out there, Geumseong’s miraculous full moon will be replaced by pitch-dark night sky. Yunho told him about that—not in his last visit, but in the one when Mingi was still in the academy. That there was only darkness in the stillness of the sea, that the only light was from the lantern Hongjoong alighted and the pinpricks of constellations above their heads.
Mingi tries to imagine it—not the dark sky, no, but the Destiny, as it breaks the veils of the world.
The sky will still be there, downy-dark and encompassing. But the horizon will brighten, bit by bit, dawn creeping out with its purple and orange clouds that will be reflected on the waters. A patch of the sky will be soft pink, creamy yellow—and Mingi then will see it. The dark, tiny dot of the Destiny, emerging with grace between the sky and the sea, as though it is meant to sail for all eternity.
And there will be Yunho.
… when Mingi said he was able to just leave, perhaps he wasn't entirely truthful.
Perhaps it was just the insecurity of an eighteen-year-old teen, trying not to hope too much, trying to keep his disappointment at bay were his only friend for four years of childhood… to just disappear.
Given the grace of time, Mingi would eventually move on. Eventually, Yunho’s golden laughter, the warm splash of seawater on Mingi from their exuberant playing, the fond memories he’s always associated this patch of shore with, would fade away. Just like a gentle dream.
Only, it would take an entire lifetime to forget, and Mingi would never be the same—just as the ocean outside Geumseong is moonless, the night lightless.
Maybe this is what Seonghwa and Hongjoong had felt, when Yeosang chose to shed their divinity.
It’s good that both him and Yunho choose not to let go, then.
“Do you miss him?” Mingi hears Jongho ask, his soft voice carried through by the wind.
Leaning back, his hands buried between swaths of sands, Mingi smiles. The night has gotten so cold that Mingi can no longer feel his cheeks, but he can still feel the teardrop pearl, pressing coolly against his collarbone.
“Always.”
The waves beat close to the shore, and then the sand shifts besides Mingi’s palm. Jongho’s hand finds him. For someone… for a creature so strong, his gestures are prudent, conscientious. He does not even hold Mingi’s hand—only letting his pinky finger interlink with Mingi’s. Yet this bit of intimacy still makes something swell in Mingi’s chest, a feeling unnamed, going beyond a mere crush.
“... three more years,” Jongho promises, and Mingi lets out a sigh at that.
Yes, three more years or even more… he will always await.
.
.
.
If the two hearts are united forever,
why do the two persons need to stay together
—day after day, night after night?
Notes:
just a brief overview of terms
- mudang: shaman, usually female. they are possessed by a god or a spirit and lead rituals called gut.
- baksu(-mudang): male shaman
- musogin: people who do shamanism
- samguk sagi: the historical chronicle of the three kingdoms (silla, baekje, goguryeo), which is written in classical chinese
- dobok: taekwondo uniform
- simbang: they're shamans who receive their status via family bloodline. usually shamans are "chosen" by gods and they get possessed, but simbang-type shamans instead are not inhabited by their gods and they interpret divine messages through mengdu. there's another type of hereditary shaman which is called tangol, but they don't worship a specific god. in geumseong's case: they worship the sea, sky, and moon divinities - so i took the liberty of assuming san's family is more like simbang.
- byeolshin-gut: community-sponsored shaman ritual, in this fic's context it's for fishing
1. here are the webpages that i specifically consult in researching korean shamanism/muism:
- complete glossary
- paper on korean religions
- this article on mudang
2. i based yeosang's shop on the hahoe folk village! i remember there are some historic clan villages in sk besides in hahoe, but i think i chose hahoe bc it's located more on the south, which is where geumseong is. u can read more abt it here!
3. i based geumseong itself on busan (or at least, what i can shallowly find abt it). the trees mentioned is based on this paper about which trees busan ppl would prefer being planted on the main boulevards!
4. the title and the verse at the end of the ch are from qin guan's poem, meeting across the milky way. it's so pretty, but the exact verses that inspired me for this chapter are "the feelings soft as water, / the ecstatic moment unreal as a dream, / how can one have the heart to go back on the / bridge made of magpies? / if the two hearts are united forever, / why do the two persons need to stay together-- / day after day, night after night?"
updates will be sporadic, sorry! working on ch 2 tho so hopefully i can release it next week!
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