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Hongjoong had always known that this would be his last life.
Even before he really knew what it meant, he had known.
His grandmother had always called him an old soul, when she had held him in her lap as a child, ruffling his hair.
She said he had been born with calmness in his eyes, as if he had seen it all before, the beginning and the end, over and over again. And while back then he did not understand the implications of her words, he did know they were true.
His parents had always laughed when she said it. Back then, Hongjoong hadn‘t known why, but now he did. Now he knew they would simply never understand, at least not in this life. They were fairly young souls themselves, not yet used to the cycle of living over and over again.
They did not even particularly believe in reincarnation. Many young souls didn’t - because they did not remember .
But he remembered. It became easier, the more lives you lived, to see through the blurriness that connected you to the lives left behind, to remember.
Never anything concrete. No names, or faces, not who you had been or what you had done - there was no way of taking any of it with you when you passed on.
But he remembered living. And his grandmother did so too, having been a fairly old soul herself, before she had passed on to her next life.
For Hongjoong, this was his last one. That had been clear as day to him for as long as he could think back, and the knowledge tainted his days with a sense of melancholy.
Hongjoong remembered the large candle placed upon his birthday cake, shaped like the number five and brought alive with a small crimson flame.
A deja-vu, seen too many times, and yet different today.
He remembered the sudden wave of sadness that had overcome him when he had blown it out, a whisper of air taking the crimson away with merely a flicker.
„Honey, what is wrong?“, his mother had asked him, drawing his little body into an embrace as he had started tearing up.
„It‘s just so sad that I‘ll never do this again“, he had answered, resignation tangible in his words.
„What do you mean?“ Her brows had furrowed over her kind eyes, so, so much younger than his own. „You will have another birthday again next year. And the year after.“
He shook his head. She didn‘t understand.
„But not this one. Not the fifth one.“
The wax was now melted away on the corners by the brief heat of the flame, barely resembling a five anymore. And the cake underneath tasted of farewells, poorly concealed by chocolate frosting.
☼
Hongjoong was dipping his brush into the light green he needed on his canvas.
He knew exactly where to put it, where he had to apply lighter colors to signify the sunrays, as a contrast to the darker emerald where the shadow was falling.
Light through the leaves of the old tree that stood next to the art building.
That was their assignment for today‘s class. Not necessarily easy to paint, but also not overly difficult. Especially not for Hongjoong, who had seen it so, so many times before. Over and over again, a constant in all his lives. Never changing. Always remaining.
He applied the last touch of his light green and leaned back, confident.
„Are you done, Hongjoong?“
His professor stepped up next to him, looking at his canvas.
„Yes, professor“, he said, getting ready to pack away his materials.
She leaned closer, examining Hongjoong‘s work. And then she smiled.
„It is a nice painting. But it‘s not complete.“
Hongjoong frowned, looking at his canvas again, and then at the tree.
„But it looks exactly like the scene?“
His professor shook her head. „That is the problem. You painted exactly what you saw.“
Hongjoong didn‘t understand. „How is that a bad thing? Is that not the point of this class?“
„It surely is part of it. Your painting has all of the core components. But it’s missing an important one - it‘s missing life.“
Hongjoong didn‘t quite know what to make of the comment. He quite often didn’t know what to make of the comments his art professor made.
She was an old soul himself, not quite like Hongjoong, but almost. Hongjoong could see it in her eyes - could see it in everyone’s eyes, if they had lived only a handful of lives or if they had lived dozens. He rarely met someone who had lived as many as him. Someone who was also this close to the end.
His professor had been here a while. Long enough that she should be seeing the world in the same way Hongjoong was. As nothing but an endless string of deja-vus, loosely taped together to create yet another life - but somehow she didn‘t, and it frustrated him.
The word deja-vu held no meaning anymore for Hongjoong.
Deja-vu. The already-seen.
Everything was the already-seen to him. The way the sun filtered through the trees? He would have gasped in awe at the sight so many lives ago. But not anymore. Not when he had seen it all before, more times than he could count or even bother to remember.
The years, the lives, a broken record, everything on repeat. Every day groundhog day, the deja-vus blurring together to leave no space for a sense of wonder that had long been gone.
Wonder had long given away to apathy.
„We are finished for today.“
His professor’s voice ripped Hongjoong out of his thoughts. „Everyone, remember that there will be no exam for this class. Your assignment in order to pass is to submit three pieces for the exhibition we will hold at the end of the semester.“
There was excited chattering among the students at that.
„The theme I have decided on for this exhibition is ‚what remains‘“, she said. „You can take creative liberty with how you want to interpret it, but your pieces should fit the theme.“
What remains.
The words repeated in Hongjoong‘s head, over and over, as he packed his materials away and made his way to his next class.
He did not quite know what to make of the theme. Just how he did not quite know what to make of his professor‘s words.
☼
Hongjoong’s motivation to go to his following class was rather low.
It was an introduction to philosophy course, that had nothing to do with his major and that he wasn‘t particularly interested in, but that he was still required to take due to a mix up in classes.
They were already a couple of weeks into the semester, yet the course was only starting now, because the professor had been away on an excursion for the first month. So Hongjoong had had a few blissful weeks of not having to worry about philosophy - but they were over now.
He sighed as he took his seat, somewhere in the middle of the classroom. He didn‘t want to sit at the very back along with the troublemakers, but also had no desire to be in the first row and get called on to participate.
He was only here because he was required to be here.
Hongjoong did not see the point in philosophy. Especially since he knew this was his last one, he felt like there was no point in trying to figure out the meaning of life anymore. He knew it was kind of too late for that.
And he was rather confident that there was no meaning to it after all. That much he had learned in all his lives.
„Good afternoon, everyone“, his professor greeted them as he stepped into the classroom. „Welcome to introduction to philosophy. I hope you are all ready to try and answer some of the biggest questions life poses to us.“
For some reason, seeing the faces of the other students as some of them intently listened, soaking up all of his professor‘s words as he spoke about their curriculum, about what philosophers they would learn about and how it would change their world view - Hongjoong already felt tired.
When he looked at the students that seemed particularly fascinated, tried to glance at their eyes, he saw that they were almost all young souls.
His professor was too, he noted. He was an old man, but a young soul.
Maybe that was the secret. No old soul was interested in learning about life anymore. They had lived through it too many times to care anymore.
There was one student in particular that Hongjoong noticed.
A boy, who sat in the first row, with deep black hair and a low voice, who raised his hand what felt like every five minutes, asking questions in a tone so fascinated like Hongjoong had never heard it before. Had never heard someone speak with so much wonder in their voice.
And for some reason, it irked Hongjoong. Because he didn’t understand it.
He rolled his eyes every time the boy raised his hand to ask a question.
How could anyone be this much in awe of something so mundane?
It was only life. It was always the same. There was no meaning to it, and no answers to these questions.
Hongjoong couldn‘t wait to get out of the classroom after the hour was over, quickly packing up his things as the professor dismissed them.
When he was outside the building, he checked his schedule on his phone, seeing he still had time before his next class, and debated whether to get his painting materials and get started on his assignment, or head home for a quick nap.
He decided on the latter, packing his phone away and heading into the direction of the dorms.
But he only made it a couple of steps before he heard footsteps running on the pavement behind him.
„Hey, wait“, a voice called out to him. He stopped in his tracks as a hand gently touched his shoulder.
Hongjoong turned around, slightly startled, to see who had stopped him.
He was greeted with a smile, brighter than he had maybe ever seen anyone smile. Like the light that fell through the leaves of the big tree.
It came from a boy, a few inches taller than him, with jet black hair and a backpack thrown over his shoulder that he was clasping with one hand.
„I just wanted to tell you that I really love your tattoos. And your style in general. It‘s so cool.“
The voice sounded somewhat familiar, and after a second Hongjoong realized it was the boy from his philosophy class standing in front of him.
And his comment took him off guard, with how genuine it sounded. There was the same sense of wonder in his words that he had heard in the questions he had asked in class.
Hongjoong knew that he stuck out, with his dyed hair and his sense of fashion and his tattoos that were on full display in his short sleeves today. But few people actually stopped him to tell him they liked his style.
He looked up, to thank the boy.
„My name is Seonghwa by the way“, the boy said.
And when Hongjoong‘s eyes met Seonghwa‘s, he froze in place.
There was no way.
Seonghwa‘s eyes were big and dark, like melted down chocolate, as they looked at Hongjoong, set alight by his smile. They were framed by long eyelashes, as dark as his hair, casting long shadows over his cheekbones.
And there was something in his eyes, something Hongjoong had never seen. At least not in this life.
A sense of wonder, the same he carried in his words when he spoke, so intense it almost made him look away. Raw and untainted. No hint of a past that weighed him down, dulled his eyes like it did for old souls - like it did when Hongjoong looked into the mirror.
Pure.
Hongjoong took a step back, letting Seonghwa‘s hand fall in between them.
„Oh my God“, he said, blinking, as he looked into those eyes again. „This is your first life.“
Hongjoong didn‘t realize for a moment that he had actually said these words out loud. Not until Seonghwa awkwardly averted his eyes, breaking away from his gaze, a blush dusting his cheeks.
„Ah, I guess it is. At least that’s what people keep telling me“, Seonghwa said, rubbing his neck. „Is it that obvious?"
Young souls were relatively common. He came across them every single day, not really batting an eye anymore. But someone who was living his first life? Had never been here before, had never witnessed any of this, any of the beginning and any of the end?
Hongjoong stumbled another step back, deeply embarrassed as he realized what he had just blurted out.
And yet, embarrassment was not the only feeling that was hitting him out of nowhere.
Why were his eyes burning all of a sudden? What was this heavy feeling in his chest, as if someone had placed a brick on it, making it impossible to breathe? Why was the melancholy, the sadness, that was always hiding quietly at the back of Hongjoong‘s mind, suddenly at its forefront?
„I‘m sorry“, he said, trying to hide how frail his voice was all of a sudden. „I have to go.“
And without looking at Seonghwa again, at the boy whose first life it was, he turned and ran away.
☼
The good thing about apathy was that it was usually accompanied by a lack of fear for the future.
Hongjoong vaguely remembered his past lives to once have been fueled by the anxious need for safety. For a life in the middle of a platform, staying far away from the edges that were named risk, even when they called for him, louder and louder.
But this time, with him knowing it was the void, or whatever else one would name it, that was ultimately and inevitably calling for him - venturing out to the edges became the thing he decided to do .
Because if not now, then when? It was his last time here, so why not do something worthwhile? Something he would enjoy doing?
As a kid, he climbed higher on the jungle gyms than all the other kids dared to, littered his skin in the kinds of scrapes and bruises that told stories of adventures and held the sweet ache that tasted of childhood.
When he grew older, he went to concerts and high school parties, took all opportunities to meet people and went through crowds with open eyes - always in the search for familiar souls, friends from earlier lives that would maybe accompany him in this last one, too.
And despite his resolve to not restrict himself, to live freely and fully, he did end up setting some ground rules for himself.
He would spend his life in Korea. His home. No one truly knew what happened to your soul after you were gone, after your days were counted and done.
Hongjoong himself was relatively sure there would be nothing. But a part of him still seemed to hold on to the idea that maybe, a flicker of him, a flicker of who he was, would stay here, where he had lived and gone.
That something would remain.
He would not be reckless for the sake of being reckless. Though he thought of it sometimes, a quick rush was ultimately not worth risking his last days.
And he would give his days structure. A sense of purpose, no matter how futile in the grand scheme of things.
So he enrolled in university.
Started a few majors and dropped them again. They all seemed like a waste of his limited time, until he really went and searched in himself what it was that he wanted to do.
He loved art. Art and music and fashion and everything alike. He felt like he‘d always loved it. At least he couldn‘t imagine a life in which he wouldn‘t.
So that‘s what he did.
Enrolled to study music and art, decorated his clothes with paint and his hair with dye and his ears with piercings that sparkled in the sun and his skin with ink in intricate designs.
So that was him. That was how he would be for that very last life.
Without regrets.
☼
Hongjoong had decided to paint a sunrise as part of his assignment.
What remains.
The theme brought a sense of melancholy for him. One that was almost suffocating. Because it reminded him of his limited time he had left here - a thing that he tried to not think about too much, because he didn‘t know how to deal with it.
What remains . It made him look around himself and think - everything. Everything remains, but me.
But his professor didn‘t know that. And Hongjoong couldn‘t go and paint everything.
So he decided he would paint a sunrise. Because it was something that had always been there, something he could remember well from his past lives due to its unyielding presence in all of them. The sunrise had been there before he had ever lived his first life, and it would remain after his last.
So that was how he found himself with his arms full of art supplies, carrying an easel uphill in what felt like the middle of the night.
His destination was the top of the hill that overlooked the small park that was located between the dorms and the university buildings, and he reached it exactly as the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon.
It was a nice, calming space, with tall trees and tiny white flowers dusted over the dewy grass under his feet, that almost made it feel like you were actually out in nature, and not in the middle of campus.
Hongjoong had expected the clearing on top to be empty at this early hour - but as he reached it, setting down his equipment, he spotted a figure sitting on one of the benches there.
He decided to ignore the other person there and just start putting up his easel, but the sound of him putting it down on the ground next to the bench made the figure turn around, seemingly ripped out of their thoughts.
„Good morning!“, the figure said, and it was the voice of a boy - a chipper voice he had heard somewhere before. „I really didn‘t expect to see someone here this early.“
Hongjoong peeked around his canvas.
And when he properly looked at the boy who was sitting on the bench, smiling at him widely, he recognized him.
The boy with his first life.
„Oh, it‘s you“, Hongjoong said, rubbing his neck as the memories came back to him. „Seonghwa, right?“
His cheeks heated up as he thought back to their meeting in embarrassment.
„Yes, that’s me!“, Seonghwa said, not sounding bothered at all. „I never caught your name though.“
Hongjoong still couldn‘t believe he had really said that to him and then left. Had no idea what had gotten into him. He couldn‘t remember the last time he had been genuinely so surprised at something. To witness something that didn‘t feel like a deja-vu.
„Hongjoong. Kim Hongjoong“, he mumbled, avoiding looking at him for too long, afraid to see those eyes again and say something embarrassing.
Afraid to feel the pain again he had felt yesterday, when he had looked into his eyes. The overwhelming feeling of sadness, the sudden urge to cry that had caught him without a warning, and without an explanation.
„So, you are here to paint?“, Seonghwa said, pointing at Hongjoong‘s setup.
„I have to, I need to paint the sunrise for a class“, he said, his words interrupted by a yawn. How did Seonghwa seem so awake at this hour, when he was close to falling asleep on the spot? „Why are you here though?“
It sounded almost judgy, and Hongjoong immediately felt bad, but Seonghwa kept smiling at him.
„I‘m just here to watch it.“
Hongjoong frowned in confusion, but decided to not ask.
He instead continued to set up his work station before the sunrise properly started. But he felt like he had to say something, to resolve the strange situation he had left the two of them in.
„Hey, about yesterday“, he started as he mixed two colors on his palette. Seonghwa looked up at him. „I‘m really sorry for how I talked to you. That was a super strange comment to make and I don‘t know why it slipped out like that. I was just so surprised to see someone who-“
Seonghwa smiled encouragingly. „To see someone who is living their first life?“
Hongjoong swallowed and nodded. „Yeah.“
„It‘s okay. I‘ve heard it a lot. People tend to be surprised“, he said.
„It’s not something you see a lot“, Hongjoong explained.
Seonghwa watched Hongjoong’s hands as they worked.
„How did you know though?“, he asked. „I am so confused every time someone notices. I can never tell with anyone - like, I look at people and I have absolutely no idea if they are old souls or as young as me. And I look in the mirror, I look for hours, and I try to see what they see, but I have no idea what I am even looking for. There is nothing that gives it away for me.“
He sounded frustrated, and when Hongjoong looked at him, his brows were drawn together.
Hongjoong shrugged. „I guess that's just something you learn with age. The more lives you’ve lived, the easier it is to tell if someone else has too.“
„So you are an old soul yourself?“, Seonghwa asked, his frown disappearing, wonder seeping into his voice.
Hongjoong hesitated as he dipped his brush in paint. He rarely told people it was his last life - he had learned to dread the pity he received when doing so. Like he was a dying man. Which in some way he knew he was.
He just didn‘t like to be reminded of it.
And he had no intention of telling Seonghwa, the boy who had so, so many lives ahead of him.
„You could say that“, he answered instead, a small smile on his lips.
Seongwha sighed, leaning back and looking out to the horizon.
„That is so nice“, he said. „My parents are old souls, too, you know? They told me they knew the second I was born that this was my first life. They said they could see it in my eyes.“
He turned back to look at Hongjoong, smiling still. „Did you see it in my eyes, too?“
Hongjoong froze, taken aback by the question. It sounded strangely intimate, considering they had only met. But Seonghwa didn‘t seem to mind, looking at him expectedly with these eyes, these eyes full of wonder that fascinated Hongjoong so much.
He could only nod. „Yeah.“
He quickly broke away from his gaze, feverishly dipping his brush in paint and staring at his canvas, to map out the painting ahead of him.
For a moment it was silent, only the birds starting to chirp in the trees around him. But then, Seonghwa turned around again, looking at him, and his eyes lit up.
„What?“, Hongjoong asked as he still didn’t look away after a while.
„Your hair looks like the sunrise!“, he said, as if that little discovery had made his day brighter.
Hongjoong opened his mouth and closed it again, taken aback.
His hair had been a deep red a few weeks ago, but had since washed out to an orangey-red color where it was peaking out of his beanie - a color that did in fact kind of resemble the one he was mixing on his palette right now, if he was thinking about it.
Still, the comment made him blush, because it was such a strange one to make. How did someone respond to that?
He just mumbled an „I guess, kind of“ and then quickly changed the topic so Seongwha would stop looking at him like that.
„So you really came all the way at this hour just to watch the sunrise?“, he asked, the first topic he could think of. „And then you‘ll go straight to bed again?“
That sounded like the last thing he‘d ever do. The thought wouldn‘t even occur to Hongjoong.
Seonghwa shook his head. „No, not really. I cover the morning shifts at the campus café, so I have to get up early anyway. I‘ll just go there straight after.“
„Morning shifts?“, Hongjoong asked, unable to hide the disgust in his voice.
Seonghwa laughed quietly, his voice a calming baritone. „For someone who‘s voluntarily up at this hour to paint a sunrise you sound overly shocked.“
He immediately shook his head. „Semi-voluntarily I‘d say. I‘m not too much of a morning person.“
He blushed slightly, fully aware he probably looked the part as well, having just thrown on the first clothes he had found and not even bothered with styling his hair, just burying it under his favorite black beanie.
„What do you like to do then?“, Seonghwa asked, leaning back to look up at Hongjoong, a smile on his face. „If you‘re not a morning person, I bet you stay up super late. Do you go out to parties? Or are you more of the workaholic type who pulls all nighters?“
Hongjoong had to suppress a sigh. He kind of just wanted to paint in peace, wanted to get this assignment done, and he was definitely not awake enough to entertain a boy with wide eyes that screamed first life for the next hour.
„The latter I guess“, he murmured.
And that seemed to be enough of an invitation for Seonghwa to keep chatting.
A parade of questions followed (What is your major? What’s your favorite color? Do you like cats or dogs more? Have you ever been to a concert? If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?) that Hongjoong mostly gave one word answers to, trying to actually get some painting done instead of doing small talk. He knew he sounded grumpy and unresponsive, but Seonghwa didn’t seem to mind.
He himself went in and gave full explanations for his own answers, his monologues about how cats were better than dogs and why pink was his favorite color definitely a bit too passionate and lengthy for Hongjoong‘s taste as well as the hour of day.
He also kept leaning back over the bench and staring at the canvas, constantly asking Hongjoong what he was doing, every time he added another color or tried out a different technique.
But eventually, Seonghwa finally seemed satisfied, falling into a comfortable silence as he watched the sunrise.
After a while though, when the deep reds and oranges slowly gave way for brighter colors, Seonghwa spoke again.
„Why did you decide to paint a sunrise, if you hate mornings so much? Why not a sunset?“
Hongjoong hummed, dipping his brush into a dark yellow that had just appeared on the horizon.
„Too many people“, he said. „Lots of students come here to have dinner and drink and watch the sunset. So I can’t properly concentrate. Plus I don‘t really like it when people watch me paint, so sunrise it is I guess.“
Seonghwa was quiet for a moment as Hongjoong added the yellow - stayed quiet uncharacteristically long. And when Hongjoong looked up from his painting, Seonghwa had stood up, rubbing his neck awkwardly.
„Ah, I‘m sorry“, he said, looking down. „I kind of barged into your personal space without asking, didn‘t I? And I chewed off your ear the whole time, too. I’ll just - leave you alone to paint then if it‘s more comfortable for you.“
It was not a question but it sounded like one.
Hongjoong immediately shook his head, waving his yellow-dipped brush. „No! No, that‘s not what I wanted to imply. Really. Please, stay.“
Seonghwa hesitated, still standing up. „Are you sure? I really don‘t wanna disturb you.“
„You don‘t.“, Hongjoong said.
Why, he did not quite know. He really did not like having people watch him as he painted, and Seonghwa’s constant chattering had distracted him quite a bit if he was being honest.
Quite like his voice full of fascination back in class yesterday had irked Hongjoong in its innocence.
But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tell him that. Somehow didn’t want these eyes that held so much wonder in them to be tainted by disappointment, even for a second.
And Hongjoong didn‘t quite know what to make of that.
„Okay“, Seonghwa said shyly and sat down again. Hongjoong did however notice how he only glanced at the canvas from then on instead of staring at it like before.
„Do you wanna come to the café with me?“, Seonghwa asked when he got up from the bench again a bit later. „My shift starts soon, I can make you a free coffee so you can properly wake up.“
Hongjoong shook his head.
He would use his time alone to finally properly concentrate on his painting like he had wanted to do the whole time - but he didn‘t tell Seonghwa that, because once again, he didn‘t want to upset him.
„Thank you for the offer. But I’ll have to finish up some things here“, he said instead, and Seonghwa pouted.
„Maybe another day“, Hongjoong added, just to see the pout disappear.
When Seonghwa left, he found himself looking after him, until his silhouette disappeared behind the curve of the hill, illuminated by the sunrise.
☼
It was the next morning, and Hongjoong was just working on setting up his easel on top of the hill again.
He was even more tired than yesterday, dreading to repeat this process over and over again, until he would perfect his painting - which would take a lot more mornings, given the sunrise never lasted long enough for him to actually capture it properly.
The first rays were peaking over the horizon, dark oranges and muted reds starting to illuminate the park around him as he mixed together the corresponding colors on his palette. And Hongjoong felt himself already getting sick of it. Of waking up early to watch the sunrise, when it held no emotions for him anymore. When it was just that - colors on a palette, nothing more.
He sighed, dipping his brush into the paint.
That was when he heard footsteps behind him, rushing, almost running, and huffs of breath.
And as he turned around, there he was.
Seonghwa.
„Thank God, I thought I‘d be too late!“, he said, leaning over and resting his hands on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath.
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow as he kept mixing the medium orange he was just preparing.
„Too late for a sunrise?“, he said.
Seonghwa straightened up again and - oh.
Hongjoong almost dropped his brush, the fingers holding it suddenly limp.
Seonghwa looked beautiful.
His chest was still heaving from his sprint up the hill, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, despite the morning chill in the air. But that did not take away from how pretty he looked - if anything it added to how the first sun rays illuminated his tan skin. How the lights reflected in his huge eyes that already seemed so excited again, excited at the mere prospect of a sunrise of all things.
What was so special about a sunrise?
„I almost slept through my alarm, so I had to run“, Seonghwa said, a spring in his steps as he made his way to the park bench where he had sat yesterday.
Hongjoong didn‘t comment on it, not wanting to destroy his excitement about something so mundane.
Just, if he wouldn‘t be graded for it, there was no way Hongjoong himself would have done this.
„I won‘t disturb you painting today!“, Seonghwa said as he sat down. „I promise, I‘ll let you work in peace, it‘ll be as if I‘m not here at all!“
He said the words happily, even making a small gesture pretending to lock his lips with a key and throwing it away. It was endearing, but somehow Hongjoong still didn‘t like hearing it.
Had he really come across so distant that he made him feel like he was a nuisance being here?
He wanted to say something, to tell him it was okay, but he didn’t know how to formulate the words properly, so he didn‘t. Instead he continued working, frowning while doing so.
Hongjoong just finished setting up his palette as the sunrise really started, the muted colors turning into the more saturated ones he wanted on his canvas.
As he dipped his brush into the first shade and tried to start painting however, he found himself glancing over to Seonghwa instead of the sunrise he should have been focusing on.
And it was not the boy‘s fault - he actually kept his promise, being completely quiet as he just watched, sticking to the background.
Hongjoong still stared.
Seonghwa was already in what Hongjoong would have guessed were his work clothes - simple black pants, and tucked into them a white button down he‘d seen on the workers in the café before when he had stopped there once or twice. The clothes fit him well and accentuated his legs that seemed to go on for days.
He was leaning back, resting on his hands, almost looking relaxed as he looked over the edge of the hill, if it weren‘t for the excitement visibly brimming under his skin. The pure awe, as if he had waited for years for an opportunity to see this.
Hongjoong shook his head and ripped his eyes from him.
Sunrise. That‘s what he had to focus on.
Reds and Oranges. Blend the edges. Different techniques for the clouds than for the grass to show different textures.
He tried to focus, he really did. And yet, he found himself speaking instead.
„Why did you come again?“, he asked. And then he immediately noticed how it must have come across.
„Not - not that I don‘t want to have you here!“, Hongjoong hurried to say. „Really! I was just wondering.“
Seonghwa leaned back to look at him. „Wondering?“
„Why watch the sunrise again? You just saw one yesterday.“
„So?“
„Aren’t you sick of them yet? I mean, they‘re all the same.“
Seonghwa smiled, shaking his head. „No they‘re not.“
He pointed over the edge of the hill. „Look, today there‘s so many more clouds than yesterday. The light looks completely different though them. And today I’m sitting a bit more to the right than yesterday. Just enough to see the rays fall through the leaves of that tree. Yesterday there was more morning dew on the grass, so it was glittering more, but it’s okay, because the colors of the actual sunrise are nicer today.“
He kept rambling, as if Hongjoong had burst open a dam with his question. And all the while his eyes were so wide with awe.
„You never know how a sunrise might look, because it‘s so different every day. Depending on what the sky decides to do and where you decide to be. What if I miss the prettiest one of them, just because I didn‘t get up early enough? I‘d never know.“
When he finished speaking, Hongjoong found himself staring.
At Seonghwa at first, and then at the sunrise.
And he could see what he was saying. The colors were prettier today. There were more clouds in the sky - clouds he had painted on his canvas, but not really registered, just blindly copying what he had seen, without actually seeing it.
The dew was less glittery than yesterday, but had he noticed? Not really.
His eyes darted back to Seonghwa who was chewing on his lip, looking down at his lap.
„I‘m sorry“, he said quietly. „You probably know all these things. I mean, you‘ve seen so many sunrises, so many more than me. I shouldn‘t be telling you all this. I probably sound kind of stupid.“
Hongjoong could only look for a moment, his paintbrush forgotten in his hand, as well as the sunrise in front of him.
„I - no, you don‘t at all. You‘re right“, he found himself saying. There was surprise tinting his words. „I do know these things. But-“
He looked at his canvas again. And now he could see it.
There was a sunrise there. The colors were well blended and correctly applied in the right spots. The lights and the darks, the textures, all how he had learned to paint them.
But it held nothing of the sunrise that was reflecting in Seongwha‘s words, in Seonghwa‘s eyes.
„But what?“
Hongjoong shook his head, looking at Seonghwa in confusion.
„I think I just - forgot.“
Silence fell as Hongjoong kept painting and Seonghwa kept looking, but it was a comfortable one. Not as suffocating as silence could so often be, but rather just there. Existing.
„Can I ask you something?“, Seonghwa said after a while.
Hongjoong hummed in response, not looking up from his canvas.
„What is it like?“, he asked. „To be an old soul?“
Hongjoong didn’t quite know how to answer the question. Didn’t want to tell him about the melancholy that stuck to his skin like honey, dripping down his throat and filling his lungs, making it hard to breathe sometimes.
How it seemed to be like this especially when he was looking at Seonghwa. Looking at his eyes, full of wonder.
„Boring“, he answered instead. Because that was also true, just in a different way. „It loses its magic after a while.“
Seonghwa eyed him skeptically and then looked out at the sunrise.
„All of this?“
Hongjoong nodded. „Yeah, it does.“
„I could never imagine getting tired of any of this. Ever.“
Hongjoong smiled to himself. „Maybe you won‘t. Maybe it‘ll be different for you.“
He mostly said it because he wanted Seonghwa to keep this flicker of hope that only young souls had. But looking at him, the way he looked so content, he also thought maybe it would actually be different for him.
Maybe Seonghwa would always hold this wonder in him.
„What else?“, Seonghwa asked. „Tell me more. What is it like?“
Hongjoong chuckled. „It‘s a hard question. I could ask you the exact same thing: what is it like to be a new soul? To live your very first life?“
Seonghwa hesitated.
„That‘s different though. You know what it‘s like. You‘ve done it yourself.“
Hongjoong added some yellow to his canvas.
„That doesn‘t mean that I know. That I remember.“
Silence, for a second. „You don‘t?“
Hongjoong shook his head. „My first couple of lives are completely gone. Keeping your memories is something you only learn after a while.“
„Oh“, Seonghwa said, sounding a bit off suddenly. „Really?“
„Yeah, really“, Hongjoong said, frowning. Sometimes he found himself curious about these lost, first lives. But he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. „The more lives you‘ve lived, the more you can hold onto, though it‘s never anything substantial, even now. Only pictures. Feelings. After a while, even fragments of people that meant a lot to you, if you’re lucky.“
He dipped his brush in paint. „But mostly things you have seen over and over again, things that remain the same. Like the sunrise.“
Hongjoong waited for a second. „You already knew that though, right?“, he added.
„Kind of. I don't know“, Seonghwa said, sounding shy. „I was just hoping you‘d tell me it was not true. I rarely meet people who are really old souls, except for maybe my parents, and we don’t really talk about that stuff. I was just hoping that you would maybe remember bits from your first life.“
Hongjoong bit his lip. „I don‘t. I‘m sorry.“
Seonghwa just nodded, smiling, but it didn‘t look convincing.
Hongjoong didn‘t know what to say, and neither did Seonghwa apparently, so they just fell back into their shared silence. It felt somewhat heavier now.
Seonghwa ended up staying until the colors faded into the regular light blue of the morning sky, dusted with sheer clouds today.
He asked him again to come to the café with him, and this time, Hongjoong actually considered it. He really wanted to. But he still declined.
Because he could feel how his eyes had been drawn to Seonghwa the whole time he was there. How he had wanted to look at him more than he had wanted to look at the sunrise - at the boy, whose first life it was, who looked at everything with so much wonder in his eyes.
And Hongjoong realized that what he had initially found irritating about him, was actually what made him kind of loveable.
And that was exactly why Hongjoong didn‘t go to the café with him. Because Seonghwa was loveable. And Hongjoong had no intentions on getting attached to him - he would not get attached to a boy who was living his first life, while Hongjoong was living his last.
Getting attached to someone like him, it would just be cruel to the both of them.
☼
Hongjoong had planned to stay away from Seonghwa as much as he could. He really had.
But the next morning, after he had stored away his painting materials in one of the art rooms, he suddenly found himself in front of the café Seonghwa worked at.
He had been on the way to his morning class that was on a completely different part of campus than the café was. Yet somehow, Hongjoong had ended up here.
That morning, when he had been up on the hill to paint the sunrise yet again, Seonghwa hadn‘t been there. And for the whole time he was working, Hongjoong couldn‘t help but wonder, even as he tried not to.
It had felt like something was missing.
He had been wondering the whole time he was crossing campus, still, and his thoughts seemed to have led him to the café.
A yawn escaped him as he peeked through the window to maybe spot a familiar figure. God, he was tired.
Maybe he should get a coffee. Not to see Seonghwa. Of course not. He just needed caffeine, and he was already here, so it was just logical.
So he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The warmth of the café immediately engulfed Hongjoong, wrapping him up in an embrace after spending too much time outside in the chilly early morning air.
The place was busy with students, all trying to get a coffee before their first class started, and the baristas working behind the bar were rushing to keep up with the demand. They were all frowning as they did so, the stress visible on all of their faces - except for one.
Behind the register, dressed in a white button down and a light brown apron thrown over it, was Seonghwa. And even now, as he was fighting the morning rush, he looked happy.
He greeted every customer in a chipper tone that Hongjoong could make out even over all the students talking over one another, and he smiled at every single one of them as if they were old friends of his he hadn‘t seen in a while.
After he took their orders, he picked up a black marker and scribbled something on the cups before passing them on to his coworkers who made the drinks. At first Hongjoong thought it was simply the customer‘s order, but when he glanced at the cups in their hands as they left the café, he saw that Seonghwa had drawn something on every one of them - a smiley, a flower, a heart, something different on each cup.
It made Hongjoong smile. It was something only someone in their first life would do.
Since he still had a bit of time before he had to go to class, he decided to stick to the back of the café, leaning against the wall and watching Seonghwa work, until the rush was over.
Not at all because it was endearing, seeing him interact with customers and because Hongjoong wanted to do it a little longer before Seonghwa noticed him watching. And also not because he kind of wanted to be able to talk to him, undisturbed by people waiting in line behind him.
Of course not. He just didn‘t want to add to Seonghwa‘s stress.
After most of the café had cleared out, only a few students sitting at the tables, typing on their laptops or chatting, did he go to the register.
When Seonghwa spotted him, his eyes went wide and a smile illuminated them, so bright that it made Hongjoong look away.
„Hongjoong!“, he said. „You actually came!“
He sounded like seeing Hongjoong was the peak of his day. But he had to remind himself to not take it too seriously - he had seen that Seonghwa was simply this nice to all customers. It didn‘t have to do anything with him.
„Yeah, I was super tired and passed the café, so I thought I might as well come in and get my dose of caffeine“, he said, suppressing a yawn that had crept up as if to underline his words.
Seonghwa was beaming. „What can I get for you then?“
Hongjoong looked up at the menu, even though he already knew what he wanted. „Iced Americano plese. A large one.“
Seonghwa chuckled. „How original.“
He shrugged. „It gets the job done.“
„Okay, large Iced Americano, coming up“, Seonghwa said and rang up his order. When Hongjoong reached for his wallet, he stopped him.
„That one‘s on me. I told you I‘d make you one!“
And Hongjoong could only blush as Seonghwa was looking at him again with a big smile, as if it was Hongjoong doing him a favor.
He could only mumble a thank you, as he watched him take a cup and scribble something on it, before passing it to his coworker. Hongjoong noticed that he took his time doing so, his tongue poking out between his teeth as he concentrated on his drawing.
„So, you‘ve been painting again?“, Seonghwa said when he was done, pointing at Hongjoong‘s clothes that he knew to be full of paint from where he had dropped his palette on himself. He hadn‘t had the energy to change, and now he was kind of embarrassed about it, knowing he looked this messy while Seonghwa was so put together.
„Uhm, yeah. I was wondering where you were.“
The words just slipped out, before he even knew what he was saying. „Not that I was waiting or anything! I just - noticed. Because you said you usually come.“
Seonghwa sighed. „Yeah I know. I overslept, again “, he said with a pout. „Did I miss a good one?“
He genuinely looked sad as he spoke, even though it was just a sunrise.
„Nah, it was quite boring today actually. You didn’t miss anything, I promise“, Hongjoong found himself saying, even if it was only to see how his frown changed into a smile again at the words.
How was he always so expressive, even about mundane things like these?
When his drink was finished, Seonghwa handed it to him himself.
On the cup was a cute little drawing of two stick figures, one of them smiling widely, the other one looking as grumpy as a stick figure could look. In between them was a sunrise.
„Look, it‘s us!“, Seonghwa said, pointing at the drawing he had made.
Hongjoong really tried to not find it endearing, but he couldn‘t suppress the „Cute“ that slipped his lips as he took the cup. Because it was cute.
„You want to sit down and talk a bit?“, Seonghwa asked. „My break is coming up.“
For a moment, Hongjoong considered it. But then he shook his head.
„Sorry, I can‘t. I’m kind of in a hurry, my class starts soon.“
Seonghwa nodded. „It’s okay. See you in philosophy later?“
Hongjoong’s eyes went wide at the comment. „Oh shit, I haven't done any of the readings. With getting up so early, I never had the energy and then I forgot.“ he sighed. „Ugh, I guess there goes my lunch break.“
Seonghwa laughed at the comment. „If you need more coffee to get through your day, let me know.“
It coaxed a smile out of Hongjoong as well. „I will“, he said.
When he left the café, he couldn't help but look back one more time.
☼
The next morning, when Hongjoong carried his easel up the hill again, Seonghwa was already there, in his usual spot on the bench, facing the horizon.
Hongjoong could hide the smile that had snuck up on him just in time before Seonghwa turned around.
„Good morning“, he greeted him. „I made it today.“
He sounded genuinely relieved, and for some reason, Hongjoong was, too.
„I have an idea for today“, Seonghwa said as Hongjoong was setting up his station. When he looked at him with a raised eyebrow, Seonghwa just held up a book.
It was one Hongjoong recognized - their assigned reading for philosophy class.
„Why did you bring that?“
„You said you never have the time to do your readings, because you‘re too exhausted. So I thought if we‘re already up here, watching the sunrise, I might as well read them to you.“
Hongjoong could only blink at him, taken aback by the offer. When he didn’t answer, Seonghwa looked away, blushing slightly.
„We don‘t have to of course. It was just an idea.“
„No, no!“, Hongjoong hurried. „I just - don‘t want you to go out of your way, just because I am bad at time management.“
„I have to read them anyway. So why not like this?“
Hongjoong finished setting up his easel. „If you‘re sure?“, he said, glancing at Seonghwa. „We could give it a try.“
He beamed at the answer.
And then he opened the book and started reading to Hongjoong.
☼
It became sort of a routine for the two of them. They met on top of the hill every day, just as the first sun rays appeared in the sky.
There was never anyone here except for the two of them - Seonghwa, dressed in his clean work clothes, with a smile on his face and wonder in his eyes, and Hongjoong, in whatever clothes he could find and a beanie, busy suppressing his yawns at the early hour.
And then Hongjoong would paint, and Seonghwa would read out loud to him and Hongjoong never had it in him to tell him he only registered about half the things he was reading to him, because he was just so tired, and because he was so busy staring.
Not at the sunrise, like he was supposed to. But at Seonghwa.
Because he just looked so beautiful, leaned over the heavy philosophy book, concentrated as he read out the words printed on the pages, while the orange light of the sunrise illuminated his face.
The first time Hongjoong caught himself having these thoughts - thinking that Seonghwa was beautiful like this - he felt shy and looked away. Tried to rationalize it, to blame it on his tiredness.
But he soon gave up.
It didn‘t have to mean anything. It was just a fact. Seonghwa was beautiful. But so was the sunrise, so was the light falling through the leaves of the tree.
Some things were just beautiful, and they would always be - Hongjoong was used to these things. They didn‘t move him anymore, like they moved other people, because he had seen them over and over again, until all their beauty had given way to mundaneness, to routine.
Yet somehow, Hongjoong could never quite hold himself back from looking at Seonghwa.
They did this every morning, Hongjoong eventually giving up on counting the days.
Every day, they would meet and Seonghwa would wish him a good morning, and Hongjoong would put up his easel while Seonghwa talked - about anything and nothing.
About his family at home who he seemed to love dearly. About customers that had been nice to him at the café. About a book he had read that had made him cry. About a class he was passionate about.
And Hongjoong would never say it out loud, but this would quickly become his favorite part of the day. These few minutes, before Seonghwa would open the book and start reading to him.
When he could just listen to Seonghwa experiencing life for the first time, unfiltered by past experiences to dull down the new ones. To see the world through his eyes, just for a bit.
It made him sad sometimes, though he didn’t quite know why. But it was also mesmerizing - like being able to see something again that he had been blind to for so long.
The way the sun filtered through the trees, beams fighting their way through the twigs and leaves and taking on a greenish tint as they did so, as if they had taken a piece of the very trees with them on their journey.
The way the small water droplets that clung to the grass glittered in the early morning light, like tiny specks of shattered glass.
The way life was so, so different from day to day. The miniscule details that made every moment unique and fascinating and worth experiencing, even if it was just something like the light hitting Seonghwa‘s face at a slightly different angle today.
Hongjoong had long finished his painting of the sunrise, always looking for the tiniest parts he could improve on and paint over.
But that was another thing he didn‘t have it in him to tell Seonghwa. Because then this comfortable routine they had fallen into would end, and for some reason, Hongjoong was not quite ready for that.
When he finally had to admit to himself that the painting was done, they agreed to meet at a later hour, so Hongjoong could paint the light falling through the leaves of the large oak tree instead.
It limited the time they had together, before Seonghwa had to go to work, but it at least gave Hongjoong an excuse to sit down on the bench next to him, where the view of the sun rays making their way through the crown was perfect.
What remains.
He didn‘t quite know how long the tree had been here, but he was sure it had been here longer than Hongjoong had lived this life. And it would probably also remain after it had ended.
☼
Seonghwa closed the book with a sigh, letting his body slump back until it hit the backrest of the bench they were sitting on.
„What‘s wrong?“, Hongjoong asked.
Seonghwa had seemed off the entire morning. Struggling to work through the chapter, stopping mid-sentence to let his words trail off, staring into the distance, seemingly not quite here.
He didn‘t seem as unconditionally happy as usual.
„Nothing“, he said, not quite convincingly, but also making no attempts at opening the book again. „The chapter just made me - think a lot.“
Hongjoong hummed. „I get it. Reincarnation is a difficult topic.“
They had been talking about the philosophy of reincarnation a lot in class. About theories behind it, about old souls and young souls, about memories and about forgetting.
It even made Hongjoong‘s head spin sometimes. He couldn‘t imagine how it was for Seonghwa.
„Do you really think some people stay with us for longer than a lifetime?“, Seonghwa asked. He was looking at his hands, fumbling with them. He was speaking in a neutral tone, but it was forced. Like he was trying to hide how much the question really meant to him, how much it had been burning on his tongue.
„Aren‘t your parents proof enough that they do?“, Hongjoong asked, remembering their first conversation.
„Yeah, but parents say many things“, Seongwha sighed. „They also told me Santa was real to not hurt my feelings. So I never really knew if I could believe them or not. If it was also just something nice they wanted me to believe in, to keep some magic in my life.“
Hongjoong smiled. „It can be true. You can't always know - things change, people end up in vastly different places. But it's possible. If you‘re lucky and you know what to look out for, you can find familiar souls everywhere. All of my friends that I have in this life are friends from past lives, too.“
Almost all of them , his mind corrected him. But he quickly suppressed the thought, because it would imply he was closer to Seonghwa than he was comfortable with. Than he could ever allow himself to be.
Because it was Seonghwa‘s first life and Hongjoong‘s last and it would never work.
Seonghwa frowned. „How can you be so sure?“
Hongjoong shrugged. „After a while you just know. Like, you look at people, and you get this sense of… not quite deja-vu. More like familiarity, an echo of the relationship you once had. Inherent trust even though you know you have never seen their face before. The more lives you live, the easier it gets to recognize familiar souls.“
Seonghwa seemed hesitant. „My parents used to explain it to me like that, too. I never really understood how that could work. It just…confuses me. But still, I like to believe it's true.“
„Why is that?“
Most young souls Hongjoong met did not easily believe in concepts like these. Too skeptic, stuck in their own world, where these memories were not yet real.
Seonghwa hesitated for another moment before speaking again. „Will you promise not to laugh at what I will tell you now?“
Hongjoong immediately nodded. „Promise“, he said, barely above a whisper.
„It sounds dumb, but - that has always been my dream. As long as I can think back. To have what my parents have. To find someone and fall deeply in love with them, so deeply that we will find each other again, life after life.“
He sighed contently, letting his head fall on the backrest. And then he looked up, his huge, dark eyes meeting Hongjoong’s. And he smiled.
„Is that not the most beautiful thing in the world?“
Hongjoong didn’t quite know why, but the words hurt him. Hit him right in the chest, making it hard to breathe suddenly. He forced his lips into a smile to hide the sentiment.
„It is.“
Seonghwa seemed hesitant. „Have you ever had that?“, he asked. „Do you have that one soul you will always be looking for?“
And again, the question hurt, for a reason Hongjoong couldn‘t quite pinpoint. He shook his head.
„No, I haven‘t.“, he answered truthfully, because he didn’t think he could lie to Seonghwa when he was looking at him like this. „Like, I‘m sure I‘ve been in love before. I know I have been. But not eternally like this, not like your parents.“
„Oh“, Seonghwa said. His sad, almost pitying tone was at odds with the flash of something almost akin to relief Hongjoong swore he had seen in his eyes before he averted them.
And then, as if he wanted to comfort Hongjoong, he rested his head on his shoulder. Threaded his arm through Hongjoong‘s and held him close.
Hongjoong tried to not freeze up under the unexpected touch. And then, tried not to melt into it.
Tried to not show how cathartic it felt to have Seonghwa this close. How right.
„But you have time“, Seonghwa said, his breath fanning out on Hongjoong‘s neck. Making him shiver.
„I‘m sure it will happen to you, too, one day. Wouldn‘t that be nice?“
And suddenly the lump in Hongjoong‘s throat made it difficult to speak. The burn behind his eyes making him blink, glad Seonghwa could not see his expression, glad he could not see the tears that were there suddenly and without Hongjoong knowing why.
„Yeah“, he whispered. „That would be nice.“
I hope it will happen to you, he thought. I hope you find that someone. A someone with many, many lives ahead of them that you can spend together. You deserve it.
But he didn’t say these words aloud, afraid his voice would break and betray him.
And then, selfishly, he let his head rest on Seonghwa‘s as well.
☼
„Do you want to come over to my place?“, Seonghwa had suddenly asked, one day as they were sitting on top of the hill.
Hongjoong froze in place where he was painting, brush in his hand.
„To study I mean“, Seonghwa quickly clarified. „Midterms are coming up and I thought we could maybe… I don‘t know.“
He seemed hesitant, almost shy, as if he was scared Hongjoong would say no.
And for a second Hongjoong almost did. Because he was also scared. Of what it would mean, to take their meetings that had only happened here, up on the hill at sunrise, where it almost felt like an alternate world, into the real one.
He would not get attached to Seonghwa. That was what he was telling himself every day before he made his way to their meeting spot.
It was Hongjoong’s last life and Seonghwa had no idea that it was. And he did not know how to tell him or whether he should tell him at all. Keeping him at arm's length was probably the right thing to do for the both of them.
But he felt his resolutions thin down, get weaker and weaker the more time he spent with him. Especially when he stole sneaky glances at Seonghwa, while he was not looking. When he saw his eyes reflecting the sunrise. His skin glowing in the early morning sun. How pretty he looked, so close to him.
How his heart fluttered when Seonghwa sometimes leaned his head on his shoulder, his hair tickling the skin on his neck. How he wished he would do it all the time.
And so Hongjoong almost found himself giving in to the temptation. Almost said yes.
„How about the library? That way we can do it in between classes without leaving campus“, he said instead.
You did the right thing , a voice in his head said.
Coward , said another.
That‘s how Hongjoong found himself in the library with Seonghwa, one week before midterms.
They had originally agreed to meet up only once, to compare notes, but then somehow started doing it more often. Their little study meetups had become somewhat of a routine, and Hongjoong wasn't quite sure how it had happened or how he should feel about it.
"God, I will fail this midterm."
Seonghwa was leaning over his textbook, gripping it at the edges. And to put it lightly - he was a nervous mess.
Hongjoong put a hand over his. "You won't fail. Relax."
"How do you know? This is just all way over my head."
Hongjoong knew for a fact that it wasn‘t. Seonghwa was intelligent, very much so in fact, and he had the passion needed to understand philosophy. A real interest in the concepts that Hongjoong was lacking.
But he seemed to be unable to see how good he was at it himself.
"Do you think I'll fail?", Hongjoong asked.
Seonghwa frowned, immediately shaking his head. "Of course not!"
Hongjoong leaned forward in his seat, to get closer to Seonghwa. "See, then why would you? We exclusively studied for this together. Our notes are the same. All the readings we did you read to me. So if I won't fail, why should you?"
Seonghwa exhaled slowly, almost a sigh as his shoulders fell.
"I don't know."
Hongjoong rubbed circles into the back of Seonghwa’s hand before he realized how intimate the gesture was.
He immediately withdrew his hand, even when he really really didn’t want to. If anything, ever since that morning on top of the hill where Seonghwa had put his head on his shoulder and held onto his arm - Hongjoong quietly found himself craving the touch.
Wanted to reach out to Seonghwa and hold his hand and brush his hair out of his face and wrap an arm around his waist and pull him into an embrace when they seperated.
But he was never brave enough to actually do it.
„I‘m sorry“, Seonghwa sighed.
„What are you sorry for?“
He let his head fall. „I‘m just so scared, of so many things. It‘s probably annoying.“
Hongjoong shook his head, fighting the urge to put his hand back on Seonghwa‘s.
„I promise, I don‘t find it annoying at all. You‘re just overthinking a bit, that‘s normal.“
Seoghwa sighed. „But I overthink things all the time. My parents say it‘s because it‘s my first life. That new souls are scared of more things than old souls. Do you think that‘s true?“
Hongjoong hesitated for a second.
„Maybe. I‘ve never actually thought about it that way. But it could be true.“
Seoghwa sighed. „Sometimes I hate being like this. So new to everything.“
Hongjoong wanted to pull him into an embrace as he saw his expression. Put his head on his shoulder and tell him he was okay, that there was nothing to feel bad about. That Hongjoong was glad he was exactly the way he was, that that was what made him special.
But he didn‘t find the words, couldn‘t get them out, as he just looked at him.
„How about you?“, Seonghwa said, turning to him.
„What about me?“
„You‘ve lived so many lives. Are you still scared of anything? Anything at all?“
Hongjoong could just blink.
Had they been this close the whole time? Their chairs were pushed almost all the way together, and with the way Seonghwa was leaning forward in his seat, Hongjoong could count his eyelashes if he wanted to.
And once again, he could only stare at him. He had seen so many faces in his lives, he should have become sick of them, like he had become sick of the sunrise at some point. But somehow he could not stop looking at Seonghwa. At the wonder in his eyes.
At how beautiful he looked.
„Yeah“, Hongjoong breathed, after his silence had stretched on for too long. „Yeah, I‘m scared of things, too.“
I‘m scared of this, he thought. I‘m scared of what we have right here. I’m scared of falling in love with you, Seonghwa.
But he didn‘t say these words, knew he would never, ever say these words out loud, because then he‘d admit they were true. And Seonghwa didn‘t ask. Almost as if he knew he wouldn‘t get an answer.
Hongjoong ripped his eyes from Seonghwa‘s, only for a second, to let them dart to his lips. He had nice lips, he noted. Everything about him was nice, all his proportions, like they were meant to be looked at. Meant to be captured.
Seonghwa was chewing on his lips, looking slightly nervous as he did so. And when Hongjoong looked back up, Seonghwa‘s eyes were on Hongjoong‘s lips, too.
For a moment it was quiet around them. Calm.
„Can I ask you for a favor?“, Hongjoong found himself saying suddenly, breaking the silence between them.
Seonghwa seemed startled, as if he had not expected the silence to end. He nodded, eyes wide.
Hongjoong took a deep breath.
„Would you let me paint you?“
☼
Seonghwa‘s room was more clean than should have been possible in the run down student dorms.
It was all light neutral colors, from the rugs to the curtains to the bedsheets, safe for a fluffy pastel pink blanket thrown over the bed, and all of it so organized that Hongjoong couldn‘t even find a single piece of clothing thrown over a chair.
It almost made him feel out of place, with his dyed hair and street style fashion and tattoos, as he stood in the middle of the room. His canvas and working materials were tucked under his arm, and looking at all the white, he was terrified of spilling paint on something.
„Thank you again for agreeing to do this“, Hongjoong said, as Seonghwa walked back into the room with two steaming mugs, handing him one - coffee for Hongjoong and tea for himself.
He noted how pretty Seonghwa looked today, in his loose white shirt that made for a beautiful contrast with his tan skin, almost golden in the evening sunlight that streamed in through the curtains.
His hair was freshly washed and fell into his face in fluffy waves, black against gold. And Hongjoong could only think how pretty he looked.
He found himself thinking these things more and more often as of late.
„Ah, don‘t thank me! I‘m happy to do it, it just gives us more opportunities to hang out.“
He only seemed to notice what he had said after the words had already left his mouth, suddenly blushing and hiding his face in his mug.
It made Hongjoong smile. Because as much as he tried to rationalize that this was just for his assignment and nothing else - he had secretly been looking forward to this for two weeks.
They had waited until midterms were over - which they both had passed, Seonghwa with flying colors of course, much as Hongjoong had expected he would.
And the first day that some kind of daily post-exam routine had come back into their lives, they had decided to meet up. Hongjoong had insisted they do this at Seonghwa‘s place, not wanting him to go out of his way and walk all the way to the opposite side of campus where he lived, if he was already doing him this favor.
„So, uhm. How do you want to do this?“, Seonghwa asked, looking slightly lost in his own space.
„I just need to quickly set up my things. Can I put this up here?“, Hongjoong asked, holding up his small portable easel.
„Sure, go ahead!“, Seonghwa said, stepping aside to make space for him, and Hongjoong started preparing everything. It didn’t take long, the movements had become muscle memory by now, and when the canvas and easel were prepared, he took a content step back.
„Okay, we‘re ready.“
Seonghwa stepped in front of the canvas, seemingly excited - but to be fair, he always looked excited.
„How do you want me?“, Seonghwa said.
And then he froze up for a second, eyes wide. And Hongjoong felt himself blush, hearing this question in this setting, just the two of them in Seonghwa‘s bedroom. Even though he knew that was not what he had wanted to say.
„I mean - like where do you want me to sit?“, Seongwha quickly corrected himself. „So you can paint me, you know?“
Hongjoong nodded, still shy. „Yeah. Totally, I get you“, he said, very coherently. „Just like - sit down on the bed? I think the light from the window would be best there.“
Seonghwa quietly muttered an „okay“ and sat down, sinking slightly into the sheets, his posture upright. „Like this?“
„Yes, almost perfect“, Hongjoong said. „Just tilt your head up a tiny bit.“
Seonghwa moved his head. „Better?“
„Ah, no. A bit to the right.“
He tilted it again, but it still wasn‘t how he needed him.
„Wait, let me just-“
Hongjoong kneeled down on the rug in front of the bed, so their faces were on one level, and put one hand on Seonghwa‘s shoulder, to keep him steady. With the other, he gently placed his fingers on his jaw, nudging his chin to turn it in the correct direction.
„There we go“, he said quietly, happy with the angle.
And then he noticed their position.
Seonghwa was looking at him with wide eyes, even wider than usual, and only now did Hongjoong see how close they were. Their faces only inches apart, with Hongjoong‘s hands still resting on Seonghwa. His fingers brushing against the underside of his jaw.
He blinked, overwhelmed at the sudden proximity, the intimacy of the touch, trapped under Seonghwa‘s stare.
Only after a couple of seconds was he able to break eye contact, awkwardly coughing as he stood up again.
„This, uhm“, he said. „This would be a good angle. Do you feel comfortable?“
Seonghwa smiled, without moving his head, as if he wanted to show how serious he was about this. „Very.“
Hongjoong sat down on his chair, happy to have the barrier of the canvas at least somewhat between himself and Seonghwa.
He grabbed his palette and brush. „Are you ready?“
„Draw me like one of your french girls, Kim Hongjoong“, Seonghwa grinned.
And at that, Hongjoong‘s mouth properly fell open, his fingers almost dropping his brush.
When Seonghwa saw his obviously startled expression, he frowned. „What?“
Hongjoong blinked, trying to contain his thoughts and close his mouth. „You-“, he said. „You‘ve never seen Titanic, have you?“
Seonghwa looked like he had been caught. „Ah, is it obvious? I only know the quote really, sorry.“
Hongjoong exhaled. „No, you‘re good“, he said, sounding slightly strangled. „Anyways, let‘s start, before we lose this daylight.“
They fell into a comfortable silence after that, as Hongjoong worked. He noted it was much easier to stay focused on his painting today than it had been to concentrate on his landscapes for the past weeks.
Probably because the thing that had always distracted him from his work was what he was actually supposed to focus on today.
He hadn‘t done a portrait in a while, not since his portrait class a year ago, and he had never really been fond of them if he were to be honest. But today he noticed that he was actually enjoying himself somehow.
The painting was coming together really well, the paint on the canvas slowly taking the form of Seonghwa before him as he was sitting on the bed.
And Seonghwa was doing really well, keeping still, adjusting whenever Hongjoong asked him to, and not complaining about this taking so long even once.
„Okay, I‘ll only have to do details now“, Hongjoong eventually said, putting his brush down just as the sun was setting outside the window.
„I just have to - come closer for that“, he said, thinking back to how frozen he had been in front of Seonghwa earlier. „Is that okay?“
Seonghwa smiled at him, softly. „Sure, come here.“
Hongjoong took his easel and put it almost directly next to Seonghwa. And then he scooted his chair up to the bed, so close that their knees were brushing.
„Is that better?“, Seonghwa breathed, his face suddenly so close again that he could reach out and caress his cheek if he wanted to.
Hongjoong hummed, not trusting his words right now, and picked up his brush.
Concentrating was much harder like this. As he painted the individual strands of hair that fell into Seonghwa‘s face. The slight shadows under his cheekbones. The details in the center of his eyes, those eyes full of wonder.
His lips.
Hongjoong caught himself staring at them for a bit too long. Longer than it should have taken to figure out their shape and where the shadows fell.
But he just couldn‘t rip his eyes from them.
They were nice lips. Very nice lips. Full, with a natural pink color to them that others had to use lip tints to achieve.
„Hongjoong?“, Seonghwa asked eventually, ripping him out of his thoughts.
Only now did he notice he had subconsciously leaned in, closer, so he could properly capture the details on his lips. And now they were. Right there.
He blinked, leaning back to get a bit of space between them. „Huh?“
„Do you need a break or something? You were kind of spacing out.“
Hongjoong shook his head, looking between his painting and Seonghwa. „No I‘m good. Five more minutes and we‘re done.“
Get it together, Hongjoong.
When the last white highlights were done, Hongjoong leaned back in his seat, exhaling. He was glad he had made it through the last part of the painting without saying - or doing - anything dumb.
„Okay, we‘re finished.“
„Can I see?“, Seonghwa said excitedly, perking up in his seat.
Hongjoong nodded, turning the canvas around to show Seonghwa. His eyes went wide when he saw.
„Oh my God“, he breathed. „You actually made this just now?“
Hongjoong felt himself grow shy. „Yeah, I did. Do you like it?“
„I absolutely love it.“ Seonghwa leaned in closer to look at the painting of himself. „It’s unbelievable. That is much prettier than I am in real life!“
Hongjoong shook his head. „That‘s just how I see you.“
And when Seonghwa looked at him, almost in disbelief, he only noticed what he had said just now.
He didn‘t take back the words, both of them silent for a bit. That‘s when he saw how dark it had gotten all of a sudden outside Seonghwa‘s window.
„I, uhm-“
„Do you wanna-„
They both spoke at the same time.
„I should probably get going-“
„Stay for dinner?“
This time, when they interrupted each other, they both seemed shy about it, no one wanting to be the first to break the following silence.
„It’s getting kind of late“, Hongjoong eventually said.
Seonghwa slowly nodded. „Yeah, you‘re right.“
As they both got up from their seats, to say their goodbyes, the crashing of thunder made them flinch. And then, when Seonghwa moved to the window, cracking it slightly open, the sound of pouring rain entered the room along with the calming smell of a summer storm.
Hongjoong frowned. „Ugh, I will be absolutely drenched by the time I get home.“
„You live on the other side of campus, right?“
He nodded.
„It also doesn‘t look like it‘s going to clear up anytime soon“, Seonghwa said, checking the weather app on his phone.
When he tucked it away, he looked up at Hongjoong. „Do you wanna stay here?“
He almost looked hopeful.
And Hongjoong knew that he shouldn‘t. Knew that he had already overstepped his own boundaries by spending this much time with Seonghwa, by letting himself get so close to him.
But when he heard yet another crash of thunder outside, and thought about his long way back without an umbrella, he found himself nodding.
„Yeah“, he breathed. „If that would be okay for you?“
„Of course!“, Seonghwa said, his eyes lighting up. „How about dinner and a movie? I still have enough leftovers in the fridge for the both of us.“
That‘s how they somehow ended up in Seonghwa‘s bed, Hongjoong wearing one of Seonghwa‘s shirts and sweatpants that were too large on his body, a laptop in the space in between them. Like the canvas, a small barrier to separate them, barely there.
He could feel the warmth of Seonghwa‘s body next to his, and if he were brave enough he could close the gap by just extending his hand, or shifting his weight a tiny bit.
Hongjoong was completely frozen up, overly aware of how close they were.
They were watching a sad movie, about an old soul who didn‘t have any lives left anymore. Seonghwa had wanted to watch it, and Hongjoong hadn‘t had it in him to tell him that it hit too hard for him, that it made his heart clench and his throat tighten.
Yet it was not him who started crying towards the end of the movie. It was Seonghwa.
„Hey, are you okay“, Hongjoong asked as he heard the first sniffle and saw a tear rolling down Seonghwa‘s cheek, illuminated by the light of the screen.
He let out a sad laugh, rubbing his face. „Yeah“, he said. „I‘m just a crybaby when it comes to stuff like this. It‘s just the saddest thing I can imagine. To know you don‘t have any time left.“
Hongjoong was quiet for a second, before shoving the laptop away, getting rid of the last barrier between them. And then he pulled him into a hug, placing his head on his own chest and letting his fingers run through his hair.
It was soft under his touch, and Seonghwa melted into his chest with a sniffle.
„I‘m sorry“, he murmured.
„Don‘t be, it‘s endearing.“
They watched the rest of the movie like this, with Seonghwa‘s head on Hongjoong‘s chest and his fingers in his hair. No one making any attempts to move.
When the end credits rolled, Hongjoong closed the laptop and put it on the nightstand, clouding them in darkness. And then he pulled Seonghwa close again, their legs entwining a bit under the blanket.
„It stopped raining“, Hongjoong whispered into the silence.
„I know“, Seonghwa replied. And then he looked up at him. „Stay anyway?“
Slowly, Hongjoong nodded. Even though he knew it was selfish to do so. But he didn‘t care, not tonight.
Again, his eyes darted to Seonghwa‘s lips. His lips that were so close again, closer than before even, and slightly ajar as he let his tongue dart out to run over them for a fraction of a second as he looked up at him.
And at that moment, Hongjoong felt himself getting weak. Felt his resolutions slip away under his fingertips that were buried in Seonghwa‘s hair.
„Seonghwa?“, he breathed.
He hummed, eyes wide.
„Can I-“, he started, letting his eyes fall to his lips again. „Can I kiss you?“
A breath of silence between them.
„Please.“
And then he leaned forward, closing the gap between them. His lips brushing against Seoghwa‘s, soft, barely there. Until Seonghwa moved to return the kiss, pressing closer, until they properly touched.
His lips tasted of salt and farewells. Salt from the tears he had shed, and farewells because Hongjoong knew, knew deep down, that this would be the only time he would allow himself to kiss him like this.
Like they were meant to be together. Like he was meant to be the soul to find Seonghwa, not the character in a movie whose fate had put the salt on his lips in the first place.
Today, he allowed himself this fantasy. Allowed for his lips to move against Seonghwa‘s. For his hands to trail down his chest and wrap around his waist. To plant kisses along his jaw and neck, bite down gently to leave a tiny bruise.
To leave them both gasping as they clung onto each other, desperate.
When they broke the kiss, Seonghwa wasn‘t crying anymore. But Hongjoong felt like he might just do.
So instead of saying anything, instead of destroying the tranquility of the moment with a quivering voice, he embraced Seonghwa again. Pulled him into a hug, letting him tuck his head under his chin.
And like this, with only the sound of their breathing between them, they fell asleep.
☼
After that, things changed.
They didn‘t talk about the kiss, and they didn‘t kiss again, not the next day and not the day after and not as the weeks went by one by one. The moment contained to the night in Seonghwa‘s bed, like a pocket universe, as they continued their mornings on the hill and their afternoons at the library and their small meetings when Hongjoong sometimes stopped at the campus café to get coffee.
But something changed in the way Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong. With even more wonder than usual, like Hongjoong was the answer to a question he had long been looking for.
And Hongjoong tried to tell himself that he didn‘t feel the same. Didn’t enjoy how comfortable they had gotten around each other. How much he craved the little fleeting touches Seonghwa left on him in passing, how he rested his head on his shoulder sometimes, how he pulled him into a tight embrace when they seperated.
How right it all felt.
It was a normal day, like any other, but without the dread a deja-vu usually held for Hongjoong. A comfortable familiarity in its place.
Seonghwa had his head on Hongjoong‘s shoulder as he painted, the philosophy book closed in his lap. And Hongjoong could feel that something was plaguing his mind.
„What is wrong?“, he asked.
Seonghwa sighed. „How could you tell?“
Hongjoong smiled. „You are an open book. It doesn‘t happen too often that you‘re like this.“
He was quiet for a moment.
„I guess I have just been doing a lot of thinking.“
„About what?“
„Lately I‘ve just been realizing a few things. I‘ve realized that I‘m scared.“
Hongjoong put his brush away immediately, dedicating his attention to Seonghwa, to the moment.
„What are you scared of?“, he asked.
„I just - I look around and I am the only person I know who has never done this before. Who is living their first life. And I feel like everyone is ahead of me. They know how life works, they know who they are, and they are not so-“, he didn‘t finish his words.
„So what?“
„So lonely.“
Seonghwa shifted closer. „It is so hard to start like this, knowing there is no one I am looking for, because I don‘t have any souls I am familiar with. No friends from past lives, no one who is waiting to find me.“
Hongjoong didn‘t interrupt him, just listened - because it seemed like he needed to talk about this.
„All my relationships, they just seem so superficial, compared to what I see others have. Even with people I‘ve known since middle school. I’m afraid there will be no one looking for me in my next life, and I will have to start all over again. That I will be all alone.“
He sighed.
„I wonder if it’s because I‘m so new to all of this. So new to living.“
His eyes trailed up to meet Hongjoong‘s. „The only one I feel different about is you.“
Hongjoong was taken aback by the confession. He had not expected it, not here, not today, not with Seonghwa sounding so vulnerable, so raw.
„Me?“
„Yes, you“, he said. „I feel like I have known you longer than I actually have. And I feel like - I feel like I want to know you forever. I don‘t want this to ever end.“
It hurt Hongjoog‘s heart to hear this, and to know he felt the same way. Never wanted this to end, even when he knew it would eventually. Much too soon.
There was sudden determination in Seonghwa‘s eyes. Purpose, as he shifted closer to Hongjoong, so there was barely any space between them. The painting, the light through the leaves, long forgotten.
It couldn‘t compare to Seonghwa‘s beauty anyway.
„I want to ask you this time“, Seonghwa said. „I was too scared to do it the first time, I waited and waited, hoping you would be the first one to do it, and you did. But now I‘m not scared anymore, at least not of this.“
He took a deep breath. „Can you kiss me, Hongjoong?“
Hongjoong shakily exhaled, overwhelmed by the sudden emotion in Seonghwa‘s voice, by how close he was to him and by how beautiful he looked in the morning sun. How much he wanted this.
You can‘t be selfish forever, a voice called inside his head.
Allow yourself this. Allow yourself to be happy with him , another said.
And suddenly the first one didn‘t matter anymore.
When their lips touched, and their hands found their place on each other, Seonghwa’s around Hongjoong‘s neck and Hongjoong‘s on Seonghwa‘s waist, it felt perfect.
Like this was what they were supposed to be doing. Like this was what Hongjoong had been lacking in all his lives.
They kissed, their lips moving together and tongues intertwining, letting their hands roam each other’s bodies. And it was sweet. So, so sweet, just trailing the line of getting heated, almost there, but not quite.
And when they pulled back, when they broke their kiss, Seonghwa spoke again.
„Can you promise me something?“, he asked, urgency in his words.
„Anything“, Hongjoong breathed without hesitation.
A hand on his, interlacing their fingers. „Find me. In our next life. Remember me, and come find me again.“
Hongjoong froze. You said you‘d promise him anything.
„I will not be naive and lie to myself that I will remember my first life. No matter how much I want to. But if I can take just one thing from this life into the next one, I want it to be you. So please“, he said, almost begging. „Please remember for the both of us. I don‘t want to be alone.“
And it broke Hongjoong‘s heart. To want to give him anything, everything, and know that he was asking for the one thing he could never, ever give him.
„Seonghwa, I-“
I can‘t do this for you. Because this is my last life.
„I promise“, he said instead, because the truth would hurt Seonghwa too much. Would hurt Hongjoong too much.
„I promise you will never be alone. Not in any of your lives.“
It was not a false promise. He knew that Seonghwa‘s dream would become true - that he would find a soul and fall deeply in love with them. That he would find them over and over again, and have his happy end. That he would never be alone.
But it broke his heart knowing it would never be him.
And when he kissed him again, the taste of farewells was overwhelming.
☼
When he got home, Hongjoong broke down in the safety of his own four walls.
He had been selfish. He had been so centered around himself, around the fact that he was a dying man and that this was the last life he would ever live, that he had completely forgotten about one crucial fact.
That Seonghwa would not remember him.
He should have known this all along, he should not have been this overwhelmed by it coming to the surface of his mind, but he had simply not allowed himself to think of it. Had not allowed himself to accept that it was true.
He had always known he‘d never remember Seonghwa, because he would not have a life to remember him in.
But he hadn‘t thought about the fact that Seonghwa would also not remember him.
And now the knowledge that this, all of this that they shared, would all be over and become nothing but lost memories, dust in the wind, hit him full force.
A fist, punching him in his stomach, the impact bringing tears into his eyes.
And he started sobbing. His face buried in his hands, as he sat on his bed and let it all out. All the emotions he had suppressed all this time and that were now flooding him.
I‘m in love with Seonghwa.
The thought sounded so right, like he had always known, but yet again, not allowed himself to realize.
I am so, so in love with him. How did this happen?
How could it have gone any other way? Of course he was in love with him. Seonghwa, with his kind words and passion for the small things in life and the wonder, all that wonder in his eyes that overwhelmed Hongjoong every time he looked into them.
He wanted him to have the world. Wanted him to have everything he ever dreamed of, and yet he knew that he was the person that could never give him the one thing he was craving the most.
And Hongjoong knew he had let things go too far.
☼
He didn‘t go to their meeting spot atop the hill the next morning, without sending Seonghwa an explanation as to why he wasn‘t there. And he felt horrible about it. But he knew it was the right thing to do.
Seonghwa texted him about it, sounding concerned. And Hongjoong didn‘t respond, didn‘t know what to say and how to explain things to him.
He didn‘t come the next morning either. Or the one after. And he also didn’t show up for philosophy class, or at the library, scared to run into him. Scared he would not know how to face him without telling him he was in love with him.
Seonghwa‘s texts became more and more desperate, every day.
Monday
Hongjoong, please tell me what is wrong. Why are you avoiding me like this?
Tuesday
Is it because of the kiss? Because of what I said?
Wednesday
I’m so sorry. I wish I had never said anything.
Thursday
Please, I take it all back if that’s what it takes. I don‘t want to lose you.
Friday
Can we please just talk? I will leave you alone afterwards, I swear. I just need an explanation.
Everything seemed to become lackluster after he stopped seeing Seonghwa.
He tried to paint, tried to finish his contributions for the exhibition, but everything felt flat. No life in any of his paintings, like a cheap copy of what life had felt like with Seonghwa.
Almost like how Hongjoong had seen the world through his own eyes, before Seonghwa had taught him how to see it through his.
On Saturday, Hongjoong felt himself become weak. And as he made his way across an almost empty campus, he found himself stopping in front of the café, looking inside.
He just needed to see him. Needed to see the wonder in his eyes and remind himself why he was doing this - that he was avoiding him so Seonghwa could find what he truly deserved. Someone who could be with him for all his lives, someone who could keep that wonder alive.
To not stand in his way.
But as he looked through the glass, his eyes finding Seonghwa who was working behind the counter, he seemed to not be quite himself. Not like the first time he had seen him at the café, not as chipper, not as beaming.
He looked like one of Hongjoong‘s paintings. A copy of what he had been before.
Hongjoong wished he had never come to see him.
That evening, Seonghwa texted him again.
I will not bother you anymore after this. I promise, I‘ll leave you alone. I just want you to know that tomorrow will be the last time I will be on the hill, waiting for you.
Hongjoong looked at his paintings, looked at the world around him. How empty it all felt. And in a moment of weakness, he started typing.
I‘ll be there
☼
The sunrise was so beautiful as Hongjoong arrived on the top of the hill, it was almost as if it was mocking him.
Like the crimson of the candle placed atop a birthday cake, before a breath would take it away.
Seonghwa was already sitting on the bench as he arrived at the clearing, and for a moment Hongjoong let himself pretend that everything was okay. That he had just come up here like he did every day, to see Seonghwa and to paint and maybe to kiss him, too.
Not to say goodbye.
When he sat down on the bench next to him, an unfamiliar distance between them, Seonghwa‘s eyes went wide. And then it was quiet, for a long time.
„You actually came“, Seonghwa said after a while.
„I told you I would, didn‘t I?“
He nodded. „I just didn‘t quite want to allow myself to believe it.“
It was a knife in Hongjoong‘s chest, the blade sharpened by guilt to cut smoothly through his flesh.
They fell into silence again as they looked at the crimson in the sky. The last one they‘d see together.
„Why didn‘t you tell me?“, Seonghwa said. And for a moment, Hongjoong was convinced that he knew. That he had put one and one together and found out the reason Hongjoong was avoiding him - that this was his last life, that he was a dying man, his days counted.
„Why didn‘t you tell me you didn‘t see me the same way?“
And at that, Hongjoong‘s eyes went wide. What was he saying?
„I know I can be a lot sometimes, with this being my first life and all“, Seonghwa said, looking at his feet. „I know that I talk a lot and that I get overly excited about mundane things and that it‘s dumb and naive of me to cling onto that idea that I will find love again in every life like my parents have. I get it, if you find it ridiculous. And I get it if you‘re sick of me. I just wish you had told me, instead of avoiding me like this.“
He shook his head, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.
This was not at all how he had planned for this to go.
„Seonghwa, no. That is not true, none of it“, Hongjoong said, the thought alone painful that Seonghwa thought he saw him like that.
„And it is not naive of you to want that. To find someone you will fall in love with, life and life again. I want nothing more for you. I want you to have this future so desperately - and I know that you will. You will find that someone.“
He swallowed. Why were his eyes burning so much all of a sudden? Why was it so hard to get these words past the lump in his throat?
„But it won‘t be me. It can‘t be me.“
Seonghwa looked up, but avoided his eyes as he nodded. He pressed his lips together tightly as his eyes glossed over.
„I‘m sorry“, he said quietly. „I shouldn‘t have assumed you feel the same way about me as I do about you. It was naive.“
He moved to get up from his seat, but Hongjoong‘s hand around his wrist stopped him.
„God, Seonghwa. But I do.“
And finally, Seonghwa met his eyes. They looked as if they had a glimmer of hope in them that he was trying to contain, keep down.
„What are you saying?“, Seonghwa asked, his brows drawn together.
„You are everything to me.“
There was desperation in his voice.
How could he ever put it into words? How could he banish that frown from Seonghwa‘s face, let him know what he meant to him? How could he tell him how scared he was to lose him?
„You - you’ve changed how I view the world around me“, Hongjoong said. „You brought back a sense of wonder to the things I’ve found dull and monotone before. You made me feel something, something different than apathy.“
He swallowed, trying to get the words he needed to say past his constricting throat.
„Everything you said, all these things - those are the things that made me fall in love with you.“
Seonghwa froze in place, confusion written all over his features.
„You‘re in love with me?“
„How could I not be?“
He shook his head. „I don’t understand. Then why are you saying you can’t be that person for me?“
The knife twisted in Hongjoong’s chest. „I would give up everything to be him. That soul that will find you again in our next life, and the next.“ He swallowed. „But I can‘t .“
„Why not?“, he sounded confused, almost desperate. „I might not be able to find you, but you can do it. I know you can. You have found your friends, too, the ones from your past lives. You told me that yourself.“
He shook his head. „I want to, so badly.“
„Then why can’t you be with me?“
And at that moment, Hongjoong knew there was no point in denying it any longer. No point in lying to Seonghwa, no point in lying to himself, that there would be a future. Hongjoong knew it was time.
He took a deep breath.
„Because this is my last life, Seonghwa.“
His words resonated in the air between them for a moment, ebbing out into the silence that fell. Like they needed to linger a bit before their impact.
And then Seonghwa‘s face fell. His eyes, those eyes that usually held so much wonder for everything around him, only displayed pain now.
„What?“
He stood up, drawing his wrist out of Hongjoong’s loose grip, and took a step back. As if he could run away from the words.
Hongjoong stood up, too. As if he could make him stay that way.
„I can’t be with you, because this is it“, Hongjoong said, his voice suddenly close to breaking. „This might be your beginning - but it is the end for me.“
Seonghwa shook his head.
„How - how can you be so sure? There‘s no way you can know. Maybe you have some more left? You must have.“
„Hwa.“
„Please. Tell me you aren’t sure“, he said, desperation clinging to his words like morning dew to the grass. „Tell me you might have more lives left. Even just one more.“
He exhaled shakily. „I don‘t.“
„How can you know?“, he insisted.
„I have always known. Always.“
Seonghwa opened his mouth again in protest, but then closed it again. He looked at Hongjoong as if he was waiting for him to take his words back, to tell him everything would be okay.
But Hongjoong didn‘t. Because he knew it wouldn‘t be true, no matter how much they wished for it.
„This is so unfair“, Seonghwa eventually breathed. Sounding like he had given up.
Hongjoong could only nod. „I know.“
Seonghwa kept blinking and looking around, like he was desperately trying not to cry. And then his eyes widened.
„But - then how will I remember you?“, he asked. „In my next life, if you‘re not there to find me, does that mean all of this will disappear? That I‘ll forget you?“
„You will.“
„But, I can’t .“
„None of me will remain, but that is okay“, Hongjoong said, his tone soothing as if he was comforting a child. As if he was talking about someone else's death, and not his own. „I have remained for long enough.“
He shook his head, and as he did, tears were glittering in his eyes.
„Not for me though. Why not for me?“
It was a question Hongjoong had no answer for. A question he would never have an answer to.
„I‘m so sorry.“
That was all he could say. And then it was quiet, as if they were both grieving silently, for a death that had not yet come. And in that silence, Seonghwa‘s tears began to fall. Not as a sob, but as a quiet farewell.
„Are you scared? Of dying?“
„I have never been“, Hongjoong answered truthfully. „I was always so calm about it, because it was unavoidable, and because it was time. But I‘m scared now. For the first time in this life, I‘m scared of the end.“
His eyes met Seonghwa‘s, and he felt them burning. Felt the tears fill them, blurring his vision. „I‘m scared to lose you.“
Seonghwa took a step towards him. Placing a hand on his chest, carefully, as if he would break him.
„You have me.“
Hongjoong smiled at him, but he knew it was a pained smile.
„I wish I did. But we both know you can‘t waste your time with a dying man. This is your dream after all - to find someone who can find you again.“
Seonghwa frowned, burying his fingers in Hongjoong’s shirt.
„I don‘t want them, if they‘re not you.“
„Hwa, but I-“
„We‘re alive now, aren‘t we?", he said, with determination in his eyes.
„But we only have this one together“, Hongjoong said.
Seonghwa nodded. „And that is exactly why I want to spend it with you. Because it is our only chance.“
Hongjoong wanted to tell him to let him go. To forget him. To go find someone who could be for him what he wanted - what he needed.
But he couldn‘t. Not when Seonghwa was looking at him like this. Not when Hongjoong was much too selfish to let him go.
„This life is all I‘ve ever known“, Seonghwa said. „So I don’t know much about the world - I don’t know much about living. But I know that in this one, the sun will rise again tomorrow and the light will fall through the leaves and I will still be in love with you. All these things might not remain forever, but they are here now. And I will catch every sunrise that I can. With you.“
And without Hongjoong noticing, he had started to cry. Tears were suddenly on his cheeks, and when Seonghwa cupped his face, swiping them away with his fingers, he pulled him into an embrace.
„I‘m in love with you, too, Seonghwa.“ He leaned his head on Seonghwa‘s shoulder, holding him tight, as if he would disappear if he didn‘t.
„And I don‘t know what to do.“
„Let‘s be selfish, together. Just this once. Just for this life.“
And Hongjoong could only nod. Because it sounded so sweet, so tempting - to hold up the illusion that they could be together, for as long as they could.
„Okay“, he whispered, leaning back to look at Seonghwa.
And then he kissed him. Took his face in his hands as if he was fragile, as if he would break if he just pressed a bit too hard - and kissed him. And then again. And again.
It felt selfish - but Hongjoong didn't care. He would kiss Seonghwa as much as his life would allow him to.
Because he only had this life to do so.
☼
The day of the vernissage, Hongjoong’s world was tinted with the shade of melancholy.
It hit him sometimes, without warning, without giving him a chance to shield himself from the emotions that completely engulfed him. Reminding him of his limited time. Reminding him of the end.
But maybe that‘s just what dying was like.
Seonghwa was with him, insisting on accompanying him to see his work showcased. And Hongjoong was not quite sure if his presence soothed his feelings of melancholy, or amplified them. But even if it was the latter, he wouldn‘t have it any other way.
Light through the leaves of a tree.
A sunrise.
Seonghwa.
Hongjoong found himself standing in front of his three pieces that he had submitted for his classes exhibition, alone, as Seonghwa had quickly gone to greet a friend.
„You can be very proud of your work, Hongjoong.“
His professor stepped up next to him as she said these words.
„You like them?“, Hongjoong asked.
She nodded. „In the beginning of the class, you just painted what you saw, without actually seeing . Almost as if you had been bored of the world. But in these pieces - it feels like you didn‘t just paint them. You really captured their essence. Like someone who saw them for the first time would view them, taking in everything that they can, filtered through a sense of wonder.“
Hongjoong smiled.
„Thank you, professor. Someone helped me see these things in that way. Because I had forgotten.“
For a moment, they just looked at the paintings together, surrounded by silence.
„Although, I must say“, his professor eventually added. „When I decided on the theme, I did not think anyone would submit a portrait. What remains . It is not what first comes to mind. But you seemed set on your decision.“
Hongjoong nodded. „If anything, I am confident that this is the one that fits the theme best, professor.“
And at that moment, Seonghwa came up next to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and placing his chin on Hongjoong’s shoulder.
„I‘m so proud of you. These turned out so beautiful.“
Hongjoong could see his professor looking in between him and Seonghwa, furrowing her brow as if she was trying to solve a riddle. And then, her eyes glanced from Seonghwa to the portrait on the wall, and back at Hongjoong, at how he held him tight, as if he were to disappear any moment. And something changed in the way she looked at them.
If she knew their situation, if she could see it in Seonghwa’s eyes that he had never lived before, and in Hongjoong’s that he would never live again, she didn‘t say. But in the way she smiled at Hongjoong, a sad, knowing smile, Hongjoong was almost sure she did.
And then she left them alone, almost as if he knew they needed every moment together that they could get.
„Thank you for coming here with me“, Hongjoong said, rubbing circles on the back of Seonghwa‘s hand. „It means a lot to me.“
„Of course“, he whispered. „I will spend every moment with you that I can.“
And then they looked at Hongjoong‘s paintings together.
At the light that fell through the leaves of the old oak tree.
At the sunrise on top of the hill where they had met every morning.
At the portrait of Seonghwa.
Dozens of people had looked at it before. His professor. The other students. The people who had come to view the exhibition. Seonghwa.
But no one except for Hongjoong knew about the envelope that was stuck to the back of the canvas, hidden in plain sight. And inside, the letter.
The letter that contained everything he wanted to say to Seonghwa. Everything he was too scared to say to him.
Dear Seonghwa.
There are many things that I would like to tell you. Many things I would want you to remember, if the world was fair, and if wishes could become true.
I would want you to remember how dull life was to me, before you stepped into it. How much the world and all things in it had lost their meaning in my eyes, my eyes that had seen them over and over again until they had become dull and replaceable, black and white.
How you brought these things alive again, painted them in color, through the wonder that lays in your eyes, so intense it is almost suffocating at times. Overwhelming in its unfamiliarity.
You are gentle, and kind, and treat everything around you like it is precious, like it will disappear under your fingertips if you touch it even a breath too roughly.
Will I disappear under your fingertips, too, one day?
The world is beautiful. Life is beautiful. It is so, so beautiful. And I don‘t want it to end, not now that I can finally share it with you.
I am scared. But I think that is a good thing.
I would want you to remember all of these things. All of the things you did to make this last life special to me. All of the things we did together, all of the moments we shared, all of the things I love about you.
But I know that you won‘t.
Yet something inside of me whispers to me to write them down nevertheless, all these things that I want you to know, that I want you to remember.
Because what else can I do? A flicker of hope still remains, an unreasonable voice in my head that tells me that maybe this is all not for nothing.
Maybe, if you read this letter enough times, you will remember these words. Maybe, if I kiss you enough times, you will remember the feeling of my lips on yours. Maybe, if I tell you that I love you enough times, a part of you will know it and carry it over to the next you.
You will never remember me. That much I know. You will never remember my name, or my face, or the things we did together. But if I can make even a small part of you remember that you were loved, that you were so, so loved - that is the most important thing I will have done in all my lives.
Yours until the end,
Hongjoong
Maybe one day he would give the letter to Seonghwa, so he could read these words and know what he meant to him. Maybe Hongjoong would even be brave enough to tell him himself.
But he was in no rush. The words could wait.
They had their whole life.