gnhaedam

[gnhaedam]

{ . . . } "haedam?" he whispers, feeling along the back of the factory tentatively. "are you here?"

the table where he settles, the table where he falls. everything has always been practiced to him, but he's never had to learn how to sit so close to wanting, not anything with an ache like that because he knew it to be familiar, he knew saein and he knew his memories that followed him everywhere, like the angels did, expected them to come back, yes, he was good at pretending with that. pretending not to see, but with saein sitting right in front of him, it's all he can see-- all he tries not to, caught up in idle conversation led by his parents, conversation ignored to the moon's and haedam's every attempt at connection is something that passes, a gaze to one side, the other, saein right in front of him. saein right in front of him.

he eats, it's empty. he whispers a quiet reminder to the food, hushed, for him and his parents, before they let it touch their mouths. to the mountain our thanks, to the mountain we return, thank you for this meal, for providing us with the nourishment we need to thrive. us, to flourish, us to give back to what you have given. to the mountain, for the mountain, thanks-- we give our thanks.

a touch, too much to ask. a gaze, something he can barely afford, but he's greedy for, finding each moment he can pass it off if only to keep proving to himself again and again that saein is right there to return it, content to look even if saein is looking down at the table, if he can't catch his gaze, it's enough to see him sitting there, so far and yet so close.

the evening drags. that pen burns in his pocket, and when he rises for a break to the bathroom, it's with the swipe of a piece of paper on a counter. a ripped edge, scrawled against the wall and tucked back into his pocket before anyone can even inquire after him being gone. that red ink that bleeds across the town because of his own fingers, the bleeding that he really only ever wanted saein to come back and see, and now it's all he can do to reveal himself right in his gaze. that wanting, all it does is burn, move him forward.

so he slips it into his pocket.

it's the closest he's been and yet he is unable to linger, it's supposed to be a moment, forgotten, for anyone else but the two of them. it's all he could manage, on the way out and right behind his parents, bidding them an evening's walk back home even if his heart won't stop shaking in his chest. those postcards, tucked away back home where haedam's been reading over them, pressing fingertip to page just to touch, a world away, even if the words aren't meant for him, it was still saein he was looking for.

…

it's saein he's looking for.

the window had creaked open easy, something practiced, these nights, done with bated breath and careful, calloused fingers, dressed in worn jeans and holding his boots in one hand, thumping down to the ground and easing his way off of the property. he'd taken this route before, barefoot and feeling the wind creep past the gaps in his button down, flashlight in his shoes, laces swinging, until he finally puts them on when the sidewalks start turning up and it's no longer grass beneath his feet anymore. to the mountain, he'll have the mountain with him, just how he likes, rumbling right within his grasp.

eun factory is a ghost, it's familiar. there's a part of him that wonders if saein even would think the red bled onto the page was haedam reaching out for him in his own way, would even meet him here after all these years, when he remembers how their voices used to sound echoing off the walls, the laughter, the creeping feeling that they shouldn't be there, but there was adventure in it, anyways. adventure, with saein, with the mountain watching over them.

mountain forgive him. he had been finding so much refuge in the night, lately, and now saein was out there waiting for him in it. he hopes, he hopes. it's all he's ever done, and it is all he knows.

his boots kick up dust, then dirt. he edges around the factory for that fence that's rusting into the ground, right before the break of trees that loom, dark and wanting, just in the sights of it. the mountain watching, too, a presence behind him, no angels to follow him here into the dark. his fingers skirt the bricks, flashlight tucked into his back jeans pocket, and he stops, breath in his throat, when he hears a voice.

his heartbeat loud in his ears, he keeps walking, keeps trailing a path against the dirt and the bricks, mountain forgive him, mountain forgive him, he thinks he forgot home until he knew it again right now. right now.

"saein?" he says, quiet, quiet. there, a figure in the dark, he thinks, squinting through the long grass overgrown, the forest that threatens to overtake. "i'm here. is that you?" he calls out, steps again, once more.

maybe an angel, maybe who he's been looking for ever since he left.

[gnhaedam]

" the mountain talks to me in the way the world moves, like its hands are the air that brushes the leaves through the trees. do you feel it? have you ever felt it? " -- for @gntaesung

haedam's fingers are covered in cotton candy. it's not his fault, really, the fresh spun sugar more of a temptation than he could help himself, and it's with sticky fingers that he pulls his phone out of his pocket when he feels it vibrate.

another picture, taesung's contact preceding a steady line of images, mostly gureum, his cat, and daisy, a new horse that had recently been introduced to the stables, standing shakily on new, long legs, coat golden in the sun. haedam squints at the image to find that he's already here at the carnival, and surprisingly, the edge of this booth lines up with one he swears he had just seen before he made a beeline for the treat.

he retraces his steps, picture out on his phone as he tries to match memory with the reality he sees in front of him, stepping around carnival goers and doing his best to keep his cotton candy from sticking to anything nearby before he even gets to finish eating it.

there, a familiar outline. haedam's memory provides, a shape of taesung behind the counter at the cakery, at the front door to his house, cake in his hands, as haedam keeps the door open with a hip, calls out to his mom that it's just the dessert they ordered-- full moon, where it outlines the edge of the mountain, and they prosper, and they thank.

smiling, he pockets the phone and makes his way around, popping into view with a grin that indents both of his cheeks, a surprise, like when you turn the corner in the funhouse mirrors and find yourself standing there, distorted and stretched, a distant call of a bell, the jaunted, sharp tones of music.

"hey! i didn't know you were going to be here." he greets, surprised about the coincidence, too, and only thinking now that he could've texted he was on the way to find him before he showed up.

still, he offers his cotton candy in between them. "would you like some? it's a lovely night, but it's already getting deflated from when i first got it. there seems to be a sad sort of wind coming from the mountain-- it's cold tonight, isn't it?"

[gnhaedam]

20.

"there is no one watching the pool at the resort at night. just saying."

haedam looks over at him at the mention of the pool, eyebrows raised at the thought. "how do you even know that?" he's shaking his head even as he says it, smiling, kicking a rock that's in front of his boot. he's been propelling it forward as they walk, something to come along with them as they chat.

he's been here his whole life and he didn't even know that, but he supposes he doesn't go looking for these types of things, and it's not something the mountain would encourage him to do, either. personal gain, maybe, but all he would think about are the eyes, and the angels, watching him as he goes places he shouldn't.

but he's been going a lot of places he shouldn't, recently.

"are you saying you'd want to go?" he asks, and maybe most of the challenges he'd been presenting himself with lately were self-made, brought on by curiosity and something tightly woven inside of him that he's started to try and undo all of the knots, something pushed down and rotting, something like missing out on all of the things he has because of what his parents wanted. what the mountain wanted.

even when he sneaks off to take plunges into the lake, he usually goes in his clothes. even then, it feels like there's something out there in the trees, waiting to call him back, pull him out through the surface of the water.

"do you think it'd be cold?" haedam wouldn't mind, even if his mind keeps getting stuck on the how to get there, how to not be found. all he's ever figured out is how to sneak out of his house, even if the window still creaks. would anyone even be looking? waiting, like haedam worries they are?

the lake's cold in the winter, but haedam still dips his feet in when he wants to remember.

[gnhaedam]

19

"i won't give up on you."

"the mountain forgives you if you do." haedam mutters, flat on his back in the mud. it's not like it hasn't happened to him before, and being covered in dirt, especially after coming home from work, was certainly something he was used to. but he'd come all the way here to deliver the usual from his mother to sangwook, and this is exactly why he hates shoes-- had lost his balance and stumbled over a heel and ended up shattering the jars on the ground next to him on the way down.

he knows it's a sorry sight. the jam's mixing in with the dirt, returned to the earth, to the mountain, at least, but he'll have to pick up all of these shards of glass, and somehow navigate himself out of it in the first place.

he flops his head back down on the ground, peering up at the figure of sangwook, defeated. "maybe you should just leave me here. the animals will come and get me and take me back to the forest. lick up all of the jam. mountain forgive me." haedam huffs, but there's a smile on his mouth, trying to make light of it as he can. it's all over his hands, otherwise he'd ask for help up.

nevermind the thought of his mother learning of all that he'd wasted in his clumsiness-- at least the basket was salvageable, even if he'd have to have something to carry back all of the pieces.

"i'll bring you back new ones for the trouble, once i get all this cleaned up. some extra, too. ah-- at least it smells nice, right?" he says, and does his best to sit up, lip between his teeth as he gingerly brushes the glass off of his jeans.

[gnhaedam]

{ . . . } "hello...may i help you?" he looks to the open door, swiftly stepping past to shut off the incoming chill from his not-so-well insulated work in progress. "and how did you get in here?"

peering down the hallway is easier in the daylight. had it been night, and the shadows stretched long, perhaps he wouldn't have had the same heart for it, only to see a face coming into view. sees the way he rubs at his head, and figures that must have been where the noise had come from. it's what has him stepping carefully further into the house, bowing at the inconvenience he may have caused.

not a ghost. just who he'd been looking for.

side steps when the one he'd been seeking goes to close the door. it's good habits, haedam thinks, to seal them away from what lurks right outside, right at the line of the forest, that follows him everywhere.

"hi, i'm seo haedam, i live nearby. i came to welcome you to town on behalf of my family, the mountain sends its wishes, too. we're all happy to see that you're back, that the house is filled." his cadence is low, kind. fingers curled around the basket, he offers it forward in explanation, everything presented neatly nestled by a square of embroidered cloth, florals of the mountain curving along it's silhouette. hesitates for a moment at his next question, jars rocking as he offers an easy smile, only a little sheepish.

"oh-- well. your door was open, and i heard a loud noise. i'm sorry for letting myself in, but i wanted to make sure you were alright. are you?" it seems like a work in progress, which haedam knows keenly himself, had just been patching another crack in the wall, earlier, methodical as he smoothed and sanded over where he had just mended it a few weeks prior.

notes the spill of screws and nails spilling across the floor, tilts his head a little. "have you been working on things all by yourself? quite a big house and a lot of years, to be handling it all on your own." a familiar burden, though haedam knows the mountain gives its challenges, that the house lived in is a house tended to, and the years would only ever increase that.

it's a small price to pay, to be able to stay within the mountain's reach.

[gnhaedam]

{ . . . } still, saein is looking at haedam, who wears the last six years for him to see. saein hardly recognizes him; saein recognizes him completely. inwards, he calls on the voice, is this what you meant to happen, but there's only a slim window of opportunity now and he can't afford to spend it waiting for an answer. there, as his parents greet haedam's out of formality, he has a split second to drift closer and do the only thing he can think of, which is to call out so quietly that he may just mouth the sound: haedam.

haedam doesn't turn his head. it's right there, a cool exhale against his cheek, and they've come close before, so he thinks this is the mountain telling him this is a good thing, this is real, the mountain is here with him in this moment, sending these angels down to watch with him, to see.

to see saein, walking closer. his parents who he hadn't seen in ages, but it's mostly because of his own-- for all of the friendship that he thought lingered there, in the family dinners where they joined him, small voice and constant message of blessings to the mountain, where they all watched on as he took over for his father before the food they ate.

a table empty, these past few years, since saein left. haedam hadn't ever understood the way his parents shifted once he wasn't around anymore, but he remembers how the communication almost cut off completely, thinly veiled pleasantries yet he could see the vile curl to their tongues when they talked about him. how the mountain gave so much for saein to disgrace it, and for his family to have failed him in showing the way, in showing just how much he was blessed to be here in the first place just to squander it all by leaving.

haedam had always quietly thought, that even if he was somewhere else in this world, he hoped it was a brighter one. a happier one. a more free one, and ached that he couldn't join him there, touch the world there, too, and know what it was like. it curls in his stomach like acid, it's a thought he shouldn't have. can't think of it, can't turn his head to the left, because it's just right there--

he breathes, focuses on saein. the same, and different, memory, and reality, here, now, he's what he focuses on instead of his parents, beside him, that wavering at the edge of his vision, testing him, the mountain, testing him. he keeps his hands to himself, devoid now of the jars that had been placed to the side with the rest of the presents, sliding them down his thighs, hesitating, a split second before he tucks them behind his back, polite.

closer, and closer, like the angel had just a moment ago. the bride startles at touch before she eases, like slipping into the cold water of the lake, what it's like when the angels get close enough he can feel that temperature like the water. when he dips all of the way under and watches the light reflect off the surface, the bottom cool even in the late summer months, chilled to the bone, to his core, where he thinks all of that aching and the wondering lie.

startlingly, he realizes he hadn't looked at his parents. had they seen him looking? he doesn't gaze to the left, but to the right, at his father, smiling, slipping to the side, incrementally farther from the moon's, tucking his mother along, an arm around her waist. he leaves haedam to face them, a united front like he's protecting them from something, like he's the mountain that blocks whatever he thinks lingers there, in saein's betrayal, in his family's failing.

they don't show it, but he sees it, feels it, palpable, and feels a swirl of guilt that they're blatant with it, in his eyes, but the bride and groom are so enraptured that he doesn't think it's obvious-- but to the moon's, maybe. he can't remember the last time they spoke, but didn't expect it to be here, didn't expect to see the edge of saein behind his mother, real and true and there.

"we would be delighted to attend your housewarming. the mountain welcomes the future of your family and your settling here, and we only hope you tend to your home and to the earth as you do your own marriage. it's how we've endured, and succeeded, ourselves." his father says, a pointed squeeze to his mother's waist, a nod towards haedam. the formalities are short, and simple, he barely acknowledges the moon's past a glance before he turns right back to the newlyweds.

it gives him a moment to look. turns to find saein and trails his gaze down to his lips, where there, it's so quiet, but he thinks he would hear him even if it wasn't out loud. it's his name.

haedam is good at reflections. he reflects back so much of what his parents expect of him, always has, has listened and learned and quietly mended the pieces of himself to fit into what they pictured for him, but in this moment, it cracks, just like that crack in the wall back home he keeps smoothing over and sanding down just for it to split again.

his eyes warm. he'd been trying so hard to carefully school his expression into something faceless, but he can't. he can't, with all of these years here, with how much he'd ached in all of them, all of those memories rolled up inside him with nowhere to go. those postcards stacked neatly and almost overfilling the box he hides out in the greenhouse, better than alone at that abandoned factory, the one he'd heard saein's voice echo in so many times while they explored. he remembered how the years even made that memory fade, no way to replicate it other than to imagine what it felt like, as he does, with the feeling of him at his side, too.

what it was like to have him repeat back his words to the mountain, so eager, back then, to hear saein say them. now, all he wants to hear is his name. he wants to hear his voice again, true, loud, right against his ear-- haedam turns his head just slightly and stills, fingers tightening in their tangled hold behind his back.

saein. he mouths. a moment, just a moment. there's so much he's been wanting to say, could say, but it's his name, that it ends up being, first. it's his name, that he'd been wanting to call out all of this time, but it ended up being that red written poetry, yanked from the very depths of his lungs and his guilt ridden stomach that he wished he was out there with him, and the words weren't the only thing tying them closer, that he could see them one day.

his hands untie behind his back. linger at his side, now, fingers trembling, if only he could reach. anything would be enough.

"haedam will ensure your home will be bountiful as long as you treat it with the same reverence as your union. peaceful, and long-lasting, as he's done for our own. won't you, son?" his mother boasts, and haedam's yanked from any reverie that would last, nodding, smiling, dimpled cheek and hair swooped back from his forehead, clean, practiced, reflected.

"i will. the mountain blesses us all as long as we return to it in the end. easy, especially with the wonderful dinner you have planned tonight. you helped provide some of the food we'll be eating, didn't you, mother?" he helped too, but he gives the credit to her, both working in the kitchen for the sealed containers they'd brought over previously, helping the bride's mother with the preparations.

clasping her hands together, the bride nods, leaning into that crook of an arm her husband provides her, and haedam, for a second, despite himself, loathes the ease at which they confide in each other, a room full of people and being able to hide away, there, in each other, while haedam stands alone, inches away from memories and a past he thought would never return to him.

it will do him no good with all of this hate in his heart, could feel the viscous curl of just how the mountain would think of him if he let it rot the good of the love that was here with his own selfishness.

if only being so close was so easy. "perhaps i shouldn't have snuck a taste, but i did so anyways, and it's delicious, really. you both have a knack for things in the kitchen, and it was so good of you to help your mother with carrying all of that over. i could only hope to have a son as kind as you one day, she barely lifted a finger." she leans a cheek against the groom, looks back around to the table set up in the background, dishes already being set forth.

"i have all of the table placements already set up, i believe you're actually across from each other! didn't you two know each other in school? i thought you might have a lot to catch up on." she continues, that excitement bubbling up tangibly, as she gestures to what she'd really done. what she'd done without knowing, as his parents try their best to school their expressions into smiles, nodding along, already leaning into the path over there if only to end the direct conversation they'd been keeping up altogether.

haedam lingers, thick in the air an expected acknowledgement if only the groom joins in to cut if off, complimenting her choice of colors, and table arrangements, the flowers they'd picked from the mountain to weave through.

he can't look at him again, only down, to the way he only desperately wishes to close the distance between them, to hear him speak his name out loud. asks the mountain for just this, because for them to be separated for so long only to endure moments apart in such proximity, it burns him even brighter, aches even deeper. has him lingering behind his parents, an exhale, fingers reaching.

a bridge, one he'd been hoping to make all of these years, every time he read saein writing about him to someone who wasn't him, writing to someone else even though haedam tucked them all away, greedy for memory, for comfort in that warmth.

for the mountain to please forgive him, please forgive him.

[gnhaedam]

— sentence starter game!

welcome to golden bell town's first ask box game! in order to participate, just reblog this post so others can send you messages - and please make sure your inbox is open (anon is not required). you are allowed to reblog this post and send others messages until thursday, november 23 - after this date, though no new asks can be sent, members are still allowed to post the messages they received previously.

send me a random number 1-50 off anon and i will write us a starter based on the list below (assumed connections might be implied!) ↴

"ready for an adventure tonight?"

"what's the plan now?"

"feeling brave enough?"

"i don't think this is the right way."

"i don't get scared easily."

"did you hear that noise just now?"

“i trusted you once and i’m never doing it again.”

"this place is giving me the creeps."

“it’s just a scratch, don’t worry.”

“i can’t do this without you.”

“what a dumb thing to say.”

“i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

"exploring an abandoned factory at night was a bad idea, huh?"

"shadows and secrets in yellow creek…"

"we're locked in!"

"i just saw something move…"

“i’m not crying. i don’t cry.”

"what do you think the forest is hiding?"

"i won't give up on you."

"there is no one watching the pool at the resort at night. just saying."

“i thought there would be stars.”

"gaenari city park, beautiful or creepy?"

"i know you're keeping a secret from me."

“why can’t you just let me go?”

"this silence feels too heavy."

“would a bonfire be too cliche?”

"is staying here tonight a good idea?"

"hooking up at a graveyard at night – what's the worst that can happen?"

“personally, i would choose violence.”

"i want to see your true face."

“it’s not your fault.”

“please just hold me.”

"tell me your favorite gaenari story."

“because i care about you, okay?”

"you look like you just saw a ghost."

“we could have been beautiful together.”

“why does every house look haunted?”

“don’t worry. this isn’t my first time doing this.”

“scream all you want. no one will hear you.”

"where is this fog coming from?"

“i told you not to do this.”

“surely they won’t even notice one or two cabbages missing.”

“i don’t even recognize you anymore.”

“maybe we should make our own escape room.”

“i’m happy that you feel safe with me.”

“i didn’t want to show up empty handed.”

“are you okay? i heard there was a fire…”

“this place is boring. let’s go somewhere else, just us.”

“the nightmares feel so real…”

“this is not a threat. it’s a promise.”

[gnhaedam]

" did you know that house comes from a family from before? the mountain welcomes them, it welcomes them back home. " -- for @emery-gn

if haedam didn't know any better, then he would guess that the angels lived here.

dark and looming at the edges of his vision, he thinks this house looks like the better part of their image, one where they'd reside at night while he sleeps, and they don't have reason to come and find him, to tell him whatever the mountain keeps trying to say but doesn't, even when haedam seeks it out.

but he does know better, as his mother busily shuffles around the kitchen. it's a woven basket she packs, steadily stacking inside labeled and ribbon laced jars of jams and pickles.

"i thought that house would've gone to ruin with it being sold off like that. see-- at least someone in that family has come to their senses." he leans against the table, having dressed down in a jacket and jeans to ward off the breeze that's started to kick up around town.

"your jams blessed by the mountain's bounty would bring anyone running back to town, i just know it." haedam murmurs, watching the smile grow on her face as she tucks a towel around them and hands the basket over, leading haedam to the door.

"go and tell him exactly what he's been missing, alright? and be back by the sun's fall, i'm making one of your favorites tonight." haedam would be back even without the promise, but he presses a kiss to her hair and makes his way out of the door, a cut across yellow creek that he's passed more times then he can count on his nightly walks.

the basket tucked in his arms, peering up at the house only has him pausing briefly, he has the mountain with him, always, so there is nothing to fear, but he thinks of all of the rumors, all of the stories his parents had eagerly retold to him once they heard the house was rebought by someone from the jang family, returned.

the little notes he scattered across town, blood red, we welcome newcomers to town as long as they stay. everyone who comes to settle here is always better for it.

he thinks it more likely for the angels to stay here, then a murderer, if people really wanted to go by rumors. it's what propels him forward, to the door with a few resolute knocks against the surface, leaning back on the heels of his boots. haedam wouldn't leave everything out here when his mother packaged it all too well, but he doesn't necessarily wish to walk back home with it still in his hands, either.

the loud noises he hears coming from within answer for him. a concerning cluster of sounds, enough that his eyebrows furrow as he calls out. "hello? are you okay?" one more knock, and his hand slips to the handle, thinking if someone was in there and needed his help, hesitating on the front doorstep wouldn't do them any favors.

to his surprise, the door swings open.

"is anyone in here?" he calls out, basket swinging, as he peers inside. no, not the things of murderers or ghosts, but warm, lived in, worked on. either that, or the angels really were keeping it tidy, welcoming him in with a clatter.

they'd always been louder closer to home.

[gnhaedam]

as you make your way to the greenhouse, you notice a weird static in the air. on a low branch nearby, a post-it note is waiting for you, much like the ones you leave around town. when you hold it up to inspect the scribbles in red ink, a sudden gush of wind snags it from your hand and presses it to your face for a second or two, and you swear you hear a faint laughter in the distance. the static goes away as you read the words "see you soon" on the little note.

the wind's kicked up. it's that unsettling sort of sky, the one that's gray and orange and makes the outlines of the trees dark and looming, scattering leaves across their backyard and beckoning him forward into the line of the forest with scratching fingers, gaping and open and wanting.

something catches his eyes, shoving the gloves he had in one hand into a pocket as he creeps closer to the branch where he spotted it, something familiar. he had already been thinking about making sure all of the windows were latched shut if there was to be a storm in the night, not to wake up with the curtains and surfaces sopping from the rain in the morning-- but it's the paper that makes him stumble forward to rip it from its perch. he never leaves them so close to home, even if he was sure his parents wouldn't ever be able to piece together that it's him writing all those things to paper.

the red is what he focuses on. calloused fingers over the ink, heart a steady, raising beat in his chest, a thud, thud, thud that skyrockets when the paper slips from his fingers and flies right into his vision. it's that red up close, bleeding into paper as the words echo in his mind. it's right there, and it isn't, like those angels at the edges of his vision when he's not focusing right, when he whips his head around to try and catch them, but then it's right here. it's right here.

laughter. he hears laughter, boots sliding in the dirt, backwards, hands scrambling for that little note so it doesn't fly away. is that the mountain? is the mountain speaking to him? right to him, so close, did it see him wavering? for so long, he had not wavered, for so long, he had tried, and tried--

his mouth is bitter, stomach twisting. usually he thinks he can feel the earth beneath him rumble, like an answer, but it's his father's hands on his shoulders, telling him that it's only for him to hear, is it this, too? is the mountain speaking to him in a way he thinks he can truly understand? to bring him back? to remind him?

the red ink had always been his own. his fingers feel over his pockets for his pen, grasping the paper, kneeling down in the dirt, writing over the words with shaky hands, over and over, boldening the words. they're not his own, they are his own, they are the mountain, speaking to him, speaking.

the wind has eased. maybe there won't be a storm tonight, as he looks to the edge of the forest line, those outlines of his vision, inky black, wavering, red ink staining his fingers. the angels, so close and yet they don't touch. another message, another test.

maybe he'll see the mountain soon.

forgive me, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'll see you soon. i'll see you soon.

[gnhaedam]

" there, in the light. i've found you, i've found you. i see you. " -- for @gnsaein

they haven't spoken in years, but haedam still writes for him.

all of the words exposed to time and town, red ink and blatant display of his heart, he's really not even sure if anyone reads. doesn't think he minds if they do, or if they don't, because a lot of them are for someone he knows can't see them, too far away to do it. he doesn't read them again after he lays it out on paper, a confession that he doesn't return to. it's scribbled and then to the wind, everything he would say but he couldn't, everything that gets stuck in his mouth and so he lets his hands tell, instead.

his hands tell a lot of things, but he knows his hands do because one day, he hopes that who he writes for-- maybe the mountain would allow him this, a solution to the carve in his heart that he left all those years ago, all of those years and sometimes, haedam still can't believe he's gone so long without being able to turn and tell him all of the things on his mind. so long, since he's spoken what's on his mind.

so long, since he's seen saein, and it hasn't been a dream, or a wish, or a ghost.

not a ghost, an angel. they're angels, haedam knows they are.

he's not looking at that. not that, there, out of reach, he's looking across the room of this little get together, holding two jars in his hands, sealed with a ribbon and his mother's meticulously recorded label over the glass, the ones she'd tied with white, for the bride, for renewal, for rebirth, for the luck of this couple in their marriage with which they provide from the mountain. a flower tucked against the seal, a reminder of where it's all come from. no, he's looking across the room and saein is there, and haedam wonders if he's dreaming.

his shirt's too tight. buttoned too high, and ironed with careful hands, smelling of rosemary and cotton, the tattered lace curtains in his parent's bedroom where he waited while she told him just what he should say to the groom, to the bride, to bless them as the mountain would want him to.

he'd listened, quietly, remembered, quietly, but the sight of saein stops him in his tracks. has him holding tightly to the jars in his hands because he's fearful he'll break them, but maybe that'll prove this is real, the glass on the floor, a shatter, the noise, the shards of his heart, all of those years wondering why and aching for when and then-- and then, it's so simple, it's so familiar.

he's right there. he's right there and haedam can't even go to him, wills himself to stay rooted to the spot. the spot he has to be, he's required to be, even if he doesn't want to be. not right now, not when he's right there, when it's not even time or distance between them, only something palpable, like a few strides. a luxury, when haedam hadn't know exactly where he's been past the post stamps, the backs of the postcards.

despite himself, he blinks through a tightness in his throat. clears it, because his mother and father flank him, and they're not seeing what he does, doesn't even know if they see the angels, if only he never sees them staring, but staring, now, he does, because despite it all, all of those years simmer down into nothing, saein's here now.

not even in that ghost of a memory in seeing his handwriting across all of those cards, the ones haedam kept tucked close to his heart even when they weren't for him. selfish, and he hopes the mountain forgives him, fingers to the earth because it's all he's wished for, for a long time, a moment like this, and he can't even have it. never like he wants it. never.

blinks. he's still there, blinks again, through that warmth in his eyes, and is pulled, by his arm, into a conversation lead by his mother, because the bride is right in front of them, dressed in casual white. he's offering the jars out with as steady hands as he can manage, smiling, clean, true.

"the mountain blesses you both with your union." he gets out, tone even. "anyone in this town should be lucky to find a love as true as yours. i can see it even now." she's glowing, and he's happy for her, thinks the mountain is, too, if he could feel a familiar thrum, hidden underneath all of that foundation and rubble of the building, but it's still here. still here even below the sound of her thanks, even if haedam can barely hear what she says.

he looks across the room. not a ghost, not the angel, not a dream. the mountain blesses them all to be as lucky. he wonders if she had wished for a love as he had wished for a memory, for them to be as true as today, right here in front of him. haedam could be so lucky. he could be so lucky, too.

not the angel. not a dream. saein, within reach. the mountain has taught him patience, and so he's patient, now. haedam, too. haedam, too.

[gnhaedam]

hi, all! i'm ivory (21+, they/them) with seo haedam, who you can find either giving tours over at evergreen horse farm (yes, that is definitely hay in his hair), fixing up his parent's old house on yellow street, most likely covered in some shade of paint, or delivering a homemade jar of apricot jam at your doorstep, courtesy of his mother. (remember to praise the mountain for which it's given us.) you can read more about him underneath the read more or find more information at his profile, or take a look at his plots, and if you leave a like, then i'll come find you in dm's soon!

born in gaenari in '98, an only child but a descendent of some of the oldest families who settled in the beginnings of the town. mainly on his father's side, while his mother's family came later

ever since then, his father's family has passed down a sort of worshipping of the mountain, and it's all that haedam's ever known. his entire family regards the mountain as an entity akin to a god, and they worship in their own ways with knowledge passed down generation to generation

he gets a high school education but finds himself right into work once it's done, because what his parents believe in is giving back to the mountain, and in turn they receive the benefits. he starts working at evergreen horse farm giving horse tours and lessons with how well he gets along with the animals, but finds himself encountering many stories from the people he meets of the world beyond

his parents don't really believe in the newest wave of technology or anything really past the town, and the phone that he does have is simple, just like his parents, and the shitty, old desktop computer they have at home doesn't do much for him either

his father works at a nearby farm while his mother sells jams and pickles out of their home which haedam usually delivers. they grow a lot of the ingredients out back in a greenhouse they have, and haedam's often there himself, tending to what they grow, in his free time

while he does work at the farm, he does a lot of work taking care of his parents and their house. he does so with his grandparents, too, who also reside in yellow creek, and repairs and deals with the old houses that are breaking around them

he's also built a habit of leaving poetry and words scribbled across random bits of paper he finds around town. newspapers, napkins, fliers, ripped from journals. it's always done in red ink, but he never signs it off as himself. it's a lot of things he'd never say out loud, and the only way he really feels heard without worry of who's listening to him say it

while he's always believed in what his parents tell him, it's been a slow progression of his own guilt and curiosity as he finds he wants to know more about his family. what they did to get here, how they stayed, what the mountain really gives them

even though he's never questioned it before, he finds himself looking for answers wherever he might find them, while still trying to maintain who he believes his parents want him to be, the son that gives back to the mountain, and praises the mountain, and does as he should in return to what he's been given

and the more curious he gets, the more covering his trail gets even harder to bear. always having been calm, quiet, and reserved, it's only getting more and more evident the weight on his shoulders of all of these thoughts lately, and only time will tell just what he'll do with all of it

and i do have some plots already here, but i'll leave just a few ideas of places to start!

others who grew up in gaenari, too, and probably had many classes together over the years. your family often buys jams and pickles from his mother, or your parents know his parents from long ago, and you've attended dinners together, visited each other's houses, played in the lawn and heard and saw the reverence with which him and his family treated everything from the mountain

you're new to gaenari and he's eager to hear more about what it's like outside of town. he's happy to show you around, or to tell you more about what he does know

you start to think there's something about this mountain, too and you want to know more just like he does

you've always wondered just where all of that faith that his family has comes from and ask him about it, always wondered what he was always repeating underneath his breath, a familiar habit

you keep finding these little red-written notes around town and think something should be done about it. either you're collecting them or throwing them away or making your own spin on the notes, but he starts to notice and asks you about it

you're both somewhere you shouldn't be. you're both going to take this secret with you even into the daylight

you've noticed he's off, lately. there's something about him that doesn't match up with the usual haedam you've always known, but he's not really budging with an answer, and you keep asking him about it. maybe one of these days he'll finally let it all out, even what he doesn't tell those red signed notes

you also know a thing or two about family tradition, and what's expected of you, and how it clashes with what you feel inside of your heart, and it's one of the only things you two can relate on

you know what it's like, to have a duty and to want to leave it, and you also get the feeling of wanting to run away. so you do, even if it's only for a little while, you run as fast and as far at the night will take you, only until you've got enough time for the morning to not catch you out

anyone who lives in yellow creek, you can probably always find him there, at the water, trying to hide away. it's a good thinking spot, after all

even though this got long, thank you for reading! and if you'd like to plot, then haedam and i will appear in your dm's, sadly, without his mother's jam to sweeten the deal (but hopefully, with very fun plots!)

[gnhaedam]

seo haedam — 25, stablehand at evergreen horse farm, found at yellow street, house no. 4. the anonymous voice behind the red inked poetry and words scribbled on papers strewn across town. (ivory, 21+, they/them, est) profile / plots / intro

[gnhaedam]

Alex Dimitrov, from "A Living"

[gnhaedam]

I needed to make something happen, anything. I couldn’t keep passing through life, over it, under it, around it. I couldn’t go on haunting the world like a wraith.

Gail Honeyman, Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine

[gnhaedam]

David Hockney

[gnhaedam]

― James Joyce, Ulysses

[gnhaedam]

Removal Acts, Erin Marie Lynch