#forsythias bloom before leaves

[dwuerch-blog]

The Faithful Forsythias

Our recent journey across Canadian provinces and America’s upper states seems to have awakened my senses to appreciate God’s handiwork in places, nature, people and things more than ever before. And, that appreciation has given me food for thought and a new, keen awareness of His creation for my next blog. On excursions, traveling via bus along coastlines and towns, I couldn’t help but be…

[thedensworld]

Healing Hues | Jeon Wonwoo

Pairing: Actor!Wonwoo x Professor!Reader (ft. Ex!Joshua)

Genre: Slowburn, angst, fluff, friendship

Synopsis: Exhausted by the monotony of his life as a celebrity, Wonwoo makes a pivotal decision to return to his childhood hometown and embark on a heartwarming project: building a small library named 'Healing Hues.' Little does he know, this journey will lead to a series of unexpected and transformative events.

Author Note: reader is she (don't hate me and my writing preferences:( please) i would love to receive a request. Send me an interesting plot!

Jeon Wonwoo knew deep down that his decision had been impulsive. Packing his belongings and embarking on the drive to Changwon, all on the heels of securing a two-week vacation leave, was hardly a meticulously planned expedition. But sometimes, life calls for a dash of spontaneity. His destination? None other than his father's villa nestled in the heart of his hometown, Uichang-Gu. The key to this haven of cherished memories was handed over by his father himself, a tacit approval of his quest for respite.

Seoul, the city that famously never slept, had held him captive for too long. It had embraced him, and in return, he had embraced its fast-paced, modern rhythm. But as he cast his gaze upon the bustling streets and the neon glow of the city one last time before his departure, he felt an inexplicable yearning for the simplicity of days gone by. It was a yearning that whispered to his soul, beckoning him to escape the whirlwind and find solace in the embrace of his roots.

The decision to seek refuge in Mujeom-ri, the place where his childhood dreams had been nurtured, was driven by this unshakable yearning. The memories were etched in his mind with vivid strokes, a testament to the beauty and tranquility of that place. Mujeom-ri had been his sanctuary, a place where his spirit could roam free, unburdened by the demands of the modern world. It was a slice of heaven on Earth.

Wonwoo had visited his hometown a few times before his family decided to make the permanent move to Seoul. Those visits had been a lifeline, a chance to escape the chaos and rediscover himself in the simplicity of country life. The six-hour drive from Seoul to Mujeom-ri was hardly a hindrance; it was a journey to a world where the forsythia lined the roads, their golden blooms lighting up the night like a string of stars. It was the charming countryside, the antidote to the urban hustle and bustle.

The clock struck midnight as he finally arrived in Mujeom-ri. He hadn't bothered changing out of the outfit from his last promotional event, a testament to the whirlwind of his recent schedule. Stepping into the villa, he was greeted by a scene of warmth and familiarity. The passage of time hadn't been unkind to this place; it had been meticulously cared for by the people his father had entrusted with its upkeep. These twin villas had once been his family's sanctuary, the backdrop to his childhood adventures, before they were transformed into welcoming havens for guests.

Before surrendering to the allure of sleep, Wonwoo made it a point to notify his father of his safe arrival. The weary traveler then retreated to his bedroom, a sense of nostalgia and excitement mingling within him. He was back in Mujeom-ri, his cherished childhood haven, ready to embrace the memories and tranquility it promised. As he lay in bed, the whispers of the past and the promise of new adventures danced in his dreams, setting the stage for an unforgettable journey of rediscovery.

A heavy sigh of relief escaped from his lips, a cathartic release of tension as he lay down. He closed his eyes, a weary smile tugging at his lips as he surrendered to the embrace of slumber. Tomorrow held the promise of wonderful things, and he was eager to seize them. His plan was simple: to get himself a bike and embark on an enjoyable ride through Dong-eup, leaving behind the bustling life he had known in Seoul. The city's relentless pace had worn him down, but here in Mujeom-ri, his hometown, he hoped to rediscover the simple joys he had left behind.

As he shifted in his bed, on the verge of drifting into dreams, a sudden thud shattered the tranquility of the night, jolting him awake. His body tensed, and his heart raced as he scanned the room with a growing sense of unease. Anxiety crept into his thoughts, and he couldn't ignore the feeling of menace that hung in the air like a dark cloud.

"Who are you?" he inquired with a quiver in his voice, his eyes wide with panic. But there was no response, just an eerie silence that deepened his unease. Without hesitation, he rose from his bed and cautiously made his way out of the room, guided only by the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Another thud echoed, this time from outside the house, urging him to hasten toward the source of the sound. The night seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with anticipation, as if the universe itself conspired to create an atmosphere of suspense and mystery.

Flinging open the door, he was greeted by an unexpected sight—a woman gracefully jumping down from a two-meter-high fence. His gasp mingled with her startled exclamation as they found themselves face to face in the moonlit night. The dim light failed to reveal her features clearly, and his glasses did little to aid his vision. Fatigue weighed heavily on his eyelids, further obscuring the woman's identity. All he could muster was a question about her sudden arrival, his voice trembling with curiosity and concern.

"I live next door," the woman explained, pointing to the smaller cottage adjacent to his own. Her voice was as soft as a whisper in the night, and her explanation illuminated the reason behind her unconventional entrance. "The gate was locked, and I thought the housekeeper had something to do with it."

Wonwoo couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt; it had been he who had locked the gate, an oversight driven by his fatigue. He nodded in understanding, concern etched on his face as he inquired about her well-being, knowing that her descent from the fence must have been quite a fall. Assured of her safety, he retreated back into his bedroom, ready to bury his thoughts in slumber once more.

*

Wonwoo had never been a morning person. Back when he shared a house with Kim Mingyu, his bandmate, they were notorious for missing their alarms, only rousing from their slumber when their manager intervened. Waking up early was an arduous task for Wonwoo, a self-proclaimed night owl. His brain seemed to function at half-speed in the morning sun. Unless there was a morning schedule requiring his presence, he typically awoke in the afternoon, cherishing his days off and contemplating his erratic sleep patterns.

However, today was different. He found himself stirred from his sleep by the unmistakable crowing of roosters, heralding the arrival of a new day. Wonwoo couldn't recall the last time he had woken up with a smile on his face.

As he embarked on his day, he began by making his bed, a simple task that had become a comforting habit from his time living with Mingyu. Unpacking his belongings, he realized the need to stock up on essentials for his two-week stay. He took note of the absence of a nearby gym, a realization that left him pondering the necessity of one in the villas. The thought of driving nearly an hour to the nearest gym was less than appealing. In his mind, he made a mental note to suggest the idea of installing a home gym to his father.

Wonwoo decided to embrace the morning with a run, clad in his workout attire. A bit of cardio seemed like a good idea to invigorate his senses. After lacing up his running shoes, he embarked on a journey through the village that had nurtured his childhood. Memories blossomed like flowers in his mind as he inhaled deeply, savoring the sights of his hometown. Passing by his old elementary school, he couldn't help but notice the renovations that had taken place over the years. Yet, a single red-painted swing held a sweet memory of his childhood crush and the innocent moments they had shared. A fond chuckle escaped him as he reminisced about those bygone days, wondering where that childhood crush might be now. He encountered an older woman he remembered from his youth, an auntie who used to sell fish in the local market. She stood out with her distinctive presence, her husband and son working as fishermen in another district. The memories of her warm smile flooded back, reminding him of the simpler times.

Wonwoo greeted the woman, and to his surprise, she remembered him and even mentioned his father's name. Her kind offer of breakfast was met with a polite decline, as he wished to continue his exploration of the village. She assured him that her daughter would deliver food later and extended an invitation to her home should he need anything. His stroll led him to the field where he had spent countless hours playing football with his friends. Memories of his cheerful and outgoing childhood self surfaced, leaving him pondering how he had changed over the years.

"Jeon Wonwoo?" a familiar voice called out, breaking him from his reverie.

He turned to find Park Giyong, one of his closest childhood friends from elementary and junior high school, standing before him. Even though they had stayed in touch during his visits to his hometown, it had been nearly five years since they had last met. The loss of contact had been due to Wonwoo misplacing his smartphone, and their reunions were usually in Seoul, where Giyong was pursuing his medical degree at Seoul University. However, since Giyong had returned to Mujeom-ri to establish his own clinic, they had drifted apart. Wonwoo's morning jog suddenly became more enjoyable with Giyong's company.

After an hour of reminiscing about old times, Wonwoo returned to his villa. He planned to enjoy a cup of instant coffee he had purchased from a convenience store earlier and dive into one of the several books he had brought along. As he prepared to settle in for his reading session, a woman entered the lawn, holding a pack of food containers.

"My mother sent me to bring you this," she said, referring to the promised meal.

An overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over Wonwoo at the kindness he had already encountered. He thanked the woman and introduced himself. She confessed that she recognized him from their shared school days and even mentioned that she enjoyed watching his dramas. Sometimes, Wonwoo forgot that he was a celebrity.

He learned that her name was Yeonju and expressed his gratitude once again. Out of friendliness, he invited her to join him for breakfast, but she declined, explaining that she had already eaten and had to work as an elementary school teacher at his former school. Wonwoo bid her farewell, promising to return the empty containers to her mother's house later.

Wonwoo's gaze fixated on the smaller cottage next door, memories of the previous night replaying vividly in his mind. "I locked her outside. I haven't formally apologized," he mused, a weight of regret settling in his chest. His attention shifted to the sumptuous spread before him. Should he share?

A flurry of uncertainties raced through his thoughts. "What if she's already eaten? What if this isn't to her taste?" The questions echoed, filling the room with their unresolved tension.

Summoning a resolute breath, he spoke aloud, a determined whisper, "Just try it, Jeon Wonwoo." The words hung in the air, a silent promise to himself. He rose from his seat, each step towards the neighboring door measured and deliberate.

With a hesitant hand, he knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet air. The weight of his actions settled on his shoulders, a mixture of apprehension and hope coursing through his veins. The seconds that followed seemed to stretch into eternity, a suspended moment of anticipation.

The door creaked open just a crack, revealing a woman with disheveled hair and sleep-heavy eyes. Wonwoo could only catch a glimpse of her sleepy visage. He cleared his throat, his voice still heavy with the remnants of sleep.

"Um, good morning," he began, his words stumbling slightly. "I was wondering if you'd like to have breakfast together? I thought it might be a nice way to make up for last night."

She blinked, struggling to process his words through the fog of sleep. After a moment, she seemed to register his request, and she nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

With that agreement, she gently closed the door, leaving Wonwoo in quiet anticipation. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, she emerged, transformed. Her hair was now neatly combed, and her attire, though simple, exuded a fresh and lively air.

Wonwoo couldn't help but admire the remarkable change, his own gratitude and admiration evident in the softness of his gaze. They exchanged a tentative smile, a shared understanding of this simple yet profoundly meaningful gesture. Together, they headed towards the table, the air tinged with a newfound sense of camaraderie.

"A grandmother I know sent this, and I thought it would be good to share with a neighbor," he explained, a gentle warmth in his voice, as they both settled into their seats.

"I'm Wonwoo, Jeon Wonwoo," he offered with a friendly smile, extending his hand in introduction.

"Kang Y/n," she replied, her voice a soft whisper, reciprocating the gesture with a polite bow.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Wonwoo insisted, graciously inviting Y/n to feel at ease.

As they sat across from each other, a delicate dance of courtesy and curiosity filled the air. Wonwoo's gaze lingered on Y/n, captivated by the grace with which she approached her meal. Her movements were deliberate yet unhurried, each bite savored with a quiet appreciation. When she looked up, her perceptive eyes met Wonwoo's, a gentle curiosity in her expression as if she could sense the depth of his observation.

"Is there something on my face?" she asked, her voice carrying a touch of amusement. Her fingers delicately patted her cheeks, checking for any stray crumbs.

Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle softly, touched by her awareness. "No, nothing at all," he reassured, a warm smile gracing his lips.

"Actually, I was the one who locked the gate last night," Wonwoo confessed as he raised his spoon and dived into his meal.

A faint blush dusted Y/n's cheeks. "Ah, I'm sorry for last night. I lost track of time in library. I must have interrupted your sleep," she said, a hint of regret in her voice.

Wonwoo quickly shook his head. "No, I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't know that someone was occupying the house next door," he explained, his tone earnest.

Y/n hummed in understanding, nodding her head. "I was informed that the owner's son would be joining in a few days. It must be you," she said with a warm smile, reaching for her food.

"It must have been difficult for you... umm... jumping over the fence," Wonwoo added gently, referring to what he had witnessed the night before. Y/n's reaction was immediate, a surprised laugh escaping her lips, only to be followed by a fit of coughing.

Wonwoo, a bit flustered, hurriedly rose and went inside to fetch water. As he stood in his kitchen, he realized he hadn't installed tap water yet. He grabbed the grocery bag he had bought earlier, relieved to find several bottles of mineral water.

Returning to the table, he offered one to Y/n. "Here," he said, his concern evident in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I should have had this ready."

Y/n accepted the water with gratitude, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and appreciation. "Thank you, Wonwoo. You really didn't have to do this."

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his gaze. "It's no trouble at all. I want you to feel comfortable here."

As they settled back into their meal, the atmosphere around them seemed to soften. The initial awkwardness had given way to a shared understanding.

"How long are you going to stay?" Wonwoo wondered aloud, realizing he hadn't given much thought to the duration of his hiatus. He had informed his agency that this would be his longest break since his military service, but how long, exactly? A month? Maybe more?

"I don't know yet, maybe a month or two? How about you? How long have you been staying here?" Wonwoo inquired, genuinely interested in learning more about his newfound companion.

"This is my third week. Maybe two more. I couldn't leave my work for that long," Y/n explained, her laughter dancing lightly in the air. It was clear she was a dedicated professional.

"What do you do?" he inquired, his words punctuated by a bite of food. Wonwoo was aware that talking with one's mouth full wasn't the best habit, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"I teach at a university in Seoul," she replied, a hint of hesitation in her voice.

Wonwoo's eyes widened in surprise. "You're a professor?" He asked, admiration lacing his voice. Y/n nodded with a humble smile, the kind that spoke volumes about her character. She wasn't the type to boast about her impressive profession.

"How about you? What do you do?"

As Y/n's question hung in the air, it caused a palpable pause in the conversation. Wonwoo's gaze turned thoughtful, realizing that she hadn't recognized him. This revelation stirred a distinct sense of intrigue within him. After all, he was a familiar face on screens, effortlessly slipping into roles as villains, businessmen, and detectives. Encounters with people who were oblivious to his public persona were indeed rare, and this anomaly struck him as decidedly captivating.

"I..." Wonwoo began, his voice carrying a touch of uncertainty, as though he were carefully navigating unfamiliar territory. "I work in the entertainment industry. Specifically, in the movie industry," he explained, choosing brevity over embellishment. Y/n acknowledged his response with a nod, not pressing for further details.

Yet, this moment of revelation only fueled Wonwoo's curiosity further. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to engage with someone who approached him without the weight of his public image. This unexpected encounter held the promise of unfolding in ways he hadn't anticipated, adding an unexpected layer of depth to their burgeoning connection.

*

Wonwoo's steady breaths puffed out in white clouds as he slowed to a halt, his jog complete. His phone, nestled snugly in his pocket, hummed with urgency. With a quirked brow, he plucked it out, revealing a call from his ever-busy manager. A hint of amusement danced in his eyes at the thought of what could warrant such a sudden update.

"Hello," he greeted warmly, his voice a soothing balm over the line.

His manager wasted no time, diving into the updates. Wonwoo leaned against a nearby tree, listening intently. It was heartening to hear that the actor's career was still making waves in the industry. But as the conversation swayed, Wonwoo took a moment to share a personal triumph.

"I've been reconnecting with old friends from my hometown," he informed, a touch of nostalgia coloring his words. "It's been a wonderful experience."

Then, a request surfaced in his mind, something he'd been mulling over for a while. "I was thinking... could we make a formal announcement about my hiatus? I have a project in mind—a little library for the kids in the village. It would mean a lot to me."

His manager's voice buzzed with activity. "I'll get in touch with PR. They're swamped, you know how it is. By the way, did you hear about Hong Jisoo? Married and divorced, all in secret. The whole industry's in a frenzy."

Wonwoo nodded, his expression thoughtful. He knew Hong Jisoo, though they'd never shared a scene. Their paths often crossed at award ceremonies, a testament to the longevity of their careers. Marriage, especially early on, wasn't uncommon in their world. Divorce, however, bore its own weight of sorrow.

"Alright, no rush on my end," Wonwoo assured, his tone empathetic. "Thanks for keeping me in the loop. Take care, hyung!"

As the call ended, Wonwoo's gaze swept across the tranquil scenery, the village he held dear. His name danced on the breeze, a familiar voice that turned his head. There stood Giyong, clad in a tracksuit, an image of comfort and familiarity. A genuine smile graced Wonwoo's lips, warmth and respect radiating in his eyes as they met the gaze of the Mr. Doctor.

"Good to see you," Wonwoo greeted, extending a hand in greeting. The stories and connections of their shared hometown were threads that bound them, making this meeting all the more special.

"Have you ever met the woman next door to mine?" Wonwoo inquired, his curiosity piqued after their discussion about the government library miles away from the village.

Giyong's brow arched in thought. "She's still around? I crossed paths with her weeks ago, but I assumed she'd moved on by now," he explained, a hint of surprise in his tone. "Seems like she keeps to herself."

Wonwoo nodded in understanding, absorbing Giyong's words. The quiet presence of the neighbor next door suddenly held a touch more intrigue.

"About the library, come by my office after lunch. I'll be happy to accompany you for a visit," Giyong offered, his voice warm and supportive.

As the clock hand swept towards 1 pm, Wonwoo stood before the mirror, giving himself a final once-over. Today was a day of plans and purpose. First, a visit to Giyong's office, where they'd discuss the logistics of the library project. Then, an observation trip to the existing library, an essential step in crafting a space that truly catered to the village's children. Giyong had also hinted at a discussion with the village head, emphasizing the seriousness of Wonwoo's endeavor. The thought of his father's potential support buoyed his determination.

Stepping outside, Wonwoo's gaze naturally fell upon Y/n's door. He hadn't seen her today. The memory of their last encounter flashed in his mind—it was yesterday night, her returning with a stack of books in hand. Could it be, he wondered, that she was involved with the local library as well?

Wonwoo stepped into Giyong's office, only to find himself in a professional medical clinic, complete with a pharmacy and a bustling staff. The revelation that Giyong was not just a doctor, but a savvy businessman as well, caught him off guard. Giyong's explanation about his alternating shifts, to accommodate his childhood best friend, resonated with a deep sense of friendship and dedication. Wonwoo could only chuckle at the revelation as they made their way towards the library.

"It's quite a distance from the school, isn't it?" Wonwoo observed, prompting a nod from Giyong. Memories of the old library near the fish market resurfaced, a cherished place from his past that had unfortunately met its end due to land ownership issues.

Inside the library, they were greeted warmly by the staff, their mission for children's books met with helpful suggestions.

"These books are mostly classics, a bit on the older side," Giyong explained, brows furrowed in concentration as he assessed the collection. Wonwoo nodded in understanding, selecting one of the books that had once transported him to childhood adventures. A warm smile tugged at his lips, memories flooding back.

"We'll need to invest in a good number of popular and newer books. How many are we talking? At least fifty, I'd say!" Giyong exclaimed, his own mental tally underway. He went on to inform Wonwoo about the escalating costs of children's books, a reality that hadn't escaped their notice.

As they delved deeper into their discussion, Wonwoo's gaze wandered through the aisles. There, seated serenely amidst the books with a laptop before her, was Y/n. His smile widened as he approached, the recognition lighting up her features.

"So, you're here every day," Wonwoo remarked, causing her to startle slightly. She offered a somewhat awkward smile before closing her book, her attention now fully on him.

"I've been here since morning. I lost track of time and nearly skipped lunch, so thanks for the reminder," Y/n explained, your tone gracious.

Taking a seat beside Y/n, Wonwoo's eyes flitted between the pages of the book and the contents of her laptop. "What are you working on?" he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

"Just reading a book and working on a paper. It was a pleasant surprise to find this book here," She shared. Wonwoo's eyes fell upon the title, Library Classification History, a wry amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is it related to what you teach?" he inquired, intrigued.

Y/n nodded. "I teach Library and Information Science," she revealed.

Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle, marveling at the serendipity of it all. He, wanting to establish a library, had met her—a specialist in the very field. It was a coincidence too perfect to be ignored.

"In fact," he began, a glint of excitement in his eyes, "I'm planning to create a small library on the first floor of my place."

Y/n's interest was piqued, and shenodded in encouragement, eager to hear more about his vision. Wonwoo called Giyong who is still drawned by the book. He friendly introduced Giyoung to Y/n and vice versa.

"Indeed, she's a professor. She teaches library science," Wonwoo informed Giyong, watching as the revelation left the man visibly taken aback.

"What a twist of fate," Giyong mused, a sentiment that Wonwoo readily echoed. The synchronicity of their meeting with you, a professor in the very field they were diving into, seemed almost too perfectly timed.

As Wonwoo went on to explain the vision of creating a small library for the village's children, his words carried a blend of earnestness and passion. It was a plan woven with care, a promise to provide the young minds in the village with a sanctuary of knowledge and imagination.

"I can still recall how much Wonwoo adored reading as a child. It's no wonder he feels so strongly about ensuring kids today have the same access to books," Giyong reflected, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. He spoke of moments from their shared past, of glimpses caught of a young Wonwoo engrossed in books in class or within the hallowed halls of a library.

Meanwhile, Y/n sat in quiet contemplation, the weight of the proposition hanging in the air. She considered the potential impact of her brief stay in this time, wondering if it could lend a helping hand in bringing this dream to fruition—a small library, a beacon of knowledge for the children of the village.

"What can I do to assist?" Her inquiry broke the thoughtful silence, drawing a radiant smile across Wonwoo's face. It was a question that held the promise of collaboration, a joining of hands to shape a future of enriched minds and shared stories.

*

The days had been a whirlwind for Wonwoo, Y/n, Giyong, and Youngmi. Wonwoo's strategic move to enlist Youngmi's help as an elementary teacher had paid off, granting them invaluable insights into the needs of their young audience. With Giyong and Youngmi juggling their own demanding schedules, the lion's share of the preparations fell upon Wonwoo and Y/n. Wonwoo, his sleeves rolled up, threw himself into the renovation project, determined to transform the first floor into a space worthy of being called a small library. Meanwhile, Y/n delved into research, meticulously curating a collection that would captivate and educate young minds.

As the day waned, Youngmi's departure marked the beginning of a quiet evening. With her mother's thoughtful gesture, the duo received a comforting late-night snack and a steaming cup of green tea. After bidding Youngmi farewell, the room settled into a hushed intimacy, the soft glow of a nearby lamp casting gentle shadows.

"Let's take a moment to rest," Wonwoo suggested, carefully placing his paint-splattered equipment aside. On the other side of the room, Y/n set down the tablet that had commanded her attention since morning. She stretched languidly, every movement exuding a feline grace. Approaching Wonwoo, she joined him, both eager to indulge in the late-night sustenance.

The atmosphere was one of contented exhaustion, the weight of their efforts easing as they shared this quiet interlude. Wonwoo's chuckle mingled with the soothing rhythm of their breaths, a testament to the camaraderie that had grown between them.

In this stolen moment of respite, the small library project seemed to take on a new glow of promise. It was more than just a renovation or a collection of books; it was a labor of love, a beacon of learning, and a testament to the power of community.

"Have you thought about the name?" Y/n's voice, though gentle, held a touch of curiosity, breaking the tranquil stillness that had settled around them.

Wonwoo considered her question, his gaze momentarily drifting towards the space they had poured their hearts into. "I have a name in mind, but I'd like to discuss it with everyone first," he explained, a warm smile gracing his lips as he turned to meet her eyes. The prospect of naming their collective creation felt like a pivotal moment, a decision that would forever define its essence.

"Would you mind sharing it?" Y/n inquired, her interest piqued.

Wonwoo's gaze held a contemplative glint, as if weighing the significance of the choice. Finally, he spoke, "Healing Hues."

Y/n's smile bloomed, her eyes bright with approval. "I like it. Being here feels like a kind of healing," she remarked, her voice carrying a soft sincerity that resonated with the quietude of their surroundings. Her sentiment hung in the air, a testament to the comfort their small library promised to offer.

Wonwoo nodded in agreement, a sense of gratification settling within him. "I spent a long time contemplating the paint colors. I wanted them to embody the essence of the name. I believe they do," he shared, pride and certainty lacing his words. The choice of soothing blue and vibrant yellow felt like an apt representation of the healing they aspired to bring.

"They complement each other beautifully. You've done a remarkable job," Y/n praised, her admiration evident. Her words were a balm to Wonwoo's dedicated efforts, validating the careful thought he'd invested in every detail.

Wonwoo's smile widened, a mixture of gratitude and pride lighting up his features. "Thank you, Y/n. Your contribution has been invaluable. Your help means the world to me," he expressed, his words carrying a depth of appreciation for the partnership they'd formed in this endeavor.

"Why Healing Hues, though?" Y/n's curiosity shimmered in her eyes as she asked about the chosen name, her intrigue giving voice to the question that hung in the quiet space.

Wonwoo, seated beside her in the cozy corner of the library, considered her question. He let out a casual shrug, as if the answer was simple, though layered with personal significance. "It might sound a bit cliché," he began, his voice carrying the weight of genuine sentiment, "but when I arrived here, I was coming from a place of utter exhaustion. This place became a source of healing for me. Reconnecting with everyone from my childhood, meeting you, and realizing the dream of creating a small library—it all coalesced into a sense of healing. For the first time in a long while, the colors of my life felt harmonious and whole."

Wonwoo's explanation was delivered with a calmness that belied the depth of feeling behind his words. In his eyes, there was a hint of reminiscence, a fleeting recollection of the hectic days and the monotony that had once defined his existence just a week ago. But now, those memories seemed to have faded, replaced by the vibrant hues of happiness and purpose that colored his days in his hometown.

The library around them seemed to bask in the warmth of Wonwoo's words, as if it too understood the significance of the name chosen. The air was charged with a sense of quiet contentment, the space itself bearing witness to the transformation that had taken root within its walls.

Y/n listened, the weight of Wonwoo's words settling in her heart. It was a name that now held a profound meaning, one that she knew would resonate not just with them, but with anyone who stepped through the doors of Healing Hues. In that moment, she felt the power of names, how they could encapsulate the essence of something greater, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for being a part of this journey.

*

The morning sun streamed through the windows, painting the room with a warm glow. Giyong's cheerful voice roused Wonwoo from his slumber, a gentle nudge to action amidst the promise of a busy day ahead. Wonwoo blinked away the remnants of sleep, realizing he'd drifted off on the couch after a night of painting the entire room.

As he stirred, a comforting weight pressed against his shoulder, reminding him of Y/n, who had fallen asleep beside him, equally exhausted from their efforts. Her peaceful slumber painted a serene picture against the backdrop of their fledgling library.

Giyong entered the room, accompanied by a few helpers carrying stalls that would soon hold the carefully curated collection of books. Wonwoo, still rousing himself fully, turned his attention to Y/n, gently shaking her to rouse her from her rest. "Morning already," he whispered, a fond smile gracing his lips as she shifted to a more comfortable position, her head no longer resting on his shoulder.

The arrival of the stalls had happened faster than expected, a pleasant surprise for the duo. Giyong explained that the specific table they had been looking for was still in production, prompting him to order a similar one. He couldn't hide his relief that the color matched seamlessly with the rest of the room.

With the stalls in place, Giyong spoke of the imminent soft opening, his eyes briefly landing on Y/n, the dedicated curator of their book collection, who still asleep. She had worked tirelessly to ensure that each selection met Wonwoo's approval, carefully crafting a library that would captivate and educate young readers. The initial collection included 25 children's books, a blend of encyclopedias and stories, alongside 15 books tailored for older readers. Y/n had finalized the order late into the night, her commitment unwavering.

Giyong couldn't help but tease, "She's worked even harder than you, I'd say," his tone light and teasing. Wonwoo simply nodded in agreement, a smile playing on his lips. He was too drained from their collective efforts to engage in playful banter. The room buzzed with an air of anticipation, each piece falling into place, culminating in the realization that their dream of Healing Hues was on the verge of becoming a reality.

"Let's have a quick meeting after this to discuss the soft opening agenda," Wonwoo proposed, excusing himself to the second floor for a moment of reprieve and rejuvenation.

As he returned, the scent of seafood pancake wafted through the air, a tempting invitation from Youngmi's breakfast. He couldn't resist asking, "Can I have some of this?" before indulging in the morning meal.

He found Giyong and Youngmi settled on the couch, waiting for him. However, Y/n was conspicuously absent. Concern pricked at Wonwoo's senses, and he inquired, "Where's Y/n?"

Youngmi promptly explained, "She's outside, taking a phone call," before they delved into the meeting.

They decided on a soft opening with a beach vacation theme, a concept that promised both relaxation and exploration for their guests. Youngmi suggested a personality test to recommend books, a touch that added a personal connection to the experience. When Y/n eventually joined the meeting, she readily agreed with the proposals and offered her assistance.

Yet, even as discussions flowed, Wonwoo's gaze kept returning to Y/n. He sensed a shift in her demeanor, an unspoken weight that seemed to settle upon her since that phone call. It troubled him, an unspoken concern nagging at the edges of his thoughts.

"Y/n, could you take care of the food?" Giyong suggested, drawing Y/n's attention. The idea was met with unanimous agreement, and the meeting concluded swiftly as Giyong and Youngmi headed off to work.

Left alone, Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. When Y/n made a quiet exit, he moved to stop her. "Is everything alright? Did something happen?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry, his eyes searching for answers in her gaze.

Y/n's response was measured, her voice calm but carrying a hint of weariness. "Nothing. Just tired."

Wonwoo, respecting her need for space, didn't press further. He gently reminded her of their evening meeting with the others, watching as she nodded and made her way home in haste.

As Wonwoo watched Y/n depart, a gnawing worry settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that something weighed heavily on her mind. Her usually serene demeanor had been replaced by a quiet reserve, leaving him with a sense of unease.

He recalled the phone call that had preceded this shift in Y/n's demeanor. The suddenness of her withdrawal from the meeting, coupled with her distant expression, left him with a growing concern. What could have transpired in that conversation to cast such a shadow over her typically composed demeanor?

Wonwoo knew Y/n to be a private person, but this was different. This was a shift in her usual disposition, a veil drawn over the window to her thoughts and emotions. It left him feeling powerless, aching to reach out and offer comfort, yet hesitant to intrude on what might be a deeply personal matter.

The bond they had formed through their shared project and the days spent working together had fostered a sense of camaraderie. He cared for Y/n's well-being, not just as a collaborator, but as a friend. Her sudden change in behavior tugged at his heart, leaving him torn between respecting her privacy and wanting to be there for her.

As the day unfolded, Wonwoo found his thoughts frequently returning to Y/n. He couldn't shake the worry that lingered, a subtle undercurrent to the day's activities. He hoped that their evening meeting would provide an opportunity for Y/n to open up, if she felt inclined to do so.

*

Wonwoo's heart dropped at the sight that met his eyes. Y/n stood before him, her once vibrant complexion now drained of color, cold sweat glistening on her forehead. She looked as though she could barely stand. Before he could utter a word, she collapsed to the floor, her strength failing her.

"You're burning," Wonwoo murmured, a mix of concern and panic surging through him. Without hesitation, he reached for his phone, dialing Giyong's number in a frantic hurry. He relayed Y/n's condition, the urgency in his voice apparent. Giyong, on the other end, instructed him to bring Y/n to his clinic immediately.

With great care, Wonwoo lifted Y/n into his arms. He carried her to his car, the urgency of the situation propelling him forward. The drive to Giyong's clinic felt like an eternity, every passing second amplifying his worry.

Giyong was already at the clinic, preparing to leave for the night. He quickly assessed Y/n's condition, confirming that she was indeed suffering from exhaustion and dehydration, which had led to her dangerously high temperature and overall burnout.

"Is she going to be okay?" Wonwoo's voice trembled with concern, his eyes locked onto Y/n, who lay on the examination table.

Giyong met Wonwoo's gaze, offering a reassuring but solemn explanation of her condition. "She'll need to stay here for IV treatment. She should be able to go home tomorrow morning. You did the right thing checking on her when you did. Her condition could have worsened if left unattended."

Wonwoo nodded, a mixture of relief and lingering worry washing over him. He knew that they had caught this just in time, but the sight of Y/n in such a vulnerable state was a stark reminder of the importance of taking care of oneself.

After Giyong reassured him that Y/n was in capable hands, Wonwoo left the clinic, the weight of worry still clinging to him. He returned to the house, his steps heavy with concern. As he approached Y/n's door, he remembered the urgency of the situation earlier and realized it was still unlocked. He extended a hand, preparing to secure it, when a sound from within caught his attention.

A faint ringing echoed in the quiet of the house, originating from Y/n's phone. His mind raced back to that morning, to the phone call that seemed to have brought about such a drastic change in her condition. Could this call be the cause of her sudden illness? Wonwoo wondered, a knot of unease forming in his chest.

Unable to ignore the persistent ringing, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The scene that greeted him weighed heavily on his heart. Y/n's phone lay on the coffee table in front of the couch, its screen displaying the caller ID: 'Jisoo,' accompanied by a white love emoji. Wonwoo's brows furrowed with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Was Jisoo someone significant in Y/n's life? The thought passed fleetingly through Wonwoo's mind, leaving him uncertain about how to proceed.

He opted not to answer the call, feeling that it wasn't his place to do so. As the call ended, he couldn't help but notice the numerous missed calls from the same number. A quick glance at the screen revealed several unread messages, evidence of Jisoo's persistent attempts to reach Y/n.

Wonwoo hesitated, unsure of what to make of this new piece of information. It was clear that Jisoo held some importance in Y/n's life, but the nature of their relationship remained a mystery.

The phone screen illuminated with a cascade of messages from Jisoo, each one more forceful and accusatory than the last. Wonwoo's heart quickened its pace, startled by the sudden intensity of the conversation he inadvertently stumbled upon between Y/n and this person named Jisoo. The tone of the messages sent a shiver down Wonwoo's spine, a mixture of concern and unease prickling at his senses. What could possibly be transpiring to elicit such a charged exchange?

Another call punctuated the quiet, a shrill ring that signaled a persistent urgency. Wonwoo's determination solidified. He couldn't bear the thought of Y/n being embroiled in this apparent turmoil alone. With a steady resolve, he accepted the call, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation that awaited on the other end of the line.

"Where are you? We need to talk!" Jisoo's voice crackled through the phone, urgency dripping from every syllable. Wonwoo's disapproval of this person, whoever he was, surged with each passing second. He couldn't fathom how anyone could address Y/n with such forcefulness.

"Answer me! My career is on the edge! Don't you dare to run away!" Jisoo's words thundered through the line, carrying an undercurrent of frustration and desperation. Wonwoo closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath to brace himself against the torrent of anger. The waves of intensity emanating from the conversation were almost suffocating..

Wonwoo held his ground, his voice steady and composed, determined to navigate this unfamiliar territory with a clear head. When Jisoo demanded to know who he was, Wonwoo responded with a calm assurance that hinted at his resolve. The seconds that followed held a tangible tension, as if the air itself was bracing for what would come next. Jisoo's reply carried a blend of both curiosity and suspicion, a clear indication that he was deeply invested in the situation.

The back-and-forth continued, with Jisoo pressing for more information. "Who's this? Why is a man picking up Y/n's phone? Who are you?" Each question was laced with a growing intensity, revealing the gravity of the situation that had prompted Jisoo's concern.

Wonwoo weighed his words carefully, opting to disclose only what was necessary. "I'm her neighbor," he stated evenly, offering a concise explanation. He didn't want to overstep boundaries or divulge more than was appropriate, respecting Y/n's privacy while still conveying the urgency of the situation.

There was a discernible shift in Jisoo's tone, the frustration that had been simmering now mingling with a genuine concern. "Just tell her to call me once she checks her phone." The edge of urgency in Jisoo's voice was impossible to ignore, revealing a complex mix of emotions that hinted at the depth of his connection with Y/n.

As the call ended, Wonwoo couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled in his chest. He was now entangled in a situation he didn't fully understand, but his priority was clear: ensuring Y/n's well-being. He resolved to be there for her, to offer support in whatever way she needed, even if it meant delving into the complexities of her personal life. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, but he was determined to face whatever came their way.

*

"Sorry, I caused you inconvenience," Y/n mumbled softly as they both settled into the car. Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle, his warm laughter filling the space between them. With a gentle hand, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life. "Is it okay if I take you somewhere before we head home?" Wonwoo asked, motioning for Y/n to fasten her seat belt.

Y/n nodded, a shy smile gracing her lips. "But can we grab something to eat first?" Her request was met with an immediate nod of agreement from Wonwoo.

After a brief stop to satisfy their hunger, they continued their drive, heading toward a destination known only to Wonwoo. Y/n leaned back in her seat, allowing herself to be enveloped by the soothing motion of the car. The gentle warmth of the sun kissed her skin, and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment.

Wonwoo stole a glance at her, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached to adjust the controls, smoothly retracting the roof of the car. The world outside stretched before them, an expansive canvas of beauty and serenity. Y/n's laughter danced through the air, a testament to her genuine delight at the unexpected surprise. Wonwoo found himself captivated, not only by the breathtaking view but also by the vibrancy that seemed to radiate from Y/n in this moment, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the night before.

As they continued their journey, Y/n's curiosity got the better of her. "Where are we going?" she inquired, her eyes filled with wonder and anticipation. She was open to whatever adventure awaited, as long as it offered a spectacle for her eyes to behold.

Wonwoo pointed towards the expanse of ocean that stretched out in the distance. "We're going to the beach," he revealed, a spark of excitement mirrored in Y/n's eyes.

"It's been a long time since the last time I went to the beach," Y/n confessed, her voice tinged with nostalgia.

As the car glided along the road, Wonwoo stole glances at Y/n, watching her eyes light up with the prospect of the beach. Her excitement was palpable, and it filled him with a quiet sense of contentment. He was grateful for the opportunity to share this moment with her, to witness her rediscovering the simple joys of life.

The wind tousled their hair, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and the soothing sounds of the sea. Wonwoo's own spirits were lifted by the sight of Y/n's animated expressions. Her presence beside him was like a breath of fresh air, a reminder of the beauty that could be found in the world, even in the midst of uncertainty.

The car came to a gentle stop, and they both stepped out onto the warm sand. Y/n kicked off her shoes, letting the grains sift between her toes. Wonwoo followed suit, relishing the sensation of the soft sand beneath his feet. The rhythmic crash of the waves provided a soothing backdrop to their surroundings.

Wonwoo watched Y/n with a mixture of fondness and admiration. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, her features softened by a serene smile. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a respite from the chaos of the outside world.

As the sun painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, Wonwoo couldn't shake the subtle turmoil churning within him. He watched Y/n, her presence a calming force against the backdrop of the serene beach. It was in moments like these that he found himself drawn to her in a way he couldn't quite put into words.

Confusion tugged at the edges of Wonwoo's thoughts. He was no stranger to the intricacies of human emotions, but this felt different. It was a gentle tug, a quiet whisper of something unspoken. He wrestled with the unfamiliarity of it all, grappling with the realization that his feelings for Y/n went beyond mere friendship or neighborly concern.

He stole another glance at Y/n, her silhouette etched against the fading daylight. She seemed to belong to this tranquil moment, a part of the natural beauty that surrounded them. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring them here, to this beach, at this precise moment in time.

Wonwoo stood at the edge of the shore, the briny scent of the sea filling his senses, each breath a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. His gaze, tender yet uncertain, lingered on Y/n. There was a delicate warmth that surged within him, a revelation that both unsettled and strangely comforted him.

Turning to her, he began, his voice a soft melody tinged with vulnerability, "Y/n, there's something I need to tell you."

Y/n, her eyes pools reflecting the twilight's fading embrace, met his gaze with a gentleness that seemed to bridge the expanse between their souls. A profound understanding flowed in the silent exchange, words unnecessary yet the connection profound.

Steady, yet carrying the weight of his heart, Wonwoo continued, "Last night, while you were at the clinic, a call came through on your phone. The caller was named Jisoo. The messages and the call log... they held an air of urgency."

Y/n's eyes widened slightly, her mind processing the revelation. A fleeting worry etched across her features as she retrieved her phone from Wonwoo's outstretched hand. With furrowed brows, she scrolled through the messages and call history, each line a testament to a history she had kept veiled.

"He's... someone from my past," Y/n confessed, her voice carrying the echoes of reluctance and resignation. "We were once close, but things changed. Something bad happened, and he need someone to bear the weight of blame."

Wonwoo nodded, a profound understanding washing over him. He could feel the tapestry of emotions woven into Y/n's being, the intricate threads of their shared history. Reaching out, he rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, an unspoken promise of solidarity.

"You don't have to face this alone," he reassured, sincerity filling the air between them. "Whatever path you choose, I stand by your side."

Y/n met his gaze, a shimmer of gratitude and relief dancing in her eyes. Her hand found its place atop his, an unspoken affirmation of trust and the blossoming bond that held them together.

And as the day surrendered to the night, they stood, two souls joined in a quiet understanding, their hearts harmonizing with the ceaseless rhythm of the waves. The horizon blazed with the last embers of sunlight, casting a warm, golden hue over the sands. Together, Wonwoo and Y/n embraced the uncertain future, fortified by the strength they found in each other's presence.

*

Wonwoo and Y/n returned home well past sunset. Giyong and Youngmi were patiently waiting, meticulously preparing containers for the snacks destined for tomorrow's soft opening. As Giyong rose from his seat to accept the grocery box from Y/n, concern laced his voice as he inquired about her well-being. "You weren't at clinic when I arrived this morning," he expressed, worry etched in his features.

Y/n responded with a warm smile, touched by the genuine care from everyone. Giyong, in turn, informed her of the arrival of the books, eager to see them find their place on the shelves. Youngmi, however, interjected, playfully scolding his use of the term 'decorated' when it came to books, emphasizing their purpose beyond mere ornamentation.

Suddenly, Giyong's tone shifted, a note of unexpected seriousness entering his voice. "By the way, can we talk after this? I have something to say," he asked Y/n, catching her off guard. It was a rare occurrence for Giyong to seek a private conversation with her. Meanwhile, Wonwoo observed the exchange, his gaze flicking between the two of them. He held back the urge to pry into Giyong's intentions, his lips pressed into a tight line.

In the midst of it all, a question lingered, unspoken yet palpable: Wasn't Wonwoo the only one harboring feelings for Y/n?

As the evening unfolded, the room gradually emptied, leaving only Wonwoo and Youngmi in its quiet embrace. The air held a certain tension, a subtle undercurrent of unspoken thoughts.

Youngmi, perceptive as ever, cleared her throat gently before speaking. "Wonwoo, can we talk for a moment?" Her voice was gentle, inviting, yet tinged with a hint of concern.

Wonwoo nodded, his gaze shifting from the empty chairs to Youngmi. He could sense the weight of the conversation to come, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation settling in his chest. "Of course, Youngmi. What's on your mind?" he asked, his tone steady.

She hesitated for a moment, choosing her words with care. "It's about you and Y/n," she began, her eyes meeting his with a searching intensity. "I've noticed... there seems to be something more between you two. Am I right?"

Wonwoo's heart skipped a beat, the question hanging in the air. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, the truth too important to evade. "Yes, Youngmi," he admitted, his voice measured. "I've developed feelings for Y/n. But I also value our friendship and want what's best for her."

Youngmi's expression softened, understanding and empathy in her eyes. "I appreciate your honesty, Wonwoo. It's not an easy situation for any of you."

He nodded, gratitude for her understanding washing over him. "I just want her to be happy," he confessed, his voice carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Youngmi's reassuring touch on Wonwoo's arm provided a steadying anchor in the midst of swirling emotions. Her gaze held a mixture of understanding and kindness, a testament to the depth of their friendship.

"I want to assure you, Wonwoo, that Giyong's concern for Y/n is solely rooted in care for her well-being," Youngmi began, her voice warm and sincere. "He's like a brother to her, and he only wants to see her happy and healthy. There's no hidden agenda, I promise."

Wonwoo's tense shoulders eased slightly, the weight of uncertainty gradually lifting. He appreciated Youngmi's candidness, a lifeline of clarity in a sea of conflicting emotions. "Thank you, Youngmi," he said, his voice touched with gratitude. "I just want what's best for Y/n, and it's reassuring to know Giyong's intentions are genuine."

Youngmi nodded, her eyes reflecting a shared concern for their friend. "We all do, Wonwoo."

A pang of empathy washed over Youngmi as she considered Y/n's journey, her eyes clouded with a mixture of sorrow and concern. "It breaks my heart to think of what Y/n might have been through, to end up here in this village," she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. "There must be something that pushed her to leave her previous life behind."

Wonwoo nodded, his own heart heavy with the weight of Y/n's untold story. "I've wondered about that too," he confessed, his gaze distant as he thought of the mysteries shrouding Y/n's past. "She carries a strength that's been forged through adversity, that much is clear."

Youngmi offered a gentle smile, her eyes softening with compassion. "Yes, she does. Yet she carries herself with such grace."

Silence settled between them, a shared understanding of the resilience that defined Y/n's spirit. In that moment, a renewed sense of respect and admiration for their friend blossomed, mingling with the determination to stand by her side, no matter what the future held.

As Y/n and Giyong entered the room, a subtle chill seemed to cling to the air, the weight of unspoken emotions lingering. Youngmi, ever perceptive, decided to break the tension with her effervescent spirit. She greeted them with a wide smile, injecting the room with her characteristic warmth and a light-hearted joke.

"Ah, here comes the dynamic duo, back from their secret mission!" she exclaimed playfully, her laughter dancing through the room.

Y/n's lips curled into a small smile, grateful for Youngmi's attempt to lighten the mood. Giyong, too, cracked a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. The atmosphere slowly began to thaw, replaced by a more comfortable ease.

They set to work organizing the books, arranging them according to the data Y/n had meticulously prepared days prior. Each book found its place on the shelves, a testament to their collective effort and attention to detail.

With the task completed, they gathered together, a sense of accomplishment settling over them. Cans of beer in hand, they raised a toast to their hard work and the promise of a successful soft opening.

The clinking of cans echoed in the room, a chorus of celebration and camaraderie. As they settled into their seats, the coldness that had lingered earlier was replaced by a shared sense of contentment and accomplishment.

As the evening wore on, the cheerful ambiance grew even warmer, fueled by the camaraderie and the liberating influence of the beer. Youngmi's laughter became more carefree, her words flowing with a certain unfiltered honesty.

"You know," she began, her words slightly slurred but her eyes bright, "all my friends are out there, happily married and posting pictures of their babies. And here I am, still single and living my best life!" She let out a peal of laughter, the sound filling the room.

Y/n, Wonwoo, and Giyong exchanged amused glances, touched by Youngmi's candidness. They listened intently, realizing that Youngmi was about to share something deeply personal.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," she continued, her voice lowering slightly. "People have been trying to push me into marriage for years. 'Settle down, find a nice man,' they say. But you know what I dream of?" Her eyes gleamed with a mix of determination and nostalgia. "Continuing my studies abroad, exploring the world, and writing about it!"

Her words hung in the air, a declaration of a dream deferred but not forgotten. There was a poignant sincerity in her voice, a testament to the strength of her convictions.

"And you three..." Youngmi turned to Y/n, Wonwoo, and Giyong, her gaze softening. "Meeting you, it's been a blessing. You've shown me that there's more to life than following the expected path. I'm grateful for each of you."

Her heartfelt confession settled over them, the room filled with a profound sense of connection. Y/n, Wonwoo, and Giyong exchanged smiles, touched by Youngmi's vulnerability and the depth of their friendship.

Giyong's gaze turned reflective, the warm light of the room casting shadows on his face as he spoke. "You know, there was a time when nobody believed I could make it. Even my own parents were skeptical when I chose to study medicine. They thought it was too ambitious, too difficult."

He paused, his eyes distant, as if revisiting those moments of doubt and determination. "But I was determined to prove them wrong. I worked tirelessly, pushing through every obstacle and doubt that came my way."

A quiet sense of pride tinged his voice, a testament to the resilience that had carried him through those challenging years. "And now, I can say that it's paid off. I'm doing what I love, and I can make a difference in people's lives."

Y/n, Wonwoo, and Youngmi listened in rapt attention, deeply moved by Giyong's story of perseverance. They could feel the weight of his journey, the sacrifices he had made to pursue his passion.

"You've achieved so much, Giyong," Wonwoo acknowledged, his voice filled with admiration. "Your dedication and hard work are truly inspiring."

Giyong smiled, a mix of gratitude and contentment lighting up his features. "Thank you, Wonwoo. It hasn't been easy, but every step of the way was worth it."

Giyong's words held a resonance that echoed in the room, a testament to the trials he had faced and overcome. "I've been fortunate in many ways," he continued, his voice steady. "I worked hard in my studies, and with time, I found my footing financially. My career has been a source of fulfillment and purpose."

There was a quiet pride in Giyong's demeanor, a sense of satisfaction in his accomplishments. Yet, a shadow of a deeper truth lingered in his eyes.

"But you know, even with all that, there's this unspoken pressure from society," he admitted, his gaze drifting to the window as if seeking answers in the night sky. "They see success and immediately think it's time to settle down, to get married. As if that's the only measure of a fulfilling life."

Y/n, Wonwoo, and Youngmi listened intently, their hearts heavy with the weight of societal expectations and the complexities that Giyong grappled with.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" Giyong mused, a hint of frustration in his voice. "To have your worth measured by whether or not you have a spouse. But I've always believed that there's more to life than that, more to define our happiness and fulfillment."

His words hung in the air, a call for a broader perspective on what it meant to lead a meaningful life. Y/n, Wonwoo, and Youngmi nodded in agreement, a shared understanding of the intricacies of societal norms and personal aspirations.

"Wonwoo, do you have anything to say?"

Wonwoo's voice carried a weight of vulnerability as he opened up about his own struggles. "You know, being in the public eye all the time... it's not as glamorous as it might seem," he confessed, his eyes fixed on a distant point. "There's almost no privacy. Every move is scrutinized, every word analyzed. And sometimes, baseless rumors just take on a life of their own."

He sighed, a mixture of resignation and frustration in his tone. "It's a constant contradiction to who I am. I love acting, I love the craft, but the celebrity part... it's not something I enjoy. It's like I have to give up so much just to do what I love."

Y/n, Giyong, and Youngmi listened with empathy, their hearts going out to Wonwoo. They could sense the weight of the expectations that rested on his shoulders, the toll it took on his sense of self.

"I just hope that someday, society can change," Wonwoo continued, his gaze turning back to them. "Stop pushing people into these boxes, these roles that they think we should fit into. There's so much more to a person than what meets the eye."

His words hung in the air, a plea for a world where individual passions and dreams could be pursued without the burden of societal expectations.

In the midst of the gentle hum of conversation, Youngmi's words tumbled out with a certain unfiltered honesty. "I'm really curious about you, Y/n. We've known each other for almost two weeks, but all I know is your name and your job," she babbled, the warmth of the alcohol giving her words a candid edge. Giyong, ever vigilant, attempted to intervene, but Y/n gave him a reassuring nod, signaling that it was alright.

A soft smile graced Y/n's lips, a glimmer of resilience shining through as she began to speak. Her voice held a steady cadence, each word carefully chosen to convey the weight of her experience. Wonwoo, his eyes locked onto hers, became a steady anchor of support, his gaze a pool of unwavering affirmation, absorbing every nuance of her story.

"I was diagnosed to have severe depression when i decided to run away from my life."

As she continued, Y/n's voice wove a tapestry of pain, courage, and the strength it took to overcome. The room seemed to hold its breath, honoring the depth of her vulnerability.

"I was divorced on my third anniversary. My husband... My ex, I loved him, but he cheated on me and wanted to separate," Y/n confessed, her voice carrying the weight of a painful memory. In her eyes, shadows of hurt flickered, a testament to the depth of her past pain. Though tears threatened to spill, she held them back, determined to share her truth.

"I was pregnant for 8 weeks," Y/n revealed, her voice tinged with both sorrow and strength. The weight of her words hung in the air, a somber melody weaving through the room. "I suffered a miscarriage on my way here."

As Y/n spoke, the room seemed to hold its breath, the gravity of her experience palpable. Each word was a testament to the pain she had endured, a fragment of her journey that she bravely shared. The vulnerability in her voice echoed through the room, drawing her friends closer in shared empathy.

Her revelation painted a vivid picture of desperation and heartache. "I rushed to the nearest clinic," she continued, her voice steady despite the emotions churning within her, "desperate to save my child, but it was already too late."

Her revelation hung in the air, the unspoken pain of her loss lingering like a bittersweet melody

"Now, my ex has been terrorizing me," Y/n continued, her voice strained but resolute. Her words hung in the air, a testament to the ongoing struggle she faced. "He believes I'm the one who exposed our relationship to the public, even though it was a secret. He's a popular actor, living his life under the relentless glare of the spotlight."

As Y/n spoke, the weight of her truth settled over the room. Her voice carried the burden of the harassment she endured, painting a vivid picture of the torment she faced. The atmosphere held a mixture of sympathy and anger, a shared determination to stand by her side.

Her voice caught, a lump forming in her throat as she released the emotions that had been bottled up for weeks. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, the unspoken pain of her reality laid bare. "Trust me," she choked out, her words a rallying cry, "being married, having fame, even a stable job... none of it guarantees a life free from obstacles. Life keeps shaping us."

The room fell into a hushed stillness, the weight of Y/n's revelation settling over them like a heavy shroud. Youngmi's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her heart aching for her friend. With a tender determination, she rose from her seat and approached Y/n, enveloping her in a warm, supportive embrace. It was a gesture of solidarity, a silent promise that she wasn't alone in this.

Giyong and Wonwoo exchanged solemn glances, a fire smoldering within them. Y/n's story had unearthed a deep well of empathy, but also a simmering anger towards the man who had caused her such pain. They shared a mutual understanding, a shared resolve to stand by Y/n's side and offer whatever support she needed.

In the midst of the heavy atmosphere, Y/n found comfort in Youngmi's arms. The embrace was a lifeline, a tangible reminder that she was surrounded by friends who cared deeply for her. Tears flowed freely now, a release of pent-up emotions that had been held in for too long.

As the night wore on, they remained together, their bonds strengthened by the shared vulnerability of the moment. They knew that from this point forward, they would face whatever challenges came their way as a united front, ready to protect and uplift one another.

*

As Wonwoo stirred from his slumber, he found the room oddly empty, a sense of quiet unease settling over him. The muffled sound of a car trunk closing outside drew his attention, and he hastened to investigate. There, he discovered Y/n, busily loading her belongings into the car. Confusion knitted his brows. What was happening?

"Hey, where are you going?" he asked, his voice laced with concern, stepping closer to her.

Y/n sighed, her movements deliberate yet tinged with a sense of urgency. "I have to go back," she replied, gently pushing Wonwoo aside as she secured the last of her belongings.

Wonwoo couldn't suppress his worry. "Is it because of what happened last night?" he ventured, his gaze searching hers. He couldn't help but marvel at her strength and grace, even in the face of such adversity.

Y/n halted, her hand coming up to rub her face, weariness etched in every line. "My husband, no, my ex... He threatened to reveal my identity if I didn't meet him for lunch today. He plans to create a scene at my office," she confessed, her voice finally breaking.

In an instant, Wonwoo enveloped her in a warm embrace, providing a comforting sanctuary amidst the turmoil. "Is that true?" he inquired, his voice gentle. Y/n's nod against his chest confirmed her heartbreaking reality.

As he held her, Wonwoo grappled with a decision. Should he leave for the soft opening? The internal debate was short-lived; his concern for Y/n's well-being took precedence. He knew she couldn't bear a six-hour drive in her current state.

"I'll drive you," Wonwoo declared, resolved to prioritize her over the event.

Y/n's brow furrowed in protest. "No! You can't miss the soft opening this afternoon. Giyong and Youngmi need you," she insisted.

Wonwoo shook his head, his tone unwavering. "They'll understand. But you need me right now. I don't think you should be driving in your condition," he reasoned, gently cradling her trembling hands, a tangible display of her vulnerability.

"I'll explain everything to everyone and wait for me, okay?" Wonwoo reassured, before turning to head back inside, determined to support Y/n through whatever challenges lay ahead.

Wonwoo stepped outside, his fresh clothes clinging to his tall frame as he gracefully slid into the driver's seat. He motioned for Y/n to fasten her seat belt, a gentle reminder of their safety before embarking on their journey.

As Y/n settled into her seat, a wave of guilt washed over her. She couldn't help but feel responsible for the recent events that had unfolded. "How's everybody reacting?" she asked, her voice laced with remorse. "I'm so sorry."

Wonwoo turned to face her, his eyes filled with understanding and compassion. With a reassuring smile, he replied, "No, it's fine. Everyone understands. They reached out to the local library for assistance, and they were more than happy to help." His words carried a sense of relief, a weight lifted off their shoulders.

Turning his head towards her, Wonwoo's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining. "Didn't I tell you that I'll always be on your side?" he asked softly, his touch providing comfort and reassurance. With a gentle motion, he rubbed her knuckles, a tender gesture that spoke volumes of his unwavering support.

As the miles passed beneath them, Y/n couldn't shake the unease settling in her chest. The warmth of Wonwoo's hand in hers, the reassuring rub of his thumb, it all felt too intimate, too knowing. He knew her, inside and out, and that vulnerability made her skin prickle with self-consciousness.

She stole a quick glance at him, finding his gaze fixed on the road ahead, a serene expression on his face. He seemed entirely at ease, oblivious to the storm churning within her

As the road stretched on, Y/n pondered how to convey her feelings without causing discomfort. She subtly shifted her hand, disentangling her fingers from Wonwoo's, letting her palm rest on her own thigh. It was a small, deliberate movement, a signal that she needed some space.

Wonwoo glanced at her, his brow furrowing in mild concern. Sensing her withdrawal, he eased off on the affectionate gestures, giving her the room she silently asked for.

The air in the car seemed to shift, a delicate balance of understanding settling between them. Y/n felt a weight lift off her chest, grateful for Wonwoo's sensitivity to her unspoken cues.

A lump formed in Y/n's throat, and she cleared it, willing herself to find the right words. "Wonwoo, I... I appreciate everything you've done for me. But you know so much about me, and I... I feel embarrassed, like you see all my flaws and insecurities."

The confession hung in the air, a fragile admission of her own discomfort. She couldn't bear the thought of him knowing every vulnerable part of her, laid bare for him to see.

Wonwoo met her gaze, his eyes soft with understanding. He nodded gently, his smile a beacon of reassurance. "Y/n, I want you to know that I would never want you to feel uncomfortable or exposed. I care about you deeply, and I respect your boundaries."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, moved by his considerate response. "Thank you, Wonwoo. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just... it's hard, you know? Being so open."

He nodded again, his gaze unwavering. "I understand, Y/n. Vulnerability can be a difficult thing to navigate, especially when you care about someone. Please know that I'm here for you, in whatever way you need me to be."

The drive to Seoul stretched on, the minutes feeling like hours in the confined space of the car. Wonwoo's gaze flickered towards Y/n's phone, which she cradled in her palm. He couldn't help but notice the persistent call from Jisoo's contact flashing on the screen. Y/n shot him an apologetic look before reluctantly answering.

She took a steadying breath, swiping to answer the call. "Hello," she greeted, her voice gentle yet firm. "I'm on my way from Changwon. Can you just wait?"

The voice on the other end crackled with impatience and agitation. Y/n's ex-husband seemed unwilling to grant her request, his demands echoing through the phone. Wonwoo, attuned to the conversation, could hear the frustration in Y/n's voice, though she remained composed.

"Don't you dare try to go to my office, you're crazy," she asserted, her tone unwavering. The words held a quiet strength, a boundary firmly set.

Wonwoo's grip on the steering wheel tightened instinctively. He could feel the weight of the situation, the underlying tension in the car growing palpable.

The passing scenery outside seemed to blur, the city lights of Seoul a distant promise of respite. Wonwoo stole glances at Y/n, concern etched into his features. He wished he could shield her from the discomfort, but all he could do was keep his focus on the road, providing a steady anchor in the midst of the storm.

As the call finally came to an end, Y/n let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned to Wonwoo, a mixture of frustration and weariness in her eyes. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, Wonwoo."

He offered a reassuring smile, his voice gentle. "You don't need to apologize."

As they approached the Seoul University area, Wonwoo navigated the car through the familiar streets, glancing at Y/n for directions. She directed him with a calm confidence, her focus on their destination.

"So, we're heading to Seoul University, right?" Wonwoo asked, double-checking to ensure they were on the right track.

Y/n nodded, her gaze fixed ahead. "Yes, that's correct. It's just up ahead."

As they pulled up near the café, a gentle sense of anticipation hung in the air. Y/n turned to Wonwoo, her expression grateful. "Thank you for getting me here, Wonwoo. I really appreciate it."

He met her gaze with a reassuring smile. "Of course, Y/n. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

As Y/n prepared to step out of the car, Wonwoo hesitated for a moment. "Would you like me to come with you?" he offered, genuine concern in his voice.

Y/n considered the offer, touched by his willingness to support her. However, she ultimately declined with a kind smile. "Thank you, Wonwoo, but I think I'll be okay. I'll catch up with you soon."

With that, she exited the car, leaving Wonwoo to wait inside. He watched her disappear into the café, a mixture of admiration and concern welling within him.

As he sat alone in the car, lost in his thoughts, he saw a figure approaching. It was Hong Jisoo, a fellow actor under the same agency. Wonwoo's mind raced, connecting the dots between the information he had from his manager and the story Y/n had shared the previous night.

The gravity of the situation settled heavily on Wonwoo's shoulders. He couldn't help but feel a surge of anger towards Jisoo, not just for the chaos he had caused for their agency, but for the pain he had inflicted upon Y/n.

He knew that if Y/n chose to reveal the truth about their relationship, it could mean serious consequences for Jisoo. And in Wonwoo's eyes, he would fully deserve the backlash.

The minutes stretched on as Wonwoo sat alone in the car, the tension in the air palpable. His mind raced, thoughts swirling with a mix of concern for Y/n and a growing disdain for Hong Jisoo. The gravity of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, a weight he couldn't easily shake.

He couldn't help but replay the details he had gathered from his manager and the fragments of Y/n's story from the night before. It was a puzzle he was desperate to piece together, a mosaic of pain and betrayal that painted a devastating picture.

Wonwoo's empathy for Y/n ran deep. He couldn't fathom the pain she must have endured, the scars that lingered beneath the surface. In that moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to shield her from any further harm.

As he sat in the car, the cafe's windows reflecting the bustle of the university area, he couldn't shake the sense of injustice that gnawed at him. Hong Jisoo's actions were not only a betrayal of trust but a stain on their shared profession. The chaos he had caused for their agency was not easily forgiven.

Yet, Wonwoo also understood the delicate dance of fame and reputation. Exposing the truth could be a double-edged sword, a decision that required careful consideration. Y/n held the power to unveil the reality of their past, a truth that could potentially change everything.

As the minutes passed, he found himself hoping for Y/n's strength and resilience to guide her through the encounter. He knew she was more than capable of handling the situation, but the support he yearned to offer her was bound by the confines of the car.

Finally, the door of the cafe swung open, and Y/n emerged. Her posture held a quiet determination, and Wonwoo's heart swelled with admiration. She approached the car with a composed grace, slipping into the passenger seat beside him.

Their gazes met, and without a word, he could sense the weight of the encounter. He offered her a small, supportive smile, a silent assurance that he was there for her.

The ride back from Seoul University was filled with a quiet yet palpable sense of support. As they merged onto familiar streets, Wonwoo broke the silence, his voice warm and gentle. "Y/n, where would you like to go now?"

Y/n's gaze shifted to the passing scenery outside, contemplative. "Home, please. I just want to be there right now."

Wonwoo nodded, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the route to Y/n's residence. The drive was a comfortable one, the air between them carrying a sense of shared understanding.

As they arrived, Y/n turned to Wonwoo with a small, sincere smile. "Would you like to come inside, Wonwoo? It's been a while since I've been able to host anyone."

He met her gaze with a soft smile of his own. "I'd love to, Y/n. Thank you for the invitation."

The house greeted them with a familiar warmth, the familiar scent of home enveloping them. Y/n offered a brief apology for not being able to prepare anything, her genuine hospitality shining through.

"It's not a problem at all, Y/n," Wonwoo reassured her. "I'm just glad to be here with you."

They settled into a comfortable rhythm, the atmosphere relaxed and easy. As they sat in the living room, Y/n turned to Wonwoo, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and determination.

"The meeting earlier," Wonwoo began gently, "how did it go?"

Y/n took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking. "It was complicated but we dealed to come with a legal agreement, really. We both agreed that if it ever comes out that I wasn't the one who revealed Jisoo's status, he'll stop bothering me."

Wonwoo nodded, understanding the weight of the situation. "That's a significant step, Y/n. I'm glad you were able to find some resolution."

Y/n's eyes met his, a spark of gratitude shining through. "Thank you, Wonwoo. Your support means more to me than I can express."

They sat in companionable silence, the weight of the day slowly lifting. As evening settled in, the air around them seemed to fill with a sense of hope and possibility. Y/n sat on the comfortable living room couch, her eyes fixed on Wonwoo, a mix of curiosity and warmth in her gaze. The atmosphere in the room was cozy, the soft light casting a gentle glow around them.

"Can I ask you something, Wonwoo?" she ventured, her voice soft but steady.

He turned towards her, his expression open and inviting. "Of course, Y/n. You can ask me anything."

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I've been wondering... why have you been so kind and affectionate towards me lately? I mean, driving all the way from Changwon and being there for me. It means a lot, but I'm just trying to understand the reason behind it."

Wonwoo met her gaze with sincerity, his eyes warm and earnest. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking.

"It's been a while since I felt like I could truly enjoy my life and my time," he began, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. "Meeting you, Giyong, and Youngmi again... it's been a reminder of the good things life has to offer. And with you, Y/n, there's something more."

Y/n's gaze held his, her curiosity deepening. "Something more?"

Wonwoo nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yes. Being around you, there's a sense of protectiveness that awakens in me. I want to be there for you, to support you in any way I can."

He took a breath, his gaze steady on Y/n's. "I've come to realize that it's more than just friendship, Y/n. I have feelings for you, romantically."

Y/n's heart seemed to flutter in her chest, surprised yet warmed by his honesty. She met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.

"I understand if it's difficult for you, Y/n," he continued, his voice gentle. "I know it hasn't been long for you, and I'm willing to wait. You deserve to take your time and open your heart when you're ready. I believe you're worth fighting for."

His words hung in the air, a quiet declaration of his feelings and his unwavering support. Y/n felt a rush of emotion wash over her, touched by his sincerity and the depth of his care.

"Thank you, Wonwoo," she finally said, her voice filled with gratitude. "Your honesty means a lot to me, and I truly appreciate your patience and understanding."

As they sat in the comfortable living room, the weight of their conversation seemed to settle around them. It was a pivotal moment, a shared understanding of the feelings that had blossomed between them. Together, they faced the uncertainty of what lay ahead, their bond strengthened by their shared vulnerability. They were ready to navigate the path forward, hand in hand, knowing that their connection was worth every step.

*

The room was cast in a hushed, early morning light, painting everything in a gentle, golden hue. Wonwoo's breaths gradually steadied as the remnants of his vivid dream began to recede. He gazed around the room, the unfamiliar surroundings of his father's villa causing a wave of disorientation to wash over him. It was as if he had been temporarily transported to another world, only to be abruptly pulled back to reality.

As Wonwoo sat there in the quiet villa, the weight of his realization settled heavily on his shoulders. The vividness of the dream still clung to him, like an echo of a life he had briefly lived. The laughter, the shared moments, the warmth of their connections—all of it felt so achingly real, yet he knew it was nothing more than a fleeting illusion.

A sense of yearning mingled with a quiet ache of loss, as if he had glimpsed a reality that was just out of reach. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, trying to grasp onto the fading threads of the dream. It was like trying to hold onto mist, slipping through his fingers, leaving him with a bittersweet ache.

The room around him seemed to close in, the walls of the villa pressing in on him. He longed to return to the moments he had experienced in that dream, to be with Giyong, Youngmi, and Y/n once more. But the cruel truth was that those moments were never real, just fragments of a slumbering mind.

His body felt weary and spent, the strain of the long drive from Seoul to his childhood hometown settling in his bones. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, attempting to shake off the lingering traces of the dream. Those moments with Giyong, Youngmi, and Y/n seemed to cling to him, the emotions and sensations feeling almost too tangible, too real.

As another thud resonated through the villa, Wonwoo's senses sharpened, his heart quickening with a surge of adrenaline. He moved with purpose, descending the stairs in swift strides. The urgency in his steps betrayed the underlying anxiety that still pulsed through him.

When he entered the kitchen, the sight of Y/n greeted him like a beacon of solace. She sat there, a picture of quiet comfort, munching on chips with a bucket of ice cream at her side. Her presence was a grounding force, a reassuring reminder that he was indeed back in reality.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, a hint of confusion softening the edges of her gaze. "Did I wake you up?"

Wonwoo's response was immediate and visceral. He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "No, it's not that. I had a dream... I thought you were just a dream."

Y/n's laughter was a melodic, comforting sound. She reached out, her hand gentle as she patted his head, a soothing gesture that seemed to anchor him. "Well, I'm very much real, Wonwoo."

A sigh of relief escaped him, and he found himself leaning into her touch, seeking the solace she offered. Her scent, familiar and warm, enveloped him, dispelling the lingering traces of the dream that still clung to his senses.

She eased back, concern etched in the soft lines of her features. "Are you okay, Wonwoo?"

He met her gaze with a grateful smile, the depth of his appreciation mirrored in his eyes. "I am now, thanks to you."

Y/n extended a gentle invitation, patting the seat beside her, her eyes warm with affection. "Come join me." She nodded towards her chips and ice cream, a snack combination that had become a cherished indulgence since they learned about the little one growing inside her.

Wonwoo's heart swelled with a delicate mixture of tenderness and wonder. He moved to her side, their bodies settling in close companionship. The simplicity of sharing a snack held a profound significance, a quiet acknowledgement of the new journey they were about to embark on together.

As they sat in the tranquil villa, a sense of calm settled around them like a comforting embrace. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them, wrapped in a cocoon of shared intimacy. The promise of a new chapter in their lives hung in the air, a palpable presence that filled the room.

Wonwoo's gaze lingered on Y/n, his heart overflowing with gratitude for this moment. The dream, though fleeting, had left an indelible mark on him, blurring the boundaries between reality and imagination. Yet, here and now, with Y/n beside him, everything felt undeniably real. It was a tangible affirmation of the love, hope, and the promise of a bright future that lay ahead.

Their fingers brushed lightly as they reached for the snacks, a subtle connection that spoke volumes. Each gesture, each shared glance, was a silent promise to face the uncertainties of the future hand in hand. They were ready, together, to navigate the uncharted waters of parenthood, knowing that their bond was the anchor that would guide them through.

In the quietude of the villa, time seemed to suspend, leaving them in a precious bubble of shared anticipation. Every heartbeat echoed with the promise of new beginnings, of a love that would grow and evolve with each passing day.

As the day unfolded around them, Wonwoo and Y/n sat there, cherishing the moment. Their hearts beat in sync, a harmonious rhythm that set the tone for the journey that awaited them. They were ready to face the world, armed with the strength of their love and the unwavering promise of a future filled with endless possibilities.

*

Celebrated Actor Jeon Wonwoo Announces Joyous Pregnancy News with Non-Celebrity Wife

Three Years After Tying the Knot, the Couple Embarks on a New Chapter

---

Date: September 23, 20xx

Seoul, South Korea – In a heartwarming revelation, renowned actor Jeon Wonwoo, known for his exceptional talent and versatile roles, has shared the delightful news of his wife's pregnancy. The celebrated couple, who exchanged vows three years ago in a private ceremony, are now eagerly anticipating the arrival of their bundle of joy.

Jeon Wonwoo, recognized for his outstanding contributions to the entertainment industry, has captivated audiences with his memorable performances in a range of films and television dramas. His marriage to a non-celebrity three years ago was met with warm wishes and heartfelt support from fans and colleagues alike.

The actor's announcement of his wife's pregnancy comes as a source of great joy for both the couple and their admirers. This new chapter in their lives is met with much anticipation and excitement.

Friends and colleagues from the entertainment industry have extended their warmest congratulations to the soon-to-be parents. The news has also been met with an outpouring of love and well-wishes from fans worldwide, showcasing the deep affection and support they hold for the esteemed actor.

Jeon Wonwoo, known for his humility and dedication to his craft, has always kept his personal life private, focusing instead on delivering compelling performances that have garnered critical acclaim. This announcement is a rare glimpse into the actor's cherished moments, allowing fans to share in his happiness.

As the actor and his wife embark on this new journey together, their fans eagerly await the arrival of their little one, sending heartfelt wishes for health, happiness, and endless blessings.

The couple's journey into parenthood promises to be filled with love, support, and cherished memories. With the world watching, Jeon Wonwoo and his wife step into this exciting new chapter, ready to embrace the adventures of parenthood with open hearts.

The End.

[loosingmoreletters]

Your s classes fics aew so good they've pulled me into the fandom again. Now gonna have to see how far the manwha is along! Hahha

(Also since I love your fics so much, I'm not sure if you read fics for fandom you write (I know some authors don't) but if you have any recs... 👀

Thank you!!!! I'm glad you enjoyed it and I hope you had fun with the current chapters!

And yes, I always have recs for fandoms I write because I usually only start writing once I'm truly obsessed or couldn't find a fic that hit quite the vibe I wanted.

Anyway! Fanfic recs! This list has a little bit of everything, I think!

never leave a trace by armed_teddy_bear The Han parents haunt Han Yoojin.

Last Forsythia’s Bloom by Lazlo (hinagikuhaven) Yoojin is hit by a fuck or die curse. Daunted by the knowledge of the cure that will force Yoohyun to make a terrible choice, Yoojin chooses to run away. warning for incest and dubcon

Slumbering Stars by FeltLikeWritingAndHereIAm The world ended when Han Yoojin’s brother died between his arms. Nothing will ever be the same, not even with a second chance.

Behind A Smile by Lazlo (hinagikuhaven) In hindsight, Yoohyun should have long suspected it. The abyss that laid behind his brother’s happy smiles.

does that mean by Frill Sung Hyunjae and Han Yoojin knew one another before the dungeons.

S-Rank Skill Poison Nullification! by chamsie Rather than getting famous for his taming skills, Yoojin accidentally becomes infamous for his ability to eat any and all poisons without dying.

and tomorrow may be something to look for by wovenstarlight Han Yoojin time travels instead of regressing. This causes some problems.

the ghost of you (will never leave me) by Sorbus Han Yoojin has skills geared towards the mind and lending or borrowing power. It only makes sense that if he has a skill to receive the memories of others alongside their power and skills, he could sacrifice his memories of others in return for some strength. Han Yoojin has a skill that lets him give up memories of someone he holds dear in exchange for more power. Things change, but ultimately stay the same.

Now We Have by Frill Han Yoojin can tame monsters. He meets Bak Yerim and Yoo Myeongwoo in a dungeon.

but i have promises to keep (and miles to go before i sleep) by Anonymous Of all the possible ways the Awakening broker could’ve scammed her, Bak Yerim never considered abandoning her in a dungeon as one of them. Stealing her money and never actually bringing her to a dungeon? Definitely. Taking her money and then reporting her to the authorities? Yeah. Going through the effort of bringing her here and leaving her? Wasn’t even a thought in her head. And yet here she was, completely alone in a dungeon. Well. Fuck. or, bak yerim ends up stuck in a dungeon and meetings a certain someone

My Sweetheart by armed_teddy_bear Bak Yerim finds the Han family’s home videos, featuring a young Han Yoojin and baby Han Yoohyun.

Isolation Training by armed_teddy_bear Han Yoojin kept a diary to deal with the stress of his separation with Yoohyun. While moving his brother’s things, Yoohyun finds it.

The Ghost That Lives With Us by Anonymous Hatred comes to Yoohyun as unnaturally as love, and just as intensely.

If love is the answer could you please rephrase the question? by theladyofcamelias Yoojin goes on a date with an old high school acquaintance. Everybody is perfectly normal about this in case you were wondering.

travel logs to you by flyingintherainclouds In which Han Yoojin has decided to live a quiet life, as requested of him by his dear brother, who anonymously deposits money into his bank account. He goes traveling two years after Yoohyun left, determined to come back whole. Still, he can't bear to leave without telling his brother, so he sends recordings of himself on his travels to him. secondary title: recordings to you, from my heart to yours

love me, love me not (love me) by Yersina “Hi,” Yoojin croaks into his phone. His stomach had been churning from downing too many healing potions in a row, so he’d been experimenting with just letting the coughs happen. Now he’s starting to regret that a bit. “I’d like to make an appointment.” He gives the nurse his information and stares out the window of his apartment while she looks up his records. “What are you coming in for?” “Hanahaki surgery.”

new dog's old tricks by snipsnap In which Yoojin doesn’t wake up at the broker. This changes everything. Or: being from the future gives you a lot of strings to pull. Yoojin is studying the harp.

[Final Repayment] by Frill “I…” Yoohyun let go of Yoojin’s hand. The curly-haired man stood there awkwardly before asking, “May I come in?” Yoojin stepped to the side quickly. “Come in, Yoohyun-ah. You’re always welcomed.” Yoojin was very confused when his dongsaeng appeared on his doorstep after 3 months of silence.

convention no. 138 by Yersina Yoojin strokes through Yoohyun’s hair once, and the clumps of dirt that fall from the action remind him of where they’re currently standing. “Yoohyun, why are you in a crater? What happened?” At this, Yoohyun untwists himself just enough from Yoojin’s hold to raise a handful of flames in Yoojin’s direction. “Hyung, I think I have magic powers,” he says solemnly. Yoojin stares for a long moment, long enough that Yoohyun clenches his fist, extinguishing the fire, and looks up at Yoojin worriedly. “Okay,” he manages eventually. “Okay. Sure. Yeah.” He was attacked by dinosaurs and his eleven year old brother has magic powers. That’s… this is fine.

Fighting with Fear by Turacin (Turacoverdin) When a raid of an S-class dungeon goes wrong and a conspiracy is revealed, the only option Yoojin has is to take care of it all himself. Unfortunately, he must violently kill fourteen people and an S-class snail boss to do so. The consequences of this are not what he expected.

You Before Forever by Vehemenace When Han Yoojin regresses, he isn't sitting in one of Haeyeon Guild's guest rooms. Instead, he finds himself in the middle of the streets of Seoul, disoriented, with the feeling of his brother's corpse imprinted on his hands.

[loneberry]

notes from my sickbed

(From The Color of Pomegranates by Sergei Parajanov)

*

Books I’ve finished reading during my COVID convalescence. I read Shatz’s Fanon biography, The Rebel’s Clinic, with a race + psychoanalysis reading group I’ve been hosting for a few years now. I have mixed feelings about the book, but that topic is for another day.

Re: Minor Detail—listen to this wide-ranging interview with Palestinian novelist Adania Shibli. Toward the end there is a thought-provoking conversation about the question of the state. Loved the discussion of the hospitality of language. The bells tolling in the background. The agency of words, the being of silence. 

*

The only thing I like more than reading in bed is reading outside. I’ve just been sitting on my back porch from around 7:30am until an hour before sunset, reading and writing notes, pausing whenever there is a soft breeze to look at the quivering leaves of the maple, or to observe the adorable sparrows that have built a nest in the roof of my porch. (They fly off toward the tree when they sense I am looking at them.) I’ve been feeling quite weak, but I force myself to walk a little around sunset despite the shortness of breath. In the evening I watch films and fall asleep listening to podcasts. 

A couple days ago I walked past the old apartment I used to live in during the pandemic. Is it wrong to say—I felt a kind of relief when everything shut down, that my frenetic schedule of events + travel was instantly erased. I quite enjoy spending time alone, marinating in my thoughts, reading and writing all day, living in a semi-hallucinatory state induced by how intensely I live in these parallel worlds made up of words. (So some part of me finds pleasure in convalescing too.)

On Hancock Street, the bursting rose bushes have been uprooted to make room for the sleek new (hideous) house on the corner. The Mountain laurel and wild roses were blooming at the apartment I lived in during the pandemic. I thought about how well I got to know the tiny radius around that apartment, the almost-religious attention I paid to every inch of new plant growth, how I mapped my emotional state onto whatever was blooming in that moment—forsythia during the initial lockdown, the scent of lilac wafting in through the window as I completed my last weeks of grad school, the roses and mountain laurel blooms during the news of M’s suicide.

I walked on the trail I walked on during the pandemic, by the grape vines covering the fence of the community gardens, the same vines I observed four years ago while talking to M’s publisher on the phone, listening to his voice crack with emotion as he spoke about wishing there was something he could have done, while another part of my brain recoiled at the sight of the pockmarked leaves—a disease was spreading across the vines, possibly triggering my (moderate) trypophobia. He was saying something about a camera he had given her... 

I remember looking at the last orange light catching the tops of the maple trees and thinking, “You’ll never see that light.”

My oura ring metrics are still in the dumps (it’s funny this little smart ring knew I was sick before I did) but I think I am slowly getting over this bout of COVID. The fatigue and brain fog is crushing, but at least I can still smell the irises. 

[pinespittinink]

🌾What sort of plant or plant-like thing have you created for your world or WIP?🌸  

Thank you @kashacreates for this Worldbuilding Wednesday tag! I love love love this question, as a nature writer and a worldbuilding nut.

I’ve created a bunch of original flora for Bloodlines, set on the continent of Helmi af i Verold (“the Pearl of the World”).

Pietna vines are native to woodsy areas, and abundant especially in the more jungle-like environment that stretches across the south between the Gelkins and skin-changers’ respective lands. They are thick olive-green ground cover vines, and very hardy. They are the primary material used for making leather; pietna leather is used for under armor, boots, traveling wear, and waterproofing.

Kiphoria is a climbing flowering plant similar to forsythia; it has the same yellow shoots of blossoms, though kiphoria is more of a natural climber than a shrub.

Frost flowers are one of the few plants to thrive in winter, blooming during the coldest months. They have several different colors, differences in stems and petals (red and white, and silver and blue being the most common). The blossoms are bell-shaped, in clusters similar to lily-of-the-valley. The stalks are very thin, the flowers themselves appearing very delicate, but they are deceptively hardy.

Kronite is a low ground cover plant in the succulent family; short, stubby clusters of fleshy green leaves. It has a few different medical uses, but its most common use is actually in the production of krithyte, a drink similar to liquor that is traditionally consumed in small quantities by Gelkins before battle, to boost vigor and confidence.

Aubra roses are a specific kind of rose with rich orange-red petals and very full blossoms. One of the Gelkins, Aubra, actually was given his name because of his vibrant hair.

Fellsblood and southern snow are different names for the same flowers that bloom across the jungle canopy in spring (referred to as such by the Gelkins and skin-changers respectively). The blossoms are white, their green buds waxy, the petals thick, and they are similar to plumeria in design.

[litchfieldtreeservices]

Pruning When Should I Prune My Plants?

Pruning is the selective removal of living or dead plant parts including branches, buds, leaves, flowers and roots. It is a necessary step in maintaining the health, appearance and safety of trees, shrubs and other plants. Plants that are not pruned can quickly become overgrown, blocking views or interfering with walking paths. They may also pose a safety hazard as they can fall or rub against structures such as homes or power lines. Keeping plants to a manageable size enhances visual appeal and helps promote air circulation, sunlight penetration and overall plant health. When should I prune my plants? Most plants can benefit from pruning on a regular basis, especially young trees and shrubs. Removing dead and diseased wood, promoting air flow, light penetration and encouraging new growth are the main reasons for regularly pruning landscape plants. It is also important to prune plants before and after they bloom to keep them looking their best. This is particularly true for plants such as azalea, rhododendron, magnolia and forsythia that flower on wood produced during the previous growing season. The most common pruning methods are size management cuts, structural (subordination) cuts and crown cleaning cuts. Size management cut are those that reduce a tree or shrubs height by shortening the length of branches, for example shortening a wide-spread tree to reduce shade and wind resistance. Structural cuts are those that improve a plant’s structure by changing its shape such as raising or lowering the crown, opening or closing the canopy and eliminating crossing and rubbing branches. Crown cleaning cuts remove the bulk of a plant’s foliage and may include the removal of suckers, water sprouts and other vegetative growth. Pruning is a great way to control pests and diseases by removing diseased or insect-infested branches. This prevents the spread of these organisms to other healthy branches and helps protect the entire plant. Pruning is a labor-intensive activity that requires the use of tools such as hand pruners, loppers and chainsaws. It is a task that should only be performed by qualified professionals who have been trained to know when and how to properly prune plants for their health and aesthetics. It is important to follow a specific plan and to consider the reason or purpose for each pruning cut before starting to prune. It is also important to remember that when cutting any branch or limb, the proper angle of the cut plays an essential role in the plant’s ability to heal. This is determined by carefully observing two features of the branch, the branch collar and the bark ridge. Contact us today to schedule a consultation. We can help with your landscape and recommend a pruning plan for the year ahead. via https://litchfieldtreeservices1.wordpress.com/2024/04/25/pruning-when-should-i-prune-my-plants/

[cybermeep]

bluey plays in the dentists waiting room; i read house of leaves, on the pages where you have to tilt the book and read it from many different angles. an oddity to the other patrons in the lobby. when inside, i get xrays and hear a plethora of chatter. i speak very little.

the ride to the place was mostly the same; constant babbling, half of it i pay attention to. we pass the behavioral health center on the way there, along with the RMV… i make a small mental note, remember a nice memory. i pass by a tux store and find myself grinning, teeth visible; i put my hand to my mouth and quickly grow bashful at my facial expression. my mother doesn’t notice, and if she does she says nothing. still, i avoid her gaze

afterwards, i am allowed the joy that is library time. get dropped off, stay an hour. sky is nice. a american robin is abnormally close to me; i wish i could’ve fed it bird seed… had none on me. sit on a bench, go inside. find the science & mathematics section. i pull out several books to skim through; one had a little wasps face on its side.. i took an image, but it ended up blurry & bad! aw man… maybe next time ill get a clearer photo. read about sea creatures near the atlantic region, birds & the like. at one point, i move to read a book about meteorology; i find the study of the elements fascinating. as i go to flip pages, i see the pages themselves are worn. fragile.

i am far too afraid to accidentally injure this book, so i only skim through for a minute or so before gently putting it back in the spot it was in. i don’t wish to harm this organism… are books organisms? not really, but i like viewing them as living. huh.

regardless, the ride home is okay. forsythias blooming, a radiant yellow color. very pretty. i wish to visit the other library nearby… the uhm, uh, one near the winding road. i haven’t been to it in a long time, if at all. probably once in pre-adolescence. i like libraries, they’re comforting

i might go tomorrow to see it, actually… i don’t really do anything, if it isn’t abundantly clear. depends on my mothers appointment she has. i don’t mind sitting and reading for a few hours; i like that, actually.

as a closing sentence, minutes prior i… hmm.. how would i say it…. touched my wall? i guess? not really remarkable. i pat it, though. like how you’d pat a cat or a dog.. i always see walls broken, never cherished or treated carefully. i wonder why

oh yeah, heres some photos too. for funsies.

manually colorpicking because i would hate just putting a big black bar.. also could just cut that part out.. i enjoy the sign, though. i like signs. and power lines. and, uh.. a lot of things

[invinciblerodent]

6) Any flowers you associate with your OC? for any/all that you have flowers associated! and why? is it based off vibes or are you digging into flower language meanings?

Oooh, I love this!!! (Please excuse the janky graphics lol, I'm trying out new software!)

First thought -and I kinda already had this in mind- is that I associate Petyr with reed flowers. (And cattails and foxtails, aesthetically.)

I wasn't aware of them having a specific meaning before (though... complaisance and family, that's kind of spot on!), but there is... something quite beautiful in them, I think.

I mean, they're not flashy, or very valuable as flowers. Not many people like looking at them or think "flower" when they see them, and Petyr's whole "theme" is kind of that he's Not The Right Kind Of Man. He's never what people want (or expect) him to be: he's not a druid (unlike the rest of his family), but he IS abrasive, aloof, and overall kind of... disagreeable. He's very direct, and flippant, with a dry sense of humor that can come off as plain mean if you take it at face value. Like a reed the leaves of which will cut your finger if you touch it the wrong way.

But reeds, they're also... the thatching on the roof that protects you from the elements. Reed stalks make excellent building materials, baskets, pens, instruments, arrows- they're extremely versatile, one just has to know how to work with them. They're flexible too, they provide shelter for all sorts of creatures, and in the marshlands, they're a very natural part of the landscape- they don't stand out, but their absence does.

I like that theming, I think. It really fits him well. (And, works with his last name too now that I think about it- a wild brook, it's reasonable that reeds would grow there!)

For Iona, I can't really decide between the forsythia and the marsh marigold. They're both early spring flowers (well. one is a tree but. a flowering one), with small, bright yellow or golden blooms, and their meanings -as far as I can find- are respectively anticipation, and riches, though they are both... profoundly ordinary flowers that, again, aren't often recognized for their beauty.

I mean, sure, the forsythia is often kept as a landscaping tree, but they have a fairly short window for blooming, outside of which they kind of blend into the background. But when they do bloom, they are theses... incredible, striking bushels of bright, golden yellow flowers that don't even have the leaves to compete with. They're an overpowering, gorgeous cascade of abundant blooms that I feel really work very nicely with Iona's story, which is... kind of about being finally allowed to bloom, to come into her power, and become the woman she was always meant to be.

The marsh marigold is kind of similar in that it's a tiny and ordinary, early spring flower, but that grows wild, which I really like for her as well.

(Interesting tidbit, in my native language the name of the marsh marigold means "message/messenger of storks", because it blooms before the storks would return- so, kind of as one of the first little messengers of spring.)

(I also just. associate her with golden yellows quite a lot. I just think this bright, rich sunshine-yellow color feels like her, which I think is really sweet too, knowing what happens with her lover by the end of the game. I liked the thought of the Sun- and Moon chasing one another to begin with, but I like how it goes from the Moon "scheming" to steal the Sun's light, to the light being freely given, and instead the Moon "soothing" the Sun's blaze.) (She's his sunshine okay, let me have this)

Aaaand I seem to be really leaning very into the very ordinary little flowers, but for Arvid, I'm thinking of cornflowers.

I mean, first things first, the most well-known color variant matches his eyes perfectly, so that's one reason (In my little notes, I've definitely called his eyes "cornflower blue" at least once!), but this one... I was aware that they're sort of a symbol of hope for a better future, which I feel really matches him and his overall approach to life.

The boy is just... doing his best. Trying his damnedest to be good, no matter his place.

These flowers also typically grow in wheat fields, and are technically considered weeds, which I feel would speak to him- these flowers, nobody intended for them to be where they are, but nevertheless, they're blooming their little hearts out. They're resilient, they have medicinal properties, and you'll often find them hung up and dried as decorations: basically, when they first spring up, nobody wants them, but since they're there... well, they make the best of their lot. I like that.

I don't yet have one for Ray (a forget-me-not is kind of on the nose, lol), but yeah, I think these three, I like these for them!

[amilst]

Forsythia, Easter tree, Yellow Jasmine. Our Forsythia is magnificent this year. I pruned it last fall because it was looking a little worn and it seems to have appreciated the cut. In the UK, it is pronounced for-sigh-thia, after the horticulturist William Forsyth who supposedly made the first rock garden in 1802. Curious if the Canadians similarly pronounce it like that since they are part of the Commonwealth of Nations. 

The bright yellow flowers have four downward hanging petals joined at their base forming a tube. Each flower contains two stamens and a pistil. What makes the plant so striking is that the flowers form so early, before any of the leaves, completely covering the plant so all you see is the yellowness.

They are so easy to grow. You see lines of them in Philadelphia along the side of the road thriving among the litter. But they are only noticeable when blooming. After the flowers disappear, the shrubs are barely distinguishable from the tall weeds beside them.

In the fall, they produce hardly noticeable fruit used in traditional Chinese medicine. Like so many of our garden plants, forsythia originated in Asia where they are considered symbols of love. One legend tells the story of a man returning to his wife after a long journey and seeing her waiting by a forsythia bush. He was so struck by her beauty, he vowed to never again take their love for granted.  Some recommend clipping a few forsythia stalks and putting them in water. When the flowers open, so will your love life.

A long standing, but unproven, myth holds that the forsythia flowers produce lactose, one of the only natural sources of the substance other than the milk of mammals. A recent poem begins: “Legend says they can make milk. Their yellow is so damned creamy, it almost seems possible. I want to walk right into one. To melt into something softer, something downier than this damned dampness and this insistent pandemic panic.”

The strangest quote about forsythia is from Anne Morrow Lindbergh, a writer and wife of the famed antisemitic pilot: “There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia.” I get the sadness part, Anne.

[caboolturetreeremoval]

Pruning Trees For Health and Attractiveness

Trees need pruning to keep them healthy and attractive. Some of the most common reasons are to correct unsafe branch structure, encourage flowering and fruit production, prevent wind damage or to help protect against disease and insects.

Proper pruning also helps trees and shrubs grow correctly, preventing the buildup of dead limbs that can weaken the plant. Dead or damaged limbs can fall during storms, causing property damage, injury or even death to people and pets who are under the tree. Pruning reduces the risk of these types of accidents by maintaining proper distance between the tree and the home or other structures.

Many times, the pruning needs of a plant aren’t immediately apparent. It may take a while before the plant starts to show signs of overgrowth or becoming unhealthy. However, a little bit of periodic pruning can help prevent the problem before it becomes unmanageable and costly.

For example, it’s important to prune deciduous and evergreen shade trees properly. This includes removing crossing or crowding limbs, removing inward-growing limbs and thinning (reducing the density of a crown). It is a good idea to remove any dead or broken branches from a tree as soon as possible to reduce the risk of falling debris during a storm.

Another reason to prune a landscape tree is to eliminate branches that are obstructing sidewalks, driveways, or roads. This is especially true in areas where the traffic volume is high. Pruning a landscape tree to improve visibility can help prevent vehicles from driving into pedestrians and bicyclists.

When performing a reduction cut, it is important to make the cut at least a third — preferably half — of the diameter of the limb you are removing. This leaves sufficient leaf area to take over the photosynthesis work of the branch you are removing, and it helps reduce the stress that the wound will receive during the healing process.

It is also important to preserve the branch bark ridge and collar when removing a limb. This helps to ensure that a callus forms quickly, sealing the cut and preventing fungi from entering the wound and causing decay. A proper cut should also be slanting to help prevent water from collecting in the wound, which can slow the healing process.

The best time to prune is during dormancy, which lowers the risk of infection in open wounds and allows the tree to heal faster. It is also a good time to prune ornamental or landscape trees that bloom in late winter or early spring, such as azaleas, rhododendrons, lilacs, magnolias, flowering plums, and forsythias. These plants bloom on wood that is produced during the previous growing season. By thinning these trees prior to their spring blooming, you can often get an earlier and more abundant bloom. It is important to remember that pruning can be a complex task and that an improperly performed pruning job can harm your plant or even kill it. It’s essential to hire a professional that understands the complexities of trimming large trees and shrubs.

source https://caboolturetreeremoval.wordpress.com/2023/05/17/pruning-trees-for-health-and-attractiveness/

[lifewithchronicpain]

One dose of Prednisone and I already feel so much better.

Today is all about planting my pansies and getting my garden set for spring. I have at least a month before the tree fills in with leaves during which the garden will get lots of sun.

Also the forsythia plant is about to bloom so it will look so beautiful with all the pansies, crocuses and a couple daffodils that should bloom soon. There will be a cascade of yellow flowers falling down the retaining wall next to the garden.

And Harry seems to respect the little garden barrier I put up and I hope it keeps working. Last year he chewed the daffodils and they never bloomed. I used to have 6 bulbs in the ground but only two still bloom. 3 I put against the wall and like I said before, plants there don't do well. So now I'm going to use potted plants to fill in the space. I have a hanging basket of pansies a shepherd's hook, and another pansy I plan to pot then put against the wall.

I can't wait to see how it looks especially when the forsythia comes in.

[oldmanbayou]

Winter Buds

I mentioned earlier about the trees budding in December. I am loving my new macro lens because it allows me to see what’s really going on. But, on the downside, it increases my anxiety BECAUSE I can see what’s really going on!

I have been feeling very anxious about the recent reddish tinge of the treetops and the yellow hue of our forsythia bush in the backyard. These are buds. The hue has always brought me pure joy, but not now. Not this early. During most years in these parts of Massachusetts, you start to see this hue around the beginning of spring -- Usually either March or April, depending on how mild the weather is behaving at the start of spring. Last year, I recall noticing the hue in February and thought it seemed kind of early. The buds of most trees and shrubs actually form in the fall, so they technically have been there the whole time. But when the frost hits, that triggers the buds and the plants to go dormant. They hibernate like the animals. When the warmth of spring arrives and the ground begins to thaw, the plants alarm bell goes off and they gradually wake up. They soak up the heat and the moisture in the ground and that moisture enters the new leaves and flowers currently stuffed inside those little buds and gradually pushes them out of their sleeping bag. The very earliest signs of spring being on the way, before the crocuses even begin to bloom, are when the buds begin to swell up and gain their color back. The vague red and yellow glow on top of the trees in the middle of the afternoon against the pale blue sky. 

So when I see these hues appear during the first week of winter, I can’t help but feel disturbed by it. They ARE beautiful and it feels so uncomfortable to admire them, like falling in love with the sea witch. This is not right. We’ve had some pretty ordinary winter days, but for the most part, it’s been spring outside. That perpetual March that I fucking hate so much. And almost since winter officially began on solstice day, it’s been in the 50′s most days, IN WESTERN MASSACHUSETTS. When plants wake up too early with too many frosty days ahead, they will either die or at least struggle for the year. Fruit trees and berry bushes will not produce flowers and will therefore not produce fruit. Even if the frost doesn’t kill them before they bloom, the timing is inappropriate. There are no pollinators to pollinate them, so my statement still stands -- They will not produce fruit. 

I personally have never seen the hue appear so deathly early. I am so bothered by it, but I seem to be alone. I have scoured the internet, and it surprises me that no one else has been talking about this, and no one seems to be noticing or caring. Instead we have gardeners rejoicing about spring weather, not understanding that a bunch of their perennials are about to die, their fruit harvest is about to be garbage, and their garden is going to be completely ravaged by pests this year. 

These are the buds of my red maple in the front yard, north facing. To see the red buds of a maple swelling is considered a harbinger of spring. It also signals the end of maple sugaring season, which typically lasts from January-April. You can see on some of the buds that they are just barely beginning to crack as the maple flowers begin to emerge out of the bud. While maple syrup primarily comes from sugar maples, red maples also produce a significant amount of the maple syrup in this country. I don’t have any sugar maples on my property, but what is going on with my trees is going to be a similar situation with the sugar maples in the area, in which case, this is going to be a incredibly dreadful year for maple syrup in Massachusetts. 

We have a massive forsythia bush in the backyard, and that bush to me personally is what signals the arrival of spring. It blooms very early in spring, before anything else. The buds from what I can tell don’t appear to be on their way to breaking, but the hue has been getting a little yellower each day and the early spring-like weather is supposed to continue for at least as long as the forecast shows. I can’t help but wonder if this bush will actually start blooming in January.  The thought of that is crazy to me. I did some landscaping work in the front yard this summer and researched the hell out of plants that show signs of life and bring some color in the middle of winter. Besides the obvious evergreens, the answer was witch hazel. And only witch hazel. I mean this is zone 5, guys, it’s all dead in January. 

This is my lilac bush. I couldn’t tell if the buds were cracking or not, but a macro image has revealed, yepppp, they’re definitely cracking all right.....just barely, but enough that it’s probably not good news.

And this one is the most disturbing of the bunch...One of my hydrangea bushes literally has leaves already, with lots more about to emerge from the buds. You can see it’s already getting frostbitten on the tips of the leaves because even when it’s 60 out, it still frosts most nights. A hydrangea sprouting leaves in January in New England is so unheard of that googling “my hydrangea is sprouting leaves in January” returns zero relevant search results. 

Please do not sugarcoat this: The plants are budding like this because the unseasonably warm weather has triggered them into thinking it’s spring and time to pop out. This is NOT normal. This is NOT a quirk of nature. This is precisely what you would expect from plants growing in a greenhouse. This is the result of climate change caused by the out of control environmental destruction from our own species.

Why is it when Octomom explodes 8 babies, everyone collectively agrees without question that it didn’t happen naturally by chance. While it is technically possible for it to happen by chance, the odds are so incredibly rare that we automatically cross the possibility off the list of possibilities and accept the more obvious alternative and far more likely explanation that she had 8 kids at once because the fucking dipshit insisted on implanting 8 embryos to get fertilized in her uterus and for some reason her psychotic doctor agreed to the plan. But when it’s in the goddamn 50s for Christmas in New England,  we’re apt to shrug it off and be like, “Maybe it’s climate change, maybe it’s not. Weird weather happens! Who can really know?” Umm. We actually do know, and you DO know and you know it! This weather event is part of a pattern that is so outlandishly extreme that even those of us in our 30s are able to casually observe and notice it during our short human lives. You’re actually allowed to acknowledge it too, there’s no sense at all in dancing around it. We seriously don’t need a scientist to study every single weather event to confirm, yes, this wacky weather we’ve been having is indeed from climate change! Step 1 to climate change action is to stop acting like climate change is some kind of fucking curse word or that because you’re not a climate scientist, you must be too dense to be able to make such a bold assumption. 

The odds of this just naturally happening by chance - totally naturally, with no regard to human interference - are so slim that google has no answers. The questions have not been discussed on reddit because the occurrence is so absurdly rare that no one has ever needed to ask such questions. 

Well, I’m putting this out there -- This is completely fucked up. If you were to follow the long line of dominoes that have caused this spring-like weather and buds bursting, I’d bet everything I have that you would eventually conclude that this isn’t just our silly old New England weather drunk off guinness again, but, yes, this is yet another example of the unquestionably, undeniably, and utterly predictable anthropogenic climate change that we’ve all signed up for. 

[gustavojshafer]

When to Start Pruning an Avocado Tree

When to Start Pruning an Avocado Tree

One of the most common questions we get asked here at the nursery is “when can I start pruning my avocado tree?” The answer, unfortunately, is not a straightforward one. It depends on a number of factors, including the age and type of tree, as well as the climate in which it is grown. In this blog post, we’ll break down everything you need to know about pruning your avocado tree.

Why Should You Prune An Avocado Sapling?

Avocados are delicious and nutritious fruit that is enjoyed by people all over the world. Did you know that avocados are actually a type of berry? And did you also know that the avocado tree is classified as a “dioecious” tree, which means that there are male and female avocado trees? The female avocado tree produces the fruit that we all know and love, while the male avocado tree does not produce any avocados. In this blog post, we will be discussing the importance of pruning an avocado sapling.

Pruning an avocado sapling is important for many reasons. One reason is that it helps to promote plant growth. By pruning the sapling, you are encouraging the plant to put more energy into growing new leaves, branches, and roots. This results in a healthier and stronger plant overall. Pruning also helps to keep the avocado tree from getting too big for its pot or location. If left unchecked, an avocado tree can quickly become too large for its pot or space, which can lead to problems down the road.

Another reason why pruning an avocado sapling is important has to do with fruit production. By pruning the sapling, you are essentially thinning out the avocado tree. This allows more air and light to reach the avocado fruits, which results in better-tasting and higher-quality avocados. Additionally, thinning out the tree also helps to prevent potential problems with disease and pests.

Finally, pruning an avocado sapling helps to ensure that the tree will have a long and healthy life. By removing dead or dying leaves, branches, and roots, you are giving the tree a chance to focus its energy on living tissue. This results in a stronger and healthier tree that will be able to produce avocados for many years to come.

When Should You Prune Trees and Shrubs?

Many people think that pruning is best done in late winter or early spring, but that isn’t always the case. Here are a few things you should keep in mind when deciding when to prune your trees and shrubs.

Pruning helps encourage growth. If you want your plant to put out more leaves or flowers, pruning it will help stimulate new growth. The best time to do this is in late spring or early summer. Keep in mind that if you prune too early in the season, you may be sacrificing some of the current year’s growth. Deadwood can be removed at any time of year. If there are dead branches on your plant, they can be removed at any time without harming the plant. In fact, removing them will actually make your plant look healthier. Some plants bleed if pruned in late winter or early spring. This is especially true of maple trees. If you prune them at this time of year, they will bleed sap, which can harm the plant. It’s best to wait until later in the spring to prune these types of plants. Spring flowering plants should be pruned after they bloom. This includes roses, lilacs, and forsythia. Pruning them any earlier will result in fewer flowers next year. Avoid pruning evergreens in late summer or fall because it can Stimulate new growth that won’t have time to harden off before winter, leaving it more susceptible to damage from cold weather. And finally, remember that less is more when it comes to pruning! Don’t go overboard and remove too much of the plant all at once – you’ll be sorry come next growing season! A little bit of judicious pruning now will go a long way towards keeping your trees and shrubs healthy and happy for years to come.

Pruning is an important part of plant care, but it’s often misunderstood. Many people think that pruning is best done in late winter or early spring, but that isn’t always the case. Keep these tips in mind next time you go to grab your pruners!

What Type of Tree to Prune

Not all avocado trees are alike, and different types of trees require different types of pruning. If you’re not sure what type of avocado tree you have, ask a local nursery or gardening center for help. Once you know the type of tree you have, follow these instructions:

If you have a dwarf avocado tree: Cut back 1/3 of the branches, making sure to cut evenly across the entire canopy. Doing so will encourage new growth and keep the canopy open so that sunlight can reach all parts of the tree.

If you have a standard avocado tree: Remove any dead or diseased branches first. Then, thin out overcrowded areas by cutting back some of the branches (again, be sure to cut evenly across the entire canopy). Finally, remove any low-hanging branches that are obstructing walkways or patios.

Pruning an avocado tree is important for maintaining its health and vigor—not to mention its appearance. Fortunately, it’s not too difficult to do as long as you know when and how to do it properly. So grab your pruning shears and get to work! Your avocado tree will thank you for it later.

Climate

Another factor to consider is climate. If you live in an area with a hot climate, you’ll need to start pruning your avocado tree earlier than if you live in a cooler climate. That’s because the warmer weather stimulates growth. In cooler climates, on the other hand, growth is slower and you can wait longer to start pruning.

Ideally, you should prune your avocado tree every year—preferably in early spring before new growth begins. However, if you neglected to prune last year, don’t despair; you can still prune this year. Just be sure not to wait too long; otherwise, you may inadvertently damage new growth.

Pruning Frequency

Regardless of the age or type of avocado tree, or the climate in which it is grown, it’s important to remember that avocados need to be pruned every year. That’s because they are constantly producing new leaves and branches, which can lead to overcrowding and poor air circulation. Pruning helps encourage new growth and ensures that your tree stays healthy.

Avocados are a fruit that originated in South Central Mexico. They were first cultivated by the Aztecs and other Mesoamerican cultures before being brought to the rest of the world by Spanish colonists in the 16th century. Today, avocados are grown in tropical and subtropical regions all over the world. Thanks to their popularity, there are now over 500 varieties of avocado trees!

So, what does this mean for your garden? Depending on the climate you live in, you may be able to grow your own avocado tree! If you’re in a tropical or subtropical region, then you’re in luck. However, if you live in a temperate climate, then you may not be able to grow your own tree. But don’t worry, there are still plenty of ways to enjoy avocados!

Conclusion:

As you can see, there is no single answer to the question “when can I start pruning my avocado tree?” It depends on a number of factors, including the age and type of tree, as well as the climate in which it is grown. However, one thing is certain: all avocado trees need to be pruned every year in order to stay healthy and produce abundant fruit.

source https://sunshinecoasttreeloppers.com.au/when-to-start-pruning-an-avocado-tree/ source https://sunshinecoasttreeloppers.tumblr.com/post/695271329591607296

[7r0773r]

The Uncollected Essays of Elizabeth Hardwick, edited by Alex Andriesse

The forsythia has already died and blown away in Central Park and the clusters of bloom on the lilac bushes in the suburbs are soon to be a drooping fade. But when you go up to Maine in May the first flowerings are reluctant, not quite ready, not to be hurried. The trees are not yet leafy, not at all. Houses never seen in the summer shadow of tree branches are visible just back from the road even in late spring.

The splendor of the region always retains a pristine frugality in its messages, a puritanical remnant in its pleasures. Like the blossoms, you are reminded that you can wait—and also you can do without. A lonesome pine, country music drift in the air, long-lost sentiments. He’ll never return from the sea (the Merchant Marine) and the blue-eyed girl has gone to the office desks of Connecticut, never to look back. (Puritanical Pleasures, p. 37)

***

The landscape of America seems often like one of those endangered kingdoms in old sagas. Nightly, Grendel steals upon the knights sleeping in the hall and slays the fairest and the weakest alike. The siege, chronic, of change is one that we live with—and so we are never quite sure what has come upon us. Are we in the midst of destruction or renewal? Have we been blessed with something better: or have we, instead, merely a replacement?

The mind cannot hold the memory of the old corner before the supermarket came about, cannot remember the seemingly eternal mortar and brick that stood upon the bare land that is now a parking lot, the space that is waiting, as if under the dominion of a lawsuit in chancery, waiting with its automobiles in rows for some final disposition of the property, some lucky mortgage of partnership. What was once a cotton field has become the pasture for a new appetite, or perhaps the flattened strip of an airplane landing.

Sometimes, dreaming, in the country when it is very quiet, in imagination the Indians return to the northern regions and you meet them, melancholy and still as the woods. But the unconscious is shrinking, and those who thought it triumphant did not see the sudden, unalterable obliteration of the past. We had thought—wrongly—that the past slowly, imperceptibly receded, leaving always its traces clearly visible in the new. (Elections, p. 87)

***

. . . . Surrender to circumstances is for others: amelioration and good luck and grand expectations are for ourselves. (Elections, p. 88)

***

I have never felt free. I do not speak of the constraints of society but of the peculiar developments of my own nature. All my life I have carried about with me the chains of an exaggerated anxiety and tendency to worry, and an overexcited imagination for disasters ahead, problems foreboding, errors whose consequences could stretch to the end of time. I feel some measure of admiration for women who are carefree, even for the careless; but we work with what we are given, and what I know I have learned from books and from worry. (The Ties Women Cannot Shake, and Have, p. 196)

***

Memory: It is a forest. It is the sun and shade, the air current, the luminous crown, the damp root—the precious jungle of our being on earth. In memory, with its density of feeling, the treasures of human experience are preserved, just as the forest represents the aesthetic apotheosis of actual nature. And yet memory is also a menace—dark, lonely, fearful. Our rootings and clingings to memory are a sad entanglement from which one would, at certain times, free himself if he had the power to do so. 

In painful memories, those that represent attachments to a lost past, the very suffering distorts the complexity of life, makes the flawed more perfect, the mixed more beautiful than it was, the doubtful more true. Memories are also the mausoleum enshrining resentments and long, futile angers. A need for rest, tranquility, for the promise of the future finally challenges the domination of painful memory. What is hoped is that in giving up the obsession with the past a new present can come into being.

Forgiveness is the goal of troubling memories. If it is possible to set aside the memories, it can then be possible to think of reliving them someday, without desperation, in a new form, kind to our souls, soothing. All the losses of life, whether accidental, inevitable, or simply cruelly thrust upon us, seek to be forgiven. Always what is most important in one's personal life is to forgive the unforgivable.The forest of memory, with its balance of light and shade, of rain and dryness, its terrors and its silences, is not under our complete control. But it accommodates us finally, if the will is there, the wish to forget, the courage to cast off. (When To Cast Out, Give Up, Let Go, pp. 214-15)

***

To speak of a passion for reading is rather self aggrandizing as perhaps it would not have been in the past. This act, except for purposes of the classroom or for information, is self-propelled, unmortgaged, so to speak, not subject to obsolescence or engine trouble or the need for maintenance. It is not often that one is scolded for it, although biographies tell of the wishes of parents to interrupt on behalf of unchopped wood or expensive candles. Perhaps the love of, or the intense need for, reading is psychological, an eccentricity, even something like a neurosis, that is, a pattern of behavior that persists beyond its usefulness, which is controlled by inner forces and which in turn controls. (Reading, p. 230)

***

Proust left a short book titled On Reading. It says, of course, many beautiful things about himself, about decoration (William Morris), Carlyle, Ruskin, the Dutch painters, Racine, Saint-Simon—on and on. And then somewhere in the pages he notes the insufficiency of reading and says that it is an initiation, not to be made into a discipline."Reading is at the threshold of spiritual life; it can introduce us to it; it does not constitute it." (Reading, p. 235)

***

We cannot imagine the shape, the substance of a day in Victorian England, nor the quiet isolation of our own countryside even fifty years ago. Everything good is bought with the blood of someone's lack, someone's wretchedness. And so we are propelled onward, gaining and losing, building and destroying. Some try to hold a little here, save something there, to preserve, to remember; but the preserver is himself shaped out of losses and impatience. All of his little motors of need are running in his flesh just as they are running through the electric current in his house.

"To have time, in the personal sense, is to have an emptiness, an absence, a failure of diversion. Something is withheld from you, and this nothingness gives you time. No amount of money can buy it, and so it is fortunate that few want it. Quite the opposite: Our bodies would not be prepared, our souls and our vanity even less.

It is a jolt, not easy by any means, to find oneself suddenly at the Metropolitan Opera House for Wagner's Parsifal. This splendid, wonderfully successful new production is, like all the others before it since 1882, over four hours long. It is a static, contemplative work; its intensities are inward and abstract. The wound of Amfortas is not an ache, a sickness, a casualty, but the universal unhealed wound of existence. It is healed by the touch of a spear, the instrument of wounds. In a moment of dazzling modern technology, we see a flash of silvery movement—the spear, flung across the stage by Klingsor, is, with the speed of light, shining in Parsifal's hand. For the rest, we look inward, led by the music, into the cave of ourselves.

In this production, and I understand also in Bayreuth, the stage is quite dark throughout. Even the final Good Friday light is only a long, thin stream of whiteness in the shadows. In this way we are at a further remove from the usual involvement with the action on the stage. There is wisdom enough in this, since Parsifal can only be as it is; it is one of those works of art that will not budge to accommodate current taste. There is no way to move it. You must surrender, submit, call upon some sense of motionlessness in yourself. That is, if you want to be there for Redemption.

At Parsifal one must conquer time, or leave, as many do, saying with great unconscious accuracy that they must go home, they haven't time. This loss of time is not an illusion, but a fact for all of us. If, as an amateur, as a civilized person merely, one were to set out to read Shakespeare's works carefully, the Bible, Proust, or Dickens or Gibbon, it would be necessary to undergo some rare kind of discipline of withdrawal, to set up conditions very special, to work against the grain of our lives. Where will the time be found? 

Wagner began Parsifal in 1877 and finished it in 1882, one year before his death. Nietzsche was distressed by its Christian feeling, but wrote: "It is as if someone were speaking to me again after many years about problems that disturb me..." This is still true. There in the long, pure hours we think not only of the Grail and the Sword but of ourselves and the others around us, people from space, living in a new continuum. (Parsifal in its entirety, pp. 255-56)

***

We aim to frighten in our prophecies, to predict loss, diminishment. Going away from rightness, falling off, aridity, future violence: it is not the purpose of modern art to tell good news, that is, if it is concerned at all with society's future. Mary, robes flying, was lifted up to Heaven, and she smiled with joy. We would flee from the Brave New World, that is, if we could. Prediction clings even to the most banal, for banality is itself a great insistence, always there asking for its share or more than its share. Our carelessness will bear its new careless fruit, our emptiness will grow and grow. These acts of recognition please in all the arts. Ugliness and sadness reach out to us. (Notes on Leonardo and the Future of the Past, p. 272)

[whelvenwings]

Castiel's grace is missing, and Dean's frustrated - instead of looking for it, all Castiel wants to do is grow his flowers. Eventually, the two of them have to talk about it.

Read it below or here on AO3! Tags: Canon Divergent, Gardener!Cas, Cas' Grace

This fic was inspired by this wonderful art by saminzat, and written as part of the @spnreverse-promptchallenge!

It’s not Heaven. It’s not even close. It’s just a garden, where Castiel is growing things.

If it were Heaven, Castiel thinks, then Dean would be looking a lot happier, those wrinkles around his eyes all eased away. If it were Heaven, there would have been a break in the clouds overhead when Dean arrived.

If it were Heaven, the peach rose would be in bloom, not straggling all green and leggy and ungainly through the picket fence that Castiel had put up to help it grow.

Castiel puts down the secateurs he’s been using to prune the forsythia, and takes off his gardening gloves. He walks over to Dean, acutely aware of the fact that he’s wearing enough sunscreen to make his skin shine, the worn-thin, oversized blue t-shirt he found at a Goodwill that says Thyme to Garden, and a very large sunhat to protect the back of his neck.

Sunburn, he reminds himself, is more uncomfortable than the growing look of mixed amusement and judgement in Dean’s eyes. Even on a cloudy day, his skin will burn if he’s outside for a long time. Something he learned the hard way after becoming human.

“I thought you were researching a case,” Castiel says to Dean as he approaches.

“Done. Thought I’d come say hi.” Dean raises an eyebrow and a half-smile at him in greeting. “So, hi.”

Castiel stops a few feet from him and tips his hat a little further back on his head, so that Dean can clearly see his face.

“Hello,” he says. Dean takes in the hat, the t-shirt, the full gardening ensemble, with one sweeping gaze.

“Looking good,” Dean says.

Castiel looks down at himself, and then solemnly back to Dean.

“Thank you,” he says, with just enough irony in his tone to get Dean to smile. Or it would have been, usually, but today Dean’s expression is sinking back into hard lines. The greyish, muted light seems to lie heavy on him, putting a coldness in his eyes.

Castiel searches his face. Just as he’s about to say something more, Dean breaks their stare, glancing around at the plants nearest him as a light breeze ruffles at them.

“They’ve grown since last time you showed me,” Dean says. He’s holding himself strangely, his fists clenched. Castiel tilts his head to one side, and then looks around with Dean at the garden.

He feels the familiar spark of happiness as he surveys his handiwork. Once, the place had been a sad little patch of chalky, lump-filled earth. Now the flowers drip off their stems like dewdrops, and the soil smells rich, and the leaves tremble their creaky little paths to follow the sun each day. Even the blossomless peach rose has strong roots.

Castiel glances back to Dean, and feels the warmth in his chest sputter out. Dean’s eyeing the plantlife with an expression that doesn’t seem impressed.

“It’s been a while since last time,” Castiel says.

“Yeah. Well, you know.” Dean looks distracted, frowning down at a squat little succulent plant. There’s something bothering him, obviously, and Castiel isn’t sure whether Dean wants to be asked about it or have it be left alone.

“You’re always welcome,” Castiel tries quietly. Dean seems to catch himself, shifting his expression to something more neutral as he turns back to Castiel.

“Yeah,” he says, not as though he particularly believes it, and – in a way that almost manages to seem genuine – not as though he particularly cares.

“You can stay,” Castiel says. “If you want. There’s plenty to do. If you’re not busy.”

Dean puts his hands into his pockets and looks around the garden again, this time with his eyes a little less sharp.

“Nah,” he says. “Nah, I don’t wanna spoil the fun.”

Spoil the fun? Castiel gives Dean a look that he hopes is eloquent, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“I dunno, man,” he says. “Anyway, it’s not really me, is it.”

He looks tired, Castiel thinks.

“Didn’t think it was you, either,” Dean adds after a half-beat. He reaches up unselfconsciously, and then seems to realise what he’s doing at the last moment, and awkwardly flicks the brim of Castiel’s hat with the back of one finger before taking a step away. “Didn’t think you’d ever go in for… you know. Whatever this is.”

Castiel can easily read that expression on Dean’s face. He’s seen it before, in other times, other places. The mixture of bravado and hurt and confusion had made sense when lives had been at stake and grand lies had been unfolding, but this – here, today, in among his roses and sunflowers, Castiel hadn’t expected it. Dean looks betrayed.

And Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He reaches up to his hat, just brushing the brim with the tips of his fingers in the same place Dean touched it.

“I need the hat,” he says. “To keep the sun off my neck.”

“Right,” Dean says. “Yeah.” He looks up at the sky, which is still an overcast grey.

“Even through clouds,” Castiel offers.

“Uh huh. Okay.”

Castiel squints at him.

“You seem angry,” he says. No more dancing around it. Predictably, Dean makes a face, as though the suggestion were ridiculous.

“Nah.”

“Dean.” Castiel fixes him with a look, and Dean shrugs.

“Whatever, man.”

“If something is wrong…” Castiel says.

“Listen, if coming out here and growing your little flowers and everything helps, then that’s fine,” he says. “It’s fine.”

There’s a but coming, and Castiel knows enough to wait for it. Dean looks aimlessly around at the burgeoning plants. His eyes trace the tangle of a buddleia, until he glances back to Castiel, who raises an eyebrow.

Dean’s front drops, the stiffness going out of his shoulders, his hands unclenching.

“But your grace, man,” he says. Castiel looks down at the ground. He should have expected this, he knew. But somehow hearing the words still takes him by surprise.

“What about it,” he says, in a tone that doesn’t really want an answer, but knows it’s going to get one.

Dean’s hands come up, palms facing out, asking a question without words at first.

“Seriously,” he manages after a moment. “What about it? It’s your grace, Cas.”

“I know,” Castiel says.

“It’s gone,” Dean says.

“I know.”

“It’s been months.”

“I…” Castiel sighs. “Yes.”

“You told me it was just gone,” Dean says, ducking his chin slightly to catch Castiel’s eyes. “Like it was no big deal. And now all you do is spend time up here, planting flowers. Not even trying to look for it. I don’t get it, man. And whenever I try to bring it up, you just say –”

“It’s taken care of,” Castiel says, at the same time as Dean mouths the words along with him, his expression exasperated with a spiderweb of hurt threaded through.

“It’s your grace.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “I know it is. But it’s taken care of, Dean. I don’t want…”

He cuts himself off before he says too much, pressing his lips together.

Dean shakes his head. Castiel can see him battling with himself, trying to decide whether he wants to push harder. Castiel keeps his face neutral, hoping Dean will drop it.

“Don’t want what?” Dean says, though, and Castiel feels his heart sink. “You’re human, now. And you’re stuck that way until you get your grace back, but you won’t even…” Dean seems to run out of words. Castiel tries to think of something to say to divert the conversation, take them down a different track.

“I’m doing better at shaving,” he says. “And I’ve learned not to brush my teeth before drinking orange juice.”

Castiel can see the slight smile on Dean’s face, but it’s almost completely buried under the worry and the anger.

“Right,” Dean says.

“Dean…”

“I just don’t get it. The grace… if it’s lost, I can help with that. If it’s destroyed, I can try to help too, or… we’ll figure something out. Or if it’s safe, why won’t you tell me what happened with it?” The strain in Dean’s voice tells Castiel that they’re at the heart of it now, at the reason for the tight shoulders and the clipped answers and the judgemental eyes on his catmint and cosmos. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

Castiel stares at him helplessly. The answers are in the back of his throat, ready to be said, but he can’t open his mouth – can’t get them out. He feels his heart thudding, his human heart. He doesn’t know if he likes that feeling, if he wants it – perhaps not, no more than he wants sunburn, or the taste of orange juice after toothpaste, or blood on his palms when he catches himself on that peach rose’s thorns.

But there’s something he does want. And any chance at – at that – any chance at all, it’s worth the weight of being human. He made a choice and he knows he’d make it, the same one, over and over again.

He thinks it all, but he can’t say it. Dean watches him, angry and confused. Overhead, the clouds lumber their heavy bellies across the sky.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Dean says. Castiel looks away, and Dean takes a step closer. “Cas,” he says. “I swear to god.”

Castiel looks up at him, knowing his own tiredness is right there to be seen on his face – and his sadness, his hurt. Dean’s expression shifts, and he comes even closer.

“What did you do, man? Is it that bad?”

It’s easy to see Dean’s mind working, trying to piece everything together. He’s probably thinking demons, and deals, and treachery, all the things that they’ve been through before. Castiel doesn’t know how to explain to him that he’s wrong without telling him the whole truth. And he can’t tell the whole truth.

“Look,” Dean says, “we’ll figure it out. If you just tell me – tell me where it is, or what happened. Did someone do this? And what… what does all of this have to do with it…” He looks around again at the garden. Castiel closes his eyes for a second, lets the familiar feeling of being here fill him as much as he can let it – the warmth in his chest, the spark.

He knows he should try to talk about it, but he can’t. He can’t.

When he opens his eyes, Dean’s waiting, watching him. Castiel opens his mouth – but nothing comes out.

Dean’s face tightens again.

“Okay,” he says. “So it’s like that. Great, Cas.”

“Dean, it’s –”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean says, his tone taut with bitterness, but his face carefully unbothered. “That’s fine. Deal with it by yourself. That’s always gone so well. And meanwhile, me, I’ll just, what? Wait for you to give me the bad news, I guess. That’s great, Cas. Really. You know, you –”

“Stop,” Castiel asks.

And a little of the fight leaves Dean again. He looks as though he wants to say something else, but doesn’t know what. His face is half apology and half anger.

“It just…” he says. And then waves his hand, like it doesn’t matter anyway.

And it’s the simplicity of the hurt in that gesture that has Castiel throwing all his caution to the wind and saying,

“I don’t want it back.”

Dean stops moving. His eyes fix on Castiel.

“What?” Dean asks.

Castiel’s jaw is tight, but he manages to say again,

“I don’t want it back. My grace. I know where it is. But I don’t want it back.”

All of Dean’s carefully placed anger is gone, suddenly, in his shock. There’s no performance, no strategy, in the way that he steps closer and looks utterly bewildered.

“You don’t?” he says.

“No. I…” Castiel hesitates, and then says, “I took it out myself.”

“You what?”

Castiel lifts one shoulder, a little diffidently. It had been necessary, so he’d done it. As simple as that.

“Cas,” Dean says, and then seems to be at a loss. Castiel doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say, so far as he can see.

He’s made his choice. And if he ever regrets it, if he ever wishes things could be different, all he has to do is look at Dean and it pales to nothing.

“Cas… why?” Dean manages eventually, and Castiel breathes out.

He looks at Dean.

Dean stares right back at him, not understanding.

“Did someone make you?” Dean demands. “We can go and look for them, we can –”

“No,” Castiel says. “No. I chose to do it.”

“But Cas…”

“It’s –” Castiel presses his lips together again, trying not to let the expression look pained, even though there’s a flash of hurt through his chest at the thought of trying to say any of it aloud. Saying it would push the two of them, Dean and Castiel, towards a tipping point. A no-takebacks, no room for misunderstanding point. Sharp as a thorn.

And it’s the last thing Castiel wants.

Until they talk about it, anything seems possible. It almost feels real enough. But if they talk, it’ll all be over. Dean will tell him to take back his grace, and Castiel will have to leave. It’ll be over.

“You took it out. What would you do that for,” Dean says. When Castiel doesn’t reply, he reaches out and puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, the word harsh enough to compensate for the touch.

“It’s nothing,” Castiel says.

“Cas.”

“Really, it’s…” Castiel stops. The denial dies in his mouth. He swallows, his eyes on Dean, before he looked down. “I just want to be able to stay with you.”

The last two words are too much – all of it is too much – but they’re out his mouth before he can stop them. Castiel breathes out and waits to feel Dean’s hand loosen its grip, drop away in shock at the unwanted intensity. It’s too much. Castiel knows it’s too much.

But Dean’s hand is still on his shoulder.

“You want to be able to stay?” Dean says.

“Yes.” Castiel says it bluntly, to try to shave off the emotion, make it easier to talk about. Dean’s hand still doesn’t move. Castiel can feel each place Dean’s fingers are digging in slightly through the thin material of his t-shirt. His heart is pounding and he wants to be able to turn it off, quiet it down, hear Dean’s heart instead in the way he could when he had his grace. He wants it with a sudden acuteness, a pang of loss.

“But – you can,” Dean says. “Why would you think you needed to do this?”

Castiel can’t look back up at him.

“Cas,” Dean says.

There’s a band of pain squeezing tightly around Castiel’s chest. He can’t quite seem to get his breath, suddenly.

“I just thought I’d fit better this way,” he says.

“Fit better?” Now Dean moves his hand, pulls back, though he doesn’t go far. “What do you mean?”

“You’re human,” Castiel says. He looks up, meets Dean’s eyes. “Now I am too. I thought, maybe…”

He trails off. He can’t say more. He can’t talk about what he hopes for, what he wants. He can’t.

Dean’s hand is back on his shoulder and the touch is different, now, less insistent. Softer. Castiel can see the gentleness in Dean’s eyes, shy and uncertain, allowed to show just for a few moments.

“We don’t have to be the same,” Dean says.

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer.

“We’ve never been the same,” Dean says. “But we’re still good. Right?”

There are no words in Castiel’s mind, or none that make sense – or none that he can say aloud. He wishes he could give Dean the way that he feels, just drop it into Dean’s mind, show him without having to explain it. The feeling is yes, good, of course we’re good, but there’s more – there’s different things, things I want to be to you, ways I want to be with you. And not telling you feels more and more like lying with every passing day but I don’t know how to tell you without you being suddenly aware that I’ve been wanting you in a different way to how you want me for a very long time, and will you hate me for that? Will you think I’m a liar? Will you send me away? Could I bear that? Could I bear it? If you hated me, how could I bear it?

“I just,” Castiel says, “I just want to be able to stay.” It’s the only part of it that will come out of his mouth.

“You can,” Dean says. “You don’t need… damnit, Cas, you didn’t have to take your own grace out just to be able to stay.”

Castiel nods mutely. Dean’s hand squeezes Castiel’s shoulder.

“So you can put it back, right?” he says. “The grace. You can go get it and put it back?”

“I could.” It comes out more direct and harsh than Castiel intended, and Dean’s grip tightens.

“So…?” he says.

Castiel can’t meet his eyes. He looks to the side, around the garden that he’s created. The flowers that have unfurled for him, trusting, unfussy about what deep love and secrets he’s hiding. The leaves and shoots that grow steadily under the care of his hands, no matter who else those hands wish they could hold.

“Cas,” Dean says again, and gives another squeeze, and then lets go. “Your grace is you, man. All these months, it’s not like you’ve had a good time being human, is it?”

“It’s worth it.”

“Worth it?” Dean echoes.

“If it means we’re the same,” Castiel says. And his reasoning isn’t even clear to Castiel himself, now. It just feels as though if they’re both human, if they both are the same thing, there’s a chance they could both feel the same way, too – it makes no sense, and yet Castiel can’t imagine letting go of the thought.

“We don’t need to be the same,” Dean says, repeating himself with a look that’s crossed between confusion and concern.

“But I…”

Castiel stops talking, cuts himself off. Dean’s eyes search his face.

“You want to be?” Dean says, cautious, hazarding a guess. And when Castiel’s expression tells Dean he’s right, his face goes even more soft with surprise. “Why?”

There isn’t anything that Castiel can say in answer. No explanations he can give that will make sense outside his own mind. All he finds himself doing is looking at Dean – looking at him more openly than he has done in a long time, half tight-lipped and wanting the conversation to end, half hoping that Dean will finally piece it all together. He allows himself to stare, frankly and directly, pushing away the guilt and shame that push at him and tell him to look down, step away, move back, leave. He stares like he once used to all the time, letting down the walls.

There’s Dean, he thinks. There he is. Sometimes the feelings in Castiel grow so big and overwhelming that he forgets the shape of the man at the heart of them. The way Dean cares. The way Dean looks at him right back, matches him – when it comes down to it, never pretends it doesn’t matter to him when it does.

Dean’s mouth opens to form words, but he seems to stop himself. Castiel watches Dean swallow, and feels the familiar swoop and ache in his chest as all his crushing sky-sized love focuses into the smallness of the place on Dean’s throat that he wants to touch.

Dean goes to say something, and then stops.

Castiel looks down at Dean’s lips, and then back up again.

Is it wrong, how much he wants to kiss Dean? The feeling is pressing, immediate, alive. It’s in Castiel’s blood, in his bones. If Dean doesn’t want him too, in the same way, does that make the feeling wrong? Or would it just be acting on it, making Dean aware of it, that would be wrong? But the feeling is a background hum in everything Castiel does. He acts on it even when Dean isn’t with him. He acts on it all the time.

Every passing moment changes the gaze between them. Dean’s waiting for him to talk, not filling in the space with any words this time, but his face keeps sinking further into something that looks dangerously like realisation.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. If how he feels, or what he’s doing, is wrong, then he should look away. He should go away, leave Dean alone, find somewhere else to be. But he couldn’t, he can’t, not until he knows for sure that Dean doesn’t feel even slightly the same way – and he can’t ask, because as soon as he knows Dean doesn’t feel the same way, he’ll have to leave. The thoughts chase their tails in Castiel’s head and he stares and he stares at Dean and he hurts so much that he wants to hit his own chest just for the distraction of a simpler pain.

“You don’t know what?”

“I just don’t know, Dean.”

Dean is watching him carefully, his mouth slightly open, as though trying to figure out how to phrase something he wants to say. There’s a slight tinge of colour to his cheeks, too, Castiel notices.

“Uh,” Dean says. His mouth shapes a ‘w’ like the start of a question, and then closes again, and he frowns – but he doesn’t look away.

He almost knows, Castiel thinks. He’s almost understood. And as soon as Dean understands, it’s over. Unless he feels the same way, which he doesn’t. He can’t. We’re not the same. No matter how hard I try and how much I change, we’re not ever the same.

He needs to cauterise this conversation like a wound, stop all this from happening, but he can’t find the words. Dean’s still watching him. Castiel’s heart is thunder in his head, drowning out his thoughts.

“You look like the whole world’s falling apart,” Dean says eventually. “Not an exaggeration. ‘Cause I’ve seen your face when the world was actually falling apart.” Dean points vaguely with one finger towards Castiel’s face. “And it looked like that.”

Castiel nods mutely, and Dean sighs and glances sharply away, and then back again.

“Come on, Cas, jesus. Something’s up, so whatever it is, just tell me.” He looks at Castiel for a long time, and then he says it again. In a different voice, quieter, with a little rise at the end as though of hope or something equally as stupid for Castiel to consider. “Tell me.”

It’s said in a way that makes Castiel want to believe he’s asking for all the things Castiel wants to give.

Dean’s eyes are wide, too. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s asking.

And Castiel’s human heart is pounding at that tone in his voice, that look on his face, because it feels as though – tentatively – they could be talking about the same thing. The longer Castiel watches Dean’s face, the more he sees it. There are the little flickers of denial, uncertainty, in the way Dean’s eyes narrow for a half-moment. And then there again is the rise of hope in the depth of Dean’s gaze, the openness.

It’s so small and barely-there that Castiel can’t trust it. He can’t know how this ends. It’s a rope thrown into down into his well, though, and with no idea what waits for him at the top, he still puts his hand on it and wonders if he’s strong enough to begin to climb.

“I, um.” He starts to speak, and his voice is low and rough. When he pauses almost immediately, Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, licks his lips. Castiel searches for the words. “I tried staking that peach rose. But it didn’t do any good.”

Dean looks confused. He doesn’t even bother to look down at the rose, just keeps his eyes on Castiel.

“What…” he says.

“It just grew that way,” Castiel says. He can feel a lump in his throat. “Naturally. It wanted to grow that way.”

“Okay,” Dean says, as though slightly concerned for Castiel’s sanity.

“I think sometimes it’s just like that,” Castiel says. He meets Dean’s eyes. “You can try planting them in the place you want them. Cut them back. Put a stake through them.” He resists the sudden, unexpected urge to reach up and touch the place on his chest where, years ago, Dean buried a knife in his heart. He swallows. “But sometimes there are things you can’t control. And even if it’s not… not healthy, or pretty, or the way it’s supposed to go… that’s how they’ll grow. Just towards the place they want to be.”

Dean’s listening intently, but his eyes are clouded with confusion. He looks like he wants to say something, and then stops himself. Castiel can’t blame him for not understanding, when half the point is that he’s talking without getting to the point. He doesn’t want to get to that sharp-split point when his life takes one of two courses, when Dean says one of two things.

“Dean, I…” Castiel says, and his hand reaches out. Unconsciously, awkwardly, the straggling limb of a plant that has never grown the way it should have done. And Castiel goes to catch himself, to stop letting his fingers trail through the air reaching for a place they can’t go – but then Dean takes his hand.

Dean takes his hand, and holds onto it. Not sweetly, not softly. Hard. Like they’re at the top of a cliff and Dean’s afraid of losing his grip and having to watch Castiel fall alone.

Castiel can barely breathe. Against the odds his hand is being held by Dean. Against the way that his words desert him, against the thousands of reasons that the two of them shouldn’t have ever even met, let alone be standing here together in a garden. Against all of it, Castiel’s hand is squeezed tight in Dean’s.

There’s a part of Castiel that’s trying to pinch itself, that’s shaking its head in denial, but Dean’s grip is warm and real.

“Cas,” Dean says. “Do you…”

The question has no ending, but it’s Dean, so the answer is yes. Castiel nods.

Dean’s expression seems, with just the smallest of looks in his eyes, to break apart. He holds onto Castiel’s hand and says nothing, doesn’t move.

“And…” Castiel says, but his throat goes dry. He can do this. He has to do this. If he doesn’t now, he never will. He tries again. “And… you?”

Dean looks momentarily bewildered.

“Yeah, Cas,” he says.

Castiel feels himself go light, so suddenly his stomach flips.

Yeah, Cas, he hears in his head. Yeah, Cas.

On another day, when Castiel hadn’t just told Dean how he feels through a series of oblique angles – when Castiel’s hand wasn’t still being held in the rough warmth of Dean’s – Castiel might have been indignant at that tone in Dean’s voice. As though it had been obvious, when yes, half the time Dean was staring at him like he actually mattered, was ready to die for him – but the rest of the time Dean couldn’t look at him, was ready to die for anything.

Their hands swing a little between them. Just their arm muscles getting a little tired, and their hands moving together. Such a very little thing to happen, Castiel thinks. So very small. After all this time it’s just one hand in another, and it means absolutely crushingly everything, in the way that he’d known it would.

It’s happening, he thinks. It’s happening. We’re the same. We’re the same.

A little clutch of fear that he might change, one day. Wake up and be something else, unexpectedly. Grow again, in a direction Dean doesn’t –

Castiel breathes. It’s alright. He’s torn out his grace for this. He can be the person Dean needs. He can change himself again. Over and over, if needs be.

He holds Dean’s hand. Tight. He can always change again. He can make them the same again. Whatever it takes. For this, for the feeling of Dean's hand in his, it would be worth it, anything would be worth it. But –

Dean’s grip goes slack in his own.

“Wait,” Dean says. “Wait. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Castiel says. He holds tighter. “Nothing.”

Dean’s hand drops Castiel’s. The loosening of his grip is a slow-motion whip crack across Castiel’s chest.

“No?” Dean says, looking at Castiel, asking with the single word whether Castiel doesn’t want anything that just happened. He puts his hands up just a little way, maybe a surrender, maybe just a gesture to show he isn’t touching.

“Wait,” Castiel says, his hand still in place, still reaching. It shows, then, he thinks to himself. That sickle-curve sharpness in his chest, the fear in him that he won’t always be able to fit himself to what Dean wants, it must show. Dean can see it. Castiel lifts his chin, tries to look as though he’s feeling incredibly happy, instead of just incredibly much. “Dean, why are you –”

“Cas…” Dean’s eyes are searching his face, looking for the place where something is wrong. Castiel wants to cut in, insist that nothing is wrong. Take Dean’s hand again, reach for more – he could reach for more, he thinks, and his heart twists, and his head feels light. He could reach for more. Dean might let him. Dean was holding his hand for a moment, there, by choice, as though it really meant something. Castiel’s mouth is dry.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel tries. But his stomach is sinking, even as he’s aching with the terrifying joy of the sudden opening of all the doors he’d always thought were closed for him.

Dean can see that he’s scared. Dean is going to figure it all out. And then those doors will close again.

“I mean…” Dean says. He blinks, shakes his head just slightly. Seems to remember where exactly he is, glancing around at Castiel’s garden. It’s all slipping out of Castiel’s grasp. They’re going to pretend as though the last two minutes never happened, Castiel can feel it.

It’s unbearable. It’s unbearable. The idea of having had it for barely a few seconds, and then losing it. Castiel reaches for words, for anything – something that will show Dean how much it all means to him, how far he’ll go to make it work.

“We’re both human,” he says, almost blurts. “I took out my grace. So we can be… so I can stay.”

Took out, he thinks to himself. What a clinical way to talk about the tearing, the self-destruction, the loss.

Dean just looks at him, mouth slightly open.

This is supposed to be the part where Dean argues, Castiel realises only when it doesn’t come. This is the part where Dean asks me what the hell I was thinking. Tells me to put the grace damn well back where it came from, and to stop making terrible decisions. And then I argue back, and tell him I’ll do what I want to do with my own grace, and I made this choice for him, and I’d do it again.

But Dean isn’t saying anything. He’s just staring. And Castiel stares, too. He can’t argue back when Dean hasn’t started the fight. He can’t push back if Dean never pushed forward. So they stand in silence. The clouds overhead roll on, oblivious to the hearts frantically pounding so far beneath them.

“Cas,” Dean says, and he says it differently to how he’s supposed to – quietly, carefully, handling the name like it’s made of something delicate. “I don’t know what you want me to say, man.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Castiel says.

“But you… you did that…”

Castiel watches him mutely.

“Why?” Dean asks.

So many answers. To be like you. To be near you. To show you I can change for you. Castiel opens his mouth and tries not to say too much.

“For – this,” Castiel says, managing to stop himself saying, for you.

“This?”

“This,” Castiel says, holding Dean’s gaze.

Dean holds his gaze.

“But it – ah. Jesus, Cas, this is hard to talk about.”

Castiel nods. He doesn’t want to let it go – feels sick at the idea of Dean just dropping the subject, and heading back inside, leaving the garden and forgetting all about what they’d said to each other. Chalking it up as somewhere he’d never go again. Too much baggage, too heavy, not worth it.

Dean puffs out his cheeks, though, and breathes out sharply, and says,

“It’s just that, hell, man, you never had to take the grace out to have… you know… anything you wanted out of me.” Dean looks uncertain as he says the last part, as though a little disbelieving that Castiel could want anything from him in particular. “You know that. Right?”

His voice is so different. So gentle in a way that Castiel only barely recognises from the most private of moments they’ve shared. Castiel is suddenly so intensely aware that they’re the only two in the garden, alone with each other. No one else to see them or hear them or judge what they say to each other. It’s a thought that gives him courage.

“I’ve changed for you since the beginning,” Castiel says. Dean opens his mouth, and then closes it, his eyes troubled. Castiel watches him, thinking. “Or –” he starts, as a new thought occurs to him. “Or, changed because of you, at least.”

Dean still looks confused, as though he doesn’t really see the difference. To Castiel, though, it feels clear as day. He changed because he met Dean – without that meeting, he would still be the angel he’d always been. But when he thought about it, the person he changed for was himself. Because it had felt right. Because it felt, period, and that was what he’d wanted.

It loops round and round perfectly in Castiel’s mind. Meeting Dean, the push Castiel needed to start running. And knowing Dean, now, the pull Castiel needs to keep changing, stay with him, stay together.

“I just thought,” Castiel says, when Dean stays silent, “if I could be human like you, then maybe you’d… maybe we could be the same. And stay that way.”

“And you want that,” Dean says.

“Yes.”

“Because…”

“Because,” Castiel says, a little taken aback, “I want… this.”

“But why’d we have to be the same for that? I mean – this?” Dean frowns, as though almost losing track of what he’s trying to say. They’re trying to talk all around it without using any words that are too big.

“Why…” Castiel trails off as he considers the question.

Dean shrugs, in a way that battles to look uncaring and ends up looking heartfelt.

“But… we need to be the same,” Castiel says. He wants them to be close like two leaves on a tree. Closer, two petals on a flower. No, closer still, not even two things. Just one, one plant, growing strong. He wants them that close, that inseparable, after so long being forced apart by fate and circumstance. No would-be gods or divine powers could set them apart if they were one thing. The same.

“But we aren’t the same, Cas,” Dean says, so quietly that Castiel only just hears it over the little burst of breeze that briefly ruffles over them.

Castiel feels his chest clench.

“I’m trying…” he says.

“No, I mean – I mean we can’t be,” Dean says. “I mean, we aren’t, ‘cause we’re… you know… two different people. There it is, you know? Different people. We can’t be exactly the same.”

“But…” Castiel starts, and the word comes out sounding almost angry, so he checks himself and looks down. “But,” he starts again, “if I can just…”

“C’mon,” Dean says, the smallest of smiles softening one side of his mouth. “You wouldn’t really want two of me running around the place, would you?”

“That’s not how I meant it,” Castiel answers, his voice serious, but with a lightness in his eyes to acknowledge Dean’s brush with humour.

“Come to think of it, though,” Dean says, “I’d get a lot more work done on the car if there were two of me. And we could harmonise on Zepp tracks. Maybe you are onto something.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, though he can feel his heart lifting just seeing Dean reaching out for him, trying to make him smile.

“I wouldn’t let you share my toothbrush, though, no way.” Dean looks around the garden. “And this would have to go. Hate to break it to you, but no way are you digging around in the dirt for hours if you’re me. Not unless there’s something to salt and burn at the end of it.”

“I know,” Castiel says, and the words sound little and obstinate, but his hands relax. Dean is looking at him like he gets it – like he sees that curling fear inside Castiel, the one that can’t let them be two different and separate things that just happen by the grace of luck to be next to each other. Because luck runs out, and they both know it. The only way to be sure of staying together, the fear says, is to be so much the same as to be one thing.

But it’s impossible. Castiel can’t be Dean. And Dean’s right, too, because Castiel doesn’t really want to be. He doesn’t want to give up gardening. He doesn’t want to work on Dean’s car. He doesn’t want to share a toothbrush.

He wants to spend time growing things. He wants his own hands in the dirt. He wants – he wants Dean, in the way that he has done since meeting Dean. And he wants to keep wanting.

Even if he didn’t want it, it’s what is. They’re two plants next to each other. Hoping not to be uprooted, hoping for sun, hoping for kind hands that stake them upright and water them even when they won’t flower. Always at the mercy of whatever storms might come, however hard Castiel tries to tangle himself together with Dean, camouflage with him, become just the same.

There are plants that do that, Castiel remembers. Plants that tangle and blend with other plants. They’re weeds. They choke out the first plant, cut off all its light and food until it dies. Two things can’t become one thing without loss. And Castiel doesn’t want to lose Dean – and, he realises quite suddenly, he also doesn’t want to lose himself. There’s so much he wants to do.

Things he might be able to do.

He looks at Dean, who’s watching him piece it all together, giving him time in silence, or maybe just struggling to find more words. But either way, Dean is still here. Dean is in front of him. A moment ago, they were hand in hand.

They could be again.

“You good?” Dean asks, seeming to sense Castiel come to a conclusion.

“Yes,” Castiel says. Dean visibly relaxes, shoulders easing under his coat. Castiel wants to put his hands on those shoulders. He wants to reach out. He wants to touch. He wants, wants, wants, and it feels like still growing, it feels like still changing, it feels like being alive. Like being himself.

He wants to hear Dean’s heartbeat. He wants his grace back. With a sudden absolute certainty, Castiel feels how much he wants his grace back.

He meets Dean’s eyes, and says simply,

“It’s here.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, catching Castiel’s mood without his meaning.

“It’s here?”

“My grace,” Castiel says. “You were asking where it was. It’s here.”

“Here?” Dean looks confused.

Castiel can feel his mood unfurling, the parts of himself that he’s pushed away and hidden – the parts that have known all along he wants his grace back – finally allowed to breathe, finally being given what they need. He turns his attention to his garden, bending down next to the peach rose that has been so wilfully refusing to blossom.

“I didn’t expect anything to grow when I buried it here,” Castiel says to Dean, over his shoulder. “But then the first flowers came, and so I bought more, and then I put in the fence, and – it helped, being able to come here.” He puts out his hand towards the peach rose, speaking meditatively, almost not quite to Dean at all.

His fingertips brush the tightly closed buds, the sharpness of the thorns. Castiel lets that want for his grace rise up in him, unafraid of the feeling now that he knows it can be acted on. He closes his eyes, and feels for his grace.

It’s right there, waiting for him.

Brilliant and electric. Fast, so fast, and all colours, colours so bright they hiss and spit as they rocket up the stem of the peach rose and through Castiel’s fingers, filling his body with a fierce familiar hum. Castiel breathes in and smells every flower in the garden at once and the breeze and the tang of sap and the rich wetness of the soil and there, behind him, Dean. He breathes out ozone, heady.

He can feel the hat on his head, the way it rests on each hair. He can feel Dean’s closeness, the way the atoms of air jumble between them.

He can feel the sunshine on his face when it finally breaks through the clouds overhead.

The world is turning beneath his feet as it should. The plants around him are creaking as they grow. Dean is breathing a little quicker than usual, and Dean’s heartbeat – there it is. That sound Castiel has missed since the day he tore out his grace. Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud. Castiel closes his eyes more tightly and focuses in on it, loses himself briefly in its rhythm.

“Cas?” Dean says. His voice has all the layers Castiel can hear as an angel. Richer, deeper. He can hear the roughness that comes from the light scarring in Dean’s throat after years of hunting, calling out warnings and yelling in shock. He can hear the exact pitch at which Dean ends the single word, the note that means it’s a question and it’s shy and it’s hopeful and Dean is trying to hide all of it.

The sun is bright when Castiel opens his eyes. There on the peach rose, at the tip of the stem through which he drew out his grace from the earth, is a full-blossom flower. Blushing petals unfurled, just waiting to be looked at, to be touched. Castiel reaches up a finger, and presses it to the velvet centre.

He stands up, and turns to Dean, who’s looking at him with something in his eyes that’s just the same. Newly unfurled, wanting touch.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean’s face relaxes.

“Here all along, huh.” Dean says. “Damn it, Cas. And there was me, worrying where to find it for no goddamn reason.” The words are irritable but Dean’s tone is a betrayal of them, because it’s so gentle, so serious. Serious enough that Castiel doesn’t feel silly when he takes a step forward, closer to Dean.

He meets Dean’s eyes silently, asking a question.

“You still…?” Dean says.

Still what exactly, Castiel wonders. Still want this? Still want you? Still look at you and think about how anything else I’ve tried to care about felt like trying to follow a script written for a part I was never meant to play, but with you caring grows up without me even trying like a wild rose in good earth?

The answer to all of it is yes. It’s Dean, after all. The answer is yes.

Castiel doesn’t use words to say it. Dean barely used them to ask the question, it was all in his eyes and the way he’s still holding his arms slightly out to the sides as though hoping to have a reason to put them around someone, and so Castiel gives him a reason.

The closeness – Castiel has always thought it might be jarring, if it ever happened, to be in Dean’s space like this. Something he’s wanted for so long and imagined so many times that the reality would be strange. But it’s not strange, it’s – it’s just a little slow, and hushed. It’s so quiet in the garden as they come together. Hand touching hand. Then arms reaching up. Castiel’s eyes tracing the lines of Dean’s face, finally having time to do it in as much time as he chooses, because Dean’s going a pleased shade of red under his gaze.

“I, uh,” Dean says, his voice a little hoarse. Castiel tilts his head at a slight angle. “I, uh. I don’t know how to do this. When it’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I – I don’t know if you want me to…” Dean’s eyes drop to Castiel’s lips. Through angel’s eyes, Castiel can see the slight tremor in him, the way he leans in just a little and then pulls back, the way his muscles are tightening in uncertainty.

“Yes,” says Castiel simply. He reaches up, and tilts his hat back.

“But you… it’s…” Dean looks at him helplessly.

And Castiel thinks perhaps he understands. This thing between them, the way that Castiel feels, it’s – it’s alive, it’s wider and deeper than the sky. It’s everything. And they’re supposed to, what, kiss about it? As though it were the end of a fairy tale? The end of a second date?

But then, they’ve done all the rest of it before. They’ve done blood and big choices. They’ve done hands grasping for each other against every rule, against all the smart money. And now there’s just this.

There’s just Castiel leaning forwards, and seeing relief and happiness break through on Dean’s face like sunshine for a second, before they kiss.

Castiel feels his wings unfurl.

It’s still not Heaven. It’s not even close. But – Castiel pulls back, and sees the expression on Dean’s face, the way his eyes are wide and unbelieving and so, so happy. But it’s a place, where Castiel is growing things.

[lilspookytarot]

The Fish Moon

The Full Moon this month falls on April 26th-27th. It occurs in the sign of Scorpio. It is a Perigee-Syzygy (Super Moon).

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Scorpio is the sign of evolution and transformation. The moon in this sign will amplify your emotions in a controlled manner which allows you to analyze them and learn about how to manage them. You will likely feel very deep--the shallows will no longer satisfy. The Scorpion stings you with a yearning for human connection on a level which you have not achieved in some time.

It is Spring! Things are blooming, I am sneezing, there are birds absolutely everywhere... how exciting. For centuries, this full moon has marked the final melting of the last frost, signaled the flowing of thawed rivers, and celebrated the pops of color and life that have returned to the Earth. Violets, Crocuses, Hyacinth, Daffodils, and Forsythia are exploding from lush, green, newborn grass and the Dandelions are beginning to join them.

The seeds I planted at Ostara are thriving now. I've moved them from inside the house to my front porch and back inside again... We got snow the other day. Michigan. Gotta love her. Anyhow, it seems that the last frost is over and I'm safe to move the babies back out to the front porch for a week before Beltane arrives and I must move them outdoors into the garden! But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Before we can rejoice beside the Bel Fire, we must... clean.

My yard is !a mess! and the garden beds need weeding before I can hope to grow any flowers in them. There are some branches in the yard and by the street that need to be trimmed (an excuse to use my machete for the first time this year). And I need to prepare a plot to plant my veggie garden! Not to mention finishing up the closets, cupboards, corners, and cabinets that still need to be cleaned and organize inside the house.

Spring cleaning needs to happen in your sacred space, too. Throw out old herbs, bury/burn old spell materials, clean out jars for collecting new items... Then go on a nice long walk through the woods to replenish your stock! Gather rainwater and leave it under the beams of this powerful full moon to make a fresh batch of moon water. Maybe you have a basket of tarot decks that needs to be organized or a book full of notes and spells to sort through or a pouch of rocks to clean. You might have books to tidy on shelves or burn marks on your altar table to sand off. Whatever it is, now is the best time to do it.

Use this moon's energy in your magic and you're sure to see success. Money magic and intention setting spells will be particularly potent when cast under this moon. A ritual for drawing down the moon would prove beneficial as well. Whatever you decide to do, have trust in your magic and in the moon. Release your fears. Trust in the flow of the universe--it has some ideas for you.

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