Not much change marked the passing days. At least, not much that Jongho noticed.

Yet nature, in its miniature way, moves every moment toward something new. Even the seasons, which, from human view, consist of four fine quarters of the year, are always new to the world, never quite the same.

But, of course, human view of the natural world lacks appreciation. For where they see four seasons, nature continues with her two, or five, or seven.

Up in the recesses of Yunho's mountains, they slowly crawl towards fall.

But Yunho does not look up to notice the red and orange peeking through leaves; he is instead occupied making sure the people playing in the sides of that massive waterfall don't drown.

"Oppa look!" Jiwoo is pulling earthen castles from the rock. "Can you put some little vines up the side please?"

So Yunho hums and with a twirl of his heart, miniscule ivy grows across the castle gates.

"Thank you!" And Jiwoo starts to pull out a moat.

"Yunho!" So he looks over to the waterfall. "Come on!" Jongho calls.

The way Jongho plays was a surprise to Yunho at first, the way he switches completely from his reserved personality into one quite childlike. But what catches Yunho even more off guard is that smile. That beautiful, open, giggling smile which comes out in a splendor of gums and pearls.

That smile beckons Yunho into the spring.

These springs are cold; only swimmable for a few more weeks into September. Well, for most, at least. Jiyoung and the other fluvius will immerse themselves even after the surface turns to ice.

Yunho is only knee-deep as he wades toward Jongho; he holds his breath in anticipation for that drop-off carved by beating water.

"Is Jiyoung still under the fall?" Yunho asks as he begins to swim against the flow.

"Yes, for like ten minutes or something." Jongho rolls his eyes, annoyed by his lack of playmate. "Wait, can he hear me?" Jongho meets Yunho's eyes.

"No, he's so far into his element he won't hear anything." Yunho feels a longing in his chest, a tug of desire. "Nothing else will matter."

Both boys have dark eyes. Pupil to pupil, they are locked onto each other. Jongho's eyes... they are perhaps mesmerized, perhaps scared; he blames the constant treading of water for why his breaths come out uneven.

"OPPA-." The splash of Jiwoo's cannonball breaks both boys from their trance.

Yunho laughs. Jongho is confused.

Even in his state of flow, Jiyoung feels the vibrations of his twin enter the spring; he quickly comes to the surface to play, head still in a pocket of air.

As Yunho is jumped by the children, only his shoulders are visible to Jongho. His memories drift back to the first time Yunho took him here, to the times he held those shoulders as Yunho taught him to swim.

"Do you think oppa is done with work yet?" Jiwoo asks as they all dry off on the shore.

"Not yet, but maybe by the time we arrive back."

For a brief moment, the twins request piggyback rides, but soon they jump off to run ahead, leaving Jongho and Yunho to walk alone.

"Do you..." Jongho starts, but he can't word the question; he doesn't mean for it to be offensive.

"Yunho," he tries again, "isn't the way you live here, the way the community lives, too... passive?"

"What do you mean?" Yunho loves being asked questions, but this is one he hasn't heard.

"Like," Jongho tries, "there's no competition, no police, no careers, no money. Nothing bad happens," (here, Yunho laughs silently, keeping quiet). "What do you all do with your life?"

"We live."

Jongho looks up to him, doubtful, so Yunho continues.

"First of all, bad things certainly happen here, but not in a systemic way, like they do in your world."

Jongho still seems unbelieving.

"Here." Yunho walks to the edge of the path, spreading his hand along the bark of an old tree. "For its whole life, this tree has been fighting against wind. The wind creates stress for the tree-in other words, something which could be perceived as bad-but that forces the tree to grow stronger roots as it ages."

Yunho seems to mutter a little apology as he looks up into those branches. "This is what the tree would look like if it never had wind."

Yunho hums, short, melancholy, and the air is split with a piercing crack; that massive oak pulls up blocks of earth as it shatters to the ground.

"The roots would not grow strong enough," Yunho explains to a shocked Jongho behind him, "and very quickly, the tree would grow too large for its roots. Without something to fight for, the tree will die."

"You..." Jongho points between Yunho and the fallen oak; the depth of Yunho's mood quickly lightens into a laugh.

"Yeah well I wanted the point to stick." Yunho walks back over, throwing his arm around Jongho's neck (something Jongho has only recently allowed).

"Anyway, that only barely answers one part of your question. I just wanted to show that something to fight against or fight for is vital to existence."

"Well you definitely got that in my memory," Jongho says, pushing Yunho off.

"But also," the older continues, "the wind in our life can't cause anxiety or or trauma. You see, if a tree has too much wind, it'll die anyway."

The two are quiet for a moment, thinking.

"Anyway," Yunho continues, "we don't need police because we don't have money; that one's simple. Careers... well, aren't careers supposed to fulfill you, be your life's purpose? Here, the world is our lifesbreath."

Yunho pauses. "Jongho-ya, what do you think life is?"

Jongho kicks a pebble with his bare toes; he rubs the ball of his foot into the earth;

he doesn't know.

"What they tell us is: it's our duty and right to work," Jongho recalls. "Work united for the betterment of society."

"Who are they?" Yunho asks. And Jongho does not know. "I've never thought about it."

"But the thing about the world," Jongho continues, "is that no one is united, no one is working together. Like what I said about competition,"

here, Yunho smiles, seeing Jongho's passion bleed through,

"everyone says we should compete with each other, but also work together? Like? It's completely opposed."

"Are you familiar with Yin and Yang?" Yunho asks as they continue walking.

"Not really. Isn't it just about balance?"

"It goes far deeper. Look around," Yunho stops on the path, "here is a perfect balance of Yin and Yang. The earth is Yin," he explains, "passive, dark. But every Yin has a piece of Yang; for the earth, it's that she is full of nutrients."

"Hmm," Jongho tries to understand. But a six thousand year old philosophy is impossible to comprehend with one conversation.

"We can't always have sun, we also need rain. We need wind but if we always had it, the plants would grow sideways. We need summer for good growth, but many fruits taste richer after the first freeze."

"In the world, they don't appreciate Yin much, do they." Jongho half asks, half declares.

"Exactly."

"The problem your side of the world is they always want Yang. Action, action, action. And so they get tired and anxious and worn-out, all of which will eventually lead to a collective depression."

Their bare feet trod once again upon the path, Yunho helping Jongho along in those rugged places his soft feet aren't yet accustomed to.

"You know why you're called chimmongs right?" Yunho breaks the calm once again.

"Because we're asleep to the beauty in the world."

"Right. You have only the illusion of freedom, of choices. Only the illusion of social connection. But in reality, chimmongs are caged in by misplaced respect and ambition, money and material possessions: structure after structure meant to keep you inside invisible lines."

"Our world isn't balanced," Jongho muses.

And Yunho smiles. "Correct. If it was, you wouldn't be here."

- • -

Jongho sits on the dirt, with a face full of mud.

"It's clay." Jiwoo insists as she rubs some more on his chin.

"It's mud."

"Nooo! It's different. I would know. I'm a terra."

"I'm aware." Jongho is unamused, opening his lips as little as possible in speech to avoid any clay from falling inside.

"Yeosang isn't complaining," Jiwoo states; she steps back to inspect her work.

"That's because Yeosang is treating this as a free spa." Jongho looks over to an unresponsive Yeosang, hacked cucumber slices resting peacefully over his eyes.

"What's a spa?" Jiyoung asks, smearing another layer of clay onto Yunho's face.

Jongho looks over to the two, forgetting the question as he watches Yunho play with the boy. First a fern pops out from Yunho's mask; Jiyoung quickly covers it with clay, giggling. Next, a small flower; again, smothered. Yunho hums faster as ivy, princess pine, and unknown conifers sprout, embellishing Yunho's face, only to be quickly patted down by clay hands.

Yunho looks up, smiling to Jongho, lips covered in clay; Jongho quickly looks away.

After a few minutes, Byulyi calls her children to come inside.

"Eommaaaa," Jiwoo whines, "we haven't done Mingi's face yet."

"I thought you wanted to learn to cook, though?" Byulyi asks, "otherwise you'll end up like your brother." Her smile widens as Mingi jumps up.

"Ya!"

Needless to say, the twins run after their mother into the hanok.

"You guys should take that off before it dries your skin," Yeosang says, handing Yunho a warm cloth. (His face is already pristine.)

"Want me to clean it off for you?" Yunho asks.

"Uh," Jongho clears his throat, looking down, "sure."

Yunho scoots closer to him on the ground; their knees touch as both sit with crossed legs.

Underneath the two, insects and grubs burrow deeper toward the earth's warm core. A rodent's clutch of food waits, stagnant, till it is remembered as a saving grace in the harsh winter to come. In a few months, the ground will be too cold to sit upon without thicker clothes.

"Close your eyes." Yunho speaks softly.

Jongho's head lulls into the slender hands which gently hold his face; he can feel the cold clay replaced with the warmth of a soft cloth. Soon, his forehead is clean. Jongho's head tilts up, following the weight of Yunho's hand.

Now free from the danger of flaking clay, Jongho opens his eyes.

Yunho's usual smile has faded. His face is focused, stern almost, as he wipes Jiwoo's endeavor away.

Free from scrutiny, Jongho's gaze roams over the other's face. Jongho thinks the earth which clings to Yunho's face is far more flattering on Yunho than it must look on himself, especially with the small baby's breath and aster still dotting his mask.

Jongho looks to the curve of Yunho's eyes, to their sharp ends and smooth inner line, free from overarching anxiety. Clear, dark irises almost indistinguishable from his pupils. Like a dark mountain against clouded sky, his eyes stand out.

Jongho is so distracted finding ways to explain the others eyes, he doesn't notice the smile curling onto his own lips.

Yunho, however, does; he looks up, holding onto Jongho's own brown eyes.

At that moment, Yunho's eyes seem to open; a protective mask seems to seep into his corneas and dissipate, exposing the vulnerabilities of a thoughtful soul.

"Hyung," Jongho says softly. The sound barely escapes his lungs, even less his lips, "you have really nice eyes."

The eyes which were once simply eyes now are practically personified in themselves. It seems as if the fullness of Yunho's personhood is held in those two, ever stable orbs.

"Thank you." The depth to which Yunho's voice can reach surprises Jongho.

A smile comes back to curve upon Yunho's face. But this smile is different than what Jongho is used to; instead of mischievous or playful or amused, this one... Jongho doesn't quite know what to make of it. Jongho's attention is solely on Yunho's eyes, yet he can clearly sense, if not see, the warm and content and protective aura blooming upon Yunho's entire face.

Protective... a strange idea.

"Why?" Yunho cleans off the last of any determined clay.

"Huh?" Jongho looks back up to Yunho's eyes; the mask has reappeared. Not in a deceptive way, just in a way which leaves Yunho's soul protected.

Jongho watches as Yunho swiftly clean his own face. Perhaps if Jongho was a little less reserved, he would have offered his own services.

"Why do you think my eyes are nice?" Jongho can't quite tell if his voice holds a teasing glint.

It most likely does.

"I don't know," Jongho stands, holding a hand out to Yunho, "they just are."

Obviously, he cannot disclose how he had just been describing those eyes to himself.

Even when he sits down to dinner, those soft eyes are still in Jongho's mind. Before seeing eyes without a mask, he'd not known they were so often covered in the first place.

"Jongho-ya," Yunho asks again, and this time Jongho hears it, "did you hear Appa?"

"Oh," Jongho turns to Hyungsik, "sorry, what?"

"Have you thought more about what Minji asked?"

Oh.

No. No he has not.

"I know it may seem like an undertaking," Hyungsik continues over his bowl of rice, "but going home after some time away - especially with an anima like Minji offering support - can be vital to self discovery and discipline."

Jongho stirs the grain in his own bowl.

Hyungsik reminds Jongho of a TedEd speaker Eomma would listen to while making dinner.

"Whatever you decide," Hyojoo speaks up, across the table from her husband, "don't think we'll judge you in this. We trust you, and will always provide a home for you."

If these weren't Yunho's parents, Jongho would likely be a mile away, cringing at the earnesty he is unused to.

Earnest... a state of existence so natural to the people here. Without deception, without lethargy, without the apathy so common in Jongho's life. Here, emotions lay on the sleeve, because what truly is the point in hiding them?

Deception is ultimately useless, laughed at, even, because in deception, no one receives what they truly want.

Life is a serious endeavor in Mabeobian philosophy; every weighed descision adds to the fullness of a purposeful life.

To be earnest - honest, caring, sincere - is to hold the very virtue necessary to joy.

Perhaps, Jongho thinks after clearing the table, and as he lies down to sleep, that is what life is.

Resting into the bulky mattress, his mind recalls that time on the trail, coming back from a spontaneous swim, in which Yunho had asked for the meaning of life.

Very simply, Jongho now perhaps has an answer: life is to love; life is love. Life truly lived is to be brutally honest with yourself and the humanity which surrounds you.

For only in honesty can love exist;

only in love, can there be peace;

and only in peace, can there be true life.

Every day Jongho grows further aware of the stark accuracy in the title chimmong: the sleeping one. He had thought it dramatic at first, but the more Jongho wakes up...

For a sleeper rarely realizes they are dreaming.

Life is wasted asleep: sleeping behind a mask of submission, of normalcy, white lies, and timidity; sleeping, staggering from one day to the next in vain hope for a future of perfection which may never arrive.

Even worse: asleep to the vibrancy of one's own desires, thoughts, and aspirations.

Who do I aspire to be? Jongho asks, twirling in the sheets. He does not yet know.

One question answered, another comes to take its place.

Yet after even a century of sleep, a mere moment of wakefulness can impose rushes of vivacity upon a previously grey life. So as the thin string of hope Jongho holds for his fellow chimmongs revives, he concludes that, perhaps, hope is not quite delusional after all.

As Jongho has only just begun to wake, he must fall again into that natural cycle of physical rest.

— • —

"Minji!" Jongho calls, kicking off his shoes at the door of the anima's hanok.

"She's out with Seonghwa." Hongjoong's soft pajamas engulf him as he sits, curled into some floor cushions.

"You're not usually out this early." Hongjoong looks up from his literature: The Yellow Emperor's Classic of Internal Medicine. This sounds like a topic Hongjoong could go on about; Jongho decides to not ask any questions.

"Would you like some tea? They should be back soon."

"Sure." Jongho seats himself.

Hongjoong sets his hand-melded kettle upon a graphite slab. He opts for herbal tea. It doesn't take an anima to notice Jongho is on edge; Hongjoong decides he doesn't need caffeine.

While the graphite heats, Hongjoong takes a seat next to Jongho, a polite distance between them. "How did you sleep?"

"When I actually slept: fine. But I was up a lot thinking."

Hongjoong can tell.

"Want to talk about it?"

Jongho shakes his head. He'll wait for Minji.

At the kettle's shrill whistle, Hongjoong stands up, yet again, in his draping nightwear and drops a handful of flowers through the steam.

"Do you take honey?" Hongjoong calls from the kitchenette.

"No thanks, I don't really like sweets." Jongho is distracted flipping through The Yellow Emperor's Classic of Internal Medicine so he doesn't notice Hongjoong's judgemental glare. Hongjoong rather adores sweets.

"Can you read archaic Chinese?" Hongjoong asks, silently setting down two tea cups as Jongho closes the book.

"No, you can?"

Hongjoong nods, sipping his honey tea. "It's not too uncommon for a corpus to read ancient languages. My father taught me, and his parents taught him, etc." Hongjoong sips a little faster as his tea cools. "Especially where I grew up in Pyeongon, pre-Hangul texts weren't hard to find."

"When's the last time you've been home?" After a month away from his home, Jongho has been feeling the twinge of missing not only his family, but his culture.

Hongjoong hums. "I suppose the last time was when I brought Minjae here last year. This spring the border was too militarized..." Hongjoong swirls the last of his tea in the cup. "Hopefully we can go visit during the monsoon."

Hearing a wooden creak in the entrance hall, Jongho looks up to see Seonghwa following Minji. Yet Jongho can't tell if his nerves are lessened or more excitable upon seeing the woman.

"Noona," he shuffles in his seat, "are you free?"

Minji and Seonghwa share an understanding glance.

"Of course, would you like to go outside?" Perhaps Minji's honeyed voice is the only sweetness Jongho can indulge.

Jongho follows her out of the hanok, through the courtyard, away from prying ears.

•

10-5-22 3.1k words.

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