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Oh, oh woe-oh-woah is me
The first time that you touched me
Oh, will wonders ever cease?
Blessed be the mystery of love
-Mystery of Love , Sufjan Stevens
Roma.
It starts off in Italy, your favorite place- which meant it was Jeonghan’s favorite too. Jeonghan who had been burned out by the 12 hour flight from Seoul- even though he had peacefully remained good as dead during the entire flight, leaving you to fiddle around and shuffle through movies- was pulled from the depths of his slumber by you, running a hand through his chestnut fringe and easing your way to the nape of his neck. You know it was no use to wake him up by brute force, it only tempts him to fall back to sleep even harder, and had come to the conclusion that hitting his sweet spot always renders him vulnerable to your every whim. Today being no exception.
“We have to go now,” you tell him. Excitement bubbling in your voice. Jeonghan lets out a delirious ‘hmm’.
“What time is it?” he slurs and nuzzles his head into your pillow. He tries to find your warmth but you don’t give him the luxury of it and evade him. You are determined to pry him out off bed, a feat deemed by Seungcheol as practically impossible.
“5 am.” You rattle, sending Jeonghan reeling in the recesses of his sleep.
“Then I don’t see why anyone should be awake right now.” Jeonghan can’t quite grasp the concept of early mornings in this honeymoon, especially when he finally found a reason to steal away from his hectic schedule. He reaches out a searching hand, fingers trying to lace with yours. Cold air greets him, weighing down his lips.
“The Trevi fountain is going to be packed with tourists in the late morning Han,” you moan, and Jeonghan feels a shift in the bed. He has lost you, which meant he had to wake up.
Rising from bed in utter contempt, he brings a knuckle to his face and tries to wipe the sleep clinging to his eyes. “Fine.”
When Jeonghan looks at you, you are already dressed up, donned in a muted rose coat that is a render of the bruised sky just outside your room. A smile is etched on your face, one that is completely inappropriate during this hour of the morning. But, you brush a stray hair from your face, tucking it underneath the shell of your ear and the morning light catches the ring on your finger as you do so. Jeonghan gets up.
The streets of Rome are empty at this time, the light from the rising sun a pale sliver peeking through roofs and balconies. The shops had just begun opening up when the both of you arrived at your destination. You were right, Jeonghan thinks, as they start towards the beautiful marble fountain. The sight was absolutely desolate, save for a few tourists who had the same determination to get that money shot with the fountain.
The gurgle of the water is the only sound that fills the morning, along with the occasional white noise of shop owners and stray pigeons. Jeonghan hugs his coat tighter as a breeze slips pass him, drawing you nearer for extra warmth. He rests his chin on your shoulder feeling the hum of your voice against his chest. You were explaining the history of the fountain and he does his absolute best to listen and not drop into the lull of your sound.
“They say you can actually drink the water, but judging by the amount of coins littering the fountain floor I don’t think it will taste very nice.” The edges of your smile turn sad at the glittering pool of coins before you. Jeonghan hugs you tighter.
“Han let's make a wish.” You say, turning around to find him a hairline away from your face. Your cheeks flush at the proximity and a thrill of pleasure rolls down Jeonghan. He always loves making you flustered.
“After you,” he says, drawing two liras from his pocket. It was some loose change from the pan au chocolat he bought on the way here.
Your eyes shut in reverence as you clasp the lira between your hands, and Jeonghan wishes he could freeze this moment forever. You looked absolutely radiant in the dawn light, eyes clamped shut as you stood before Greek gods honed of marble, looming over the both of you like a brewing storm born from a lifetime ago. The moment shatters at the toss of a coin, a small star suspended in time before making its final splash in the fountain below.
Jeonghan could see you looking at him expectantly, and he disappoints by breaking through formalities and throwing the coin in a careless gesture that has Yoon Jeonghan stamped all over it. You conclude that he deems the whole coin ceremony to be childish but he draws you by the waist and his eyes are akin to the two liras you just threw into Trevi.
“Wishing for you is redundant,” he whispers, before stealing a kiss that would be one of many he would thief away during the day.
You leave Trevi for the Coliseum, and as the day stretches out and the tourists flood in, the coins in the fountain start to mount up, but yours and Jeonghan’s wishes still shine.
From the coliseum to the Spanish steps, and finally the mouth of truth, Jeonghan’s energy is coming to its all time low when you pull through the gates and towards the marble mask of a church’s portico. Jeonghan’s delicate face pinches in disgust at the ruined facade of the titan god, weathered and crumbled by years.
“This is a god,” he scoffs, your eyes roll as you feel your husband internally listing the beauty that doesn’t even match to the deities of the mythology that this country offers. You cut his absurd train of thought by taking his hand and looking into his eyes.
“They say the titan cuts off the hand of anyone who has the audacity to lie before him. Put your hand if you dare.” A peal of silvery laughter rolls of Jeonghan as he inserts his hand into the slot with ease. Of course the man who bathes in lies, has a loose moral compass and an even more broken code of ethics takes the plunge. His eyes glow with mirth as he urges you to the same.
You place your hand in the dark crevice and Jeonghan’s fingers instantly gravitate towards your touch. It's a quiet moment between the both of you, the music of church bells echoing faintly in the air. Jeonghan leans in, face thick with longing and you tease him by rising to his face like tides on a full moon.
You destroy the moment, pulling your hand back towards you with a scream that curdles Jeonghan’s blood and makes him pull away in distraught.
“Fuck!” he exclaims, face painted with horror at your handless sleeve. A flood of laughter bursts through as you shoot out your hand once again and Jeonghan crumbles to his knees in dismay.
“You can’t say profanities in church,” you whisper, with a sweetness that makes Jeonghan seethe. He pinches the bridge of his nose in an effort to calm himself down, nostrils flaring out delicately. His lashes flutter, eyes closing, and he lists down all the reasons why he loves you, because heaven knows he needs to retain his sanity.
When his eyes flutter open and his knees straighten out, he is a pillar looming over your small figure quivering with laughter. His lips betray him with a smile, and he adds this moment to his ever growing list.
Three days in Rome is not much but you and Jeonghan have to catch the ten am train to Florence, and it's already a whopping 9:45. Brushing past through the throng of locals and tourists, you drag your luggage hurriedly as Jeonghan matches up with you in ease with his long strides.
You break away from him for a moment to retrieve your tickets, leaving him to guard both of your luggage. Something catches his eye, a couple rolling out of a photo booth, a mess of tangled limbs and stolen kisses. His eyes sparkle as an idea is born, and you walk towards him face riddled with bewilderment.
“Han our train is in ten minutes.” But he already has a grip on you and does not seem like he is ready to let go- well, he isn’t ready to let go ever anyways.
Walking towards the photo booth in a storm of excitement, the both of you slip in the cramped little space, your lips parting in understanding as Jeonghan makes himself comfortable in the nook of the small bench. He slips an arm around you, a natural excuse because the size of this space is ridiculous in proportion to the length of his limbs. With his free hand he keys a coin into the slot and the both of you wait for the blurry screen to thin out into clarity.
“This will only take a minute jagiya,” he whispers, and you can’t refuse the happiness beaming from his face.
The first flash blinds you, and so the picture comes out a little awkward. The second flash, you finally settle in and an impression of a smile is seen. The third, you feel a touch of cotton soft lips on your cheeks and warmth unfurls within you almost instantaneously. You whip your head in surprise, lips ready to scold him but he catches them, and he leans towards you more and everything just telescopes down to the warmth of his hand on the small of your back, and the pressure of his lips against yours. The camera lets out its final flash, sputtering out a faint glow before finally dying.
Firenze.
The marble statue is an absolute wonder, a monstrous figure of David bathed by the muted light filtering through the skylights of the dome arching over him. He is beautiful in every sense of the word; soft curves achingly crafted in the lines of his fingers to the curvature of his cheek, his body is a marble slab hollowed out to perfection, and his eyes are anything but dead. If anyone dared to come near enough to whisper a breath of life to this masterpiece, you don’t doubt for a heart beat that its ancient limbs would move to life.
You snap a picture, and Jeonghan huffs, unimpressed. “It’s beautiful,” you let out.
“It’s naked.”
“It symbolizes the beauty of man even in his vulnerability.”
Jeonghan drifts off into silence and your eyes linger a little longer at the statue. You snap one last picture and head off to another wing of the gallery. He won’t admit it, but Jeonghan’s breath is knocked off his chest once again, rose bud lips parted in wonder. He casts one more glance at the divine head haloed by the afternoon light, and tries to imprint it in his memory and the feeling he has looking at it. He feels static running along his fingers before finally turning his back to the statue. Minghao and Wonwoo would love this.
Florence is rich with museums and you and Jeonghan flutter from one to the other. Basking in all the art and culture until you’re finally drunk with it as you waltz into the Uffizi- the oldest gallery in Florence.
Tapestries flank the walls as you move through them in a daze, blurs of colors whipping around you. Jeonghan’s presence is an anchor of warmth amidst the storm of people, and he eases you into Botticelli’s wing of paintings.
Primavera, Birth of Venus, The Madonna, their heavenly faces overwhelm you as romanticism practically oozes out of these walls. It's a heaven for the senses, and you can’t help but to give Jeonghan’s hand a slight squeeze at the feeling kindling in your chest. He reciprocates the gesture but drifts away to take a closer look at the wonder that is Primavera.
His toffee eyes are glistening as his fingers hover over the painting, trembling slightly at the allure that it exudes. You feel a certain warmth that you can’t quite place looking at Jeonghan admire paintings. The way his delicate features mirror the cherubic faces before him feels like you’ve managed to acquire your very own Botticelli muse, and when he looks back at you with a brush of a smile that sends all the art in the Uffizi to shame, you fall in love with him all over again.
“Jagiya,” he hums, gravitating towards you as you attempt to capture the whole tapestry in one shot. You let out an uneasy exhale at the blurry pic and thumb the screen to turn it off.
A pair of slender arms envelope you and a liquid blush burns through your face. You know the candidness that Europeans have and wonder if it’s rubbing off on Jeonghan for him to be so unnaturally touchy in public.
“Do the paintings,” he starts, voice low in your ear. “Start to look the same to you, or is it just me?” You bite back a laugh at the truth swimming in his words. You didn’t want to admit it in fear to sound sacrilegious in the halls rich with Italian history, but there was only so much Sancta Maria and saints you could see in one day until you were positive that both of you are already blessed to the next lifetime.
“Yes,” you reply and Jeonghan is radiant.
“Gelato?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Siena.
You are absolutely positive that Sienna is where Jeonghan belongs. Looking like an extension of the Italian province as he strolls through the labyrinth of cobblestone streets and old houses. There is a charm to the ruins and age that thrums in this town, and when the congested city proper of Florence had flattened out into sprawling hills and lush vineyards, Jeonghan was ready to disembark from the train right there and then.
He swings the both of your hands to and fro as you meander the alleyways that look sinfully scenic in every angle. This is exactly what Jeonghan wanted, slow travel, aimless walks in the Italian countryside and finding local gems that the both of you would huddle over. He brings your hand to his lips and plants another kiss, lingering a touch long. The sun is setting slowly like molasses over tiled rooftops, basking everything in a hazy afternoon glow and dusting the top of Jeonghan’s cheekbones with a tracery of gold. Yes, every part of Sienna is absolutely picture perfect.
The both of you clear out into the Piazza del Campo and the tones of a live band immediately stain the air with their sweetness. Jeonghan eases the both of you to a nondescript shop of leather goods, the scent overwhelming you in the best way.
“Han, Mingyu would love this.” You exclaim, hands lingering on a satchel with the words italian leather embossed on it. Jeonghan hums in approval and you come out with two satchels, all of which Jeonghan specifically requested at the craftsman to emboss the names of his members on. Mingyu and Minghao, his milk-and-honey drawl is a little bit broken in English but you find it endearing nonetheless.
The sky is a bruised thing now, an ink stain of mauve bleeding into indigo in the horizon. Street lamps flicker to life like birthday cakes being lit up one by one and pepper the streets of Sienna, mirroring the curtain of stars above.
You and Jeonghan had come back to one of the restaurants you had stumbled earlier on. It was one of those dark and intimate ones that sank below street level and only opened at night. It was settled snug in an alleyway that you first deemed to be sketchy, but as Jeonghan guides you to it, you can’t help but to marvel at the inviting glow of the candlelit tables and stained glass lamps that hung overhead.
The night is spent filling your bellies with some aglia olio and a decadent panna cotta to satisfy Jeonghan’s sweet tooth, both of your faces glowing with satisfaction as you end your meal and slip out into the night. A string of music, like a silver lining to the evening, hums faintly in the background and you recognize it to be por una cabeza, a familiar tango that draws you back to the afternoon radios of your childhood. Absentmindedly you sing along but Jeonghan has other things in mind.
“Dance with me,” he tells you, pulling the both of you underneath the shelter of a street lamp.
“Jeonghan we’re in the middle of the street,” you reason, blushing as your eyes flickered frantically from one end to the other. Empty streets, the occasional fat cat roaming and disappearing into the maw of an alleyway, a look at Jeonghan and a smile that says he’s proven his point.
Hesitantly you lean into his touch, and that’s all the consent Jeonghan needs to submerge the both of you into the music. He leads you with an aching tenderness, your footsteps an echo to his sure ones.
Warmth fizzles like newly opened champagne inside of you, and you bury your face into his chest to hide your grin. Jeonghan smells like lavender, and strawberry gelato, he reminds you of New Year’s Eve and the undercurrent of magic that comes along with it. The song lulls to an end, but Jeonghan keeps swaying the both of you, leading you to melt into the evening shadows until traces of you and him are nothing more than embers in the dark.
It is one of those rare instances that Jeonghan wakes up before you, and he savors every moment of the rare phenomenon. The morning light is muted as it filters through the frosted window and casts an eerie glow to your face. Jeonghan’s fingers ghost over your cheek, the faintest brush of your skin sending thrills down his body. He grazes your lower lip ever so gently and your lashes flutter in return. He stills, thinking you would wake up, but you let out a sigh and continue to fall deep in your slumber.
He wishes every morning with you is a morning in Siena.
Verona.
“Han, you know that only girls write to Juliet’s wall right?” Slipping your letter snugly into the crevice of a loose brick, you dust off your hands as you walk towards a studious Jeonghan. He was furiously conjuring up a letter for the renowned wall; a haven for the broken hearted or advice seeking girls who were in the tender beginnings of their relationship. You had written a letter just for the fun of it, but Jeonghan had asked the woman lending out the bundles of stationary for a slip of paper, and had been writing the afternoon away.
“Don’t interrupt me I’m almost done,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving the paper. He looked like a dream in the small courtyard of the Capulet’s house. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he had unbuttoned the first two buttons of his polo, feeling a little stifled by the afternoon spell. Occasionally brushing his growing fringe away, a trail of ink stains now peppered Jeonghan’s glistening forehead, an endearing tarnish to his usual immaculate face.
Before you could even steal a picture, he rises in an elegant sweep and starts towards the wall. He slots his letter into it and turns around with the kiss of satisfaction on his face. You have half the mind to ask him what he wrote about, but judging from the sly look on his face, he won’t divulge so easily and you conclude that you want to keep the enigma of the letter anyway.
When the two of you come out of the alleyway, Jeonghan spots a nearby gelateria and vanishes from your side at the promise of acquiring you one. The scent of lilies and the allure of fresh flowers draws you in to a nearby flower shop. You hover over the fresh batch of camellia and roses, the frail petals glistening in the afternoon light. The temptation to buy a bouquet is strong, but the practicality of it brushes any flights of fancy you might succumb to.
“Which one do you like?” a man, who is not entirely unattractive, pulls you away from your stupor.
You quickly explain that you won’t be buying anything, hands frantically shaking like doves restless in their cage. A singular bloomed camellia is outstretched, perfection in its finest. It looks so fragile, like the sugar flowers that adorned your wedding cake, that your lips part like a kitten at the vision of it.
“It's on me,” he says, and takes your hand to lace your fingers around its stem. You beam at him, and say grazi all over again.
“If you wanted flowers, you could have asked me.” Jeonghan’s voice is ice on your back, and you turn around to see his knuckles a ghostly white around your gelato.
“It’s for free,” you placate him, twirling the blossom before nestling it on his ear. “I have you anyway.” You whisper, a tease of a kiss against his lips. Before he could turn it into anything more, you steal away the gelato and walk off into the fray.
When you come back to your villa that night, a beautiful bouquet of peonies and dahlias await you. A singular camellia in the center of it all.
Paris.
Paris greets the two of you with a shower of rain that sends Jeonghan cursing as you head off in a mad dash to the Ritz. You laugh it all off as you enter your hotel room, breathless at the rush of adrenaline pumping through your blood. Your head is spinning and the city lights fade out into a beautiful bokeh that are reminiscent of stars. Jeonghan remains wet and sulking.
“Come here and let me dry you off.” Once all your luggage is settled and tucked away neatly in a corner, the both of you sink into the plush chaise at the center of your room, Jeonghan snuggled before you and expectant.
You massage his scalp with utmost care, the plush fabric of the hotel towel easing its way through damp ringlets. Jeonghan melts into your touch and you blush at the earnestness emanating off of him.
“Jagiya,” he murmurs, and turns to look at you. “Let me do yours.” He turns your focus away from him, making you face the city of lights outside, reflection of street lamps pooled in little galaxies of puddles in the Parisian streets. All of a sudden you feel like a child again, easing into your mother’s embrace once Jeonghan combs through your hair and brushes out all the tangles.
Your eyes weigh down, exhaustion coming to you and the feather kiss that Jeonghan plants between the crook of your neck doesn’t help at all.
“Yeobo,” he whispers and you feel the tremor of his lips on your shoulder.
“Hmm?”
“Can we have hot chocolate tomorrow?” You bury your face in your hands as an undignified snort echos in the room, Jeonghan letting out a roar of laughter as he caves into you.
You keep your promise to Jeonghan, coming to the renowned Angelina patisserie at 226 rue de Rivoli. You get the hot chocolate to go along with a Mont Blanc that you and Jeonghan enjoy by the river Siene. A boat passes by, leaving a trail of pale foam at its wake and awakening the slight stench of river sediments up to the surface. The both of you pay no mind.
“This is heaven,” Jeonghan exclaims, taking a long sip. The thick drink melts in a puddle of richness down his throat and his eyes glitter in pleasure. He takes another sip- this time his gaze hot on you, and by the second time he exclaims that it is heaven, he hopes his message is sent across clearly.
The day is filled with the usual meandering you two have been doing the past few weeks in Europe, visiting the Louvre, hitting landmarks- Jeonghan proposing to you once again by the Eiffel and you storming off in embarrassment as his laughter hounds you, and finally crashing by an orchard in the quieter parts of Paris.
The two of you settle on a bench, Jeonghan casting a casual arm at the back of you. He looks down at you, his head haloed by the silver light that manages to peek through the cloud filled sky that is undeniably Parisian, and smiles. The chip of his front tooth glimmering candidly at you and something twinges in your heart like an old bruise.
“Your hair has grown longer during our trip,” you remark, twirling a lock that’s been brushing the back of his neck all morning. Jeonghan shivers at your touch, but leans closer never the less.
“Since we’re going back in a few days, would you like to cut it?”
The question and its bare honesty leaves you reeling in shock but the trust veiling Jeonghan’s face is what leads the two of you seated on the balcony, drinks on the floor, and twilight in the sky.
“I trust you,” Jeonghan tells you, voice oddly happy as you let out a shaky breath.
“You’re a fool.”
“I married you, I think that says a lot.” Peals of his laughter shower you like afternoon rain, surprisingly easing your nerves. You poise the scissors at an angle and finally make the first cut, everything comes easy after that.
Jeonghan is surprisingly silent as he lets you do your work, only letting out the occasional hum of pleasure at the touch of the cold blade against his bare skin. You remember the moment in details: feathering the edges of his cut as his silky locks slip between your fingers, the warmth of Jeonghan’s skin beneath your care, his whisper of caution as you even the sides near the shell of his ear, the tuft of ebony hair littering the floor, that tension of his jaw at the slight nudge of your fingers against it. All of these little wonders condensing into the pure magic of a man that is Yoon Jeonghan.
“Do you like it here?” he asks, the question so quiet that it almost slips past you.
“What do you mean?” You inquire in return, setting the pair of scissors down.
“What I mean,” a breath of air and a shudder of his shoulders, “would you like to live here? I’ve seen the way you look at Europe, the way you look absolutely happy. It wouldn’t be impossible to get a little apartment in the outskirts of Paris, I think the price will range just as high as one in the middle of Gangnam.”
Warmth needles your eyes as you listen to him, and Jeonghan pauses as he sees your trembling lip.
“Yeobo?” His face is swimming in concern as his hand brushes your cheek. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Of course not,” you let out, tears streaming down your eyes. “It’s just, I didn’t know you’ve been thinking about all of this.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he admits, a threadbare smile on his lips. “It’s just, we just got married and I know I’m not the best man out there. But you chose me, and I want to make you the happiest.” Jeonghan’s eyes are glistening now, and by no means is it the credit of the moon that had just shown up. “I asked the women of Juliet’s house how to make a woman stay in love with you, it’s what I wrote in my letter, if you were wondering. We all know falling in love is easy as hell but staying in love? I’d consider it a miracle if you’re half as in love with me next year as you are right now.”
By now the both of you are a mess of emotion littered on the floor, Jeonghan’s words playing over and over in your mind.
“I’d choose you any day Jeonghan. I’d cut your hair, get you hot chocolate, and sit with you when vertigo gets the best of you,” this elicits a laugh from your husband and you smile in return. “And I think our tiny apartment in Seoul is perfect.”
Jeonghan captures you in the tangle of his limbs and feels your hands brush against his new cropped hair. “I love it, thank you yeobo.”
the train ride to vienna
The train ride to Vienna before finally leaving Europe is a long one, but Jeonghan doesn’t mind. He has you nestled in his lap and a cup of steaming tea in his hand- what more could he ask? The conductor sweeps your car and asks for your tickets, Jeonghan immediately brings a finger of caution to his lips, gesturing to the sight of your sleeping figure.
He draws his wallet out and hands the both of your tickets, the conductor giving him a crisp nod before resuming to go down the train. Jeonghan doesn’t close his wallet just yet, finding the creased photograph of the two of you in Rome.
He runs a finger at your face in the first picture, chuckling at the mess of your dilated pupils and bewildered face. A smile breaks through at the sight of your kiss, Jeonghan leaning over you as he cradles your body in his arms. He looks down at his muse, and plants a tender peck on your sleeping face.
The train ride is a long one, but Jeonghan doesn’t mind.