Chapter Text
Athens is unbearably warm in the peak of June.
Jungwon isn’t malcontent. He has nothing to complain about as the adopted and now favored son of Athena, imbued with power, allowed to live most of his life above the belt of clouds around Mount Olympus. He fills his stomach just until he’s full, drinks sweet wines, and has acquaintances that he enjoys their presence and will dance with when the nights arise.
But the heat has always been his one allowed complaint for himself, as he can’t very well remove the outer layer of his flesh to become cooler. Above the cloud belt, the air is crisp and thin and easy to breathe from winter through summer. A lesser man would remain above the clouds, completing his tasks from afar while comfortable.
A man in the throes of love, though.
A man in the throes of love makes the human trek down Mount Olympus, through the fjords, over rivers, through the townsmarket and stalls and farms until he reaches the outcrop looking over an orchard. Jungwon is sweating through his himation, carrying a clay pot of oil in one hand, and an olive branch headpiece in the other, body straining despite his enhancements. When he steps into the shade of the pomegranate orchard, as a man in love, Jungwon doesn’t thank the trees, but the boy laying within them somewhere.
Jungwon traipses through the trees, not eyeing a single fruit, but looking at the orchard floor in every direction to catch a glimpse of his beloved. Just feet away from the entrance to the underworld, sits the beauty himself.
Riki’s eyes are closed as Jungwon approaches, gold hitting his cheeks through the trees. He’s wearing a black silk chiton, laying delicately on his back with a leg propped up. His sandals are stacked at the edge of the linen blanket he’s laying on, and if Jungwon didn’t know better, he’d believe Riki to be asleep. But he can see Riki’s lips twitch as Jungwon’s arrival displaces dirt in the path, and Jungwon is smitten enough to notice.
When he’s close enough, Jungwon sets the wreath and clay pot on the earth before using his hands to block out the sunlight blessing Riki’s eyelids, causing them to open once the warmth is intercepted.
“Jungwon,” Riki greets, and Jungwon swears his heart skips.
“You remember me,” Jungwon breathes. Riki’s eyes close once more around a laugh, and he believes that if nothing else, it’s made his trip fruitful.
Riki sits up, hands propping him up where the rest of his body can remain spread out like before. Jungwon straightens his back, standing with his hands behind it.
Riki tilts his head. “You’re here every week.” He reminds, amused.
Jungwon first saw Riki when the rest of the world first saw him; the day he turned eighteen, a year and a half ago. Jungwon has made this trip every week since, wanting to learn more and more about him. He knows plenty–that Riki quite likes the underworld, but there’s something appealing about the warmth of the sun in the afternoon. He knows Riki has a love for music, for dancing, for laying and enjoying the world quietly. And just like his mother, Riki loves pomegranates.
Jungwon is more desperate to know everything he can about Riki rather than to have his attention. But nevertheless, as he’s managed to earn it, he doesn’t take it for granted.
“I’ve brought you two things I thought you might enjoy,” Jungwon says, holding out the olive wreath and picking up the bottle of oil and brushing off the clay. “The oil has many uses, for cooking, for smoothing skin, but should you want to repurpose the pot, please empty it and fill it as you please.” Riki takes the pot gratefully, looking at the designs carefully in a way that pleases Jungwon more than he can admit.
Riki looks up and motions at the wreath. “And what would that be?” He asks, like he knows Jungwon has forgotten already.
Jungwon flushes red in embarrassment, but holds it out anyways. “To wear as a crown, an olive branch I fashioned into a headpiece.” He explains, waiting for Riki to take it. Instead, Riki extends his neck and closes his eyes. Jungwon’s chest thunders as he places it, fingers brushing silk-soft hair briefly.
When he pulls away, Riki is smiling softly. “You would make a headpiece just for me?” He asks.
Jungwon settles down onto the earth on his knees now that the gift has been bestowed.
“I’d fight a war for you, Riki.” He answers honestly. He’s always honest, always forward, so Riki never has to wonder whether his intentions are true, lest they’re vague.
“But,” Riki leans closer, his smile soft on his honey skin. Jungwon leans in, enraptured; the ground digs into his knees where he sits just off of the blanket, waiting to be invited forward. “Would you peel a pomegranate for me?”
It’s the kind of question that one knows the answer to, yet it strikes you dumb anyway.
Riki doesn’t seem to mind, leaning in a hair closer and continuing. “Would you have the patience if it’s hard to get me to open up, if my thick skin is stubborn? Would you stain your fingertips to keep mine clean? Would you resist tasting a single seed, so your first taste is from my lips? Would you take the seeds I spit and grow me an orchard?”
Their noses are inches away, and Jungwon believes this is the closest he’ll get to ecstasy, feeling the warm breath of his beloved hit his face. He wants to repeat, Of course I would. I’d do anything for you. But in all reality, he believes that he’s no better than Orpheus; too quick to turn back in the name of love. Because Jungwon has no patience. And he finds Riki’s pink-stained fingertips too darling, and Jungwon would bite one seed just to ensure he’s found the sweetest fruit for him. And Jungwon, though he would strip the lands of homes and crops to build an orchard, knows that Riki is completely fond of the one he grew up under most of all.
Riki sits back, and Jungwon catches himself tilting forward, one finger touching the blanket briefly before he lurches back. The younger suppresses a laugh, smoothing out the blanket.
“Thank you for the wreath, Jungwon. It’s beautiful.” He thanks, touching the branch delicately where it rests upon his head. A cool breeze wraps itself around them, and Jungwon shivers slightly despite it being quite warm still. Riki sighs contentedly, a blessed part of both worlds.
Jungwon bows his head. “I’ll leave you to your own company. Until next time,” He promises, and Riki waves goodbye with a sweet smile before he lays back to catch the sun on his cheeks. One day, Jungwon will warm them with his own kiss. He thinks, infinitely jealous of the sun.
⚚
The next time Jungwon visits, he leaves before dawn, and manages to arrive before Riki emerges from the underworld. He appears like a breeze, holding a folded linen blanket, sandals already discarded in his hands on the trek.
“Jungwon,” He greets, dropping his sandals to the earth. “What brings you so early?” He asks, unfolding his blanket and laying it down close to where Jungwon is sitting. It sends a thrill up Jungwon’s spine when the blanket brushes his skin.
Jungwon reaches behind himself and pulls out a basket that he’d woven himself, now full of breads and dried meats and wine to share. Share, if Riki allows him to stay and eat in his presence. He’s prepared to walk the road home gratefully if Riki accepts the gift without wanting company.
“I brought you a meal,” He says simply, setting the basket just off of the blanket so as not to dirty it. “I wanted to be here on time for you to enjoy it.”
Riki sits down on his knees, peering into the basket with wide eyes, before looking up–until now, Jungwon hadn’t noticed the olive branch wreath on his head. He’s so endeared by it that he almost misses the next words; “Join me?” Riki invites, motioning to the other side of the blanket.
Jungwon sits delicately at the edge, removing his sandals before he rests completely.
Riki unpacks the basket with care, looking over and appreciating each piece of bread, each slice of cheese, the dried fruits. Then, once it’s all laid out, he stands again, stretching out his long body until he’s fully upright. The chiton drapes elegantly around him, revealing bits and pieces of skin that Jungwon feels none-too-holy about seeing. Riki doesn’t go far–reaching up to pick two plump pomegranates from the tree above them in the grove.
He rests on his knees when he comes back, handing a pomegranate to Jungwon in return.
Jungwon accepts it gratefully. “I’ll savor this when I return, so I can share this meal beyond our parting,” He says, attempting to gain more favor. Riki smiles, and Jungwon is satisfied.
Between bites, they share quiet conversation, and once Riki has had his fill of meats, cheese, and wine, he begins peeling the pomegranate into four sections. Jungwon is helpless to watch while he works, carefully peeling away the skin with kept fingernails, placing them in a neat arrangement. He pulls away the pith from the arils, revealing pearls of red. A few seeds burst on Riki’s fingertips, and Jungwon envisions kissing the taste away from them, but refrains. Carefully, he lays the seeds onto the peel as he pulls them apart.
“Have some,” he offers, and Jungwon’s heart nearly expands too wide for his chest.
The fruit tastes sweeter from his hand.
When Riki takes the steps back down to his home and Jungwon has made his way back to Olympus, he pulls the pomegranate out of his bag, sits on the dirt, and begins to peel.