sunjaesol

[sunjaesol]

soljae | high school, 3+1 format, fluff, one-sided pining | prompt: floral

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

1.

It wasn't a date, but it definitely wasn't a friendly hang-out either. At eighteen, Sunjae still had a lot to learn (and study, if his report card held any merit), but he wasn't dumb.

Boys didn't walk with girls they felt indifferent about during the height of spring.

He just hoped girls followed that same train of thought. Probably not. He knew the least about girls.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Sol walk beside him in a pale floral sundress, a thin cream cardigan, and sneakers. The blue flowers on the dress danced with each step she took. Had he known Sol would dress up for a freaking swim meet, then he wouldn't have only packed his track suit.

Now he just looked totally undeserving of the attention of the prettiest girl in Seoul.

At least he won the competition. That was something.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he stared straight ahead as he uttered, "Wanna go to the arcade?"

She looked up at him in surprise. "The arcade?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. There's nothing else to do, so."

"Okay," Sol nodded and smiled. A gust of wind blew blossoms from the trees, cascading to the ground in a synchronised dance. In that moment, Sol came straight from his sweetest daydreams.

He forced himself to react naturally. His expression remained aloof, even if he felt dizzy in the head. "Cool."

That afternoon, they played a bunch of arcade games and ended their non-date by taking photobooth pictures together. Sunjae had no clue how they went from not speaking at all two weeks ago to brushing shoulders in a booth, but he didn't want to overthink it. If he did, he'd start acting silly.

The photo strip got tacked onto the cork board above his desk. Leaning his head on his hand, he stared at the photos, his eyes lingering on the dress she wore.

Pretty. Very pretty.

2.

His hands gripped her waist which made the fabric of her dress wrinkle under his touch. It was that floral dress again. Dragging her back on the pavement, a motorcycle whizzed by moments later.

"Ya!" he yelled. "Do you wanna die or something?! Why are you passing the street without looking?"

Sol gasped, startled. She didn't respond, shocked, as her eyes flitted from the passing vehicle to him. He wanted to ask what she was doing outside at night, alone, in a dress like that. He wanted to get mad. But he only felt relief.

Sunjae sighed, head dropping. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I'm..." she started. Her mouth closed. She tried again, but her voice sounded hollow. "What are you doing here?"

Sunjae paused. "I... does it matter?"

Sol frowned. "It... it does."

Belatedly, Sunjae realised he still held onto her and let go. His fingers flicked up and away like it did when someone accidentally touched a hot stove. Sol was cold, but his cheeks blushed pink regardless.

His arms fell to his sides. "I was on my way to meet Inhyuk," he lied.

"Oh."

"Let's get you home," he continued in a rush, the boy maneuvering her around and in the direction of their street. "Or were– are– do you have plans?" Was that why she was in that dress?

Sol stared at him for a beat and then shook her head. "No. I don't have plans."

3.

"So, explain the rules to me, because I'm not getting it," Sol huffed, crossing her arms as she peered at the television screen.

The Olympics were on. After a big sports journalist predicted that Korea would win several gold and silver medals, a lot of establishments decided to broadcast the Games. Right now, a waterpolo player crashed into one of their opponents.

Sunjae grinned, sitting beside her at the food joint, and took a bite of his red bean bingsu. "Will you remember the rules if I tell them?"

"If they're easy."

"I thought I was the one with a bad report card," he teased—his tone as sweet as the bingsu on his tongue.

Sol grimaced. "Don't joke about that. We should study together. Maybe then you'll focus."

The proposal was laughably incorrect to a degree that Sunjae almost guffawed in her face. Him? Focus with her centimeters away? It was hard enough to continue breathing whenever their shoulders brushed at this little table.

He distilled the feeling to a chuckle. "Maybe, yeah."

Sol leaned into his side, her tanned knee touching his thigh. "We should create a schedule."

"Huh?"

"A schedule," she repeated, but it refused to register in his brain. Her knee against his thigh.

Her knee, because she was wearing that stupidly cute and stupidly adorably and stupidly stupid dress again. The floral pattern haunted his dreams.

And to make it worse, today he discovered the dress had spaghetti straps. Sunjae had no idea what to do with this information, but he knew he would think about that detail later tonight.

"Sunjae-ah?" Sol trailed, tapping his shoulder. "You okay? You're zoning out."

"Oh! I, uh–?" Jerking at her sudden touch, he accidentally swiped the bowl of bingsu off the table and onto her lap. Shit.

Sol gasped, jumping upright. The bingsu clattered onto the linoleum ground, but it was too late: a large stain covered the skirt of her dress. Without another word, Sol turned on her heels and ran to the bathroom to clean up.

Cheers erupted from the television as the USA won a set against Serbia. Sunjae groaned and slowly sunk to the floor with a wad of paper-thin napkins in his hand. Stupid. He was the stupid one, not the dress.

After two minutes of scrubbing the floor, a pair of pink Converse appeared in his peripheral vision. Looking up, he saw Sol looming over him. A big splotch of water replaced the stain, for which he felt a sliver of relief. Thank God, the stain got out.

Sol dropped on her knees beside him. "You're never this clumsy," she said, a tentative smile playing on her lips.

He let out a bashful grin. "I know. I don't know what happened."

"You're lucky the stain got out." She grabbed a napkin from his grip and started helping him clean. "This is my favourite dress."

Sunjae paused. Huh. Her favourite dress. His gaze drifted from the spaghetti straps all the way down where the floral pattern ended and her knee started. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he shrugged and uttered as disinterested as he could muster: "It's pretty."

Sol blushed—she blushed!—and swatted his shoulder. "Whatever..."

+ 1

Sunjae grinned up at Sol as he sat at the edge of his bed, his hands wrapped around the backs of her knees trying to nudge her a bit closer.

"Just do it," he teased. His voice held a dreamy lilt that hadn't gone away for about four weeks now. Thirty-one days, to be exact. His dad believed he'd gone mad.

Sol giggled. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You're not going to hurt me." Sunjae eyes briefly flicked to the tweezers in his girlfriend's hand. "Just do it."

Pulling her that little bit closer, she finally stood in between his legs and was in the proper position to tweeze his brows. About ten minutes ago, Sol noticed some straw hairs between his brows and he immediately wanted them removed. No way would he walk around with a unibrow while Sol looked the way she did.

(Perfectly pretty and beautiful and adorable and cute and attractive and-)

With her free hand, she held the skin on his forehead taut. Sunjae felt himself go starry-eyed, relishing how close to him she was, and his grip reflexively tightened on her knees. His thumbs caressed her skin.

"I love this dress on you," he whispered, though his gaze clung to her face.

She smiled, almost shy, and started tweezing out hairs. "Whatever."

Her dismissal only emboldened him. "It's true," he urged. "I go dizzy seeing you in it."

"You're doing too much," Sol laughed, though her cheeks tinged pink at his compliment. "Am I hurting you?"

"No." She plucked out another hair. His hands trailed higher to graze the hem of her dress. "I barely feel anything."

Rolling her eyes, she muttered under her breath: "Yeah, right. Geum always cries."

Sunjae laughed at her nasty quip and swatted the tweezers away. "Do I look like Geum? Do I look like your brother?"

Sol's face twisted into one of disgust. "Don't say weird stuff now. You're ruining the moment."

His heart ballooning to an abnormal size due to lovesick emotions sounded crazy, but it really felt like it was happening. All of her little expressions, all of her words; he loved it all. Sunjae was so smitten with Sol, he hadn't been able to think about anything else for thirty-one days.

Thirty-one days passed of being Sol's boyfriend. What a freaking dream.

Tugging on her dress, Sol's knees dipped into the mattress and her nose bumped against his.

"Can you wear this dress every day?" he whispered.

"No," she whispered back. "That's gross. And my mom does the laundry every Saturday."

Sunjae kissed her in response. Curling his arms around her waist, he pulled her flush against him; his eyebrows fully forgotten. Sol smiled into the kiss as she gently caressed the back of his neck.

"You're so pretty," he sighed. "It's crazy."

Sol let out a lovesick giggle. "If this is how you act because of some floral dress..."

"Because of you in some floral dress."

[sunjaesol]

miracle

“no regrets.” he takes in a shuddering breath, trying hard to suppress yet another sob clawing its way out of his throat.

julie vigorously shakes her head at his words, even as the desperation in her eyes slowly shifts into defeated acceptance.

he knew she would get him — she always did — even if it pained the both of them.

he looks at her, takes in her slumped shoulders — her glassy eyes, wet cheeks and quivering lips.

luke swallows down another sob at the sight, fingers curling into fists at his sides as he holds it all in. he doesn’t want to break down in front of her and make this harder on her — not when she was already struggling.

he couldn’t.

especially here, now, when this might be the last time they see each other.

he needed to be there for her, to reassure her, up until the every end.

he walks closer towards her, as close as he could get, suddenly too aware of the space between them. because no matter how close he got to her, she still felt so out of reach.

what he would do to be able to bridge that gap — to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and keep her close, even if just once- even if it was the last thing he ever did-

and now, in this moment, he could almost picture it — the feel of her against him, feeling the air rush out of his lungs as she runs into his arms, her own wrapping tightly around his neck as she holds him close.

it felt so natural, it felt so real- almost terrifyingly so. was this the end? was he to spend his last moments of existence dreaming of a world where he could hold her?

luke closes his eyes, drowning in his own hallucination.

“i love you guys.”

if this was the end, then so be it.

let this be the last thing his mind conjures up.

but as the dream he thinks he’s having starts to move away, luke opens his eyes in panic to find julie just a few inches away from his face, her eyes too bright and too real to be a figment of his imagination. he stares at her in awe and confusion as she pulls away just enough to trail her fingers down his arms.

warm soft skin brushing against his own.

“h-how can i..feel you?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper as she looks up at him in wonder.

“i-i-“ he stutters out, too distracted by..everything. by her proximity, her warmth - by her. “i don’t know,” he finally manages to say, tears blurring his vision.

julie reaches out towards him at his words, almost as if in a desperate hurry to confirm that this wasn’t a fluke — that it wasn’t a dream, an illusion.

he immediately feels the warmth of her skin against his as she cups his face in her hands, her fingers stroking his cheeks and wiping away his tears.

he doesn’t know what to feel, what to think, what to say-

he continues to stare at her in disbelief, his body suddenly moving of its own accord as he mirrors her movements, hands moving up to the soft warmth of her cheeks.

“i-“ he must be dreaming, this can’t be true; a moment ago he was an inch away from being wiped out of this world, and now he is suddenly holding his entire world in the palms of his hands?

this was…this was a miracle.

he could touch her.

she could touch him.

laughing in bewilderment, luke pulls julie in closer and rests his forehead against hers. he closes his eyes at the soft touch, and takes a deep breath, breathing her in and letting her fill his lungs until he could no longer keep it in.

slowly breathing out, he flexes his fingers against her skin, feeling the friction beneath his fingertips as strands of her hair tickle his skin.

it felt surreal. every single part of her, of this moment — like it was all just a dream.

almost as if to prove him wrong, julie moves beneath his hands, head tilting up towards him just enough for her nose to bump against his own.

she was real.

luke breathes out another laugh at the contact, still in absolutely awe of everything that she is. he takes his time to savour the moment, feeling her breath brush against his lips.

he doesn’t know how long they stand there, holding onto each other in this dreamlike stance, but when he eventually opens his eyes, the first thing that greets him is her smile — a smile full of love and joy and wonder and hope.

this was truly a miracle.

she was a miracle.

[sunjaesol]

Mr. Plankton [ Mr. 플랑크톤 ] (2024) (6/?) — Woo Do Hwan as Hae Jo | dir. Hong Jong Chan – Ep. 04

[sunjaesol]

soljae | different timeline, adult!soljae, melancholy | prompt: thrive

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Mindlessly scrolling through Twitter, Sunjae paid little attention to the hair and make-up artists flitting around him with brushes and hot tools. As long as he kept still, they could work efficiently and he would leave his dressing room immaculate.

Beside him, other actors were getting their hair and make-up done. Some Japanese rapper was blaring from someone's speaker, drowning out the noise of the hair dryer. Some were napping, going over their lines, or, like him, doom-scrolling online.

My Colleague Made Me Blush A Thousands Suns was a drama he was currently filming, playing the second male lead. A role he often got typecasted as. Which was... fine, if not a slight blow to the ego.

He figured he had enough experience on his resume for a casting director to give him a chance, but he knew the fickle nature of the industry. It was already a miracle that he was a relatively known and respected actor in the field. His manager said he had his height to thank.

After filming, he had a networking dinner tonight. Sunjae rather looked forward to diving into bed and watching some American sports movie, but alas—appearing at social events was part of the job description.

He couldn't complain, he reminded himself. He had the job of his dreams, financial security, a nice place, a tight-knit group of friends and a flawless reputation. People would kill for a life like his.

And yet.

For a while now... he couldn't really describe it... but in the last couple of months, he has been feeling empty. Or rather: never-quite fulfilled, like someone had stolen the last bite of a meal. He felt himself looking over his shoulder, or watching the front door late at night; waiting, expecting. But there was nothing to expect. He had his life in order.

Inhyuk would immediately assume that what Sunjae was missing was a girlfriend, but that felt too simple of a statement and it didn't encompass that odd, melancholic feeling. Besides, he wasn't looking for a relationship; he was a content single man.

(Quietly—embarrassingly—he did wonder at times if something was wrong with him. Why didn't he crave companionship? Why did his attraction to women stay surface-level? Was there something inherently broken or—if he were to take a romantic's perspective—was his very soul waiting for The One?)

He wished to shake off this feeling, but it stuck to him like glue.

"Sunjae-ssi?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, he realised his thumb had been hovering over his screen for a while now, unmoving. He looked up at the make-up artist. "Yes?"

"You're ready. You can wait for the director's directions now."

"Ah, thank you." He rose from the chair.

As he walked out of the room, the male lead passed him by with a large, iced Americano and the script rolled under his armpit. He was shorter than Sunjae, but he had the face that all male leads had—something unattainable, masculine, and relatable all at once. The actors were amicable, but Sunjae doubted they'd hang out much after promotions wrapped.

(And yeah, Sunjae was a little jealous of him. Why wasn't he 'unattainable, masculine and relatable' all at once? That would maybe solve his issue.)

Walking onto set, he watched as two actors from the ensemble were in the middle of adlibbing a comedic scene. A production assistant walked up to him with the latest director's notes and script changes. An on-set make-up artist immediately checked him for any imperfections. It wasn't like this on every set, but this one ran like a well-oiled machine.

Again, he had nothing to complain about. Ryu Sunjae was thriving.

... And yet.

His eyes skimmed over the notes, perplexed. "He wants to remove the kiss between Doha and Minju?"

The assistant shrugged. "Some executive producer doesn't think it's a good idea."

Sunjae frowned. "But we've been leading up to it. That's what my character is for. To confuse the female lead."

"I know." The assistant cringed. "I'm just relaying the message."

Nodding, he read the notes again. Those executive producers loved to throw around their opinion as though it held the same merit as the money they possessed. Now his character's arc made no sense.

With a huff, Sunjae tucked the notes into his script. He would for sure talk to the director about this once it was time to film his parts.

"Can you believe it? They totally removed his arc!" A voice behind him perked up, indiginified, speaking to someone else.

Looking over his shoulder, he watched two crew members speaking to each other. Or rather: one was, animatedly so.

"Remind me again why executives have all the power?" the same person asked, miffed.

Her colleague shushed her. "Because they have all the money. Now be quiet. You're the intern, don't start shit you cannot solve."

The woman looked much older than some twenty-year-old intern, Sunjae observed. More about his age. She had a short stature and a square-ish face, long hair piled in a claw clip at the back of her head. Like all of the crew, she wore dark, unassuming clothing.

She pursed her lips. "I'm not saying I'm going to solve it, but I'm just saying... even if they have all the money, doesn't the director... or even the actors... have some say in the matter? The character of Doha is so integral to Minju's growth. It would be a shame if that kiss was scrapped."

"I think so, too," Sunjae found himself saying, grabbing the attention of the women. Walking towards them, he got a better look of them.

The experienced crew member turned as pale as a ghost and bowed her head, apologies about gossiping spilling from her lips.

The intern also bowed her head, though less pronounced, and mumbled a similar apology. Yeah, she definitely wasn't twenty years old. Someone younger would've been peeing their pants about now.

He dismissed them, his gaze sticking to the intern. "Don't apologise. I agree. It's a shame my character's arc is possibly getting reduced."

The intern nodded. She seemed quite pleased that he agreed with her, a slight grin growing on the edges of her lips in the same way that lured people to view the Mona Lisa. "You're going to speak to the director, right?"

"I will."

"Good." Her colleague elbowed her. "I mean, that seems like a smart decision, Sunjae-ssi."

It was almost imperciptible, the way his head tilted slightly after she said his name. He heard that a million times a day. Sunjae-ssi. Sunjae-ssi. Sunjae-ssi. Yet hers... no, he found it too embarrassing to admit. (He found that she said it the sweetest.)

Sunjae coughed, feeling a lump in his throat. "Oh, uh, what're you interning for, by the way?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." This time she bowed for real. "I didn't introduce myself." She smiled. "I'm Im Sol. I'm an intern in the writer's room for the show."

Sunjae blinked.

Oh.

Im Sol.

A sudden swell in his stomach, his chest, his head bloomed at the sound of her name. Im Sol. The physical sensation made him dizzy.

Im Sol.

A short, breathy laugh puffed from his lips. "Right. Um. Hi. Im Sol." The name came out like it was his own. "Welcome on board. Um." The disorienting feeling wouldn't fade. She, however, simply looked at him in confusion. "I have to get ready."

He walked away in seconds, grabbing his racing chest.

Im Sol.

Im Sol.

Why did it feel like that name has left his lips as many times as he has breathed?

Im Sol.

Im Sol.

Im Sol, where have we met before?

[sunjaesol]

Federer's letter to Nadal is the most romantic thing I've read in weeks.

[sunjaesol]

soljae | different timeline, adult!soljae, melancholy | prompt: thrive

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Mindlessly scrolling through Twitter, Sunjae paid little attention to the hair and make-up artists flitting around him with brushes and hot tools. As long as he kept still, they could work efficiently and he would leave his dressing room immaculate.

Beside him, other actors were getting their hair and make-up done. Some Japanese rapper was blaring from someone's speaker, drowning out the noise of the hair dryer. Some were napping, going over their lines, or, like him, doom-scrolling online.

My Colleague Made Me Blush A Thousands Suns was a drama he was currently filming, playing the second male lead. A role he often got typecasted as. Which was... fine, if not a slight blow to the ego.

He figured he had enough experience on his resume for a casting director to give him a chance, but he knew the fickle nature of the industry. It was already a miracle that he was a relatively known and respected actor in the field. His manager said he had his height to thank.

After filming, he had a networking dinner tonight. Sunjae rather looked forward to diving into bed and watching some American sports movie, but alas—appearing at social events was part of the job description.

He couldn't complain, he reminded himself. He had the job of his dreams, financial security, a nice place, a tight-knit group of friends and a flawless reputation. People would kill for a life like his.

And yet.

For a while now... he couldn't really describe it... but in the last couple of months, he has been feeling empty. Or rather: never-quite fulfilled, like someone had stolen the last bite of a meal. He felt himself looking over his shoulder, or watching the front door late at night; waiting, expecting. But there was nothing to expect. He had his life in order.

Inhyuk would immediately assume that what Sunjae was missing was a girlfriend, but that felt too simple of a statement and it didn't encompass that odd, melancholic feeling. Besides, he wasn't looking for a relationship; he was a content single man.

(Quietly—embarrassingly—he did wonder at times if something was wrong with him. Why didn't he crave companionship? Why did his attraction to women stay surface-level? Was there something inherently broken or—if he were to take a romantic's perspective—was his very soul waiting for The One?)

He wished to shake off this feeling, but it stuck to him like glue.

"Sunjae-ssi?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, he realised his thumb had been hovering over his screen for a while now, unmoving. He looked up at the make-up artist. "Yes?"

"You're ready. You can wait for the director's directions now."

"Ah, thank you." He rose from the chair.

As he walked out of the room, the male lead passed him by with a large, iced Americano and the script rolled under his armpit. He was shorter than Sunjae, but he had the face that all male leads had—something unattainable, masculine, and relatable all at once. The actors were amicable, but Sunjae doubted they'd hang out much after promotions wrapped.

(And yeah, Sunjae was a little jealous of him. Why wasn't he 'unattainable, masculine and relatable' all at once? That would maybe solve his issue.)

Walking onto set, he watched as two actors from the ensemble were in the middle of adlibbing a comedic scene. A production assistant walked up to him with the latest director's notes and script changes. An on-set make-up artist immediately checked him for any imperfections. It wasn't like this on every set, but this one ran like a well-oiled machine.

Again, he had nothing to complain about. Ryu Sunjae was thriving.

... And yet.

His eyes skimmed over the notes, perplexed. "He wants to remove the kiss between Doha and Minju?"

The assistant shrugged. "Some executive producer doesn't think it's a good idea."

Sunjae frowned. "But we've been leading up to it. That's what my character is for. To confuse the female lead."

"I know." The assistant cringed. "I'm just relaying the message."

Nodding, he read the notes again. Those executive producers loved to throw around their opinion as though it held the same merit as the money they possessed. Now his character's arc made no sense.

With a huff, Sunjae tucked the notes into his script. He would for sure talk to the director about this once it was time to film his parts.

"Can you believe it? They totally removed his arc!" A voice behind him perked up, indiginified, speaking to someone else.

Looking over his shoulder, he watched two crew members speaking to each other. Or rather: one was, animatedly so.

"Remind me again why executives have all the power?" the same person asked, miffed.

Her colleague shushed her. "Because they have all the money. Now be quiet. You're the intern, don't start shit you cannot solve."

The woman looked much older than some twenty-year-old intern, Sunjae observed. More about his age. She had a short stature and a square-ish face, long hair piled in a claw clip at the back of her head. Like all of the crew, she wore dark, unassuming clothing.

She pursed her lips. "I'm not saying I'm going to solve it, but I'm just saying... even if they have all the money, doesn't the director... or even the actors... have some say in the matter? The character of Doha is so integral to Minju's growth. It would be a shame if that kiss was scrapped."

"I think so, too," Sunjae found himself saying, grabbing the attention of the women. Walking towards them, he got a better look of them.

The experienced crew member turned as pale as a ghost and bowed her head, apologies about gossiping spilling from her lips.

The intern also bowed her head, though less pronounced, and mumbled a similar apology. Yeah, she definitely wasn't twenty years old. Someone younger would've been peeing their pants about now.

He dismissed them, his gaze sticking to the intern. "Don't apologise. I agree. It's a shame my character's arc is possibly getting reduced."

The intern nodded. She seemed quite pleased that he agreed with her, a slight grin growing on the edges of her lips in the same way that lured people to view the Mona Lisa. "You're going to speak to the director, right?"

"I will."

"Good." Her colleague elbowed her. "I mean, that seems like a smart decision, Sunjae-ssi."

It was almost imperciptible, the way his head tilted slightly after she said his name. He heard that a million times a day. Sunjae-ssi. Sunjae-ssi. Sunjae-ssi. Yet hers... no, he found it too embarrassing to admit. (He found that she said it the sweetest.)

Sunjae coughed, feeling a lump in his throat. "Oh, uh, what're you interning for, by the way?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." This time she bowed for real. "I didn't introduce myself." She smiled. "I'm Im Sol. I'm an intern in the writer's room for the show."

Sunjae blinked.

Oh.

Im Sol.

A sudden swell in his stomach, his chest, his head bloomed at the sound of her name. Im Sol. The physical sensation made him dizzy.

Im Sol.

A short, breathy laugh puffed from his lips. "Right. Um. Hi. Im Sol." The name came out like it was his own. "Welcome on board. Um." The disorienting feeling wouldn't fade. She, however, simply looked at him in confusion. "I have to get ready."

He walked away in seconds, grabbing his racing chest.

Im Sol.

Im Sol.

Why did it feel like that name has left his lips as many times as he has breathed?

Im Sol.

Im Sol.

Im Sol, where have we met before?

[sunjaesol]

soljae | different timeline, adult!soljae, melancholy | prompt: thrive

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Mindlessly scrolling through Twitter, Sunjae paid little attention to the hair and make-up artists flitting around him with brushes and hot tools. As long as he kept still, they could work efficiently and he would leave his dressing room immaculate.

Beside him, other actors were getting their hair and make-up done. Some Japanese rapper was blaring from someone's speaker, drowning out the noise of the hair dryer. Some were napping, going over their lines, or, like him, doom-scrolling online.

My Colleague Made Me Blush A Thousands Suns was a drama he was currently filming, playing the second male lead. A role he often got typecasted as. Which was... fine, if not a slight blow to the ego.

He figured he had enough experience on his resume for a casting director to give him a chance, but he knew the fickle nature of the industry. It was already a miracle that he was a relatively known and respected actor in the field. His manager said he had his height to thank.

After filming, he had a networking dinner tonight. Sunjae rather looked forward to diving into bed and watching some American sports movie, but alas—appearing at social events was part of the job description.

He couldn't complain, he reminded himself. He had the job of his dreams, financial security, a nice place, a tight-knit group of friends and a flawless reputation. People would kill for a life like his.

And yet.

For a while now... he couldn't really describe it... but in the last couple of months, he has been feeling empty. Or rather: never-quite fulfilled, like someone had stolen the last bite of a meal. He felt himself looking over his shoulder, or watching the front door late at night; waiting, expecting. But there was nothing to expect. He had his life in order.

Inhyuk would immediately assume that what Sunjae was missing was a girlfriend, but that felt too simple of a statement and it didn't encompass that odd, melancholic feeling. Besides, he wasn't looking for a relationship; he was a content single man.

(Quietly—embarrassingly—he did wonder at times if something was wrong with him. Why didn't he crave companionship? Why did his attraction to women stay surface-level? Was there something inherently broken or—if he were to take a romantic's perspective—was his very soul waiting for The One?)

He wished to shake off this feeling, but it stuck to him like glue.

"Sunjae-ssi?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, he realised his thumb had been hovering over his screen for a while now, unmoving. He looked up at the make-up artist. "Yes?"

"You're ready. You can wait for the director's directions now."

"Ah, thank you." He rose from the chair.

As he walked out of the room, the male lead passed him by with a large, iced Americano and the script rolled under his armpit. He was shorter than Sunjae, but he had the face that all male leads had—something unattainable, masculine, and relatable all at once. The actors were amicable, but Sunjae doubted they'd hang out much after promotions wrapped.

(And yeah, Sunjae was a little jealous of him. Why wasn't he 'unattainable, masculine and relatable' all at once? That would maybe solve his issue.)

Walking onto set, he watched as two actors from the ensemble were in the middle of adlibbing a comedic scene. A production assistant walked up to him with the latest director's notes and script changes. An on-set make-up artist immediately checked him for any imperfections. It wasn't like this on every set, but this one ran like a well-oiled machine.

Again, he had nothing to complain about. Ryu Sunjae was thriving.

... And yet.

His eyes skimmed over the notes, perplexed. "He wants to remove the kiss between Doha and Minju?"

The assistant shrugged. "Some executive producer doesn't think it's a good idea."

Sunjae frowned. "But we've been leading up to it. That's what my character is for. To confuse the female lead."

"I know." The assistant cringed. "I'm just relaying the message."

Nodding, he read the notes again. Those executive producers loved to throw around their opinion as though it held the same merit as the money they possessed. Now his character's arc made no sense.

With a huff, Sunjae tucked the notes into his script. He would for sure talk to the director about this once it was time to film his parts.

"Can you believe it? They totally removed his arc!" A voice behind him perked up, indiginified, speaking to someone else.

Looking over his shoulder, he watched two crew members speaking to each other. Or rather: one was, animatedly so.

"Remind me again why executives have all the power?" the same person asked, miffed.

Her colleague shushed her. "Because they have all the money. Now be quiet. You're the intern, don't start shit you cannot solve."

The woman looked much older than some twenty-year-old intern, Sunjae observed. More about his age. She had a short stature and a square-ish face, long hair piled in a claw clip at the back of her head. Like all of the crew, she wore dark, unassuming clothing.

She pursed her lips. "I'm not saying I'm going to solve it, but I'm just saying... even if they have all the money, doesn't the director... or even the actors... have some say in the matter? The character of Doha is so integral to Minju's growth. It would be a shame if that kiss was scrapped."

"I think so, too," Sunjae found himself saying, grabbing the attention of the women. Walking towards them, he got a better look of them.

The experienced crew member turned as pale as a ghost and bowed her head, apologies about gossiping spilling from her lips.

The intern also bowed her head, though less pronounced, and mumbled a similar apology. Yeah, she definitely wasn't twenty years old. Someone younger would've been peeing their pants about now.

He dismissed them, his gaze sticking to the intern. "Don't apologise. I agree. It's a shame my character's arc is possibly getting reduced."

The intern nodded. She seemed quite pleased that he agreed with her, a slight grin growing on the edges of her lips in the same way that lured people to view the Mona Lisa. "You're going to speak to the director, right?"

"I will."

"Good." Her colleague elbowed her. "I mean, that seems like a smart decision, Sunjae-ssi."

It was almost imperciptible, the way his head tilted slightly after she said his name. He heard that a million times a day. Sunjae-ssi. Sunjae-ssi. Sunjae-ssi. Yet hers... no, he found it too embarrassing to admit. (He found that she said it the sweetest.)

Sunjae coughed, feeling a lump in his throat. "Oh, uh, what're you interning for, by the way?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." This time she bowed for real. "I didn't introduce myself." She smiled. "I'm Im Sol. I'm an intern in the writer's room for the show."

Sunjae blinked.

Oh.

Im Sol.

A sudden swell in his stomach, his chest, his head bloomed at the sound of her name. Im Sol. The physical sensation made him dizzy.

Im Sol.

A short, breathy laugh puffed from his lips. "Right. Um. Hi. Im Sol." The name came out like it was his own. "Welcome on board. Um." The disorienting feeling wouldn't fade. She, however, simply looked at him in confusion. "I have to get ready."

He walked away in seconds, grabbing his racing chest.

Im Sol.

Im Sol.

Why did it feel like that name has left his lips as many times as he has breathed?

Im Sol.

Im Sol.

Im Sol, where have we met before?

[sunjaesol]

Dong Seok is me in awkward situations

[sunjaesol]

soljae | different timeline, adult!soljae, melancholy | prompt: thrive

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Mindlessly scrolling through Twitter, Sunjae paid little attention to the hair and make-up artists flitting around him with brushes and hot tools. As long as he kept still, they could work efficiently and he would leave his dressing room immaculate.

Beside him, other actors were getting their hair and make-up done. Some Japanese rapper was blaring from someone's speaker, drowning out the noise of the hair dryer. Some were napping, going over their lines, or, like him, doom-scrolling online.

My Colleague Made Me Blush A Thousands Suns was a drama he was currently filming, playing the second male lead. A role he often got typecasted as. Which was... fine, if not a slight blow to the ego.

He figured he had enough experience on his resume for a casting director to give him a chance, but he knew the fickle nature of the industry. It was already a miracle that he was a relatively known and respected actor in the field. His manager said he had his height to thank.

After filming, he had a networking dinner tonight. Sunjae rather looked forward to diving into bed and watching some American sports movie, but alas—appearing at social events was part of the job description.

He couldn't complain, he reminded himself. He had the job of his dreams, financial security, a nice place, a tight-knit group of friends and a flawless reputation. People would kill for a life like his.

And yet.

For a while now... he couldn't really describe it... but in the last couple of months, he has been feeling empty. Or rather: never-quite fulfilled, like someone had stolen the last bite of a meal. He felt himself looking over his shoulder, or watching the front door late at night; waiting, expecting. But there was nothing to expect. He had his life in order.

Inhyuk would immediately assume that what Sunjae was missing was a girlfriend, but that felt too simple of a statement and it didn't encompass that odd, melancholic feeling. Besides, he wasn't looking for a relationship; he was a content single man.

(Quietly—embarrassingly—he did wonder at times if something was wrong with him. Why didn't he crave companionship? Why did his attraction to women stay surface-level? Was there something inherently broken or—if he were to take a romantic's perspective—was his very soul waiting for The One?)

He wished to shake off this feeling, but it stuck to him like glue.

"Sunjae-ssi?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, he realised his thumb had been hovering over his screen for a while now, unmoving. He looked up at the make-up artist. "Yes?"

"You're ready. You can wait for the director's directions now."

"Ah, thank you." He rose from the chair.

As he walked out of the room, the male lead passed him by with a large, iced Americano and the script rolled under his armpit. He was shorter than Sunjae, but he had the face that all male leads had—something unattainable, masculine, and relatable all at once. The actors were amicable, but Sunjae doubted they'd hang out much after promotions wrapped.

(And yeah, Sunjae was a little jealous of him. Why wasn't he 'unattainable, masculine and relatable' all at once? That would maybe solve his issue.)

Walking onto set, he watched as two actors from the ensemble were in the middle of adlibbing a comedic scene. A production assistant walked up to him with the latest director's notes and script changes. An on-set make-up artist immediately checked him for any imperfections. It wasn't like this on every set, but this one ran like a well-oiled machine.

Again, he had nothing to complain about. Ryu Sunjae was thriving.

... And yet.

His eyes skimmed over the notes, perplexed. "He wants to remove the kiss between Doha and Minju?"

The assistant shrugged. "Some executive producer doesn't think it's a good idea."

Sunjae frowned. "But we've been leading up to it. That's what my character is for. To confuse the female lead."

"I know." The assistant cringed. "I'm just relaying the message."

Nodding, he read the notes again. Those executive producers loved to throw around their opinion as though it held the same merit as the money they possessed. Now his character's arc made no sense.

With a huff, Sunjae tucked the notes into his script. He would for sure talk to the director about this once it was time to film his parts.

"Can you believe it? They totally removed his arc!" A voice behind him perked up, indiginified, speaking to someone else.

Looking over his shoulder, he watched two crew members speaking to each other. Or rather: one was, animatedly so.

"Remind me again why executives have all the power?" the same person asked, miffed.

Her colleague shushed her. "Because they have all the money. Now be quiet. You're the intern, don't start shit you cannot solve."

The woman looked much older than some twenty-year-old intern, Sunjae observed. More about his age. She had a short stature and a square-ish face, long hair piled in a claw clip at the back of her head. Like all of the crew, she wore dark, unassuming clothing.

She pursed her lips. "I'm not saying I'm going to solve it, but I'm just saying... even if they have all the money, doesn't the director... or even the actors... have some say in the matter? The character of Doha is so integral to Minju's growth. It would be a shame if that kiss was scrapped."

"I think so, too," Sunjae found himself saying, grabbing the attention of the women. Walking towards them, he got a better look of them.

The experienced crew member turned as pale as a ghost and bowed her head, apologies about gossiping spilling from her lips.

The intern also bowed her head, though less pronounced, and mumbled a similar apology. Yeah, she definitely wasn't twenty years old. Someone younger would've been peeing their pants about now.

He dismissed them, his gaze sticking to the intern. "Don't apologise. I agree. It's a shame my character's arc is possibly getting reduced."

The intern nodded. She seemed quite pleased that he agreed with her, a slight grin growing on the edges of her lips in the same way that lured people to view the Mona Lisa. "You're going to speak to the director, right?"

"I will."

"Good." Her colleague elbowed her. "I mean, that seems like a smart decision, Sunjae-ssi."

It was almost imperciptible, the way his head tilted slightly after she said his name. He heard that a million times a day. Sunjae-ssi. Sunjae-ssi. Sunjae-ssi. Yet hers... no, he found it too embarrassing to admit. (He found that she said it the sweetest.)

Sunjae coughed, feeling a lump in his throat. "Oh, uh, what're you interning for, by the way?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." This time she bowed for real. "I didn't introduce myself." She smiled. "I'm Im Sol. I'm an intern in the writer's room for the show."

Sunjae blinked.

Oh.

Im Sol.

A sudden swell in his stomach, his chest, his head bloomed at the sound of her name. Im Sol. The physical sensation made him dizzy.

Im Sol.

A short, breathy laugh puffed from his lips. "Right. Um. Hi. Im Sol." The name came out like it was his own. "Welcome on board. Um." The disorienting feeling wouldn't fade. She, however, simply looked at him in confusion. "I have to get ready."

He walked away in seconds, grabbing his racing chest.

Im Sol.

Im Sol.

Why did it feel like that name has left his lips as many times as he has breathed?

Im Sol.

Im Sol.

Im Sol, where have we met before?

[sunjaesol]

soljae | university timeline, mutual pining, fluff | prompt: pathetic

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Sunjae fell onto his bed with a big grin smacked across his face, as wide as his facial muscles could bear. Covering his face, he let out a giggle.

Sol... Sol... His Sol... Sol-ah...

To put it frankly, Sunjae didn't care that Sol possibly came from a different timeline, or about her premonition of his untimely demise. Her words had slipped by in the same way that water divided for him in the pool—easily.

The point was that Sol liked him back. Sol liked him so much that she—possibly—jumped from a different dimension to warn him about future dangers. She wanted to save him. Him.

And honestly, he didn't really believe that he was in trouble. He was healthy and smart and, currently, very happy. It had to be some freak accident before he kicked the bucket.

Rolling from his bed onto the floor, he dug into his nightstand and found the unused pack of hydrating face masks Inhyuk left behind a couple weeks ago. Tearing it open, he placed the cooling mask on his skin and smeared the rest of the product onto his neck.

Now that Sol liked him back and wanted to be with him, he actually had to look good. Otherwise people would think she was out of his league.

Biting back another laugh, he grabbed his phone from his jeans pocket and sent her a text.

Tmw han rivr d8 @ 6pm? Xxxxxx

He stared at the text. Too many x's? He grimaced. It was too late to regret it.

For a beat, he waited for her reply, but then figured it was best to let it marinate for a couple of minutes. Maybe she was freaking out as well. Maybe she agonised over their new relationship with the same adrenaline-filled vigour. Glancing out his window, he saw no movement at the video rental store.

His gaze drifted to the ceiling, his head rolling back and leaning against the bed. Sunjae sighed. He couldn't wait to hold her hand—to hold her in general—to walk around with her and show everyone that he was her boyfriend. He wanted to kiss her. No drunken smooches anymore.

He wanted to feel her cheeks when she smiled. He wanted to trace her lips with his fingers. He wanted to hug her until no air existed between them. He wanted—

His thoughts came to a screeching halt when the idea of more than hugging and kissing popped in his head. Nope. Sunjae was pure. And he certainly didn't push such... things... onto the girl he loved.

A grin crept on his face. He loved Sol. This feeling in his chest couldn't be defined in any other way.

(He checked his phone. No response yet.)

Maybe he should go over to her house and as ask her to take a walk around the block. Maybe they could repeat that five or six or seven times. And he'd intertwine their fingers, palm to palm, and then tuck the ball of hands into the pocket of his jacket.

(No response yet.)

Sunjae frowned. As he did, the mask tugged on the skin and peeled at the temples. Pulling it off, he thew it away and crowded over his phone like it was maths homework.

Was she busy with chores? Maybe her phone was off. But who kept their phone silent?

His fingers hovered over the phone with a hesitant tremor, wondering if he should text her again.

Sunjae gasped. It were the six x's, wasn't it? Six kisses over text and she rightfully ignored his message. He cursed himself over his overzealous streak and pressed a hand over his mouth.

(No response yet. Fucking obviously.)

That plan to go to the States and rehabilitate his swimming career started to sound great again. Hell, dying like in Sol's premonition sounded good at the moment. Anything better than waiting on a response of the girl he loved that was probably thrown off by the six kisses in his text.

Maybe–

Yes!! CU tmw!! Xx

Sunjae blinked as her message popped onto the screen out of the blue. Oh.

A grin spread across his cheeks and he grinned. She said yes. She wanted to see him tomorrow. And she sent back two kisses!

With a lovesick sigh, he dropped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling fan. Those indescribable feelings crawled in his chest and swarmed in his stomach like an unrelenting barrage of animals. They made his fingers tingle and his head empty and his will succumb to her littlest of gestures.

Sunjae loved her. He wanted her.

And if Sol was saying the truth, then he's loved her in every timeline. In every universe.

An incredulous laugh puffed out of him.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

[sunjaesol]

Little girl? You didn't see her? She's just outside. Wouldn't come in. Darndest thing. She said she preferred to sit outside, because there was…What was it now? "More scope for the imagination." That was it. She's a case, I should say.

bonus:

[sunjaesol]

microdrabble zutara fic that my darlingest @sunjaesol and dearest @bluefirewrites encouraged me to post here.

post-canon! <3

~.~

She’s on the docks, a couple of weeks after he is crowned the Fire Lord, standing across from him with the sea wind blowing through her hair, and he almost asks her to stay. 

“Is it okay if I write to you?” She asks him, and he feels something chip; a piece of bone from his ribs, a fantasy from his collection of hopes. Once Katara leaves, this will be real. This will be different. He’s supposed to do this on his own – but now that he’s learned the merits of teamwork, the idea of running a country without the help of the Avatar’s crew makes him want to throw up. 

“Only if you’re okay with me writing back,” he tells her. He wants to throw up.

Katara would never turn her back on someone who needs her – would she stay if he needed her help to run a country? Would she stay if he needed her input to begin rebuilding what his father demolished? 

He could never ask her any of that. 

Firstly, because he really just wants. He wants her. He wants her partnership, her input, her presence. He wants her approval in how he fixes things. 

(But Katara doesn’t serve wants, he knows. She doesn’t serve anybody.)

Secondly, because he does not want to be the one to trap her in an illusion of choice. If she wanted to stay, he would accommodate her every wish and pray that she’d still be around each morning when he woke up; but he would never request for her to stay in the country that she spent years of her childhood hating, and he would never interfere with the future that he knows she’s going to build for herself. 

She laughs at his comeback, he almost asks her to stay, she gently wraps her arms around him in a tight hug and he genuinely thinks this might be the last time that he sees her.

Please come back. 

“Thank you, Katara,” he whispers into her hair instead. 

He pretends that she holds him tighter after that – but he’s pretty sure that it was him that pulled her closer instead. 

[sunjaesol]

soljae | one shot, pre-canon, high school, wheelchair!Sol, light suicidal ideation, angst | prompt: angst

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"Shit." Sol's hands slipped off the handles as the wheelchair jerked over the shoulder of the road. Her own fault, really. She shouldn't be going out alone, in the rain no less, all sad and angry and... and just feeling a lot!

Tilted in an awkward, forty-five degree angle, Sol huffed and grabbed the handles again. With as much force as she could muster, the girl tried manhandling herself back on to the sidewalk. To no avail.

Sol bit her lip. Damn it. Maybe she should've taken her physiologist more seriously.

A second attempt. A third. The light drizzle turned into a downpour. Yellowy street lights turned on. For a brief moment, she thought of calling her mom, only to remember she left her phone in the living room.

"Shit, shit, shit," Sol whined. Wiping the rain from her face, she craned her neck to see if there were any passersby.

Nope.

Her mom and brother would go looking for her eventually, right? Soon, grandma would say something weird and that would remind mom of her existence and then she'd be here in no time. Sol didn't go far. Just a couple blocks.

A hard-to-swallow lump in her throat made her breath hitch when a tall, shadowy figure appeared from around the corner. She couldn't make out his face due to a blue cap obscuring his features.

But he was tall. Really tall. A strange, tall man...

Her freezing skin turned hot from adrenaline, a shot of fear blasting in her bloodstream. She'd hoped a kind, old lady would walk by—not some man!

Suppressing a sob, she let out a low growl as she tried to get her wheel up and on the pavement. But each time, it remained firmly in the moist, muddy grass.

Come on! Was this really how her stupid, miserable life would end?! She didn't even have her first kiss yet!

The footsteps of the man came closer. Whipping her face to see him—straining her neck muscles in the process—she noted he wore a tracksuit and had a big sports bag slung over his shoulder.

Sol was losing strength. Fruitlessly, she jiggled with the handles and her seat. Zero movement. It was like the wheels were covered in cement.

In one final move of survival, Sol flung herself out of her wheelchair. A loud smack echoed through the rainy street as her body hit the street.

"Miss!" the man yelled, alarmed.

"Don't come closer!" Sol yelled.

Her voice was high-pitched and shaking with adrenaline. Rolling onto her stomach, she placed her hands on the street. Gravel punctured her skin and she was sure a massive bruise was forming on her hip.

"I'll call the police!" she continued.

But the man ignored her orders. Instead, his steps quickened. In mere seconds, he was crowding over her body.

Sol screamed. "Get away! Go away! I'm fine! Let me go!"

"M-miss, I'm trying to help! Wow!" The latter spit from his mouth as she swung her tired arm at whatever part of his torso she could touch. "Please, let—"

"Go!" she cried out. Her voice cracked and dissipated. "Go. I'm fine!"

A street light flickered above their heads, his eyes suddenly illuminated. He looked concerned. And young. Very young.

Suddenly, he disappeared from her sight. With a shudder, she let out another cry and tried to drag herself home now that he was gone for a second.

And then she was in the air. Sol didn't even have time to scream, or defend herself, or anything. One moment she was on the asphalt, the next she felt arms around her, and the next she flopped back in her wheelchair.

Frozen in shock, she watched as the guy pulled off his track jacket and snatched his cap off his head. Then he draped the jacket around her shoulders and pushed the hat onto hers.

All of that in less than ten seconds.

"Where to?" he asked. His expression, cast in shadows, was unreadable.

Sol's lips quivered. Her hands wiped at her wet cheeks. She probably looked like an absolute wreck. "The... the video rental store."

He frowned. "What?"

"That's where I live." If he was planning to kill her, he would've done it by now. Sol considered herself dead anyway—she hadn't felt a sparkle of mirth since the accident eight months ago.

Blinking twice, he slowly nodded. Rain was pelting down on his dark fringe, but it didn't seem to bother him. "I live opposite of the rental store."

Oh. The son of the new neighbour.

Without another word, he began to push her in the direction of home. Sol's hands clasped together.

She hated it when someone other than mom or Hyunjoo pushed her. It made her feel infantilised. But the guy's grip was strong. There was no use in trying to roll around herself.

"We go to the same school," he uttered.

Sol kept her eyes ahead. "I don't know."

"We do. I've seen you on the quad."

Of course he had. It was hard to miss the only girl in the wheelchair. Sol had never seen his face before. After the accident, her barely-blooming social life came to a grinding halt. The closest she'd gotten to a boy was swooning at Kim Taesung from afar.

Now she just had Hyunjoo and movies. That was it. During the darkest of nights, she made peace with the loneliness, figuring she wouldn't live long anyway.

The boy audibly gulped. "Why... why are you alone?"

They turned a corner. One more block. She ran these streets for years, to and from school.

"Because I want to be alone," she snipped. As if it was any of his business! Mom often called her dramatic, but at least she wasn't a blabbermouth.

"Okay. Sorry."

Another corner. Her house came into view. All the lights were on, the lanterns at the green iron gate flickered, the gauzy curtains of her bedroom on the second floor showed the outline of her mother.

Damn. This boy should've left her in the street. She was in so much trouble.

The boy slowed down in front of the stairwell. Even from down here, she could hear her mom yelling. Sol cringed.

"I'll, uh, ring the bell," he uttered, awkward. With all the lights, she saw he had pronounced lips and a straight nose. Sort of like he belonged in that boy group, 2PM, that debuted this year.

Sol watched him bound up the stairs. Seconds later, the front door swung open and her mother in those awful velour sweatpants gawked at the boy and then, like a hawk, stared straight down at Sol.

"You!" Mom screeched, pointing at her. "How did you even manage to run— I mean get away?!"

Sol whined. "I needed a moment!"

"Ya, your father's remembrance is when you need a moment?" mom scoffed. "That moment should be with family."

With a sigh, Sol dropped her gaze. There was no arguing with her.

The boy descended the stairs, aware his presence wasn't needed anymore. Or afraid of her mom. Probably both.

"Bye, Im Sol," he whispered in passing.

Sol blinked. Huh?

Watching him go to the other side of the street, she ignored her mother's grumbling and barely reacted as she rolled her onto the inclined wheelchair lift. The boy's jacket and hat were still on her.

How did...

How did that boy know her name?

[sunjaesol]

soljae | one shot, post-canon, established relationship, fluff | prompt: quote

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"DID I MAKE YOU CRY?" Sunjae teased, leaning into Sol's side of the couch to squeeze her knee.

Sol pouted, quickly wiping her cheek. "No."

He laughed. "Then what's that? Allergies?"

There was really no reason for her husband to act as cocky as he did. She couldn't count the nights he came home exhausted and emotionally depleted from working on this tragic movie. He questioned his acting prowess throughout all of shooting. He refused to share snippers with her out of insecurity.

For him to smile all smug now...

"You were the one being dramatic for no reason," she argued. Sol slid her glasses up her forehead. "You said you sucked."

"They hired a great editor." Sheepish, he rubbed his jaw. "They made me look like a heartthrob."

A laugh puffed out of her. "You're so silly." Nodding at the screen which started rolling the credits, she added: "Thank you for letting me watch the director's cut with you. This is better than all those premiers you take me to."

Sunjae smiled at her words. His hand slid from her knee to her arm, her hand, back up to her wrist. He may not to be a heartthrob like the A-list playboys of Seoul, but he sure knew how to make her melt.

"Did you really like it?" he uttered. A vulnerable edge lined his voice. The movie could win an award and he'd still ask her.

Sol placed her hand over his. "Do you want your wife's opinion or that of Im Sol, the scriptwriter and director?"

"As the artist," he clarified.

For a moment, she collected her thoughts. It was Korean movie with all its hallmarks: light surrealism, commentary on class, grief, and a healthy dose of romance. Several of those were made each year. But something about this director with this cast made it stand out from the others.

"I think it's great, honestly," she confessed. "You didn't make me cry because your character dies at the end. You made me cry, because of what you made your character represent for the other characters. It was bigger than yourself. You made the story feel whole, even if the character is 'gone' now."

Relief visibly washed over him. His shoulders slumped at her final words and he let out a breath that had been stuck in his lungs for months. "Thank you, Sol-ah."

"And no editor will ever be able to make you look like a heartthrob," she added, light and cheeky. "You didn't kiss anyone until you were thirty-two."

Sunhae gawked at the jab. "Baby! I was saving that kiss for you!"

"Yeah, yeah."

In one motion, Sunjae launched himself all over her, crowding her space and body so as to press her into the couch cushions.

Sol laughed. "Sunjae-ah!"

"You think my devotion is a laughing matter?" he playfully queried. "Across timelines?"

"Rub it in my face, will you?" she snarked back.

In response, he kissed her. Her smile transformed into a pleased sigh, followed by her arms wrapping around his shoulders. No kiss was ever like the last kiss, but every kiss was just as loving.

"Oh," Sunjae hummed between kisses. "Did I... have I said that before?"

Sol blinked at the sudden question, a bit dazed. Her eyes drifted from his mouth to hid eyes. "What?"

"Have I asked you that before? If I made you cry?"

"Um..." Why was he asking her such things while they were making out? She dismissed it. "I can't remember."

A strange, faraway look glimmered in his eyes. "That might be for the better."

[sunjaesol]

soljae | university timeline, mutual pining, fluff | prompt: pathetic

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Sunjae fell onto his bed with a big grin smacked across his face, as wide as his facial muscles could bear. Covering his face, he let out a giggle.

Sol... Sol... His Sol... Sol-ah...

To put it frankly, Sunjae didn't care that Sol possibly came from a different timeline, or about her premonition of his untimely demise. Her words had slipped by in the same way that water divided for him in the pool—easily.

The point was that Sol liked him back. Sol liked him so much that she—possibly—jumped from a different dimension to warn him about future dangers. She wanted to save him. Him.

And honestly, he didn't really believe that he was in trouble. He was healthy and smart and, currently, very happy. It had to be some freak accident before he kicked the bucket.

Rolling from his bed onto the floor, he dug into his nightstand and found the unused pack of hydrating face masks Inhyuk left behind a couple weeks ago. Tearing it open, he placed the cooling mask on his skin and smeared the rest of the product onto his neck.

Now that Sol liked him back and wanted to be with him, he actually had to look good. Otherwise people would think she was out of his league.

Biting back another laugh, he grabbed his phone from his jeans pocket and sent her a text.

Tmw han rivr d8 @ 6pm? Xxxxxx

He stared at the text. Too many x's? He grimaced. It was too late to regret it.

For a beat, he waited for her reply, but then figured it was best to let it marinate for a couple of minutes. Maybe she was freaking out as well. Maybe she agonised over their new relationship with the same adrenaline-filled vigour. Glancing out his window, he saw no movement at the video rental store.

His gaze drifted to the ceiling, his head rolling back and leaning against the bed. Sunjae sighed. He couldn't wait to hold her hand—to hold her in general—to walk around with her and show everyone that he was her boyfriend. He wanted to kiss her. No drunken smooches anymore.

He wanted to feel her cheeks when she smiled. He wanted to trace her lips with his fingers. He wanted to hug her until no air existed between them. He wanted—

His thoughts came to a screeching halt when the idea of more than hugging and kissing popped in his head. Nope. Sunjae was pure. And he certainly didn't push such... things... onto the girl he loved.

A grin crept on his face. He loved Sol. This feeling in his chest couldn't be defined in any other way.

(He checked his phone. No response yet.)

Maybe he should go over to her house and as ask her to take a walk around the block. Maybe they could repeat that five or six or seven times. And he'd intertwine their fingers, palm to palm, and then tuck the ball of hands into the pocket of his jacket.

(No response yet.)

Sunjae frowned. As he did, the mask tugged on the skin and peeled at the temples. Pulling it off, he thew it away and crowded over his phone like it was maths homework.

Was she busy with chores? Maybe her phone was off. But who kept their phone silent?

His fingers hovered over the phone with a hesitant tremor, wondering if he should text her again.

Sunjae gasped. It were the six x's, wasn't it? Six kisses over text and she rightfully ignored his message. He cursed himself over his overzealous streak and pressed a hand over his mouth.

(No response yet. Fucking obviously.)

That plan to go to the States and rehabilitate his swimming career started to sound great again. Hell, dying like in Sol's premonition sounded good at the moment. Anything better than waiting on a response of the girl he loved that was probably thrown off by the six kisses in his text.

Maybe–

Yes!! CU tmw!! Xx

Sunjae blinked as her message popped onto the screen out of the blue. Oh.

A grin spread across his cheeks and he grinned. She said yes. She wanted to see him tomorrow. And she sent back two kisses!

With a lovesick sigh, he dropped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling fan. Those indescribable feelings crawled in his chest and swarmed in his stomach like an unrelenting barrage of animals. They made his fingers tingle and his head empty and his will succumb to her littlest of gestures.

Sunjae loved her. He wanted her.

And if Sol was saying the truth, then he's loved her in every timeline. In every universe.

An incredulous laugh puffed out of him.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

[sunjaesol]

soljae | university timeline, mutual pining, fluff | prompt: pathetic

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Sunjae fell onto his bed with a big grin smacked across his face, as wide as his facial muscles could bear. Covering his face, he let out a giggle.

Sol... Sol... His Sol... Sol-ah...

To put it frankly, Sunjae didn't care that Sol possibly came from a different timeline, or about her premonition of his untimely demise. Her words had slipped by in the same way that water divided for him in the pool—easily.

The point was that Sol liked him back. Sol liked him so much that she—possibly—jumped from a different dimension to warn him about future dangers. She wanted to save him. Him.

And honestly, he didn't really believe that he was in trouble. He was healthy and smart and, currently, very happy. It had to be some freak accident before he kicked the bucket.

Rolling from his bed onto the floor, he dug into his nightstand and found the unused pack of hydrating face masks Inhyuk left behind a couple weeks ago. Tearing it open, he placed the cooling mask on his skin and smeared the rest of the product onto his neck.

Now that Sol liked him back and wanted to be with him, he actually had to look good. Otherwise people would think she was out of his league.

Biting back another laugh, he grabbed his phone from his jeans pocket and sent her a text.

Tmw han rivr d8 @ 6pm? Xxxxxx

He stared at the text. Too many x's? He grimaced. It was too late to regret it.

For a beat, he waited for her reply, but then figured it was best to let it marinate for a couple of minutes. Maybe she was freaking out as well. Maybe she agonised over their new relationship with the same adrenaline-filled vigour. Glancing out his window, he saw no movement at the video rental store.

His gaze drifted to the ceiling, his head rolling back and leaning against the bed. Sunjae sighed. He couldn't wait to hold her hand—to hold her in general—to walk around with her and show everyone that he was her boyfriend. He wanted to kiss her. No drunken smooches anymore.

He wanted to feel her cheeks when she smiled. He wanted to trace her lips with his fingers. He wanted to hug her until no air existed between them. He wanted—

His thoughts came to a screeching halt when the idea of more than hugging and kissing popped in his head. Nope. Sunjae was pure. And he certainly didn't push such... things... onto the girl he loved.

A grin crept on his face. He loved Sol. This feeling in his chest couldn't be defined in any other way.

(He checked his phone. No response yet.)

Maybe he should go over to her house and as ask her to take a walk around the block. Maybe they could repeat that five or six or seven times. And he'd intertwine their fingers, palm to palm, and then tuck the ball of hands into the pocket of his jacket.

(No response yet.)

Sunjae frowned. As he did, the mask tugged on the skin and peeled at the temples. Pulling it off, he thew it away and crowded over his phone like it was maths homework.

Was she busy with chores? Maybe her phone was off. But who kept their phone silent?

His fingers hovered over the phone with a hesitant tremor, wondering if he should text her again.

Sunjae gasped. It were the six x's, wasn't it? Six kisses over text and she rightfully ignored his message. He cursed himself over his overzealous streak and pressed a hand over his mouth.

(No response yet. Fucking obviously.)

That plan to go to the States and rehabilitate his swimming career started to sound great again. Hell, dying like in Sol's premonition sounded good at the moment. Anything better than waiting on a response of the girl he loved that was probably thrown off by the six kisses in his text.

Maybe–

Yes!! CU tmw!! Xx

Sunjae blinked as her message popped onto the screen out of the blue. Oh.

A grin spread across his cheeks and he grinned. She said yes. She wanted to see him tomorrow. And she sent back two kisses!

With a lovesick sigh, he dropped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling fan. Those indescribable feelings crawled in his chest and swarmed in his stomach like an unrelenting barrage of animals. They made his fingers tingle and his head empty and his will succumb to her littlest of gestures.

Sunjae loved her. He wanted her.

And if Sol was saying the truth, then he's loved her in every timeline. In every universe.

An incredulous laugh puffed out of him.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

[sunjaesol]

[attempting to flirt] if i was stuck in a timeloop id desperately explain my situation to you every single reset