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asoftervirge · 4 years ago

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Of “Love” & Murder - (12/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Revenge, Like Chocolate, Can Be Both Bitter and Sweet

RATING: M PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: Remus Sanders, mentions of Satanic symbolism, Ted Bundy/Jeffrey Dahmer/serial killer references, Rocky Horror Picture Show reference, Poison, Swearing, mentions of Janus Sanders, referenced Smut, Smutty Thoughts, mentions of Sex Toys, Thanatophobia (fear of dying), mentions of Previous Deaths, various Methods of Murder, mentions of Violence, Descriptions of Murder, brief mention of Prison Rape, Dumpster Diving, Eating/Eating Gross Food, talks of Grey Morality, Morally Grey Patton, Baking/Food mentions CHAPTER SUMMARY: Patton meets with Remus.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Here we are! We’re now at the second to last chapter! Despite the low reception of this fic, I’m very happy with it and it’s been so much fun posting it and seeing everyone’s reactions to it. Fun fact: I’m not real sure what rating this chapter would be under. Obviously it has mature stuff because of Remus, but it’s not too extreme to where no body can read it. It’s not a murder chapter, but he does talk about murder, so maybe it’s best to leave it M rated. lol Happy All Hallow’s Eve, everyone! Have fun reading! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me A Ko-Fi!

To say Patton was nervous was an extreme understatement.

He was pacing back and forth in an alleyway— the location where Remus wanted to meet— going between fiddling with the hem of his sweater, and twirling a stray curl of hair. Blue eyes frantically scanned the dingy place he was in, not wanting to suddenly be jumped by a dangerous stranger.

Brick walls were stained with something the confectioner didn’t want to know what. Droplets of water from the gutters above dropped down onto the cobblestone. Garbage cans were tipped over, rotting food and other things made the air smell putrid.

A black cat scurried from behind one and past his feet, meowing loudly.

Patton squeaked and flinched as it went by. After collecting himself, he started to fidget more.

He hoped Remus would be here soon. With every minute he was in this alley, he was growing more and more frightened.

Despite this, he tells himself that this is worth it.

For Roman.

For Logan.

For Dorian.

For himself.

In the midst of his self-panic and self-reassurances, Patton didn’t catch the sounds of the metal fence behind him being scaled upon.

“So, you’re Patton Hart, hmm?” A high-pitched, slightly screechy voice said.

Patton yelped and spun around, instantly being greeting with the sight of Remus.

The man looked completely different from Roman, it was almost hard to believe that they were brothers, let alone twins. While the former thespian was composed, elegant, and beautiful, Remus…was anything but.

He looked like a rebellious punk, to put it simply.

Remus’ hair was oily-looking, very unkempt and scrappy; dark brown, almost black in color with touches of green hair dye in it and a single streak of silver. He was clad in a leather biker vest, various patches decorating it, and a fishnet shirt underneath which displayed all of his bruises, cuts, and scabs. His pants almost reminded him of Virgil’s jeans: ripped yet his were baggy as opposed to tight-fitting. His ankle boots were spiked, decorated with an upside down cross and a symbol that looked to be very satanic.

As a matter of fact, all of his jewelry appeared to be just that: skulls and satanic symbols. They were predominantly pieces that littered his neck, but he was also studded with a lot of piercings: a labret plus a lip, multiple ear and eyebrow ones, a chained nose, and a belly button. And all of them were silver as opposed to the gold Roman used to wear.

Looking at him twice over, Remus seemed to be a combination of Roman, Remy, and Toby.

Patton quickly straightened himself up, not wanting the other man to see just how scared he was.

“And you must be Remus Duke,” he responded back. His voice shook a little as he spoke. “I have to say, and I hope you don’t think me rude, but you looking nothing like your brother.”

Remus snorts. “That’s a compliment.” He tells him. “I’d rather not be a goody-goody Abel like my brother was.” He looked Patton up and down, giving him a quirked expression, “Ain’t you a bit saccharine to get help from me? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for beddy-bye time?”

“No!” Patton yells stubbornly. He recoils and tries again. “I-I mean, no. I really, really need your help, Remus. This is the only way I can truly stop Virgil.”

“Ha ha! So you’re also Virgil’s newest boy toy!” Remus grinned manically. Patton squealed and shivered in disgust at that. “I swear he goes through boy toys faster than either Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer did with their victims. Well, not as fast, but—”

“C-Cut it out!” Patton shrieked, stomping his foot in childish anger. He grew sickened at the thought of a monstrous killer like Bundy or a twisted cannibal like Dahmer, and comparing Virgil to them just made it worse.

(It was in that moment when the confectioner remembered the words Dorian told him before he divulged into how he was murdered. While Virgil was a horrible individual, he was nothing like how those men were. They were all criminals, yes, but the widower was somehow of a lesser evil.)

Trying to relax his shoulders, Patton asked again. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Still grinning, Remus jumped off the fence and onto the cobblestone. It wasn’t pleasant sounding as he fell flat on his ass. But he appeared to be okay as he shot straight into the air and began fishing through his pockets, humming Touch-a , Touch-a, Touch-a Touch Me under his breath while he searched.

“Ha ha!” he exclaimed when he finally found what it was he was looking for. He pulled out a vial of sinister-looking liquid, skull and crossbones marked on the front of it.

Poison.

Cyanide, to be more specific.

“This should be the very thing that’ll fuck Virgy-poo up!” Remus exclaimed happily. Then he pouted. “Lucky bastard,” he mumbled. “Just put this in whatever it is you’re gonna give him and watch with glee as he chokes and dies! Ooh, that sounds fun! Can I come and watch too?!”

“No!”

Remus pouted more, actually looking sad.

Patton was about to walk over and grab the vial but Remus stopped him.

“Not so fast, Mr. Fluffy Butthole.” Patton scrunched his nose. A serious look was in Remus's emerald green eyes. “Why do I have the stinky feeling this is for more than just my brother?”

The confectioner reeled back. “…What?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten my number from Toby and call me by saying ‘how would you feel about helping me avenge your brother’ without wanting to do more.” Remus narrowed his gaze. “You wanna avenge Virgil’s other husbands too, don’t you? Spouses or whatever they were.”

Patton opened his mouth to try and say something, but all he could do was sigh and nod. “You’re right,” he finally tells him. “It’s for more than just your brother. It’s also for Virgil’s second spouse, Logan Oxford—”

“That author who seemed so stubborn xe had a stick up xyr butt? Man, xe needed to get laid.”

“…xe were asexual…”

“…Emotionally laid, then.”

“You mean having a loving, supportive relationship?”

Remus gagged. “Don’t be lewd!”

“Xe were also aromantic.”

“I could’ve helped with that!” Remus grinned. “But if xe were also asexual, then it would’ve been no dice. Hehe, dick ice, hehe!”

Patton ignored him and continued on from before. “— and his third, Dorian Cain—”

“Ah! The serpent-y lawyer whose tongue was for more than lying!” Remus grinned more. Since he was a little closer to him, Patton could see the yellow of his teeth. “I’ve heard that he and Virgil were a lot alike. Plus, they were really able to get” – he wriggled his hips – “it” – he started thrusting “on!”

The confectioner blinked, then sighed deeply and tiredly. How exactly was he Roman’s twin brother? (He could practically hear Roman sighing along with him).

“I was in cahoots with him, you know!” Remus tells him, still thrusting for some silly reason.

“So I’ve heard,” Patton tells him, not wanting to delve into details about the supernatural encounters he had. He didn’t need to give this guy the time of day. “They said you called him about wanting him to find evidence on Virgil, but he said no.”

“Yep!” Remus stopped mid-thrust and emphasized on the p. “He accused me of wanting to slander a celebrity, like everybody else did. But it was also because he didn’t want to put his own husband on trial or some other bullshit.”

He blinked then continued thrusting. “I wonder what would’ve happened if I got to him first?” he mumbled to himself in curiosity. He turned to Patton with a grin. “You think Virgil is great in bed? I would’ve given that lawyer the time of his life! We would’ve fuck for days and weeks on end using all the neat kinky toys I have! Plus, all the crazy flexible sex positions?!” He bobbed his head from side-to-side, singing. “Anyone Virgil could do, I could do better~!”

Apparently, Virgil did that and then some, Patton couldn’t help but think to himself, suddenly being reminded of how explicit Virgil and Dorian were. (If the lawyer were here, he’d probably be flattered and chuckle in his ear).

“But it’s more than them too!” the confectioner exclaims, continuing on from where he left off previously. “It’s for any other potential victim of Virgil’s…and me too…”

“Oh?!” This intrigued Remus as he now had Patton’s full attention. “How so?” He could see the confectioner tugging and fiddling with his sweater. Remus actually saw him doing this when he was stalking the alleyway. It must be a grounding mechanism for him or something, kind of like how he plays with his fingers.

“Because—because I’m scared of dying.”

Remus blinked. “You are?”

“Yes— Of course, I am!” Patton didn’t know why the other man was acting like dying isn’t something to be feared. Because, to him, especially in this circumstance, it was. “If I don’t do anything to stop Virgil, I’m scared I’m gonna die. And I don’t wanna die.”

Tears came to his eyes, he rubbed them away with a fist.

“I don’t want to end up like the others. I don’t want a ribbon around my neck, or arsenic in my belly, or a bullet in my head. I don’t want to have my life cut short by someone who might actually want me dead!”

Now he had both fists rubbing harshly at his cheeks. “There’s so much of my life I want to live. There was so much of their lives that they had yet to live. And I want to be able to avenge that…I want my friends, and even you, to be at ease knowing they finally found peace.”

Remus watched awkwardly as Patton cried in front of him. He wasn’t all that good with the emotional, cutesy, kind-wordsy stuff like his brother was. But if Roman was in this situation, he would know what to do better than anyone else.

He knew the moments when his brother would need a hug, and this would be one of them.

So, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Patton, letting him sob into his shoulder.

Patton curled further into him, not caring that he smelled of body odor and garlic.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay. It’ll all be a-okay.”

The confectioner sniffled. “How do you know that?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.

“Because that mean, nasty Virgil’s gonna get what’s coming to him!” Remus tells him. He takes Patton’s tear-stained glasses and licked them clean. He then walked over to a garbage can and fished out a dirty napkin to wipe them with. “Here you go!”

Patton grimaced as he put his… ‘newly cleaned’ glasses back on.

“Even if Roman didn’t like me all that much, he was one of my favorite people,” Remus continues. “And I was incredibly upset when he was killed, or ‘committed suicide,’ as the police suspected.” He narrowed his eyes. “I wanted to bring Virgil to court, I really did, but there was no evidence left at the crime scene.”

Remus snarled; fists clenched together tightly. “When they told me that…I was thinking of contemplating murder myself.” He shook his head. “There were so many things I wanted to do to him.” He began counting on his fingers, “Disembowel him, let my pet rats feed on his body, flood my teeth with his spine, build a sandcastle out of his ashes. You name it, I wanted to do it.”

Patton got visibly sickened with each possible method of murder and violence.

“And yet I couldn’t do anything. I may be a wildcard, but Virgil is much more cunning. He’s slipperier than a bar of prison soap.” Patton dared not ask what he meant by that. “Plus, he might’ve expected that I would come and destroy him when I got the chance. So, there wasn’t anything I could do.”

“But you tried though,” the confectioner says. “Despite there not being evidence, you still went and contacted Dorian Cain to try and see what would happen.”

Remus nodded. “Well, yeah. I figured I might as well eat the bullet and chew until I’m forced to spit it out. And so, I called Dorian’s law firm and asked anyway. Even though I was told ‘no,’ something deep within my dick told me that he might try and do something in secret. When I saw in the papers that he had also killed himself, I thought my chances were ruined for good.”

“However,” he then held out the vial of poison for Patton to take. He could see just how dirty his fingers were: bruised, chewed-up fingernails, chipped black and green nail polish, and grime around the cuticles. “You can be the one to finish him off. Do what me and Dorian couldn’t, and put that murdering piece of shit in the ground where he belongs.”

At first, Patton seemed hesitant about taking it from him, but after everything he’s witnessed, everything he’s heard, everything he’s feared, his resolve was hardened.

He takes the vial and stuffs it in his pocket.

Standing closer to Remus, he can see the details he couldn’t see from afar: flakes of dandruff in his hair; messy, purple, smoky eyeshadow; black lipstick that was slightly smeared; a little bit of stubble growing above his lip; along with any other cuts, bruises, and scabs on his skin.

Not only that, he could see the various patches on his biker vest; only a small handful of them were satanic and anarchist symbols, while the rest were a mixture of things Remus must enjoy. A green sword with tentacles coming from it, a Morningstar, an anatomical heart, a bloodshot eyeball, a skeleton, a peach, a couple octopi and krakens, an alien, a peach, a hazardous symbol, some that involve cursing and parental advisory, some dark Disney ones, an opossum with he/him pronouns, the aromantic flag, and lastly, one that has ‘Duke’ on it in graffiti.

Despite his appearance, Patton might consider this gross man…not so much a friend, but an ally.

“…Remus?” Said man leans in closer, making Patton bend back. “…Thank you. Truly. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without your help.”

He waved nonchalantly. “Eh, don’t worry about it,” he tells him. He walks over to one of the garbage cans and starts rummaging through it once more. “It’s the least I can do. Being an assistant— heh, ass-istant— is better than being forced to sit back and do nothing.” He pulls out a rotting banana, unpeeling it and then taking a bit bite out of it.

Patton looked like he was going to throw up.

Mid-chew, he looked back at the confectioner. “You know,” he mumbled, browning banana flying out of his mouth. “For someone who looks all pure and morally righteous, you gotta little bit of grey in ya.”

“I’m only doing this for good.”

“Maybe,” Remus gulps loudly then takes another huge bite. “But you’re still planning on killing him. No matter how you justify it, redrum is redrum.”

“Redrum?”

“Murder. The Shining. Stephen King.”

Patton hummed.

“Seriously though, who am I to talk morals schmorals to you? Good and bad is all made up nonsense!” Another loud gulp, another big bite. “So! When are you gonna do the do?”

“You mean do the deed?”

“Same thing!”

“Tomorrow.”

“Ooh! On Halloween night too!” Remus grinned excitedly. Patton had honestly forgotten that it would be Halloween, having been so preoccupied with everything has was going on at 613 Rue Morgue. “Are you suuure I can’t come with you?”

“I’m sure, Remus. Thank you.”

Remus pouts again, but he quickly shrugged it off.

“Ah well,” he drops the banana peel at his feet. Litter bug. He started to scale up the fence, allowing Patton to see the large green kraken that covered his back. “I guess I’ll leave the rest to you. Good luck, Patton!”

With a gleeful wave, Remus jumps over and disappears into the shadows from whence he came.

Patton stays in his spot for the longest time.

Maybe…he was a bit grayer than he realized. Through his entire life, he was never really challenged on his morals. He always played by the rules and laws of life, not wanting to face the punishments for having done something wrong.

But now, he was.

He was faced with someone who had a complete disregard for them and is walking a free man with three murders (maybe even more) stained on his hands.

And here he was, wanting to change all of that.

Like he said to Remus, it was for a good cause: to have their spirits be appeased and to have Virgil never commit any heinous crimes ever again. Even if the solution was a permanent one.

Maybe…the other man was right. Maybe…good and bad really is made up nonsense.

With the thoughts of his newly-placed morals in his head, Patton finally left the alleyway.

The alleyway that Remus chose was in the lower part of town, the shadier and troublemaking part to be specific. And even though Patton could have chosen to take his car, he walked since he lived close by in the lower regions of downtown.

It was a long but much needed walk for the confectioner to take.

While the air proved to be chilly, the autumn leaves dropped down onto the ground, creating a little ombre of colors on the sidewalk. The night sky was a trifecta of rich purples, deep blues, and cool blacks. Dots of white twinkled above, making the picturesque scene complete.

Patton looked around at all the holiday decorations that were on display. All of the ghosts, witches, scarecrows, and grim reapers all gave him a bit of a fright. The fake tombstones and giant rope spider webs made him squeak and turn his head for a split second. But he smiled at seeing the differently carved jack-o-lanterns— some more intricate than others— and the outdoor lights that glowed in various colors, like orange, purple, green, blue, red, white, and black. Though what really got a giggle out of him, were the inflatables that stood on each lawn; some were of pumpkins, others were black cats, and was the occasional spooky tree.

Many people love going all out on Halloween, and the confectioner was one of them, having spent so many hours throughout September and October transforming the interior of his shop.

He continued walking into downtown, fog hovering over the street lamps as the air grew a little denser and colder. The streets were slightly bustling as people were walking to and from various stores, all in last-minute preparation for tomorrow night. Many of them were families, with children bouncing up and down excitedly about their costumes while the parents held bags that were presumably filled with candy and other goodies.

It all made Patton smile, for he had that same childish whimsy.

The confectioner didn’t stop walking until he came to a very familiar brown building, the words Patty’s Sweet Confectionaries swirled in fancy but readable font on the window.

Patton took a minute to gently trace his fingers across the white lettering. He still remembers the first day he opened its doors, a young and bright-eyed man who simply wanted to spread the sugary joy that his grandmother used to give him.

With a deep breath, he walked into his confectionery shop, the jingle of the bell above the door made his heart swell up a little. Once inside, he gazed around, nostalgia and melancholy shone in his eyes as he flipped on the lights.

Golden chandeliers glowed from the cream-colored ceiling as the shop became illuminated, presenting the changes that Patton had made. The only other things that remained the same were the dark brown and white tile, and the wooden stands and tables dressed with dishes and bowls, but what filled them had changed since September.

Eyeball-shaped white chocolate truffles, and ghostly popcorn balls were now the specialty treats for the holiday; along with cookies in the shape of skeletons, and white chocolate bark with candy corn. In the display case were still the traditional chocolates, but there were also pumpkin spiced cakes and cupcakes, along with macaroons of varying monstrous design and Frankenstein cereal treats.

However, the two favorites were front and center: gooey marshmallow, and glistening candy apples. The best part about them? The marshmallow is dyed in accordance to the holiday, and the candy apples were also coated with white icing to make it look like Snow White’s poisoned one from the Disney movie.

Walking in further, he plugged in the decorative lights that hung from the walls. The miniature pumpkin luminary bags added another layer of festive spirit to the store, and they paired nicely with the cutout garlands Patton had made some-years back.

The confectioner tenses up as he feels vial of poison roll into his hands from inside his pocket.

A part of him still feels conflicted about doing something like this.

Obviously he knows what Virgil did was horrible and wrong, but on the other hand, he wished there was a much simpler way to see his downfall come to fruition. But as Remy and Toby said, if the police were working with him, then it was impossible to see lawful justice be served to him. (Dorian tried it, and look what happened.)

So this was the only option he had left.

Resolve slowly hardening, Patton made his way to the kitchen to begin work.

He began pulling out giant mixing bowls— both silver and copper, measuring cups, double boilers, spoons and forks, and a plethora of ingredients in order to create the perfect box of poisonous chocolates.

Patton didn’t need to think about which ones he would give to the widower, he knew the recipes for each one by memory.

The first recipe read:  “1 lb of dark chocolate 16 maraschino cherries with the stem 3 tablespoons softened butter 3 tablespoons light corn syrup 2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar”

Parts of the second read:  “2/3 cups dark chocolate chips 1/3 cup + 2 tablespoons of heavy cream A dash of cinnamon”

The third read:  “7 oz. finely chopped dark chocolate 1/3 cup espresso ½ tablespoons unsalted butter ½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder”

And finally, the fourth read:  “1 cup melted cocoa butter 1 tablespoon cocoa powder 3 tablespoon dark chocolate ½ teaspoon almond extract”

Within each recipe, he made sure to add the cyanide poisoning into the mixtures, adding a bit more than necessary so that it wouldn’t be masked by any of the other ingredients. (He wore protective gear, of course. The same mask and gloves he wore whenever he dabbled in making anything featuring liquid nitrogen.)

Hours later, he had batches cooling on racks and baking sheets. And after checking that he had a perfect set of thirty-two, he began the decorating process. Glazes, icings, and sugars scattered about in the air and dusted his face, hair, and fingers.

Once everything was done up all nice and pretty, Patton placed them all in a box: a black one topped with a bow of dark violet ribbon.

Patton stood back and observed his craftsmanship. A deep frown slowly made its way to his face.

The first part of the deed was done…

…now? It was time for Virgil to have a taste of his own chocolatey medicine.

#Sanders Sides #Patton Sanders #Remus Sanders #Of Love & Murder

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chocosvt · 8 years ago

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read additional ending here

⚬ pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader. ⚬ word count: 18K. ⚬ warnings: nothing too jarring, but there is an unplanned pregnancy. ⚬ genre: everything, angst, fluff, smut, romance, drama.

— ✧✎ synopsis: you work as a part time florist whilst jeon wonwoo balances his time between being a body piercer and helping out at his uncle’s garage. the two of you are thrust together in an awkward meet up when you get your first piercing. wonwoo thinks you’re kinda odd, but he knows he isn’t much different, and little by little he becomes infatuated with how you can make watering hibiscus flowers sound so interesting.

— ✧✎ a/n: don’t rlly have anything 2 say other than have fun reading, the soul has been sucked out of me!! jeon wonwoo destroyed my feelings!!

He is quiet, still like a marble statue that encases ivory bone and hot scarlet. He is impassive, a heavy brow left without a single crease nor a wrinkle, the ink that churns in indolent pupils murky, yet clear with your image that reflects in similarity to a mirror. His lips are beautiful, decorated in lovely shades of rose, yet they are not curled in a signature smile that flutters a heart or preludes a giggle. That is because, above all things, the boy is gobsmacked, perhaps even a little enraged.

Therefore, Jeon Wonwoo’s lips are plain straight. No, if they were to smile, you would burst like a water balloon, sprinkling the earth in droplets of solace. But it is not solace you feel when his face finally cracks, when his eyes flare in smoky streaks that practically engulf your lungs with desolation.

There is a click in your mind, an instinct to clasp your palms to your stomach as Jeon Wonwoo points his chin toward the floor and swears. Your words are still echoing around the room, burrowing within couch cushions and empty coffee mugs. They are permanent reminders that will forever linger, steeping around your limbs and tugging softly at your clothing. They remind you that your life will never return to normal, if normal even existed to begin with, and that sometimes, life can only prevail if a mistake is there to kindle it.

He will not hurt me, you acquaint in the sealed tomb of your skull. He will not lay a finger on me even though he is confused and angry. Every syllable that ricocheted behind thick bone only amplified how your chest ached, like someone’s fist had enclosed around your heart, squeezing it while the organ beat frantically. His fingers carded in exasperation through sable black hair, a groan so deep and desponding spilling in fashion to liquor from his lips. Still, you knew he would never bruise your flesh out of anger, out of spite perhaps starting to brew. You are beautiful, and Jeon Wonwoo does not bruise beauty.

Instead, he leaves it.

You cannot sleep. Dreary bags of ash take refuge under your eyes, dragging at the skin, positively ruining it. The clock ticks close to you, a shallow serenade that doesn’t move you to turn your head, for the digits displayed would only purloin any happiness you had left. However, city lights twinkle before curtains too thin, the door to your very cramped and cigarette stained terrace split open just an inch. The sky has become a midnight canvas, the luminance glowing beneath the paint.

If sleep won’t grace you just as it graced thousands of other lamenting lives, you mine as well prosper in what’s unfolding. You part from a comforter that no longer smells of crisp cotton, bare feet halting before the terrace door to pull away curtains slick with dust. Your reflection is hazy in the glass, and it is also a familiar sight. It’s his eyes, how they ripple sleekly under moonlight, how they exude brightness before sunshine. They are gorgeous eyes, and when you used to see your reflection in them you would believe you were gorgeous too.

Things do change however, like the flip of a dime.

They were not sleek or bright when you stared into them that one morning, and your reflection was no longer gorgeous. So to capture a glimpse of yourself in the door, stomach slightly bulged like a melon and dark lavender marring below lashes was not a pleasant sight. You decided to erase it. The door creaked open, a fresh breeze patting in embrace along your figure, tinged with the smell of dew and the bustle of city life. Just as you thought, the sky was indeed a canvas, raveled in midnight sheets that poured with no end, adorned by light that gleamed from every slope in the near distance.

You sat in one of the two chairs near the banister, allowing your gaze to melt along a view that swiped the breath from your lungs every time. Absentmindedly, your palm grazed up your tummy, fingertips rumpling your large t-shirt. You hadn’t spoken to the innocent yet, in fact, you had primarily ignored it, even though it absorbed the same nutrients as you, listened to same tunes pervading from your record player, heck, it even sat through your annual The Office marathon. Inhaling a deep breath, you patted your stomach with a smile.

“Hello,” you lilted, trying to develop a warm strength to your voice, “we haven’t properly conversed yet, I’m, Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

A silence follows, and your lips curl.

“I guess I can’t ask for your name, you don’t exactly have one yet. Got any ideas?” Car engines plagued by rust grumble from the streets, tires speeding over damp pavement hover between your every silence. It prompts annoyance. You are trying to have a conversation.

“Don’t mind all the noise. I swear everyone is being especially loud tonight, and it’s only a Tuesday? Very disrupting I know, but back to the main subject. What was it again...?”

You question, a finger tracing the outline of your lips. “Oh yeah!” Then it’s spiraling back to you, your feet kicking into the air like a small child who’s never sat in a rocking chair before.

“We were discussing a name for you! What? Why are you asking me? I’m awful at names. If it were up to me I would name you after the first thing I see… like that airplane! Do you really want to be called Airplane?”

Anyone who might be hovering in terraces far up or down below would sip their nightly tea with an eyebrow knitted expression, their ears perking at the exuberance threaded through your tone. You are a neighbour usually so quiet, reclusive, and now that you snicker and howl into the gentle breeze of the night, you may have lost those qualities. It wasn’t like you would be sobbing over it, slipping little apology notes written in peach ink under everyone’s door so they could forgive you. They were bellows of amusement after all, laced with happiness.

The digits on your alarm clock were still bright, winding deeper with all your conversations that ceased to stop branching, and it was at this time you leaned back in your beach chair, palm cradled carefully over your stomach, that you told Airplane the story of you and Jeon Wonwoo.

“You deserve to know, Airplane.” You whispered. “You deserve to know at least a little about your father, about the man who helped bloom your pretty soul.”

And Airplane listened, through the poignancy that was thick like mud on your tongue, the limerence that fizzed at your fingertips whenever you would press in recognition to your stomach. Whoever Jeon Wonwoo was, he brought you a great deal of blithe. But he also turned the water that washed along your shore a dark, harrowing red, staining the sand like grapes mushed to make wine.

In fact, the story of you and Jeon Wonwoo did indeed commence with the colour red, for it was the colour that crackled off your cheeks that summer evening, sticking to the air so sweltering and hot.

But where it really commenced was the piercing shop.

“I’m telling ya, Y/N, this is the best place to get a piercing done. I mean look at all the shit I’ve got on my ears!”

Jeongyeon was your best friend and by far the most ecstatic of the bunch when you announced your interest in body jewerly. You figured she would be, since each shell on her ear was covered with miniature silver rings, even gold beads that cast twinkles when the sun hit them. Recently she’d taken a visit back to the shop, her hair the colour of raspberry tea requesting an urgent re-dye. But that wasn’t the sole thing she’d changed for the beginning of summer.

She came trotting up the beach with a glimmer reflected on her stomach, and you realized she’d gotten her belly button pierced.

Painful perhaps, you thought, but it looks nice.

And that was how you wound up in a sketchy brick building towards the edge of town, your thighs already adhering to the peculiar plastic coating on all the chairs. You were seated by the large window that showcased all the townsfolk ambling by, wide-rimmed sunglasses on the bridges of their noses while lemonade straws hung from the corners of their lips. Even in your tank top and shorts the heat was festering along your skin, so you and Jeongyeon dashed to chairs by the air conditioning.

“Okay, but who is gonna do my piercing? I don’t want any of the newbies your dad hired.”

Yeah, Jeongyeon’s dad owned the piercing shop, which explained how she could afford to dye her hair each colour that danced across the rainbow. There was perks for you as well, you got half off on your piercing. Not too shabby for your taste. But the raspberry haired girl was suddenly coiling, her brows pinched together.

“Yeah, about that, I think you might get a newbie. But!” She exclaimed before you could let a single word roll off your tongue. “If my suspicions are correct, there might be someone who isn’t so inexperienced. He might not want to though. When it’s his break he likes to sit on the roof and read. Start looking at the piercings over there, I’ll go look for him.”

Then she spun from her seat and disappeared up a staircase, leaving you to awkwardly peel your thighs from the chair and inspect the display of jewelry. Some were distinct in colour, others in style, size. It was no difficult task to dismiss those you would never wear in a million years; however uncertainty was simmering in your gut when you dwindled your options down to two perfect piercings. One being a silver crescent moon and the other a sun, pale in flecks of gold. You had no idea how long you stood there having a mental quarrel, but the world came gushing back to you when the sound of Jeongyeon’s heavy boots hit the tiles.

“Y/N! I found him!” Jeongyeon’s lilted voice dragged your inspection away from the counter, her smile grand in satisfaction as she hauled some boy along with an ironclad grip on his wrist.

And that was the first time you saw him, the first time you casted cherry glazed cheeks and star speckled eyes toward, Jeon-

“Wonwoo, his name is, Wonwoo.”

Holy shit clogged every nook of your skull, holy shit, holy shit, and holy shit. If you held convictions that the summer heat was bad, than the burn that glowed from Wonwoo’s stare was in every way worse. You were too occupied with singeing his facial structure before feathered lashes to notice his palm outstretched, a tilt pricking at the edge of rose plump lips. Jeongyeon was switching a watchful eye between you both, mentally counting each second that dripped by without your response. She was impressed, ten seconds of silence settled before you snapped.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You felt like a cheery housewife who was forced to act merry toward the neighbours she secretly envied, for the words pushed past gritted teeth and exploding pupils.

“I would say your name is pretty, but I have to say that to everyone.” He answered.

His palm was a cool embrace, soft, yet ever so slightly rough around the hills near his fingers. They were slender and hugged very nicely between your own, so much in fact you felt a stone of disappointment drop into your stomach when he pulled away. But whatever forlorn he imbued was quickly churned to dust when he spoke. You just about wilted to the floor.

Jeongyeon suddenly butted into the poorly held conversation.

“You could say she’s pretty instead, compliment a girl on something other than her name for once, Wonwoo.”

“I’m here to give her a piercing, not shower her in compliments.”

“Just admit you don’t like commitment.” Jeongyeon sneered with an eye roll, arms folding along her chest in a petulant manner. Hearing them bicker back and forth only gave you the pleasantry of listening to Wonwoo’s voice, reaching deep into forests thick with pine, sunlight hardly spluttering through gaps in bushy tree leaves, and since he was slightly agitated, it could do nothing but lower.

“I’ll admit I don’t like you. Stop pestering me and go elsewhere, get some iced tea, read a damn book. Just don’t be here.”

You wondered if Wonwoo was serious, for his eyes were darker than coal and his lips were twisted in the opposite of smile. But then his hand drifted atop Jeongyeon’s head, ruffling the raspberry strands while simultaneously heaving her away.

“Can I read your book?” She called from the staircase leading up to the roof top. Wonwoo stood next to you, getting ready to see what piercing you’d chosen, yet he cocked his head to bear pearly teeth at your best friend.

“Fine, but don’t lose my page number.”

“I wouldn’t dare to.” She was on the brink of leaving, but her head popped down one last time for a reminder that left your heart an unbridled drum.

“Make sure to tell Y/N she’s the prettiest girl in the whole universe!” The venomous words flowed in a sing-song tone, alerting the few customers dotting around to swivel their heads. There was really nothing to see as you lay your forehead into your palms atop the glass counter, flames tingling beneath the squishy flesh of your cheeks.

“She’s so embarrassing.” You gritted into your hands.

Wonwoo gazed upon you and blinked sincerely. He understood where you were coming from; he’d been friends with Jeongyeon for an ample portion of his life, and if she didn’t embarrass you once, it’s not crazy to speculate she doesn’t like you.

“You don’t have to say that by the way.” Wonwoo was silent as you unsheathed yourself from the burrow of your palms, eyes glossy and fingers tugging the hair from your cheeks. Now that he stood before you, under fluoresce beaming from the counter, could he conclude you were a strange one, sheltering emotions he couldn’t begin to grasp understanding of.

But Wonwoo found himself to be a strange person too, and sometimes friendship can only prevail if there is a similarity to kindle it.

“Hmm?”

“Like you don’t have to say I’m pretty. Not that it’s my decision to decide what you say, but I can understand how you would feel uncomfortable, ya know we just met and that’s weird right? It might be weird to call someone you just met pretty… But then that’s how some relationships start and it’s not like I’m a love guru or anything,”

Wonwoo studied the curve of your lips when you spoke, how your eyes flicked to different spaces in the room though he was right in front of you. His gaze lowered to your ring finger, how you tugged on it like it was encompassed in a Chinese finger trap. You were nervous.

“You talk a lot.” Wonwoo said simply, his elbow relaxed over the glass while his head titled ever so smugly to the side. Besides his voice, blood was apparent in rushing through your ears, your heart pounding relentlessly against a paper rib cage. You swallowed,

“You talk too little.”

It was a senseless remark that spilt off your tongue, a drastic impulse to reply in snide and not look so pathetic. A surge of magma was constructing in your stomach, melting your bones as Wonwoo slipped his elbow off the counter and took a step closer to you. Smooth collarbones were jutting from underneath milk skin, the faintest traces of makeup adorned to the creases of his eyes. Even if Wonwoo did not see the beauty that twined in abundance to your figure inside and out, he was still pretty, prettier than you could ever hope to be. He leaned forwards, his arm slipping past you to grab something on the counter.

You could not look away from the onyx pools that were taunting, dark like a midnight sky. His scent was in comparison to fresh blackberries, mild yet encompassing you all at once; toxic in the manner it possessed you to bite your tongue.

“Want a piercing or not?” Wonwoo dared to ask, voice treading deep roots around tense limbs.

“I want one.” An almost inaudible jingle of keys echoed from behind you, yet you did not turn your head even an inch to inspect. Wonwoo leaned forward even more so he could finally scoop the metal off the counter, his lips not hesitant in draining the perfect alignment of words by your ear.

“Then be good, okay pretty, Y/N?”

Chills had never swept down your spine so sharply.

When you could not make a decision between the moon piercing and the sun piercing, Wonwoo hefted a sigh. Both his elbows were positioned on the glass, chin cradled in cushiony palms as he observed you trace each millimetre of glitz.

“This is something you should do before dragging me from the roof.” He balked.

He unlocked the counter for you, allowing a better view at the jewerly that would soon be pierced through your navel. Looking at each of the velvet boxes up close certainly wasn’t aiding your situation.

“This was really last minute, okay?”

“You know you can change them right?”

“After it heals, and that takes how long?”

“Four to six weeks.”

You did not reply. Wonwoo rubbed his temples and bustled on to a different approach. He moved the velvet boxes until they were positioned between you, allowing a clear angle of the twinkles cast upon them.

“Why do you want the sun piercing?” He asked.

You chuckled wryly. “Cause it’s pretty.”

Wonwoo carded back the thick mop of charcoal on his head, eyes turned to tiny slits that seethed mock agitation toward your indecisiveness. You met his gaze with a timid shoulder shrug, laughter laced into your response.

“I answered your question!”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wonwoo huffed, fingernails tapping against the glass until he found a better way of elaborating. “You know how people get tattoos that symbolize stuff? Deaths, milestones, loved ones?”

“So you want symbolization? I really don’t wanna go back to The Merchant of Venice test sheets you know.”

The boy chuckled deeply, almost to himself, reminiscing on the pure hatred that brewed for the play after answering so many of its symbolism work sheets. His pink tongue suddenly appeared, wetting his bottom lip whilst he failed at trying to conceal a grin. You wished your heart would thwart its doings until it simply stopped beating. It could not keep up with deep voiced boy’s mannerisms.

“Shoot.” Wonwoo said.

“Well, I guess the sun makes me think of spring, and spring is about life rejuvenating, coming back stronger and more beautiful. So, I guess the sun, for me, symbolizes a new beginning.”

He nodded, eyes flickering from the golden sun back up to your lips, how they curled tenuously, so smooth and petal soft. He had never thought of things that way before. New beginnings, rejuvenation, it all sounded faulty on the ears, but he supposed you had a point. Wonwoo had just found life to be a continuous loop of tragedies. They were encased in lead bullets, perfectly shaped to inflict the pain that cracked from one person to another.

“As for the moon…” you pondered, reaching deep into your mind for an answer. While staring at the silver crescent you were unsure of what to think, bringing Wonwoo’s words to recall.

Deaths, milestones, loved ones.

And then your head turned ever so slightly, eyes trailing along the boy who kept an abundance of patience covert under porcelain skin and onyx pupils. For the first time, your gaze hovered along his whole appearance, from his black jeans, his black t-shirt, his black hair. He really had a thing for dark colours, so dedicated too, amongst the hot weather bubbling outside. Yet you preferred not be so cookie cutter to everyone else, only examining Wonwoo’s surface and not the layer underneath. And then, like the morning mist had cleared, you could see it all.

The hues of sable that were silk ribbons in his hair, lashes long wisps of honey grass that feathered in breezes so subtle it could only be night time. His plump lips held the shallowest slope, perfect for loading lethal whispers that could only amount to sin, drolly syllables aimed at open hearts. But who could miss those eyes, so lacquered and mystifying. If you gazed into them long enough, you could swear you were under a sky of stars in the middle of the day.

But what those stars were missing was the moon.

“Let’s go with the moon piercing.” You decided confidently.

“Hmm? What made you choose so suddenly, huh?” Wonwoo asked, unsure of what summoned your wide smile.

“I was just thinking about what the moon symbolizes.”

Wonwoo smirked. “And what’s that?”

But you were not willing to shed any light on your conviction. If Wonwoo wanted to know, then he would have to do what you had simply done. Look. Now you had adapted to Wonwoo’s earlier position, being as candor as you could while leaning up to his ear, whispering in a tone so sickly sweet it made the boy’s stomach somersault.

“Figure it out, pretty, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo thought you needed some form of solace. After all, you lied back in the parchment covered chair with such stiltedness he found his heart aching. He sat on his little stool, rolling it toward the counter to pull out a new pair of black plastic gloves. Your eyes were trained to the way they stretched around his fingers, and though your mind was reeling with every thought possible, you quickly concluded that no one else could look so good while doing so.

“Scared?” Wonwoo asked. He had a tray set next to him, a bottle of sterilizer sitting alongside some cotton pads. Your arms were flat at your sides, threatening to twitch.

“No.” Your reply came out more breathy than intended, encouraging the slight head shake Wonwoo turned to you with. Twiddling your feet, you finally caved.

“Maybe a little.”

“You’re not very good at hiding it.” He remarked, eyes flitting down your legs to examine your feet bobbing in an invisible breeze. You shouldn’t be this nervous, this fidgety. Yet the secret was anything but hidden. It was Wonwoo who imbued such quarrels upon you, not the piercing itself.

He was slow in reaching for the bottle of sterilizer. “Do you want me to get Jeongyeon?”

“No, I’m just overreacting I guess. I know it will only be a little pinch.” He was really not a large help in soothing your heart, the genuine care that was ardent in his tone of brass a dear enemy. Your chest felt swollen just by the soft glisten in his darkly shaded eyes, how he glanced at the hem of your tank top.

“If you insist. Mind pulling up your shirt a little for me?”

He could have said just a little, why did he have to add for me? It was stupid you were tracing those thoughts, but they were persistent in painting themselves along every nook of your skull. You were overwrought, swallowing thickly while exposing the strip of skin. Yet Wonwoo held the same glow in his eyes, the cotton pad fresh with sterilizer now gliding around your navel. Instinctively your fists clenched, and Wonwoo chuckled.

“Cold isn’t it?” He hummed; his form leaned over your stomach.

“I guess it’s nice since it’s burning outside.”

You seemed less tense when you spoke, and as Wonwoo continued his gentle manner of swirling the cotton pad, he ambled off more questions. He also figured you could distract yourself. He noticed you rambled a lot.

“Don’t like the heat?”

“It’s not that I hate it, it’s just overbearing, especially today. The canteens love it though. I caught them selling lemonade cups for 13 goddamn dollars. I bought one of course, or else I would have fainted before I even got here.” Wonwoo grinned while wetting another cotton pad. This much sterilization wasn’t necessary, but the lilt of your voice was pretty to listen to.

“You should go swimming then.”

“The beach is packed. Have you ever walked down there during the summer?”

“Maybe I wasn’t talking about the beach, Miss. Sassy.”

“Then what are you on about?” You wondered when he would finish with the bottle, with softly running the cotton around your navel. On the other hand it was calming the knocks against your chest, so maybe he should take his time.

But of course, Wonwoo proceeded to toss the pad in the garbage and quirk his lips at you.

“There’s a lake, stupid, if you follow Barley Street and don’t fork left, you’ll get a lake.”

You lifted your head from staring fuzzy dots at the ceiling and blinked toward the sable haired boy.

“Do you go there?”

He shrugged. “Quite frequently. Why? You wanna come with me next time?”

And then your head slammed right back down against the chair’s padding, cheeks already set ablaze with more than the sticky summer heat. Your tongue peaked quickly at your lips, tasting the lemonade you’d slurped like a madman earlier.

“You can go by yourself.”

Wonwoo grabbed the needle off his tray, smirking at the blatant tapping presented by your fingertips. He realized it was quite the riot teasing you, and that any aloof façade he pulled before people’s eyes had blinked away in an instant when it came to your tenuous smiles.

“Nah, it’s probably cause you can’t swim.”

“What!?” You barked in disbelief because that assumption was indeed false. Wonwoo had your moon piercing ready, staring at it one last time in puzzlement before leaning back over your stomach.

“I can swim just fine!”

“Prove it.” Wonwoo challenged.

“How so?” Your question was greeted with a placid sigh, one that tempted your nose to crinkle and fingers to absentmindedly clench. If Wonwoo ushered the words you were hoping to be conjured, you would simper so grandly that your cheeks would implode; your heart would feel so swollen that no amount of coaxing could calm it. You would itch to sprint home and bury your face in a plump pillow, bellowing away your elation.

So maybe it was a cleverly crafted idea for Wonwoo to convey the words while piercing your navel.

“What do you think? I’m asking your dumb, pretty face to go to the lake with me.”

For once he had pulled away with a grin concocted of malice and blithe, you were whining sharply. Yet it was just a pinch, a tiny, tiny pinch.

“You were right,” he beamed, “just a pinch.”

You sat up, eager to glaze upon the jewelry adorned to your stomach. It was pretty, and it symbolized ever so perfectly the twinge nestled behind the cherry walls of your heart.

“Yeah, it was just a pinch.” You drawled, still fawning over its soft glitter. Then your gaze was twinkling up, meeting in full bloom with Wonwoo’s eyes that portrayed the milky constellations above.

“And, yeah, I guess I’ll go to the lake with you, pretty Wonwoo. Or should I say Wonwoo that is pretty dumb.” You giggled, sticking out your tongue.

He picked you up at lunch in his Mercedes. No, it wasn’t an expensive car with a grey glitter coating and rims so polished you could perfect your eyeliner in them, it was more like about-to-be scrap metal that a barbecue dad would snatch for six-hundred bucks. You were sat on the stoop leading up to your porch when the cream coloured vehicle rumbled to a stop on the curb.

Wonwoo leaned over and pushed the door open for you, flashing a smile that decorated his plump lips of rose. You must have been quite the sight, wrapped in your sunset coloured beach towel, tongue flicking at your wrist as you tried to savour every drop of your watermelon popsicle. Sunglasses were perched on the top of your head, yet they only remained because if you attempted to tug them out a heap of hair would follow suit.

“Get your ass in the car!” Wonwoo shouted, beckoning you over with the air conditioner ruffling his up-do.

“Yikes, I’m coming. Let me finish this first!” You shouted back, eyeing the generous amount of popsicle that had yet to be swallowed. Wonwoo seemed like the type to bark a stream of never ending warnings not to get sticky juice all over his cheap ass leather seats and dash, so you did what anyone would do.

“How clever of you.” He remarked as you slid into the car, tossing your bag into the backseat. Your mouth felt encompassed in a cold burn, turning the delicate flesh numb and jabbing icicles into your brain. You tried to mumble a response, but it came out as the most incoherent thing ever spoken, the taste of watermelon drilling without mercy into your teeth. The sable haired boy set one hand on the wheel and slowly applied pressure to the pedal, his clearly expensive Mercedes now gliding down the street. Yet he feathered the brakes ever so gently when you rolled the window down and hung your head out, his brow quirking when globs of pink could be seen from the rear-view mirror.

“That was… Attractive.” Wonwoo mumbled, his hand disappearing into the glove compartment to fetch you a tissue.

“I’m glad you perceived it that way. Never again will I take my chances and try to deep throat nearly a whole popsicle. Some risky shit, almost lost my teeth.” You heaved while cleaning up your chin.

Wonwoo etched the air conditioning down and kept his eyes on the road, his deep laughter pervading the snug space of the car. “That would be an even more attractive sight.”

“Concurred.” You said with a grin.

So what did you learn about Wonwoo?

For starters, you learned there was a Jeon to his name, thus unraveling the annoyance he was soon to bear when you would cease to stop calling him that. You were both set to attend college once summer fizzled to an end, and you masked your excitement that he picked the same place as you.

He worked part time as a mechanic aside from his hours spent at the piercing shop, under the keen eye of his uncle who held wishes that Wonwoo would take over the business.

“I just fix engines, do some retouching on paint jobs, and tell the old ladies that their AC isn’t working because they pressed fog lights instead. Intense right?”

You fought with winding the sunglasses out of your hair. “Very. I don’t know how you manage to pull it off.”

Wonwoo’s thumb tapped against the dark leather of the steering wheel, his shoulders rippling in a shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know either.”

It was a sworn secrecy to never expose how your heart crackled at the thought, the appeasing view of Wonwoo in his mechanics jumper with the sleeves rolled up, grease smeared at the elbows and maybe a tiny dot on his nose. You pressed your lips together while staring out the window, observing the tan coloured buildings smear into a long strip of fuzz as your destination dawned closer. He would probably swear a lot, his willowy complexion set aglow with sweat as he accidentally burned his finger or screwed up something mechanical that you couldn’t possibly name.

You could envision him stuck underneath some grimy pick-up, firing every swear word off his tongue like a bullet, but then turn around and showcase his soft smile to an elderly lady who needed help with her air conditioning. The more you tortured yourself with the idea of mechanic Wonwoo, the more your insides melted in fashion to the popsicle left on the pavement, your cheeks feeling ripe and rosy.

What if I were his girlfriend? You randomly thought, already piecing together the heartfelt scene of bringing him lunch on his break, holding his chin ever so gently in your fingers as you wiped away the dirt and grease. His eyes that were so sleek and capable of imbuing fear within midnight would turn tender, glossy, his arms coiling around your waist and head snuggled against your stomach as you soothed him through a sweltering and irritable day. As Wonwoo forked to the left off Barley Street, he caught your tiny smile, the way locks of hair danced uncoordinatedly by your cheeks, instilling the epitome of sweet and peachy. Your lips were blooming bright in bubble gum, their smooth qualities beaming under sunlight spilt through the window.

“Whatchya smiling about?” Wonwoo posed, quickly gluing his eyes back to the road. Poignancy ballooned is his stomach when your voice became a ginger lull in his ears. He just wished he had of seen the curl to those lips as you spoke.

“You helping frail old ladies after swearing up a storm under a truck.”

The road dusted from dirt to bumpy gravel, trees beginning to paint emerald scenery through the windows of Wonwoo’s Mercedes. When you gazed out past the dash, you could catch glimmers of azure blue stretching wider and wider, dotting among tree trunks and blueberry bushes.

“It happens.” Wonwoo chided. The lake was growing before his eyes, every air freshener looped around his rear-view mirror bouncing due to the gritty roads. You had finally twisted the sunglasses out of your hair and tossed them on the dashboard when the vehicle rumbled to a halt, your jaw loosening in an ecstatic gasp.

“Holy shit, you have this place all to yourself?” You gushed after whipping your bag out of the backseat and shutting the car door. Wonwoo padded around to rest against the cream hood with you, letting his charcoal irises fleck across the lake and its dark blue beauty. Trees towered like skyscrapers around the water, shielding its glaze from anyone who didn’t suffer from wanderlust, anyone who didn’t crave the taste of pure sunshine and dew droplets on their tongue. Wonwoo cocked his head to stare at you, how the breeze drifted stray hairs to curl and twist. He even noticed the peculiar bump placed at the top of your head, and held in his chuckle at realizing it was a mark from your sunglasses.

He didn’t think when his fingers stretched out to smoothen it, garnering your wide-eyed stare.

“A few other people know about it, but I’m here the most often.”

You swallowed. How could someone look so gentle, so enchanting while conveying such a simple gesture. Something scorched up your neck and threaded hotly through your veins, making the mist that blew off the water appear like a snack to munch on.

“That lump would have fixed itself if we got in the water.” You simpered.

Then Wonwoo booped your nose, he fucking booped it.

“Maybe I just wanted to touch your hair.” He commented slyly. You bit the inside of you cheek.

“Was it at least soft?”

Then the sable haired boy had the audacity to grin, your heart smashing into your stomach when he began peeling off his shirt.

“Not really.”

You squinted in mock disdain toward him, mustering your every ounce of control to not bombard his lithely toned chest in swooning stares. To distract yourself you began copying Wonwoo, tossing your sunset orange towel to lie atop his Mercedes’ hood, kicking off your slip-ons with unnecessary vigor. For some reason, a simple mid summers drive to the lake turned into a competition of who could scramble down the sand faster, who could allow the cool balm of the water to wrap around their limbs first. Your toes met with the foam just before victory when you felt something sturdy clutch your shoulders, Wonwoo’s form sailing above you before he crashed into the water.

His impact sent you stumbling forward, until nothing but blue swirled around you and the slight taste of moss branded your mouth.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Water formed in a tiny spout flowing past your lips, bringing Wonwoo to warble without a care in the world.

“It was a race wasn’t it? I won.”

You pushed away the heavy hair curtaining over your eyes, sunlight splashing like gold paint along each ripple of azure. It was almost as though you were trapped in a painting, an image so lush and vibrant in colour sculpting the land. A belated reply finally poured through Wonwoo’s ears along with the water he knocked out of them.

“What if you screwed up and took my head off? Bet you would feel like such a champ then, huh?” You seethed back, though in reality, your lividness was wearing thin, hardly sustained as you wallowed in the beauty Wonwoo had kept to himself. Until today that is. The sable haired boy followed your gaze, knowing it was not gleaming at him, but the nature greeting you on all sides. Droplets were rolling off the tip of your nose, fingers stretching absentmindedly through soft peaks in the water. The sunlight seemed to like you, for it always brought a glossy flare to your lips, reflecting speckles of luminesce in your eyes.

“Ah, Y/N,” Wonwoo hums while treading toward you with his usual smirk, “I would never hurt you; never leave a single scar on any pretty part of you.”

Yes, Wonwoo says you are pretty. And he is not wrong.

Your lashes flutter when he floats around you, his nose just peaking above the surface. Flush tones of ruby coat your cheeks, his words cooed in a voice deeper than tree roots can knot themselves. You do not fare well under his midnight eye flitting, the way he attempts at circling you.

“You shouldn’t call just any girl pretty.” You remark, lowering yourself into the water yearning to protect you from the sun. “Dangerous stuff.”

Wonwoo managed to drift right behind you, his stare scorching up your back that glistened in clear droplets, to the string around your neck that ties up your bikini. He wonders how supple your skin is to touch, if it glides under his fingers like pearls and silk. You would probably smack him if he traced an innocent little line down your shoulder blade with his finger, though if he had you, he would not hesitate in doing so.

“I’m not calling just any girl pretty, I’m calling you pretty. I’ll take it back if it winds you up that much.”

He is met with your body whipping around, raindrops from your hair splashing his cheeks. You curl your lips at him, feigning innocence and everything sweeter than syrup. That is until you push water into his face, and Wonwoo’s nose is crinkling in the manner you adore so dearly.

“I’m just saying if you use it too much, it’ll loose meaning.”

Wonwoo cards the sable out of his lashes, fingers tangled in the thick strands and leaving them to stick up quite cutely. “Cocky. Are you expecting me to compliment you?” He splashes you back.

“No,” you cough, “it’s just a life lesson.” Hesitance does not mar you as your arm slaps across the glittery blue, wetting him in return. Wonwoo waddles along the squishy banks of sand beneath him, already preparing his next assault.

“Also,” you pipe up, “I can swim, so in your stupid face.”

“You’ve just stood there so far, not really swimming involved.”

“Cause if I try you’ll splash me!”

“Don’t act like you didn’t start it.”

“What?” You exclaim, jaw beginning to slack. “You practically yippee ki-yayed your way over my shoulders, so the blame is on you.”

“You’re just a bit feisty, Y/N. Anything getting under your skin lately?” You try to dodge his attack that is more than expected, but still end up with the taste of moss in your mouth.

“Maybe I’m just like that naturally, you assuming son of a bi-“

You do not get the opportunity to finish before Wonwoo splashes you again, and your cackles are swallowing the open warmth that basks the whole lake, slithers up the rocky cliff sides scattered about, and bustles amongst lime tree leaves. Time does not wait for you to stop floating like starfishes atop liquid linen, nor does it pause for even a moment when you cannonball off the rock jutting between oak trunks. It is continuous, ticking and ticking, though either you or Wonwoo are potent with enough care to disrupt your laughter.

He learns that you work part time at the florist shop in the centre of town, an abundance of your shift going toward grooming the petunias or watering the calla lilies. You tell him that you your boss gave you jean overalls to wear, and at first, you despised them. (His mouth remains shut even when his mind soars with images of you gardening in them, looking inexplicably adorable with dirt smeared cheeks he just wants to cup.) But then your mother cuffed the legs for you, she bought a sheer white t-shirt for you to sport underneath. He chuckles when you tell him about the snacks you keep hidden in their deep pockets, your face lighting up as relay your enjoyment while snipping the dahlias.

He keens to know more as you stride up the bank, fuzzy blotches of peach dotting the sky. You smile toward the ground when Wonwoo wraps you nice and snug in a towel burrito, his thumb brushing the liquid beads off your nose as your heart claps like thunder. You say there isn’t much more to spill about the flower shop, and you can’t help but study his pouty lips.

“Why are you so interested?”

“Y/N, I’ve been listening to conversations about spark plugs and transmission mufflers for what feels like a decade. I don’t mind hearing about the daffodils you watered for eight seconds.”

So you tell him, and his heart beats unprecedentedly fast the whole time.

Jeongyeon’s head of raspberry tea pops through the hatch in the rooftop, lips separating to coo for Jeon Wonwoo.

“Dad wants you to come sterilize the needles.”

He does not budge from his sprawled position across the dingy couch, a book propped over his face, though Jeongyeon recognizes the cover as one he’s read a million times, each word long encrypted into his brain. She calls again more sternly, her boot stamping against the rooftop. His eyes flit over for a second of examination before he spurns her to translucence, the gruff sigh that breaches his ears a common one.

He is oddly indolent, yet Jeongyeon does not think it is odd at all. She has known Wonwoo since playground escapades and the purloining of chocolate chip cookies; therefore she is well aware of his lackluster responses.

“Okay,” she huffs, lifting up Wonwoo’s gangly legs to sit comfortably on the couch, and supposes her father will have to wait, “why so glum, chum?” She still has no clue how Wonwoo was able to maneuver the patchy blue thing to the roof, but solving that mystery was for another day. When his reply is slow to dribble like molasses, she plucks the book out of his grasp and gets a responsive grunt.

“What have I told you about grabbing my shit?” He snaps in his brass tone, snatching it back.

“I’m just trying to get your attention! You’ve been quiet all day, and I have my suspicions.” She quips in return, her stomach churning at his unexpected aggressiveness. Wonwoo didn’t mean to dampen her spirits, but he was sorting through musings in his head, pinpointing the flame that kindled the ache in his chest.

The boy’s head hits the arm of the couch, the spread of grey cotton across the sky cancelling any sunshine. But the lack of cheery light is not his reason for acting slightly petulant and intoned, and Jeongyeon frowns as he pushes his wavy fringe back with a sigh.

“It’s her.” Wonwoo mumbles, sounding like a poet who is suffering poignancy and imbued with forlorn. Jeongyeon pats his leg, an image already swallowing her mind.

Her voice is delicate as she answers. “Y/N?”

Wonwoo bites his lip, practically lacerating the puffy flesh with his ivory fangs. A hand falls behind his head, propping his stare from the ashy sky to Jeongyeon’s sympathetic glow. There is a twinge lodged in his chest, feeling like a corkscrew that twists and twists without resistance.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” Wonwoo pauses, “about her, about anyone.”

“What happened?” Jeongyeon prompts, unable to halt her brows from furrowing. Maybe this is odd the way he’s acting. His eyes are usually so vacant in coatings of midnight black, but now they shimmer uncertainly, like they are wavering on emotions he does not comprehend. His fingers clutch in random spurs at sable spun hair, pulling subtly but enough to keep his mind grounded with Jeongyeon.

“We just hang out a lot now,” Wonwoo utters, repressing thoughts of the black hole that is college, how in less than two weeks he’ll have start more work, “and she’s making it really painful.”

Jeongyeon pursed her lips, fingers toying with the rip at Wonwoo’s kneecap. “Is she hitting you?”

“No…” Wonwoo manages to chuckle, tugging at his hair again. “It’s just the things she does.” His stare flickers straight back up to the sky, how it’s dreary, drowsy qualities reflect his mind turning to mush. His masochist of a brain wanders to the last time you hung out, every miniscule detail that crafts your presence triggering the jerk in his heart, how it slams without shame into his ribcage. He remembers it all, though it’s a pain the whole way through. Wonwoo catches Jeongyeon glance up too, and in that moment his lips spill like a waterfall.

“Fuck, her giggles are so cute, the way her cheeks get all squishy and how her hair falls around her face. I can tell when she’s trying to hold in her laughter, don’t know why, maybe she thinks it sounds weird, but it’s like music to my ears. Then there are her eyes which sparkle, they fucking sparkle, and when she stares at me I can hear my own heartbeat. Maybe that’s a health problem, I don’t know.”

Jeongyeon blinks down at him, the boy who is known for being impassive and cold, wearing a dark flint in his irises and a crook on his lips. She hasn’t seen such a sporadic look mapped along his features since elementary school, when they would ride their bikes through the forest trail and haul up pant legs by the stream. His voice is fluttering in different cadences, and the fingers woven through sable hair continuously fidget. Jeongyeon has never seen Wonwoo like this, her face as still as marble.

“You know those overalls she wears?”

Jeongyeon nods and Wonwoo bites his lip again.

“They’re so pretty on her, plus the worn out sneakers she has and the way she pulls her hair back. She isn’t aware of it, but she hums when she gardens, makes me wanna take her cute face and kiss her on her pretty lips, on her cheeks and her nose and her forehead. I just wanna sit her down and kiss the fuck out of her, ya know? Maybe run my fingers through her hair, tickle her thighs, buy her snacks, anything.”

At this point Wonwoo’s chest feels swollen and the crimson rushing through his ears is overpowered by an electric heartbeat. The world above him that is grey like winter slush and hollower than each crater on the moon has become a little brighter, yet it is you that made things appear that way, and not the clouds beginning to disperse. His lower lip is sore from each drag of his teeth, yet it does not register within Wonwoo’s mind. He continues to chew it, to take advantage of its plumpness as his eyelids encompass themselves in portraits of you.

Jeonyeong’s throat is dryer than sandpaper, the raspberry hair feathering her lashes a mere pebble compared to the boulder of information she just heard. She always teased Wonwoo about being afraid of commitment, every girlfriend he brought in and out of the piercing shop never hearing him utter the three sacred words that could permanently seal a relationship. They always left, yet he never seemed bothered. Then again, he had never spoken about any of them in the manner he just spoke about you.

“You know,” Jeongyeon said while gulping, “the first time you met her, and you didn’t wanna drop a single compliment. Now look at you.” Then she found a curl embrace her lips, turning their straight expression into a smile. “Kinda sounds like you lo-“

Wonwoo shot up from the couch, cupping a palm around her mouth. “You won’t tell her a single fucking word of this.” He growled. “And don’t say the L word either.”

Jeongyeon yanked his arm away, her eyes two pools of cocoa. “You have to tell her if you feel this way, don’t let her get away! Commitment isn’t always a bad thing you pussy.”

He ignored his best friend, threading a loose grip around her wrist and forcing their gazes to meet. “You will not say a word to her, understand?”

And Jeongyeon cracked, finally carding the hair from her lashes. “I understand your royal wimp.” She cackled, but not without getting a forehead flick from Wonwoo and his faint pink cheeks.

Your hands cupped the dark clay of the flower pot for the tenth time, turning it an inch more to the right and bobbing the flowers that sat brightly in the soil. Then you stood back on your knees and tapped a finger against your chin, examining their new position in the floral shop’s front window. It was difficult to tell which position looked better since you weren’t standing outside, but luckily, there was someone here who could assist you with that.

“Jeon Wonwoo!” You sang, getting up from your knees and dusting off your overalls. The boy sat on the counter, next to the register with a pink bubble blowing from his lips. It popped when he turned his head from the floral magazine in his hands, his curious gaze shifted from the glossy pages to melt over you.

“Will you do me a favour?” You entreated, swaying back and forth on the balls of your old sneakers. Sunshine splashed through the window and poured along your hair in a sumptuous shine, making it nearly impossible for him to ignore you.

“What would that be?” He responded while sliding off the counter, not bothering to mark his place in the magazine he’d been scanning. Maybe it wasn’t the magazine he was looking at in the first place.

“Can you go stand outside for a sec and tell me how these hibiscus flowers look? I’m trying to find their best angle.” You gestured toward the cream yellow flowers that sprang up from their pot, tiny dots of hot pink placed in the centre. They all looked the same to him, and he assumed they would look no different from outside the shop, but he’s learnt not to assume when it comes to you, so he chewed his bubble gum and headed into the summer warmth. He spared a quick glance at you through the glass, how your hands lie atop your hips as you scanned the flowers with a pinched brow.

He just spotted the fruit snack package peaking from the pocket of your overalls, and it made him smile. You were too cute for your own good.

“What is he smiling about out there?” You asked yourself as Wonwoo examined the flowers. “What’s so funny about a damn hibiscus plant?”

He gave you a thumb up through the window, but you mouthed for him to stay outside a little longer. In a flash you were back to swivelling the flower pot, and Wonwoo could only blow another pink bubble while shaking his head. Yet he kept his mouth shut and pulled off the best acting of his life, even taking a few steps back and cocking his head to perceive their bright colours better. People strutting past offered amused glances, grinning to themselves or their accomplice while the last week of summer drawled onward.

You rested your hands on your hips again and stifled your dorky grin as Wonwoo leaned forward and squinted, creating an inconvenience for townsfolk ambling by. He looked quite nice that day, for his sable locks weren’t swept away from his forehead, but nice and fluffy in settling by his brows, creating an appearance that’s soft in lieu of intimidating. He had a loose grey sweater on, the sleeves bunched up to his elbows and its collar exposing fields of milk skin around the shoulders.

It was one of those days where you pretended your adoration for him was latent, hardly in bloom as he swung his legs cutely at the counter and pointed out all the flowers he liked. The stupid smell of his bubble gum followed you everywhere, sweet and sugary, thwarting you from concentration and preluding each lick of your lips.

Speaking of lips, you often wondered about Wonwoo’s. How they appeared silkier than some of the flower petals that lined the shop, how they always remained smooth and pink like roses. You sometimes wondered how they would taste, and you guaranteed that if you pulled him in by the collar and kissed him, bubble gum would explode quite delightfully in your mouth.

You eventually allowed him to come inside, and he approached you with a pinch to the stomach.

“Ow! What was that for?” You sulked though butterflies feathered your stomach, the stupid smell of bubble gum swarming you once again.

“Punk, making me stand outside for who knows how long just to put them back where they were originally.” He growled without malice, eyes twinkling playfully before he squeezed your side one last time. Your giggles were like stardust being shaken in a jar, so light and pretty Wonwoo craved to tickle you forever if it meant hearing them in a mantra. Yet he knew how fast they could develop into full blown cackles if the right joke were said, which was usually when you attempted to muffle yourself.

“I needed a second opinion, don’t act so salty.” You beamed back. Then, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the package of fruit snacks, giving them an enticing jitter.

“Share to make you feel better?”

Wonwoo blew one last bubble with his gum before giving a nod.

“… Okay.”

So, together, you made your way to the garden outback and sat in front of the owner’s prized chrysanthemum patch, your fingers plying open the plastic and letting the colourful gummies tumble into Wonwoo’s palm. He had to throw his gum out, and you thought it was impressive he’d been chewing it since your morning arrival at the florist shop. You said you could buy him a whole pack, but he dismissed your offer, flashing you a coy smile while revealing the tiny container slipped up his sleeve.

“I took inspiration from your overall stash.” He purred, looking pleased with himself. Your hand lifted to Wonwoo’s head, fingers winding invisible ribbon through the dark strands while he threw his fruit snacks down the hatch.

“I feel so honoured.” You murmured, ruffling them without thought, a burst of strawberry washing the inside of your mouth. The boy stole a glance toward your complexion he adored to the moon and back, obsidian pupils curving along your wispy lashes and the slope of your nose. He traced the bump of your lips that were supple in a coat of watermelon chapstick, the hairs that were so incredibly thin along your cheeks being highlighted under the sun. He observed the way your feet twiddled, how skin peeked between rips in your pale blue overalls. His heart was aching again for some reason, and he pretended not to know why.

“You know what would be fun?” He heard you usher softly, the last fruit gummy popped onto your tongue. Your fingers pulled away from Wonwoo’s scalp, and he inwardly groaned, yet the disappointment was replaced with his deep chuckle.

“Tell me. What would be fun, Y/N?” Wonwoo felt his heart skip a beat when you scooped a lock of hair behind your ear, knees tugged against your chest as you eyed the chrysanthemum’s protruding their orange warmth. He could tell you were biting the inside of your cheek, pondering over the words caked behind your lips. Wonwoo peeled his gaze from you, and studied the flowers in similar fashion, the euphony of your voice becoming quieter, more sentimental. The usual summer breeze swept across the garden, an occasional petal fluttering high into the eggshell blue sky before settling back down to earth.

“Coming here with your kids, letting them run around the different gardens and take in all the sweet smells and colours. When I was younger, my mom got me an orchid seed and though she had to remind me a lot, I learned to take care of it. When it began growing, and actually blooming, I almost pissed myself.”

Wonwoo bit his lower lip while your voice trickled dulcetly through his ears, casting the faintest peachy glow to prickle along his porcelain cheeks. When you suggested the idea of something fun, he certainly wasn’t prepared to envision children scampering around the back gardens, stuffing their noses in the alluring petals and sniffing the pollen until they couldn’t stop coughing. Yet his lips still sprung at the mention of it, maybe because you felt it would be a precious moment, and that made the moment feel precious to him too.

“I looked after that orchid like my life depended on it. I watered it, left it in the sunshine. I played it fucking nature sounds at night, like creek water rushing between rocks and tree leaves rustling.” You laughed to yourself, sneaker scuffing over the ground.

“I think I named it something too. But I suck at names, so I named it after the first thing I saw, which was a dragonfly. Can you believe that, an orchid named Dragonfly?”

Wonwoo flicked his pupils after a flower petal rippling through the wind, how it spiralled in slow patterns down to burrow among the stone walkway. It was dark blue, and stood out like a sore thumb compared to the grey swathing around it. A pitiful sight that is, Wonwoo hummed in his head, something so beautiful by itself. His mind began thinking about the moon, and how strange it would look if the stars didn’t exist to accompany its glow of ivory. He was almost tempted to go pick the petal up and place it among a company much more welcoming than lifeless grey, but he repressed himself, and shrugged his shoulders.

“I can believe it actually. Sounds like a Y/N thing. You probably cried when it died, right?”

Wonwoo teased as the moon and stars plot floated at the back of his head.

“Of course, you know me well Jeon Wonwoo. So anyways, I was being a sulky baby over Dragonfly the orchid, sobbing to my mom all the things I could have done better to keep it alive. But she said that life could hurt sometimes, and that it was necessary in developing a dynamic character. Hard to believe at first, but sure enough I noticed a sprout pop up in Dragonfly’s soil some time afterward. I got two Dragonfly’s instead of one, and now that I had a second chance, I looked after them even better than before.”

You cocked your head in Wonwoo’s direction to come across his eyes glazed with their usual midnight lacquer. It was refreshing, similar to plunging off the cliff side at the secret lake and having a sudden coolness embrace your limbs. Charcoal fringe was mingling with his lashes, so you raised a ginger hand to swipe it away, lightly carding it back until his forehead shone through for a hot second. You were ready to indulge in another babbling spree when Wonwoo caught your wrist, his fingers pressing gently into the flushed skin and skyrocketing a heartbeat that was a timid slumber only a moment before.

“So your orchids were like your new beginning?” He questioned.

You smiled bashfully. “Yeah, they were now that I think of it.”

Silence began filling the gaps between you, birdsong and the buzz of bumblebees not registering in either of your ears.

“You remember the day you got your piercing?” Wonwoo asked out of the blue, his eyes never parting from your wrist. You quirked an eyebrow and swallowed a subtle breath, praying he couldn’t detect the pulse booming through every inch of you.

“Of course.”

“And you remember leaning in real close, whispering to me, telling me to figure out what the hell that moon piercing meant?”

“Mmhm.”

How could you forget, you had that day stored in a mental file, the day you met pretty Jeon Wonwoo. Nerves bubbled together like a chemistry mix in your stomach as you thought of how the silver crescent was still placed in adorning to your navel, elegant and flashy as always. You had known what it meant since the day you compared it’s qualities with the sable haired boy, yet you let him simmer with the unknown conviction. You couldn’t deny that it frightened you, that he may hold knowledge of the adoration that bloomed for him since day one.

Many sounds were barking around you, tree leaves rustling in unison, children gleefully laughing from tracing chalk outlines on the street, wind chimes tinkling in the near distance. Yet you could near none of it, not one measly little squeak. And it was all because of him. Jeon Wonwoo.

He leaned in close to you, the familiar tinge of blackberries that always hovered on his skin pervading your senses. Your wrist was practically shaking then, tremoring as his thumb stroked softer than a feather in an attempt to calm your frantic pulse. Burying yourself into the crust of the earth seemed like a fabulous idea as his lips so plump and delicate brushed against your ear’s cusp, deep voice vibrating from his chest and melting smoother than chocolate along your skin.

“Y/N, do you like me?”

Your body froze. Then it burst into flames. And then it froze again with every lick of heat sealed tight inside your chest, your limbs. When you invited Wonwoo to laze around the florist shop, you hadn’t planned for this whatsoever. And now your face was scorching, crackling without control.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” You breathed between quivering lips, your wrist most definitely shaking.

Suddenly Wonwoo pulled away, his free hand not marred by any hesitance to cup your cheek that almost burnt his palm. There his eyes were again, two midnight pools encompassed in stars.

And all they needed was a moon.

“You like making things harder on yourself, dontchya pretty baby?” Wonwoo crooned, his thumb painting just below your lower lip, tempted to pull down the soft flesh and smudge the rough pad with watermelon chapstick. You blinked directly into his stupid sparkly eyes and nodded, crumbling faster than teacake.

“Yeah, kinda.”

And then Wonwoo’s head fell to face his lap and he chuckled, the grip on your wrist faltering so he could thread his thick onyx strands back. He thought back to the rooftop of the tattoo parlour, to the dreary afternoon spent aching on the couch. Jeongyeon’s words hadn’t stopped chasing him, whacking him over the head without mercy. And there he was, sitting across from you before patches and patches of silk flowers and mirthful honeybees, sweet smells encasing the breeze and curling stray tendrils of your hair. He wanted you, so inconceivably bad that he couldn’t bear to laugh in disbelief to himself.

“Is this a good time for me to say something cheesy?” He heard you utter quietly, your pupils bloated wider than any galaxy and voice wrapped in tenaciousness. Wonwoo readjusted his palm on your cheek and grinned.

“Shoot.”

You hesitated at first, resistance and fear pooling like syrup into your gut, however it had been collecting for ages at the back of your mind, not willing to disappear. “We’re both sort of incomplete. You have all the stars but no moon, and I have the moon,” you looked toward your stomach, where your crescent was pierced, “but no stars.”

You turned your head to the side and blew out a breath of embarrassment. “God, this is so cringy, I don’t wanna say it.” The Sahara Desert had practically inhabited your face, sweltered up your neck. Wonwoo’s stare was soft, cool, yet you couldn’t face him directly.

“Well you are saying it.” Wonwoo quipped, brushing back your hair. “It’s just me, okay? Now spill.” He motivated with a pout, giving your cheek a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m basically saying we complete each other…” You spluttered out, heart abusing your ribcage so ferociously you feared it may crack like glass. Wonwoo’s palm fell from your cheek and curled into his lap, and he didn’t gain consciousness until you stood from the bench and threaded your fingers through his collar, shaking him. You had just shovelled such a grand amount of torture and weight off your shoulders, confessing boldly to the grumpy boy you met at the piercing shop, and his reaction was blander than flour. So maybe you felt a little bit riled.

“Okay I said it you stupid oaf! Are you happy, are you gonna go prance around to kingdom come and buy a megaphone to shout it to the streets?! I say my stupid, cringy, cheesy line and this is the reaction I get? You don’t even know, you don’t even have a clue as to how much I like yo-“

And then Wonwoo shot up from his seat, gripped you by the straps of your overalls, and tasted the sweet gloss on your lips for the first time. He kissed you.

He kissed you on that bench, surrounded by flaming chrysanthemums and every other flower you named so prettily but he could never remember, he kissed you until the sky replaced its eggshell blue with soft lavender, nipping and tugging and sucking until your lips were numb and your fingers couldn’t seek the exit from the maze of his charcoal locks.

Jeon Wonwoo had kissed you.

It was not responsible to distract Wonwoo when he worked, when the teal hood of a car was propped up and he plucked at grungy looking things that resided underneath it. You sat on a stool by the work bench, next to an array of shiny wrenches and wires twisting from weird box type mechanisms. He told you at least a million times to keep your dainty hands in your lap and not touch anything littering the table. When you provoked him with the consequences, he simply shook his head and smirked, returning to his work. Without much to do you repeated flattening out your skirt, tying and untying the laces of your worn out sneakers.

His voice echoed around the garage, alerting you that he was almost finished with fixing up the car’s engine and that you could go out and eat together.

“You’re washing up first.” He heard you balk, “As hot as you look with your hair pushed back and the occasional smear of grease on your cheek, we’re not going to some restaurant like that.”

Wonwoo’s head popped up, the back of his hand swiping along his forehead. “We can just order take-out, baby?” And then he was back to twisting and tugging things, a hand grabbing the light hung from the ceiling to brighten certain nooks and crevices. As much as you basked in sitting down and munching comfortably in each other’s presences, you hadn’t dug deep into your closet for a pretty lilac blouse and cream skirt just to laze around in them.

“C’mon, I put on this whole getup and spent an eternity smoothing out knots from my hair in the shower. I used up the last of my apricot conditioner! We definitely need to go out.” Yet your whining was squandered when you realized Wonwoo wasn’t listening, his eyes trained to fiddling with something deeper into the car’s hood.

Suddenly a crackle seared around the garage, your body instinctively flinching as Wonwoo’s hand shot from underneath the hood, his fingers waving about.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He hissed, throwing his head back and pacing around the room. It was then you noticed a slight red mark on the side of Wonwoo’s hand as he darted to shut off the car, the key yanked from the ignition. Your mouth fell open, but any words spoken were drowned out when he slammed the car’s hood down and released another string of curses from under his breath. If your relationship were just in the beginning stages, you would have cowered slightly, whispering at your heart to relax, but it had come quite a long way, and you knew his anger wasn’t directed at all toward you.

“That hurt like a bitch.” He growled.

A sigh tumbled from your lips as you slid off the stool, retrieving the first aid kit among the clutter of Wonwoo’s work bench. He sat on the car’s hood, feet resting on the bumper while he carded thick locks back with slender fingers. He didn’t bother looking up when you approached him, yet he was forced to do so anyways with the glide of soft fingertips under his chin, holding the bone ever so carefully while you tugged free some cleansing wipes.

“You always tell me to be careful when you’re the one who ends up getting hurt. Now I have a puppy with a burnt hand. Tsk, tsk.” You murmured while decorating your lips with a smile, hoping to erase some of stress sticking like cobwebs to his every limb. Wonwoo allowed you to run the cloth along his forehead, in soothing strokes down his cheeks and the slope of his nose, your eyes shining with flecks of adoration and the softness he instilled in your chest. Not until he had been ridden from the grease and grime sticking to his complexion did you sit down next to him and fiddle for the burn cream, smirking at his dissuading whines.

“I can do this all myself.” He grumbled, watching you unscrew the cap and squeeze the gel substance onto the back of your hand.

“Shshshsh.” You crooned while planting a quick kiss on his nose, “Just let me help you at least once, okay?

Wonwoo squinted toward you, his lower lip jutting out slightly. Yet he knew of your persistence, how you yearned to bundle him in your affection, not to point where it became unbearable and embarrassing, but until chickadees were warbling pleasant melodies in his stomach, warming the cherry walls of his heart. It brought him to smile, rose lips tilting upward in infinitesimal movement, for if he allowed himself to smile any wider you might pounce on him. Your chin steadied on his shoulder, peaking down at the darkening burn on his hand.

You were quiet, wallowing in the tranquil silence that bathed the garage, Wonwoo’s fingers curling and uncurling as you soothed his injury with the cooling gel. It may have stung a little, but your touch was cautious, gentle, assuring his recovery and that it wasn’t something to lose sleep over.

“See?” He felt your breath tickle his ear, “All better.” Wonwoo hummed in reply, knowing you still had to protect the burn with the bandage you discovered.

“Bam.” You said smugly. “I’m a healing wizard.”

The sable haired boy turned his hand back and forth while you returned the first aid kit to the work bench, admiring the neatness of your bandaging. It was something anyone could have done, but when it unravelled under your touch and the love that simmered in your heart, Wonwoo felt as though no one could have fixed him up any better.

“Can I at least get a thank you? I mean sure you could have been humble and did it yourself blah blah blah, but ya didn’t! Your really amazing girlfriend made everything dandy and she still really wants to eat.” You chirped while twirling in front of Wonwoo, accenting your skirt.

“I mean this outfit is really nice too, but I guess I can’t complain if you still want take-out seeing as you burnt yourself and everything.” Wonwoo remained on the hood of the car, elbows resting atop his knees and gliding his midnight stare after your very word and twirl and smile. You were right; your outfit did look nice, very nice.

“Y/N?” You halted in swaying from side to side, plucking at the pale lilac colour of your blouse.

if you don’t like smut, keep scrolling until you recognize this line!

“Yeah?” You replied innocently, lashes swishing down and up. Wonwoo was marvelling over you in an ardent stare, two orbs of white glistening like tiny snowflakes in his pupils. His voice that had always been encompassed in brass managed to drop lower, sweeping along the dark ocean floors as he wiggled his finger at you.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” The four syllables practically dripped from his lips, warning you it was perilous to approach him, yet they held a certain nuance that urged you to step closer, the innocent smile that framed your face wiped straight off by the grip he installed around your wrist.

The next thing you knew, your back was flush against the car’s teal hood, Wonwoo’s arms placed on either side of your head as your legs automatically latched onto his waist. Your breath was staggered between parted lips, shaky during its journey to breach the air, your heart pumping at an unprecedented level while you could say nothing, do nothing but feel Wonwoo’s gaze devour you whole.

“Your outfit does look really nice.” He taunted you with his whisper, lips ghosting at your ear’s cusp, “But it would look so much better if I ripped it off of you, hmm?”

You couldn’t help but squirm against him, your arms that had been lying limp beside your head now settled on Wonwoo’s shoulders, giving them a subtle squeeze. The top part of his jumpsuit had been unbuttoned, peeled to rest around his waist so a white t-shirt could shine through. It was of course smeared with blotches of grease, and it became the principal scent to hover around you. Not entirely pleasant, but the stars swirling in Wonwoo’s eyes were sufficient in distracting you, tempting your thoughts to entre lascivious realms.

But Wonwoo was at work, and he needn’t dwell in distractions.

“Why now?” You squeaked, not able to shovel aside the heat bubbling in your stomach. The risk factor was enormous, yet an almost inaudible voice cooed at the back of your skull, encouraging you to continue, to keep the sable haired boy’s body pressed tightly against your own.

“Because I really can’t stand to watch you parade around in a skirt so fucking short and a blouse so see through. We can go out if you want, I don’t care, but if others are gonna see you in this then they’re gonna know who you belong to.”

He breathed hotly against your neck, palms cascading in hunger down your thighs, slipping underneath them and pressing forth the indent of crescent moons. You felt responsible if his uncle were to amble in and have such a sight mar his vision, but the husk adorned to Wonwoo’s tone was not in one bit unfamiliar. He had spoken using the same assertiveness when his clients at the piercing shop dug under his skin, when his uncle assigned him to rewire another car or take over three paint jobs supposed to be done by other workers. It was the tautness of not getting payed enough for his efforts, that college was not too generous with its work load.

It had all been accumulating, festering. Wonwoo often hid his stresses from you, but there had been more than one occasion where he burned for an outlet, fingers curling attentively around the column of your throat, a voice rumbling in cadences low and rough warning you to keep quiet as his hips slammed into your backside, the lewd act sheltered by a dressing room. He would never tell you he was stressed, but it broke through quite clearly when he would cease your conversations and eye you with glossy irises, intent scribbled through the manner of his tilted brows and tapping fingers. At first you may have been nervous, but by now it brought excitement to course through your veins, to create a coil of anticipation.

And at this moment Wonwoo was stressed, your doubts ebbing away piece by piece. You could understand that, the car he’d been prodding at for who knows how many hours refused to work, his hand just got crisped, he still had your date to worry about, college studying to swallow. He was plating it all, which meant bruises impossible to cover with concealer for you.

“So who is it?” Wonwoo crooned lowly into your neck, his lips attaching to suckle a patch of skin ever so gently. “Who is it that you belong to, baby?”

A hand slid from his shoulder to run through his hair, tangling within the sable locks and twisting them with enough intent for him to nip below your ear.

Your lips parted, a breathy answer slow to roll off your tongue. “You.”

Wonwoo ran his nose down to your shoulder; inhaling the vanilla body wash you adored so much. His palms mapped along your thighs he could never squeeze and scratch enough, slipping under your skirt and making a slow crawl toward the silk waistband of your underwear. How lucky he was that you’d chosen a skirt.

“You can do better than that, baby.” He hummed, your head titled back with the kisses he planted up your throat, taking his sweet time in nipping polished enamel along skin so soft and warm. Eventually he was at your lips, licking slowly into your mouth until your fingers grew like a python strangling his hair, your hips twitching upward to brush in want against his.

“Tell me who you belong to.” Wonwoo entreated again, his voice heightening in demand. You felt like a kitten as you mewled against his lips, every trace of sly fingertips under your skin nothing but a skim, a tease to get your centre aching.

“I belong to you.” He heard your voice crack when his free hand slapped underneath your thigh, clutching the meat and curving into its suppleness with blunt fingertips. Lust was brewing like a potion within his every fiber, the heap of stress he kept bottled beneath tendrils of assurance beginning to melt free. Wonwoo pulled your lower lip; not at all shy to prelude it’s swelling by the use of his teeth. Satisfaction had yet to blaze within his eyes, your weakening voice pleasant, but still not enough. And then Wonwoo kissed you one last time, his lips adapting a much softer rhythm in lieu of nipping and sucking. His head was lifting away, your lips mindlessly chasing after his with sparklers igniting before your closed eyes, imbuing the familiar waves of ecstasy.

When he’d teased you into a sitting position, your legs still curled around his waist, did he bunch together every strand of your apricot hair, forcing your head back.

“We’re gonna try this again, okay?” He whispered with peculiar dulcet qualities. It was difficult to nod with his fingers woven so tautly through your hair, yet you attempted anyways, something sticky ruining your favourite pair of silk underwear as he demanded you turn around. Wonwoo hovered behind you, your eyes glued to the windshield of the car and how you reflected in the glass, your lips swollen, hair a twisted mess, the sable haired boy’s favourite. Your knees pressed into the car almost uncomfortably, but you had no choice with Wonwoo’s body slipping right behind you, a distinct hardness brushing your back.

Through the reflection you could see his smirk, your breath bated as you knew it was him wondering of all the ways to summon your whines.

And then he acted upon one of them, your body suddenly bent over the hood of the car, his hand taking refuge in your locks once again. A finger trailed up the back of your thigh, tracing circles and stars, shooting shivers to prickle down your spine and tiny valley’s to erupt from your flesh. However you knew the game had really started when Wonwoo flipped up your skirt, his fingers twitching ever so infinitesimally in your hair as the view of your silk soaked underwear and legs sinfully parted washed across his vision. It took every ounce of self-control he could muster to not rip each piece of measly fabric off you, to take you right then and there, his fingers tugging your head back as he slammed his impatient length into your walls so slick and hot.

You heard him groan, and right before you could speak up, he slapped a palm across your ass, the smack of skin against skin rippling around the garage. Wonwoo leaned over you, his musky scent driving your heart to slam more vigorously into your ribcage, so unfathomably fast it could probably dent the hood of the car.

“I’m gonna ask one more time, baby.” He growled into your ear, his voice the perfect mixture of gritty and smooth. “Who do you belong to?” You were more than ready to spill his name like a mantra, to scream it if he asked you, the desire that scolded your insides so thoroughly only containing the concept of pleasing him, washing away his stress. So with a little quirk to your lips, you opened your mouth to respond, but it was not a word that came out, but a moan.

The rough pads of Wonwoo’s index and middle finger were coming into contact with your clothed clit, rubbing lazy circles upon the sensitive bundle and applying enough force to make your thighs quiver, heat amplifying in your stomach. He only pressed harder when you didn’t respond, his voice crackling by your ear.

“Who the fuck do you belong to!” He hissed, his hand untangling from your hair to harshly slap against your ass. Your whole body jolted, jittering underneath him as he dragged his fingers to prod up your slit before circling your clit again. You were positive your whole outfit would be ripped to shreds by the end of his high, your high, as many highs as he could force you to reach.

“Wonwoo!” You belted when he ripped away from your backside, his hands tearing the drenched silk from your legs, the growl of ripped fabric slicing through the air and causing you to whine against the car’s hood.

“I belong to Jeon Wonwoo!” He spread your legs even further before his fingers found your slick again, rolling across your rose bud in figure eights and making the occasional dip to your slit. Finally the answer he’d been longing to hear, the name you could pester with calling him all day long, but hesitate to when had you keening to the stars. Wonwoo was back over you in an instant, the lewd noises his fingers were creating casting a lurid sheen to encompass your cheeks.

“That’s right, sweetheart, every pretty part of you belongs to me, every pretty part of you gets ruined by me, and then every pretty part of you gets taken care of by me. You understand?”

Boy, he was stressed alright.

“Yes.” You could barely afford to choke, his lips making the occasional kiss to your ear as he spoke. His fingers drag your gloss up the inside of your thighs, satisfied at how he felt them quiver and shake, but nothing licked warmth to his chest more than hearing you mewl, the heel of his palm rubbing sins into your clit. Wonwoo doubted he had ever wanted you so bad before, the emotions popping in his stomach so intense that he had enough energy to pound on the car’s hood more than once as well as the backseats and rear.

Amongst pulling your hair and soaking his fingers in your arousal, a brief moment flashed before lust tinted irises. The views he snagged of you during your first drive to the lake, his adventures alongside you in the floral shops garden, and the ache in his chest after going home from your first kiss.

Wonwoo may have been engulfed in lust, want, a burning need to dissolve his stress, but he also cared about your feelings too, the rapid pace you jumpstarted his heart with. You were surprised to hear his gravel tone soften during your escapade for pleasure, his palm slowing down on your clit ever so slightly so you could focus on the burst of radiance that glowed in your chest.

“And every pretty part of you is loved by me, okay? Every single fucking part of you, my baby, I love more than anything.”

Jeon Wonwoo loved you; he loved you like the stars love the moon.

So where did it all go wrong?

smut over! sorry this line is so short im typing to make it longer blah blah

You were occupied with washing the dishes. Bubbles were swallowing the sink, popping in claps of lemon as you dragged a sponge up and down your plate. The television hummed in the background, displaying the scenes of some spy based show you could never get into, yet Wonwoo always babbled about the latest episode to Jeongyeon when you all hung out on campus. You didn’t take a liking to sitting there in silence, munching down fries or sipping from your canteen as their excited chirps echoed around the room. Forcing yourself to sit through hours of footage that went in one ear and out the other wasn’t your ideal night, but you put yourself through it anyway.

After placing the dishes back in the cupboards, you bounced on your sofa a few times and raised the volume on the television. You thought you might be getting into the plot just a tiny bit when your phone began vibrating, the screen flashing with bundles of text. Heaving a sigh, you swiped it off the coffee table and realized it was just nothing more than Wonwoo and Jeongyeon exchanging details surrounding the show, details you were all absorbing with your own eyes, so you were clueless as to why they were updating each other on every second that passed.

“I’ll never understand their friendship.” You chuckled to yourself, about to shut your phone off when something caught your eye, the date. There it was, gleaming back at you and staining white light along your face, yet you were a bit clouded over as to why it snagged your attention so much, the measly appearance of a number and a month. But then it hit you, coalescing into one grand realization that brewed stiltedness in your stomach.

Wasn’t I supposed to get my period like five days ago?

You chewed into your lower lip, opening the calendar app and scrolling through all the months that had dotted past. Memories were filming by in your mind, portraying an episode more thought provoking than the one hogging the television screen. You remembered getting your period for the last few months because it struck during such inconvenience, but at this time, you hadn’t even received a sign of it.

It was impossible for you to not jump to conclusions, eyebrows furrowed as you pinpointed your last moment of intimacy with Wonwoo. Everything was there; the foil packaged being ripped, your fingers scrolling it down his length as you sat at the edge of the bed. The chances of getting a faulty condom were quite low, yet you were positive, absolutely positive nothing had slipped through. By now the texts shared on the group chat were white noise to your ears, nothing consuming you more than the anxiety steeping in your gut.

It’s probably just late, Y/N. You assured yourself, that’s all it is, your period is late.

Your giggles echoed down the corridor as you unlocked the door to your apartment, the key clicking before it was right back in your pocket. Wonwoo hovered by the doorway as you kicked off your shoes and shook out your aching feet, a long day of exploring the town making an appearance through the drag in your bones. He curled his rosy lips at you, bringing your heart to float on a sea of feathers, a factor that never died away or changed in the slightest.

“Goodnight.” He purred when you wrapped your arms around his neck, inhaling his forever lasting scent of blackberries that made you feel at home, diminishing any stresses or worries. Your fingers ruffled through his thick fluff as you parted, scattering the fringe before his eyes until he pinched into your side.

“Goodnight, love!” You half yelped, half cackled as Wonwoo took a few strides down the hallway. He began walking backwards, blowing a kiss off his lips that he wouldn’t ever fathom doing if in public. Of course you played along cheesily and caught it, his wave the last thing you fawned over before he disappeared into the elevator. You shut the door and ended up in the bathroom, turning the shower handle and allowing the cool water to splash against the tiling as you undressed. A soft tune lulled in your throat, one that had played in Wonwoo’s cheap ass Mercedes during your late night town travels. You couldn’t stop replaying the flashes of his smile, of his arms curling around your waist and head nuzzled into your shoulder during the long wait for churros.

By the time your shirt was a limp clump on the floor, you stared down at your stomach, admiring the silver crescent that still sparkled as brightly as ever from your navel. You were gentle in taking it out for your shower. It was expensive material, so it wouldn’t rust, but you had grown to treasure it so much you wouldn’t dare wear it swimming or bathing as frequently as before. However, when it was safe on the bathroom counter and your last articles were tossed, did you notice something strange.

Your stomach was a bit bloated, more rounded than usual. And then your eyes dared stray to your underwear, how they were spotted with dark red dots. It definitely wasn’t the first time you’d noticed this. In fact, the longer you stood with the shower gushing precious warm water, steam enveloping the room and fogging the mirrors, did you gulp down the lump in your throat, the ball of overwrought emotions and consternation that tripped your breathing.

But when, your mind belted, it’s impossible, it’s fucking impossible.

And with shaky fingers that struggled in dragging open the shower curtain, you dismissed the possibility that was painted in bold.

I am not what I think I am.

Wonwoo was too enthralled in the yoyo he won at the pancake lunch to pay notice to your shuffling, how after classes finished you made a beeline for the convenience store to supposedly wrack the shelves for toothpaste and plastic cups and tea bags. He never noticed you scribble down a fake list in the corner of your calculus notebook and tear it out, brushing the hair from your cheeks as you handed it to him on your departure from class.

“Can you look for this stuff? I have some things of my own to get.”

Wonwoo’s eyes darted over the list impetuously, his yoyo still flicking by his side. His nose crinkled, pushing up the silver spectacles he wore before nodding.

“M’kay.” He accepted without batting an eyelash. “Meet you at the counter.”

You swayed him with a sweet smile that accents the pink gloss on your lips, the reflection of white light twinkling in your eyes, and Wonwoo is smiling back, the yoyo finally ceased of its constant spinning.

He tapped your nose, which you learned was the equivalent of a kiss, making that first day at the secret lake a memory littered with blushing. While the sable haired boy was distracted with seeking out items you didn’t quite need, you were zipping between each isle, heart hammering like a drum in your chest until the shelves that smelt of baby powder pulled you in. Your breath was ragged as you make contact with the tiny white box, smooth against your fingertips yet imbuing fear to root through your body. The outline of a mother with a swollen stomach is slapped on the front, her hand cradled under the melon like bump.

You could not afford to stare any longer. Very hastily you darted to the self-check-out on the opposite side of the store, the crimson sloshing through your ears a constant balk to not squander a single moment in covering the box from any curious eyes. You heard the beep, the intoned voice of the machine drawling to you for what felt like ages. Finally it was done, the deed was over with as Wonwoo popped out of an isle and blinked at you, each item bundled in his arms.

“Where are the things you got?” He prodded while flicking his yoyo again.

“I realized I don’t really need them.”

Wonwoo pouted, his plump lips wiggling at you. “Well do you still want this?”

You could feel the box press against your arm, digging into your flesh yet concealed by the oversized sleeves of your jacket. Your hand brushed against Wonwoo’s cheek before selecting the tea bags among the other items in his hold.

“Let’s keep the tea.”

And then the sable haired boy was grinning, arm latching around your waist and turning you back to the self-check-out. His fingers lingered around your elbow, dangerously close to the box pressed up your sleeve.

“You feel kinda tense, babygirl.” Wonwoo said softly. “Everything alright?”

You leaned your head into his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Everything is perfectly fine, Jeon Wonwoo.”

Except it is the opposite, and with your head so preciously tucked against him, it was impossible for him to see the glassy lacquer in your orbs, the slight scar on your lip from biting it too much.

No, everything is not fine.

Everything is far from it as you stand outside your apartment door, palms resting comfortably on Wonwoo’s shoulders as he peppered your forehead in feather light kisses, whispering you for to sleep without worries, reminding you that the moon he loves and yearns to engulf in sugar spice and everything nice will always be you. He may have sensed that something was off, shifted into darkness that he cannot light up, so Wonwoo tried his best to kindle warmth within your chest, and soothe your heart that had been twisted and pulled in every direction.

He cupped your cheeks and placed his lips atop your own, whispering three words you had come to hear so often, yet melted with each breath they were spoken in. Wonwoo tapped your nose before gently shutting the door, leaving you to stand in silence, to make yourself some tea and slip under rumples of linen.

Or so he thought.

In reality you were rummaging through your jacket, you were sprinting to the bathroom and tearing open the stupid white box without hesitation. Your mind was blank as you sat over the toilet seat and waited, tendrils of hair spiralling before your eyes and a sickening thump drilling louder than steel against steel in your ears.

But nothing was louder than the sob that cracked from your throat when you leaned against the bathroom sink and grazed into the two pink lines ever so present on the stick, the two pink lines that burn your flesh in hues of dread.

Burn. Burn. Burn. A burnt hand. A teal blue hood. A lilac blouse paired with a cream skirt, swiped from bruised flesh in such a bold lust that there is no time to think about precautions.

You are pregnant. You are carrying Jeon Wonwoo’s child.

Every single moment spiralled back to that day, all blooming from your encounter at the piercing shop, your exchange of different symbolisms, the heat flushing your cheeks as the most handsome boy you’d ever seen teased you about not being able to swim. The drive in his eggshell coloured Mercedes that brought you to hurl your watermelon popsicle out the window when swallowing it whole was not the most intelligent option, your daydreaming of his part time job as a mechanic, sunlight bathing across your features as the boy admires you in secrecy. Water encasing limbs sticky in summer heat, droplets of azure splashing into the air as you jump from slabs of rock.

It’s the gushing of one another in private, swooning and suffering in the misery of unfilled heart ache until you’re seated before flaming orange flowers and the urge to taste each other’s lips is simply too strong. The moments could scroll forever, yet they all dwindle down to the darkest that had been waiting for its chance to pounce.

You’re back to a curse word slipping toward the floor, a hand shifting to hold your stomach as you look him in his midnight eyes and articulate as clearly as you can. You show him the pregnancy test, the online pages you’d bookmarked, the swelling of your stomach. Your cheeks are hot and damp as you explain to him the spots in your underwear, the period you never got, the cramps that seize your stomach with jabs of pain. Wonwoo can only thread fingers through thick onyx strands, his eyes stretching wide.

“Y/N, how could this happen?” He stutters, speaking into his hand. You can’t look at him for a second longer; the dismay slacked into his features causing your eyes to grow glassy.

“Pretty sure it was the day at the garage, we were in such a haste to get things done, we forgot protection…”

Silence sticks to every corner of the room, most definitely laughing at the both of you, though you could never hear it. But even the mocking silence cowers when Jeon Wonwoo booms out a curse word, his deep voice striking your heart like a shot of lightning.

“We can’t be parents, Y/N!” Wonwoo says while pushing his hair back, visibly confused, frustrated, petrified.

“We’re two dumbass college kids who can barely look after ourselves! We have so little money; we would have to work our asses off to pay for that child, to give it the life it deserves!” He shouts, reaching the pinnacle of his lamentation. Your fingers are clenching, the hand that rests atop of your stomach twitching to ball up. Wonwoo does not expect you to take a step forward, though he does not expect you to lie limp and bawl salty pearls either.

“You think I don’t know that! I didn’t ask to get pregnant either Wonwoo, but that’s life and life fucking hurts sometimes! I know we don’t have a lot of money, I know there’s a lot on both our plates and that we would have to work so goddamn hard to support this child, but it’s here and it’s growing and neither of us planned for this but it’s time we damn start!”

He thinks about the story of the orchid.

There is nothing more you can say, nothing more you can do before Jeon Wonwoo’s eyes turn just as glassy as yours. Your mind is blank, though you frantically keen for more words to howl, to make him understand that this new chapter of your life deserves to be embraced no matter how unexpected it may seem. He clearly needs time to think, a moment to clear his head that refuses to stop spinning. Neither of you have anything to shout at each other, for it would go through one ear and straight out the other.

Wonwoo glances toward you, his eyes quickly dropping to your stomach that is indeed bulging the more he examines it.

“I need to think…” He breathes out in a tone so strained you wish you could take the best years of your life back. However that is a fool’s way to think, and you are not a fool.

But are you human and the pain of him closing the door as he exits your apartment proves that more than anything.

“This might disappoint you but, that’s the end.” Your voice was a lilt that drifted from the terrace, echoing into the fresh air of midnight and the misty noises that sounded from cars running up and down the street. The hand that rests ever so thoughtfully on your stomach etches for the first time, curling into the fabric of your oversized t-shirt. You sniffle, and it is then you realize the apples of your cheeks are glistening under moonlight, damp in the memories that stem from a summer too fateful and wrapped in bliss.

There is pain that lingers too, that Jeon Wonwoo had been absent in your life for nearly a month, his face hardly spotted flipping pages in the library or typing a report under the sakura tree that blooms on campus. You hate to admit you miss him, but how could you not when he presented you so much? When he kindled warmth so vibrant in your chest you couldn’t sleep because of it?

“I just want to let you know, Airplane,” you murmur, teeth briefly sinking into the laceration that was practically permanent on your lower lip, “That you shouldn’t be angry at your father. As much as you may want to be, your arrival had us both in shock, and he needed time to process things. Perhaps how life would be if you were in it, if you weren’t.”

You patted your growing stomach, aiming a smile toward the tiny human who listened to your long tale so intently and quietly, absorbing every detail and monitoring the different cadences your voice fell into when referencing something happy, something sad.

“Airplane, do you like flowers?” You ask while blinking toward the sky, pupils reflecting the milky threads of constellations and the silver crescent that does not suffer ineptitude when the challenge is to shine brightly. Silence is greeting your question, and it makes you smile.

“I think you’ll grow up to like flowers. Maybe orchids, maybe hibiscuses, maybe even chrysanthemums. I can teach you a lot about them, I promise I won’t make it boring.” The temptation to laugh at yourself bubbles for a moment, because how crazy do you sound right now? Alone, at the hour of midnight, rambling on and on to an unborn baby named Airplane about first love and piercings and flowers. Anyone who happened to be awake and gazing upon the satin sky as keenly as you would hear your conversation and furrow their brows, rub their hollow eyes to rid them of stardust and potential lucid dreams.

They might seek themselves out to be the crazy one.

Or maybe they do not think you’re crazy, but just happen to be the tiniest bit strange.

“If you end up being allergic to flowers, I’ll show you books. If you don’t like books I can show you music. And if you don’t like music…” You warbled while twiddling your thumbs, a curl suddenly forming along your lips.

“I’ll show you how a spark plug works, I’ll show you how not to confuse your fog lights with your air conditioning. I can demonstrate the perfect cannonball, and show you tricks on a yoyo. I’ll try to learn everything so I can show you everything.“

“How does that sound?” A deep voice mumbles from inside the garage, reading glasses about to slip from the bridge of his nose as he flips the next glossy page of the magazine. His eyelids are droopy, yet they are determined to absorb every word they run across, to learn every secret that the pages have to offer. He hears his uncle call out from underneath his truck.

“What did you say, Woo?”

The sable haired boy cocks his head around from his work bench, watching his uncle slide from underneath his pickup, grease stains smudged along his face and gloves.

“Nothing.” The boy responds, flashing the older man a slight smile. “Just talking to myself.” He then faces the magazine pages again, his desk lamp attracting moths to flutter inside from the open garage door, starlight bathing the scenery dotting outside. The page flips, and he immediately recognizes the silk texture of the petals, the hot pink splash in the middle.

“Hibiscus!” He beams triumphantly, “That’s a hibiscus flower!” And he is correct too, yet his uncle just has to butt in again.

“What’s up with you kids and talking to yourselves?” He grumbles from underneath the truck, “You sure are a strange bunch.”

Though the boy hardly hears him through the glee that bursts in his chest, the light glimmering in his pupils of midnight, for he is too swept up in the fact that he’s making progress.

“I told you I’m learning, Sun.” He made sure to whisper much lower, for his ears only. “Once I learn about all these flowers, I just have to learn about everything else. I mean, your mother could teach you about flowers, but she can also teach you about spark plugs too. I can only do one, and I can’t have her besting me like that.”

The boy’s uncle could still hear him mumbling to himself, the old man’s eyebrows beginning to pinch together before he slid from underneath the truck and wiped his forehead with a damp cloth, willing to pester his nephew just one last time.

“Why on earth are you whispering to the sun, Wonwoo? Gosh, you’re quite odd, aren’t you?”

Not a single answer swallowed the silence that brewed, Wonwoo’s uncle eventually giving up and retiring all his tools to his own work bench, leaving his peculiar nephew to contain his conversation with the currently nonexistent fire ball in the sky. A yawn stretched off the boy’s lips, hardly paying notice to the moth that perched in his fluffy locks of sable, peering down at the magazine alongside him.

“I’ve gotta learn everything so I can teach you everything. I won’t let her do it on her own, that’s too much work. She has to take care of herself first.”

Wonwoo let his chin rest in his palm, eyes glazing along each snapshot of a flower different in colour and shape, memories of light blue overalls and worn out sneakers and fruit gummies tinting his mind.

“She’s really pretty too, Sun. You’ll be pretty like her too, whether you’re a boy or a girl.”

It was getting late, and though Wonwoo felt drowsiness and indolence slowly begin to encompass him, he shook the feelings away, scaring the little moth from his hair. He couldn’t afford to let you down again, to witness such pain mar your features and turn your curled smile into a frown. This unprecedented chapter with you was exactly what he needed, and after pondering for hours and hours on the roof of the piercing shop, skipping classes and meals and work, could Wonwoo say confidently that he wanted this, he wanted you. He was in love with you.

But he also wanted his little baby who he had given the nickname of Sun, because as you once said, the sun symbolizes a new beginning, and what better way to commence in this new beginning than with a family.

✎ hi, it’s choco typing from the grave, hope u enjoy, stay hydrated, eat ur vitamins, lov wonwow. peace.

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