#c:writing

[demberly]

Day 7: Song that made you fall in love with the album ❤

All the same. It used to play alot at my aunts house and I still play it. Plus I thought I was hot dancing to the chorus. The music is on point

[briarwaters]

About: 

A Sasuke x OC fanfiction love story. 

A long time ago I wrote a Sasuke fanfiction story (under the same name) on Fanfiction.net and after binge watching a lot of Naruto Shippuden I wanted to revisit this old concept and rewrite the story under a new light; then hopefully finish the spinoff I wanted to write about Gaara. 

Summary: 

Shin believes that she has dreams when she falls asleep, but what happens when she finds out she’s actually slipping between two planes of reality? 

Index Page 

[technikara-blog]

Hubris' Reverse

Had melodies as sweet been breathed before Of visions acting merely to invite, Request yesterday’s I for nothing more And happy end left to be thine and mine— 

Today, however, threnodies upturn For withered vanity which once had I And from thy promises I have but learned: When mine, gifts, from their worth, do naught but shy.

Though ‘neath the roses offered lie the weeds, Still stays, to me, no reason for back’s bow— Deserveth I much less than thy deceit, And fault turned virtue echoes back around.

Waste not thy serenade on modest nerve; For to adore thee, I far from deserve.

A reply to Christopher Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love". Yet another sonnet for English class. Our group decided on working around the concept of the seven virtues (a virtue per member), with the twist being the virtue acting as the fatal flaw (as to why the persona cannot accept the shepherd's love). I got humility.

[hanwooz]

50 for The8 please!!!

50. “I think you’re beautiful.”

What makes something beautiful? 

Beautiful things are fragile, ephemeral. The beauty lies in the fact that you know it won’t last forever, so you have to treasure it now while you still can.

But what about human beauty? What makes someone beautiful?

What makes someone ugly?

You sigh as you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, the sunlight streaming through the window making the dust apparent on the reflective surface.

You don’t think you’re ugly, per se. But no one would ever, or has ever, called you beautiful. Being on the shorter side, you’re stuck with the label “cute.” Short stature, round face, large innocent eyes, slightly chubby–cute, everyone says.

Not that you really mind. You would rather be cute than ugly, and you use your innocent image to your advantage. People find it easy to talk to you, mostly because you look nice. It helps, especially at work, where your coworkers give you advice and tricks of the trade without you having to ask.

But sometimes, on days like today, you look at yourself in the mirror and hate everything you see. You look at your legs and hate how big they seem, especially because they’re already short as it is. You hate that you see a blob where your stomach is. Your arms seem unnecessarily big, and it’s not muscle for sure. You hate your nonexistent chest. You hate the hair on your body. You hate the way your eyes are slightly uneven. You hate your nose, your eyebrows, your face.

You wish you had a nicer body. You wish you had the motivation to actually hit the gym and stick to a schedule, rather than just say “I should really go work out” as you reach for another bag of chips.

You wish you had the elegant face of someone who would undeniably be called “beautiful.” Not a round face like yours, but longer, higher cheekbones, a better nose maybe.

Most days, you’re fine. But on days like today, you just hate yourself.

You sigh yet again, and get dressed before you’re late for work. You throw on a plaid shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. You work at a campus coffee shop, which thankfully is only about a five minute walk from your apartment. You grab your bag and keys and shove your feet into a pair of worn black boots, locking the door behind you.

“Hey, Y/N!” your coworker Jeonghan greets you from behind the counter as you enter.

“Hey, Jeonghan,” you reply as you move past him into the back room to put away your belongings. Once you do, you grab an apron hanging by the door and put it on, walking back out to the counter to start your shift.

“It’s not that busy today,” Jeonghan says amiably beside you as he wipes down the counter with a towel. It’s true; there are only a few people in the store, students staring at their laptops or taking notes.

“Yeah, probably because the semester just started. They don’t really need the caffeine yet.” You pluck a blueberry muffin from one of the racks near the back; one of the perks of working here is that the manager allows you to have as many free coffee refills as you want and a free muffin, as long as it doesn’t distract you when there are customers that need to be served.

Jeonghan pours himself a cup of coffee and stirs in cream and sugar before turning to face you. “Yeah, I guess so. So, what classes are you taking this semester?”

“Hmm.” You list off your classes, counting them with your fingers. “Biochemistry, physics, communications.”

Jeonghan grins and whistles. “What a nightmare.”

You laugh. “I know, it’s terrible. What about you?”

“Oh,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Art history, advanced music theory, and this English class on dystopian novels. I just had to take it to have enough credits to be full time.”

“Wow, that sounds really interesting, actually.”

“Yeah, I guess, but I’m just ready to get out of here.” Jeonghan is a theater major and graduating after the end of this semester.

“You’re not gonna forget about me after you make it big, right?” you tease Jeonghan, reaching around him to throw the muffin wrapper into the trash. “You have to get me free tickets to your Broadway shows.”

“Yeah, yeah, only if you give me free drugs,” he replies. It’s a running joke between the two of you, him being a theater major and you being pre-pharmacy.

“Whoa, what’s this? Drug dealing in a public space? In broad daylight?” a voice asks from the other side of the counter.

You turn. It’s Minghao, your best friend. “You’re just jealous you’re not getting any of said free drugs,” you say as you walk over to him, ready to punch in his order. “The usual?”

“Yep, vanilla latte,” Minghao grins, handing you his card and nodding in Jeonghan’s direction. “Hey, Jeonghan.”

“Hey, man,” Jeonghan replies easily, preparing Minghao’s vanilla latte and putting in a sprinkle of cinnamon the way Minghao likes it.

You hand Minghao his card back, and Jeonghan walks over to give Minghao his drink. “So when are you going to ask Y/N on a date?” he asks Minghao.

Minghao, who had taken a sip from his cup, coughs and thumps at his chest. You roll your eyes and hand him a few napkins, which he takes with a nod of thanks and wipes his mouth. “Jeonghan, how many times are we going to go through this before you get it through your head that Minghao and I are just friends?”

Jeonghan just laughs and points at Minghao with his chin. “Not until the poor boy stops giving such good reactions.”

“Stop reacting to him, Minghao. It’s the same joke every time he sees you.”

“Don’t yell at him,” Jeonghan says, crossing his arms and studying the two of you. “And you two can go sit down and talk. I’ll shout if I need help here.”

“Thanks, Jeonghan.” You untie your apron and fold it, putting it by the register as you walk out to join Minghao, who has already claimed a table by the wall.

“Hey,” Minghao greets you as you sit across from him.

“Hey.”

“Ready for classes?”

“Please. No one’s ever ready.”

Minghao laughs. “That’s true.”

After some small talk, the two of you end up scrolling on your phones in silence, as you always do. “Minghao,” you say suddenly, as you scroll through Instagram and think of your thoughts that morning.

“Hmm?”

“What makes someone beautiful?”

Minghao glances up from his phone to look at you, eyes scrunching slightly. “What?”

“You know….beautiful. As opposed to, say, cute or just pretty.”

“What brought this on all of a sudden?” he asks, but he puts his phone down and rests his head against his hand, thinking.

You don’t respond, because this is Minghao and he’s used to you asking random questions. Instead, you reach for his latte and take a sip as he ponders your question.

“I think,” he begins finally, looking at you, “beauty is more encompassing than adjectives like cute or pretty. Those are more face-level, based solely on appearances.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, thinking about his words. “How so?”

“I think calling someone cute is sort of a shallow compliment, you know? Like, there are different kinds of beauty. There’s physical beauty, sure, but also personality-wise, someone can be beautiful.”

“Hmm.”

“Think about it. Someone can be really physically attractive, but if their personality is shit, I would never call them beautiful. Pretty, sure. But not beautiful.”

“Hmm. That’s an interesting way of thinking about it.”

“Yup,” Minghao grins, seeing that you’re satisfied with his answer. “Tell you what, why don’t we go on a fancy dinner tonight?”

“What?” You laugh. “Why would we do that?”

“Why not? You’re free tonight anyway, aren’t you? So dress up, and I’ll wear a suit and everything, and we’ll go out and eat some fancy food and have a good time.”

“But fancy food is expensive–”

“Okay, but you work, and I work, and we should enjoy ourselves while we still have the time. Besides, you gotta start training for when some guy takes you out for fancy dinner, right? Like, you have to know which fork to use when–”

“Shut up, Minghao.”

“I’ll be at your place at seven, then,” he says, looking immensely pleased with himself. “On the dot.”

True to his word, Minghao rang your doorbell at exactly seven, dressed impeccably in a black suit as he had promised. You opened the door in a t-shirt and sweatpants, with your hair half-curled. “I said I would be here at seven, woman,” Minghao complains, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re not even dressed yet.”

“I might have taken a nap and overslept,” you admit, heading back to your room. “Go watch TV or something. I’ll be ready in like fifteen minutes.”

“You’re hopeless,” Minghao calls after you. “This is why you’re single!”

“Shut up!” you shout, trying to curl your hair as quickly as you can without burning yourself. Five minutes later, you finally finish, and start on your makeup. It’s just Minghao, but you’re going to go full out anyway, just because you can. Once you’re done, you slip into the navy dress you had picked out earlier–form-fitting from waist up (to make it look like you have curves) and flowy from waist down to give you freedom of movement. You dig through your closet to find the only pair of heels you own, strappy silver ones that give you a two-inch height boost.

When you finally emerge from your room twenty minutes later, Minghao is rummaging through your fridge. “Why are you looking for food when we’re going to eat?”

“Because someone,” Minghao begins, turning around. His eyebrows shoot up upon seeing you, but he continues, “Someone is twenty minutes late. I’m hungry.”

“Okay, well, I’m done. Let’s go.”

Without another word, Minghao leads the way out of your apartment and to his car. The drive is mostly silent, and the two of you still say nothing as you walk up to the restaurant he had made a reservation at. Once at the door, Minghao takes a deep breath, and you do the same. “Ready?” he says, offering you his arm.

You take it, the excitement finally hitting. You’re all dressed up with your best friend, going to eat a nice dinner, just because you can. “Let’s do this.”

Minghao smiles down at you, and you walk through the doors. The waiter leads you to your table. It feels surreal; you never would have imagined yourself spending money on such things, but Minghao was right. Why not? Why not have fun once in a while when you can? You feel unstoppable.

“So,” Minghao says, once the two of you have finished eating. “How do you feel?”

“Great,” you answer, leaning back in your chair. “You were right. This was a good idea. I feel so powerful.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he warns. “We’re not rich enough for this kind of lifestyle.”

You laugh, turning to look out the window and take in the view. “Please. I know.”

“Y/N?” Minghao asks, after a moment of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Guess what.”

“What.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

You turn back towards him, about to tell him to knock it off and stop joking, but he’s completely serious, with a small smile on his face as he looks at you.

So you smile back at him. “Thanks, Minghao.”

“You’re welcome.”

[hanwooz]

16 + jun

16. “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

You love traveling. You love traveling, but this time you’re visiting family that you don’t particularly enjoy seeing, and for a wedding of a cousin that you haven’t seen in twelve years. So you are not exactly excited as you sit at the airport, waiting for your 10pm flight and watching the rain pour down with the occasional flash of lightning. You text your friends, informing them that you are just waiting for your flight, and they wish you safe travels and a good night.

You read the book you had brought with you, occasionally looking up to check the time. But suddenly you hear a ruckus from the people around you, and you see that the screen announcing that your flight is delayed because of the weather; instead of 10pm, it would now fly at 11. You’re annoyed, and your parents complain, but you tell yourself it’s only an hour, and that’s more time that you can spend reading anyway. But still, you pull your phone out and open your messenger app to the one person you haven’t said good night to: Junhui, your boyfriend. 

Guess what

His reply comes a few minutes later: What

Our plane got delayed, so I’m not flying till 11

Oh that sucks

I know >:(

Didn’t you say you brought a book though? You can probably read

Yeah, I will

You put your phone away and focus on the story again.

“Again?” your dad says some time later.

“What?” you ask, and he points at the screen. It now says that the plane will fly at midnight. Your frustration grows, and you pull out your phone. It says we’re not flying till midnight now

What? That’s crazy…but I guess it’s because of the rain right

Yeah probably but it still sucks

:( I’m sorry

:( It’s not your fault it’s the stupid weather

:(( Keep reading? Or take a nap, aren’t you normally asleep by now

Not always…you make me sound like a grandma

Okay if you say so

You snort and put your phone down, turning back to the book. But you smile, thinking about the conversation you just had, and find that you can’t really concentrate. You tell your parents that you’re going to the restroom, and grab your phone to take a walk around.

After about fifteen minutes, you come back to see that the screen shows that the flight is now cancelled, and everyone on your flight is in line to talk to the people at the counter. “What happened?” you ask your dad as you join him in line.

“They said our flight is cancelled, probably because of the rain. So now we have to book a different flight.”

“What the heck? Do we have to pay?”

“I hope not,” he says, shaking his head.

They cancelled our flight………………….

Cancelled? What the heck?What happens now?

We’re waiting in line to book a new flight >:(

Oh that really sucks….I hope things work out

You’re next in line now, and the flight attendant waves you over. She grimly explains to you that there won’t be any flights until early the next morning because of the storm, and that it would be three connected flights until you reached your destination. After a long discussion about whether there were any other options, it was decided that was the only one available.

I guess we’re sleeping here at the airport tonight then because they won’t have any more flights until tomorrow morning

Oh no. Can’t you go home and come back tomorrow?

There’s no point because it takes an hour to get home and the flight is at 5am, plus we would have to go through security and everything again. My parents are saying we should just sleep here

Are there beds or something? A hotel?

Nah just these seats

:(((((You should probably get some sleep then. It’s almost 1amI know for a fact you’re norlly asleep by now lol

SighYeah, I’m wedged between these two seats. It’s a makeshift bed lolGood night

Good night

You plug in your earphones and turn on soft music, trying to mute out the sounds of the people around you. You make yourself as comfortable as you possibly can, and close your eyes, determined to get some sleep. But sleep isn’t coming, and you can only manage 10-minute naps before you keep waking up, and when the clock shows that it is 2am, you give up altogether.

Are you still awake

YeahCan’t sleep?

Yeah

You talk to Junhui, grateful that he’s there and willing to talk to you despite the fact that it’s late and he should be sleeping. You parents are sleeping, and your dad is snoring. You envy them for being able to sleep, but when it hits 3, you realize you should let Junhui sleep as well.

It’s late, you should sleep

It’s fine lol I’ll keep you company

No it’s 3 and you have things to do tomorrowI’ll try to get some sleepSorry for keeping you up :(Thanks for talking for me though

OkIt’s ok, I couldn’t sleep eitherGood night~See you in a week :’(

Good night~We can do a video call u idiot

Oh you’re right

You finally put your phone away and try to find sleep again, this time with a smile on your face.

[briarwaters]

Index Page:

About | Prologue 

[hanwooz]

89, Wonwoo

89. “I noticed.”

Anonymous said: wonwoo and 92 please oh my gosh:((

92. “I want you to be happy.”

A/N: I’ve combined two requests into one (really long) post lol sorrynotsorry

Sometimes you curse yourself for having high standards, and for meeting a certain Jeon Wonwoo who met all those standards. You fell in love with the way he talks, the awkwardness slowly fading away as he grew comfortable around you. The nerdiness. The quiet way he shows that he cares, when he remembers something you’d mentioned in passing. The way he seems so sure of himself but when you’re alone you can see that he’s slightly nervous. His face, his smile, his eyes, his laugh. His warm, steady, dependable hands. His reassuring presence. His voice. His jokes.

You love that he’s a soft one, this Jeon Wonwoo. He loves his family, he loves animals, he loves children. You love that he’s good at almost everything he does. You love that he’s diligent and hardworking.

But you also hate that he’s so hardworking. You hate that it’s the thing that takes him away from you, because you know that school and work will always come first to him. And you respect that, because it’s the same for you–you know your priorities. But it still hurts.

You hate that he’s shy, that he’s awkward because he’s never dated anyone before, that he can’t seem to really take initiative. He isn’t the type to really show affection, and while it didn’t bother you at first, you’re at five months now and you haven’t even held hands. He’s never responded to your heart emojis with his own heart emojis. 

You hate that you’re so insecure about it all. You know he’s busy, but you can’t help being sad that you’re always the one initiating conversation these days. That you’re always the one having to plan out dates and ask when he’s free. And it’s been going on for a month.

You’d brought it up. “Are we dating?”

You had to ask, to be sure.

“Yeah, I thought this was already agreed upon,” he’d responded. And then seeing your face, he softened. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy, and my schedule is going to be the same for the next few years. I know it’s hard, and I’m sorry I haven’t been better at making time for you.”

But despite his words, his actions hadn’t changed. If anything, he contacted you even less frequently. And even though you know it’s because his schedule got even more hectic, it saddens you.

You started wondering what you were to him. Why he couldn’t even take five minutes out of his day to talk to you. Why you were always the one texting him or sending him pictures of things that reminded you of him throughout the day.

Things that he used to do too.

You still remember the beginning, when he used to talk to you all day, every day. When he used to share all aspects of his day with you, what he did, when things annoyed him. But now–silence. You know it’s because he’s busy. But you can’t help wondering, especially when you know he has friends that are girls, that are pretty girls, that are pretty and smart and are his colleagues and can better understand his struggles than you can. Especially when he has admitted that he walked one of these friends home, when he can’t even make time to meet up with you.

And you understand that these feelings of jealousy and sadness come from insecurities, but he really isn’t helping the situation. He’s never said he loved you, never held your hand, never returned your hearts. What are you supposed to think?

You’re tired. Tired of questioning yourself, your actions, your words. Tired of questioning your worth, what you mean to him. Tired of always wondering what he’s up to, whether he’s thinking of you because you think of him all the fucking time and you’re tired of feeling like you care about him more than he cares about you.

And then the day comes where you can’t take it anymore. You know he’s busy asked him to text you when he had the time, because you had something to ask (you finally have a free day, for the entire day on Saturday, something that never happened, and you want to see if he is going to be free too). But the text never comes. Instead, you see on an SNS update that he was out with friends–the majority of whom were girls–and you’re not even sure if your anger is irrational.

When he finally deigns to text you (at 10:30pm), you ask him why it is that he never responds to the hearts you send him. Does it bother him? Make him uncomfortable? And why is it that you never know what’s going on in his life anymore? Why is it that you can’t even be secure in saying that you’re his girlfriend? What makes you different from a friend?

His only response is that he talks to you more than he talks to his friends.

Not that he likes you, or loves you, or that you’re not a friend to him, any of the other million reasons that should make you different than a friend. No, it’s just that he talks to you more. Which is probably bullshit since he sees his friends every day and even walks them home, for fuck’s sake.

So you decide to just stop. Stop reaching out if he’s not going to try to talk to you. You want to see what happens if you stop initiating, want to see if he’s willing to pick up the slack, to see if he even notices. You’ll respond if he sends something (if you feel like it), but otherwise you’re not going to initiate.

You tell yourself you’ll keep at it for a week. And then you’re going to talk to him. And if he isn’t willing to change, or at least try, you’re going to end it.

Day 1: nothing, just the usual good morning textDay 2: nothing, just the usual good morning textDay 3: good morning text and an update on the drama that he’s been watchingDay 4: nothing, just the good morning textDay 5: good morning text and a picture of some new pants that he bought (?)Day 6: just the good morning text

You don’t know if he talks to you because he wants to, or because he feels obligated to, since you’re dating. And you feel bad for suddenly springing this on him because it’s Wonwoo. It’s Wonwoo. You know he’s not the kind of person to do or say things he doesn’t mean, and you know he’s just bad at expressing himself and you’re not sure if you’re being too much. You don’t know if you’re doing the wrong thing and you don’t know if you’re going to regret it. But it’s day seven, and it’s the day you agreed to meet up.

You get to the cafe first. It’s busy, something you’re grateful for, because you don’t really want someone overhearing this conversation. You order a small coffee and sit down to wait for him.

Wonwoo arrives about ten minutes later, with windblown hair and a flustered look that makes your heart waver. He spots you and heads over with a nervous smile. “Hey,” he greets you as he sits down.

“Hey,” you answer, giving him a tired smile.

Wonwoo makes awkward small talk, and you can tell that he’s nervous by the way his smile won’t reach his eyes, and the way his hands won’t stay still. He knows just as well as you do that he’s delaying the conversation that’s bound to happen.

When the lull hits, you steel yourself and say, “I think…you already know what I want to talk about, right?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says, and sighs. “I know that you’re upset because we never have time to meet up or do anything together. And I know you said that you want to just talk to me, and I know I’ve been bad at it.”

“Yeah.” What are you supposed to say now? How are you supposed to not feel like a terrible, horribly selfish person when he’s like this? “So I stopped initiating conversation for the past week.”

“Yeah. I noticed.” His mouth quirks upward for half a second. “I figured you just wanted space.”

“But you didn’t even try!” Your voice breaks. “You didn’t even try to talk to me.”

He’s silent, and you use the time to try to get your emotions back under control.

“Wonwoo, I just…I just want to hear from you. You know? Or know that you care. But when I send you things and I can clearly see that you’ve seen them, and you don’t reply, and you’re always busy…it just makes me feel like I’m bothering you. Like I’m a distraction. And then I feel bad, but what am I supposed to do, because I like talking to you, so I keep sending you things. And you keep ignoring them. And it’s just an endless cycle.”

“You’re not bothering me. I like hearing from you, and it makes me happy, but I don’t always feel a need to reply. I don’t know, I just thought…you just send them because that’s how you are. I didn’t think that me not replying would mean something so different to you.”

There are a million things you want to say to that. But you don’t say any of them. Instead, you tell him, “I’m just asking for five or ten minutes a day. Is that so hard?”

“No, it’s not, I just–I don’t know.” Wonwoo puts his head in his hands and stays like that for a while before he looks up and continues. “No, I can do it, I just…feel like you would want more. And I feel bad, because you should have more than that, but I can’t offer you that.”

You want to tell him it’s fine, you don’t need more, not right now. “But we don’t even have five minutes right now,” you whisper, because your voice isn’t coming out right anymore, and you need to look away before you start crying when you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t cry in front of him.

“I know,” Wonwoo says, and sighs.

The silence stretches out, thick and heavy, and you wish you didn’t have to be here, that you weren’t having this conversation, that you could be joking and eating and laughing with him like all the other times because you see him so rarely as it is.

“The thing is,” Wonwoo starts, staring down at his hands, flat on the table, “I can’t promise that I can change. I want to be able to say that I can change–I really wish I could. But I’ll always be this busy, and sometimes I just get so caught up in work that I ignore my phone and the time flies by, and by the time I remember to check my phone, it’s 3am and I know you’re probably sleeping.”

And your heart breaks into a million pieces because you don’t want to lose him. You don’t, but you already know that if this continues you will just continue being unhappy. And questioning yourself. “I know,” you tell him, and you’re really trying not to cry, and you’re looking everywhere except him. “But if nothing happens, then we’ll just keep having this conversation–we’ve already talked about it once before. And I don’t want that, because both of us will just be unhappy and hurt. So I don’t…think…this is going to work out in the long run.”

Wonwoo is quiet for so long, you’re almost afraid that he didn’t hear you. Just as you open your mouth to say something–anything–to break the silence, he starts to talk. “So I guess…we’re ending it here then?”

“Yeah…I guess so.”

He’s quiet again, and you sneak a glance at him to see that his hand is rubbing at his neck in agonized motions. “So I guess,” he finally says, “since you seem to think that we’re friends…can we at least stay that way?”

Wonwoo’s voice cracks at the end, and you look up to see that his hand is covering half his face, and the one eye that you can see is alarmingly shiny and filled with tears. You look away before you can start crying. It hurts to know that he’s sad, and it hurts even more because you know that you’re hurting him. The boy who tries so hard to be strong, who you have never seen cry, who you have seen happy and annoyed and angry and disappointed but never sad–this is the boy that you are reducing to tears.

Your first instinct is to correct him; you don’t think the two of you are friends. But then you realize that he’s just trying to understand, and he’s asking to stay friends. Rationally, it’s not a good idea–everyone says that you can’t really stay friends after a breakup, because nothing is the same anymore. 

But you don’t want to lose him. Until that moment, you had still been hoping that it would work out somehow. Wonwoo had become someone you trusted, someone who loved and cared for and thought about all the time, someone you could tell anything and everything to.

So against your better judgment, you agree. “Yeah,” you say, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, we can.”

Wonwoo seems to deflate a little at that, even though you’re not entirely sure why. It’s what he wanted, after all, right? You didn’t say no. You were going to remain friends. You could still talk and meet up once in a while, because that’s what friends do–right?

There’s another heavy silence. You’re so sick of these silences. You feel stuffed up and suffocated by them because you don’t know what they mean. You don’t know how you feel right now, and you don’t know how you should be feeling, and you don’t know how he feels and you’re not entirely sure you want to know.

But now that you’re–friends–you almost choke even thinking it, you might as well talk. You still enjoy his presence, and his company, and you still like him and everything about him. So you force yourself to smile, and talk about everything you would have talked about otherwise. You ask him about his mother, whom he just saw recently. You ask about his plans and whether he has anything going on, and he answers them all with a smile just as fake as yours and inquires after you as well.

It’s pretending you’re fine when you’re nowhere near fine. To the one person you never had to pretend being happy with.

You hate every moment of it.

You hate that you’re the reason this is happening, because you’re the one who decided to break up, even though you know it’s for the better. You hate that when you laugh at what he’s saying, it’s still real laughter. You hate that he’s still smiling at what you’re saying, too, like nothing ever happened. Like this entire conversation was something you imagined. You hate that everything you’re saying is still genuine and real and that you’re still happy to be with him for however long this conversation is going to last.

You hate that you’re still staring at him, at his smile and the way his eyes crinkle as he laughs. You hate the way you’re studying him, knowing that it’s the last time you ever get to do so because after today, you’re never going to be able to talk to him the same way.

You hate that after the two of you leave today, you know that you’re never going to see him again. 

But time doesn’t stop or slow down for any of us, and nothing lasts forever. You glance at your watch–7:30. It’s time to go, and Wonwoo knows that too.

Both of you stand up and leave the cafe, and yet the two of you linger outside the door.

You’re headed in opposite directions; you need to turn left, he needs to turn right. Normally at this point, you would hug goodbye and be on your way, and conversation would continue later that night through text.

But that’s not happening anymore. So now the two of you stand there awkwardly like children meeting for the first time in kindergarten, staring without really know what to say. “Well,” Wonwoo says finally. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, probably,” you mumble, and sigh. Then you clear your throat and straighten up, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes and remember this moment. “Bye, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo gives you a small smile. “Bye, Y/N.”

You walk away before you can do or say anything you regret, forcing yourself not to turn back. You cry on the train home, cry walking into your house, cry in the shower, cry yourself to sleep. The next week is horrendous. You can’t sleep. You can’t talk to people without wanting to cry. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you can’t do anything without seeing things that remind you of him. You don’t have an appetite, you lose sleep.

And then one day you snap out of it. You begin to recover, to learn how to live without him because life goes on and you have things to do. You eat, you sleep, you study and work and hang out with friends.

You are your own person, with your own life.

(two months later)

(a letter I’ll never send but am writing anyway like the idiot I am)Dear Wonwoo–

How are you? I hope you’re doing well.

Me, I’m okay. I was a wreck for an entire week after we broke up. I wasn’t eating or sleeping, I couldn’t focus, I lost all motivation. My grades slipped, and I just went on a downward spiral. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I just blamed myself all the time. I missed you like crazy, and every little thing reminded me of you and then I would remember that it was over and I ended it, so there’s no one to blame but myself. And then I would sit there and think about all the reasons why I did what I did, and why I was so upset in the first place. I would ask myself, “Am I wrong for thinking this? Feeling this? Am I just selfish?” Because as much as I blamed you, it wasn’t really your fault.

A lot of what I felt came from my insecurities. It’s really stupid, honestly. I was never confident in myself to begin with, and when you started getting busier and talking to me less (and your friends more) I let it get to my head. I questioned myself, whether I was boring or ugly or too unable to understand what you were going through. Why didn’t you seem to try? Why didn’t you at least say that you were willing to try, instead of just saying you couldn’t promise me that you could change?

I think what went wrong for us was that we both didn’t really know what we wanted. And we both didn’t really know how to tell each other what we wanted, either. Or how we really felt. But it’s kind of pointless to think about all this now, isn’t it?

The only thing that matters I guess is that you’re happy. I want you to be happy. I want to know that I made the right decision, because I guess for me life isn’t really the same without you. I miss talking to you, and sometimes I still find myself thinking “oh I should send this to Wonwoo, he would appreciate this” before I stop myself and remember that no, I can’t and shouldn’t.

I hope you’re okay. I hope you didn’t beat yourself up, because I could see you were doing that even as I sat across from you that day. I could see it in your eyes. I hope that even if you had a rough week afterward like I did, that you’re okay now, and that you’re happy. I can learn to be happy eventually if I know that you’re fine and happy and doing well.

I would tell you to make sure you eat well, but you always do that regardless. And you’re too sensible to beat yourself up for too long. You have your priorities straight. And I’m going to keep believing that, because to think otherwise would probably ruin me. It’s funny, the guilt never really goes away. Anyway, I hope you’re living well. Enjoying your days off with your family and friends because you deserve it after working so hard.

Love Best regards Sincerely FromY/N

[hanwooz]

37 and Dino please!!!!!! I'm love him

37. “Can I kiss you?”

There are things that come naturally and easily to Lee Chan, like feeling the rhythm of a song, or learning a dance, or joking around with his friends. There are also things that completely elude him, like calculus, or English, or…you.

To him, you are a complete mystery. Well, not completely. He knows you, and your family and friends, your likes and dislikes and hobbies. But even though you’ve been dating for three months now, he still hasn’t found the courage to hold your hand. Don’t get him wrong–he’s tried. But he never really anticipated the height difference correctly, so one time he brushed your hip–on accident–and the second time he tried, he hit your watch. So much for being smooth.

He’s afraid that his intentions don’t come across to you. That you might question whether he even likes you, because he knows that most of his friends had done a lot more than hold hands in the first three months. But Chan is shy, and you’re his first, and he wants to make sure he doesn’t make a mistake.

So today, he has a plan. 

It’s the one day you’re both free, and it’s a Friday night, and there’s a movie out that he’s heard is really good. Chan stares at his reflection for the nth time that evening, making sure he looks presentable for you. He’s gone for the casual style today, just jeans and a plain black shirt with a plaid button up, left unbuttoned. Chan sighs. He wants to look good, but not like he’s spent three hours planning his outfit–which he has, admittedly, not that he would ever tell you.

He arrives at your house at 7:25, five minutes before your agreed time. Chan takes a breath and gets out of the car, walking up the driveway to your front door and rings the doorbell. He clears his throat, preparing to talk to your mother or father if they open the door, but thankfully it’s you. “Hey,” you greet him with a smile, and he can’t help but grin back at you. “Come on in. I just need to get my bag. I’ll be back in a minute!”

Chan shuts the door softly behind him and watches you run to your room. It seems as though your parents aren’t home, since the house is quiet. You reappear a minute later, as promised, and pull on your shoes. “Ready?” he asks, voice slightly uneven. Even after three months, he can’t really believe that he’s dating you, that you had laughed and said yes to his stuttery confession. You’re also dressed casually–jeans and a shirt under a bomber jacket–but somehow you still manage to take his breath away.

He can’t understand it.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you answer, snapping him back to reality. He waits as you lock the door, and makes sure to get the car door for you. His father had instilled in him Manners You Must Uphold on Dates.

You make small talk as he drives to the theater. He doesn’t even remember what the two of you are talking about, honestly; he just remembers that he loves your voice and that he’s already made you laugh several times already. He pays for the tickets (”Don’t let the girl pay!”) and buys a giant bucket of popcorn even though you said you don’t want any, because he knows that you will reach for some later anyway.

The movie starts, and in the darkness, Chan begins his plan. He only half pays attention to the movie, inching closer to you in what he hopes are subtle movements. Chan sneaks a quick look at you–you’re engrossed in the movie, staring straight ahead–and is finally satisfied when he’s about two inches from you. He settles down, finally able to focus on the film, and after a while, he feels a weight on his shoulder. Chan looks down slightly, and it’s you. You smile shyly at him, a little hesitant, and he returns it, resting his head lightly on yours.

The two of you stay like that until the kiss scene, where Chan suddenly is very aware that your head is resting on his shoulder, and that he had A Plan. “Hey,” he whispers softly.

“Yeah?” you whisper back.

“I love you.” There. He’s done it. He’s so proud of himself, he wants to pat himself on the back.

You giggle quietly. “I love you too, Chan.”

“Are you….we…” Oh, this is going great. Trust him to mess up the moment.

“What?”

“I mean…” He looks up at the dark ceiling. “I know I’m bad at showing it, because I’m shy and I haven’t been able to hold your hand and stuff.”

“Please,” you respond, lifting your head from his shoulder so that you can look at him. “It’s not a problem.”

You reach towards him, and he automatically hands you the popcorn bucket. “No, you idiot,” you hiss, rolling your eyes again. “Your hand.”

“Oh.” He feels immensely stupid, but also immensely grateful. What did he do to deserve you? He gives you his hand, and you intertwine your fingers, letting your hands rest on the armrest.

“That’s better,” you say, looking back at the screen ahead.

The two protagonists are still kissing, the camera zooming in and out, and Chan doesn’t think he can take much more of it. He nudges you with his elbow.

“What?” you ask, turning to face him, and he leans in so that he’s only about an inch away from your face. He’s glad it’s dark, because he’s fairly sure that his face is as red as a tomato, but he says the words anyway.

“Can I kiss you?”

[hanwooz]

on letting go

Genre: freestyle Rating: t for things people need to realize sometimes Warnings: none?? Characters: me. or you. Summary: no, this is not a svt fic. it’s not a fic at all--this is me writing my mess of emotions out onto several sheets of paper and realizing there are some things worth taking away Words: lol idk its literally just word vomit read at your own discretion

they tell me that i’m a Grown Up that i’m an Adult

and i tell them no i can’t be i can’t even make a doctors appointment for myself i swear i was in first grade like last month

except i am and thats scary but not really

i just have a hard time letting go

of friends of memories of the past probably of him but thats ok because life happens and i hope hes living well

you go through high school and you think i love them and you do but not really

you just have a hard time letting go

it doesn’t mean that we’re unhappy or that we haven’t met good people it just means that it’s not the same because we’ve moved on and the people aren’t the same and nothing is the same, really

and even if i were to go back (which i did) i would realize that it’s not the same i am not the same and sometimes you spend so much time with people long hard painstakingly difficult times with some people but a few years isn’t forever even though you promised each other forever so you make memories and that’s all you have left memories

and when the time comes that you forget well - you have nothing

but it’s okay but not really because we have a hard time letting go

so it hurts because a lot of people no longer matter a lot of things you used to care about no longer matter

and i think that’s what hurts most - you want it to matter you want them to matter because they once did or maybe you just want to matter to them, no, need to matter to them because you once did or because you’ve taken them for granted all along not intentionally but because you didn’t have to go through every day wondering when will you see them next or have they moved on or when will i never be able to see them again

so it hurts but not really

i just have a hard time letting go

[hanwooz]

Sillage

noun // a lingering scent a person leaves behind, the impression in space after something or someone has passed by

Genre: fluff? but it’s going to be a wild ride tbh Pairing: Mingyu x Reader Summary: A Soulmate!AU where soulmates find each other through scent Words: 3,728

A/N: Again, I’m sorry I’m not putting a read more (because the “Keep Reading” option never shows up on my phone and I can’t be the only one…). Shoutout to @wonnhao for agreeing to be my beta (again) ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | epilogue

“Ah,” Jiwoo says sleepily, but complies anyway. “His name’s Jeon Wonwoo. Hmm, let’s see…he’s pretty tall, nice eyes, a really deep voice. He’s generally pretty quiet, but if you get close enough you’ll find he cracks really stupid jokes and he’s just an awkward guy, I think, but it’s cute. I’m sure you’ll get along great.”

“You think so?” You hate to sound so desperate, especially after giving her your speech about not needing pity and ‘not everyone finds love.’ But now that you’re finally close, there’s a strange sensation in your chest and it’s freeing, because it means that you’re not destined to be alone forever after all.

“Definitely.”

Five minutes later, you find yourself drifting off to sleep with thoughts of a tall, dark-haired boy with golden skin and a smile like the sun.

—

Getting the covers yanked off you is one of the worst ways to wake up, and so you groan and try to reach for the blanket as Jiwoo does just that the following morning. “It’s too early for this,” you complain, voice cracking.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” she replies, much too energetic for your liking. “We have to get you ready for your date.”

“Date? What? When?” You sit up, raking a hand through your tangle-ridden hair.

Jiwoo snickers. “Get it together, Y/N. Date with Jeon Wonwoo, your soulmate.” She rummages in her closet. “I called Jihoon this morning, and he said he’d arrange something at five. Now get up, we have things to do!”

“How did I sleep until three?” This has to be a new record. You shake your head as you go into the bathroom to make yourself semi-presentable, and when you return to Jiwoo’s room, she has changed and is in the process of putting on makeup. “I’ll be done in five minutes,” she says, meeting your eyes through her mirror. “Gather your things and grab something from the kitchen if you’re hungry, and then we’ll go over to your house to actually get you ready.”

You carry all your bags over to the front door, before making yourself a bowl of cereal. Five minutes later, as promised, Jiwoo appears, keys and bag in hand. “Let’s go, let’s go, time’s running out!” she calls as she heads outside.

You grab your things and run outside after her, making yourself comfortable in her car as she locks the door. “I can’t believe you actually found him,” Jiwoo exclaims as she makes a turn that is much too wide, earning her a honk from an oncoming car.

“Yeah, well,” you mumble, suddenly nervous, “I can’t either.”

Jiwoo pulls into a parking spot and you practically run into the house. For some reason you’re so anxious and sitting still seems impossible right now. At a leisurely pace, Jiwoo follows you into the apartment and closes the door behind her as you put your bags down in your room. “What are you going to wear?” she asks as she enters the room to find you staring intensely into your closet.

“I don’t know yet. Do you think I should go for a dress, or a tee and skirt? Or is that too much? Would wearing jeans be too casual though?”

“You are not wearing jeans on your first date,” Jiwoo replies sternly, and that settles it. She reaches inside your closet and tugs at a black floral cotton dress. “This is cute; wear this. Or, actually,” she says as she finds a pale pink dress, “this is nice too.” Jiwoo pulls out both and holds them up. “You choose.”

“I think I like the black one better. More casual, but still cute, you know?”

Jiwoo grins in response. She holds it out to you and you take it, heading to the bathroom to change and plug in your hair straightener. When you emerge fifteen minutes later, changed and hair straightened, Jiwoo looks at you from her position on your bed. “Cute!” she comments, and stands up. “Sit down. I’ll do your makeup.”

“Just keep it natural,” you say as you sit on the bed. You close your eyes as Jiwoo makes your skin look smooth and cheekbones sharper, dusts eyeshadow and draws liner onto your eyes. The brush is soft against your skin, and you’re almost lulled to sleep before Jiwoo speaks up.

“Alright, go look,” Jiwoo says once she finishes. You do, and you have to admit that Jiwoo did a phenomenal job.

“Thanks, Jiwoo,” you smile at her.

Her only response is to grin and check her watch. “We have an hour left. Knowing Jihoon, he’s going to get there early, and I’m assuming that he’s dragging Wonwoo—sorry, driving him to meet us—so we should probably head out.”

You grab a white bag and fill it with your essential items, then follow her out the door. Once in Jiwoo’s car, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” you admit.

Jiwoo reaches over and pats your knee. “It’s fine. That’s normal. Just breathe and pretend he’s just any other friend. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

You can’t help yourself from voicing your doubts. “I guess, for some strange reason, I’m scared that it was a mistake and he’s not the one after all. I mean, what if we get there, and Wonwoo and I both realize this was a mistake?”

She shoots you a glance so meaningful that you know she doesn’t believe that would be possible. Instead as she pulls into a parking spot at a nearby restaurant, she only says, “Then you make a new friend and enjoy some good food. Deal?”

You take a deep breath. “Deal.”

Jiwoo leads the way inside, where you find Jihoon sitting alone at a table near the back. Jiwoo’s face brightens up instantly, and she waves at him, making her way across the small restaurant. Watching her, you can’t help but feel envious—not of her, necessarily, but of her happiness, of her self-assuredness and sense of belonging. You follow her and stand awkwardly at the table where Jiwoo has already seated herself across from Jihoon.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jihoon greets you with a smile. “I’m glad you found him. Though I can’t believe it’s Wonwoo, of all people—ow!” He stops abrupty and rubs at his knee, where presumably Jiwoo has kicked him. “Anyway, he went into the restroom. He should be out soon, though. Your table is over there,” Jihoon says, indicating the table behind them.

“Have fun, you two,” Jiwoo practically sings, as though she isn’t going to be sitting right behind you.

As you take your seat, you finally place the sense of dread in your stomach: you can’t smell anything, even though Wonwoo is in the restroom about twenty feet away from where you’re sitting.

Five minutes later, when Wonwoo emerges, he sits across from you. “Hi, I’m Wonwoo,” he says, introducing himself with his hand extended, but he shoots you a sad smile.

“I’m Y/N,” you respond, shaking his hand and returning his smile. You both know now that you had been mistaken, and you’re sure your cheeks are flaming.

Wonwoo, however, is polite enough not to point it out. He seems about as determined as you to ignore the awkwardness. Like Jiwoo said, you might as well use this opportunity to make a new friend, right? Right.

You browse the menu and try your best to make small talk. You learn that Wonwoo is actually quite nice. He’s around your age—two years older—and goes to the same university as you. He works at a bookstore not too far from campus, something he seems quite proud of. One hour later, you and Wonwoo share a banana split, and you are full and happier than you have been in a while.

You set your spoon down, shaking your head. “I’m done. I’m too full.”

Wonwoo shrugs and pulls the bowl toward himself. It will never cease to amaze you how much boys can eat. “So anyway,” he says around a mouthful of ice cream, something you would have found disgusting with anyone else, “since we have the same free hours between classes, we should hang out more.”

“Yeah,” you reply, unlocking your phone and handing it to him. “Here, let’s exchange numbers.”

He takes it and gives you his in response. After punching in your number and returning it to him, you watch as he does the same and scoops another spoonful of ice cream. “Do you normally eat this much?” you ask, amazed.

“No,” he responds, lips quirking up in a smile. “But since we’re eating out I might as well eat as much good food as I can, right?”

“I’m not sure that mentality is the healthiest,” you respond, laughing.

“Oh, it definitely isn’t. But when you don’t have time to eat properly most days…” He trails off, looking out the window for a while before happily continuing to eat.

Your heart goes out to the boy; he must have it as hard as you. Wonwoo finally sits back with a contented sigh as he finishes.

“Are you two done?” Jiwoo asks, amusement apparent in her voice. You jump slightly; you hadn’t even noticed her and Jihoon getting up to stand by your table.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can go on out first. I’m just going to go pay and I’ll be right there.”

Wonwoo stands up the moment you do, and his long legs carry him to the register too fast for you to follow. You reach the counter as he hands the cashier his card, and you can only stare at him, aghast. “Wait, did you already pay?”

“Yeah.”

“For both of us?” you ask, voice squeaking.

“Yeah,” he answers nonchalantly as he puts his card back into his wallet.

“Jeon Wonwoo!” You’re flattered and secretly, guiltily, relieved. But mostly you’re just shocked and indignant—you had just met for the first time today, and you weren’t even actually soulmates. And you and Wonwoo had spent a good deal of time complaining about working and studying, and how hard it was to save any money. Guilt crushes you, and it must have been apparent on your face, because Wonwoo gives you a gentle smile and puts his hands on your shoulders, leading you out of the restaurant.

“It wasn’t actually that much,” he says, letting go of you when you near the door. “Besides, if you’re really feeling guilty, you can pay the next time we go eat. And next time, we’re going to some famous five-star restaurant with five-hundred-dollar steak.”

You roll your eyes, but smile at him. “Anyway, thanks, Wonwoo.”

He returns the smile. “You’re welcome. Anyway, it looks like Jihoon is waiting, so I’m going to go. It was nice meeting you, Y/N. See you around!”

“Just text me when you’re free or something to hang out,” you say, waving and starting to leave.

“Wait,” Wonwoo says suddenly. You give him a questioning look as you turn back around. “I hope you find your soulmate soon.”

It’s almost like getting a bucket of cold water thrown in your face, and your smile turns wistful. “Thanks. I hope you do too.”

Wonwoo gives one last wave before heading to Jihoon’s silver car in the opposite end of the parking lot as Jiwoo’s. You watch him get into the car before turning around and going to Jiwoo’s car.

“So?” Jiwoo asks the moment you open the car door.

“Well, he’s not the one,” you answer as you shut the door, and Jiwoo looks incredulous. “But he’s a nice guy, and I’m hoping we can be friends anyway.”

“Huh,” Jiwoo says as she pulls out of the parking lot. “That’s so strange. You’re sure you smelled someone yesterday, right?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Don’t worry. At least we’re getting closer to finding him. He was near my house yesterday night, so you can just visit, like, every night until we find out who’s coming and going in my neighbors’ houses—”

You laugh. Jiwoo is taking this more seriously than you are, and it’s your soulmate. “Jiwoo, it’s fine. I’m not going to creep on your neighbors.”

“But we have to find him somehow.”

“I’m sure I’ll run into him sometime under normal circumstances.”

“We have to speed things up, though! Jihoon and I were going to throw a party tonight; you should come. There’s a good chance that he’ll be there.”

“Party?” you repeat. “It’s Sunday. You do realize most people have classes tomorrow, right?”

“We’re kicking everyone out at midnight.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, I’ll stop by tonight.”

“Great!” Jiwoo stops by the curb in front of your house. “The party starts at nine. See you then!”

“See you,” you mutter as you close the door and head into your apartment. You kick off your shoes and go straight into your room, flopping onto your bed. A look at the clock tells you that it’s currently six, so you have a few hours before Jiwoo’s party starts—but then again, you never arrive at parties on time, if at all.

You wonder, suddenly, if Wonwoo is planning to go. Jiwoo is your friend, and you’re sure there are several other of your friends that are going, but it’s nice to have someone who won’t be preoccupied with others. You grab your phone and type out a message, thumb hovering over the send button. This wouldn’t sound creepy, would it? Well, he knows that considering he’s not your soulmate, you wouldn’t be trying to make a move on him. You shrug, close your eyes, and hit send.

A minute later, your phone alerts you to a new message. It’s Wonwoo, who says that he’ll go, but he will most likely be a little late.

Relieved, you decide to get some homework done. Since you’re going to be heading out later, showering seems like a rather pointless option; you’re going to come back reeking anyway. Even if you don’t drink a drop of alcohol, the smell of the parties somehow always manages to cling to your clothes long after they’re over.

You manage to finish an essay before you rub your eyes and look at the clock: five minutes before nine. You head into the bathroom to wash your face before grabbing your bag and keys. By the time you find a parking spot and knock on Jiwoo’s door, you can already hear the bass pounding from outside the house. Jihoon answers and greets you with a smile so wide you can tell he’s already had a cup or two. “Hey, Y/N, come on in.”

You walk in and close the door behind you, waiting a few moments to adjust to the music blasting from the living room. The apartment is already packed, and you spot a few friends dancing in the crowd. You decide to head into the kitchen, hoping it will be less crowded there.

Apparently, Wonwoo had the same thought, because you find him sitting there alone, on his phone. “Hey, Wonwoo.”

He looks up and smiles when he sees you. “Oh, hi.”

“I thought you were going to be late,” you say, sitting on the counter next to him.

“I thought so too, but my boss let me out early, so here I am.”

“I’m actually not too fond of parties,” you admit.

He sighs. “Neither am I. I guess that’s why we’re both hiding out in here, huh?”

You laugh. “I guess so. Do you want anything to drink?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “No thanks. I have to drive myself home, and I’d rather not die on the way.”

“Me too,” you agree. “I meant water, juice, you know, other non-alcoholic things Jiwoo has in her fridge.”

“Water would be good.”

You find two bottles of water from the fridge and hand him one. “Thanks,” he says, taking it as you climb back onto the counter.

The two of you sit in companionable silence, both on your phones. That is, until the now-familiar smell hits you again, stronger than ever before—so strong that you’re sure, positive, that he’s here in this apartment right now, somewhere out there among the mass of people.

You slide off the counter, earning a curious look from Wonwoo. “Are you okay?” he asks, frowning slightly. “You’re kind of…pale.”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine, I’ll be right back—” You leave before he can respond, almost running into a couple making out against the wall right outside the kitchen. “Sorry,” you mutter, but they’re so engrossed in each other you’re sure they can’t hear you.

The sheer amount of people in the compact space is overwhelming, so you try to look around before you join the throng of bodies. No one seems to be as confused or searching like you are, though, so you have no choice but to try to find him in the crowd.

After what seems like an hour later, with too many gropes and nearly spilled drinks for your liking, you give up and decide to go back to the kitchen. Wonwoo is gone, though, and the kitchen is empty except for Jiwoo and Jihoon, who have their heads bent toward each other and are whispering together. Deciding to give them their privacy, you stand outside the kitchen, holding a cup that someone shoved in your hands that you have no intention of drinking from.

It’s frustrating, though, because you can still smell him—you know he’s here somewhere, but even after that adventure searching through most of the partiers, the smell didn’t get any stronger, no indication at all that you were getting closer to him. All it earned you were several suggestive eyebrow raises and guys too close for your comfort.

“Why are you just standing here?” a voice asks beside you, and you turn around. It’s Jiwoo.

“Since when do I do anything other than stand there at parties?” you fire back, but there’s no malice behind your statement, just tired resignation.

Jiwoo shrugs, sipping from her cup. “You could dance.”

You decide to ignore this. “I didn’t know you could even fit this many people into your apartment.”

“I didn’t either,” Jiwoo admits, “but people somehow all manage to squeeze in at parties. It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Either way, I’m not looking forward to cleaning up this mess,” Jiwoo says with a pout.

“Then why did you even decide to throw a party?” you ask, amused.

Jiwoo shrugs again and looks behind her. “Anyway, try to have some fun. I’m going to go find Jihoon.” She pats your shoulder and heads into the packed living room.

Seeing how you’re not going to drink from the cup anyway, it would probably be a better idea to pour it out before someone bumps into you and spills it on you instead. With a sigh, you turn around and enter the kitchen, pouring the contents of the cup into the sink.

“That’s quite a waste,” a voice says from the entrance to the kitchen, and you close your eyes. It��s him. “You know, if you weren’t going to drink it, you could have given it to me.” The voice had steadily come closer to you until you could almost feel him—as well as smell him—behind you.

“You should have come sooner, then,” you answer, turning around and opening your eyes, and you almost take a step back.

He’s tall—so tall that you have to crane your head upwards to look at his face. He has golden skin and mop of messy, side-swept black hair. His dark eyes bore into yours as your gaze travels to his crooked smile. “I’ve been looking for you,” he whispers, and you shiver.

“So have I,” you whisper back, and he pulls you in for a hug. Your first response is to want to pull away or push him off you, since after all, you had never even seen him before. But then you remember who he is, and the reality hits you as you let him be. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt tucked into black leather pants so tight you can only describe it as sinful, and he’s hugging you so tightly you’re pressed up completely against him. It feels good, and right, but somehow it strikes you that something is off and very strange about this entire situation. You breathe him in and hug him back, tightly, and that’s when you realize: even if the lemon-mint scent is infinitely stronger—more citrusy today, more tangy and sharp—it’s muted by the stench of booze and cigarettes.

Never in any of Jiwoo’s accounts, has Jihoon’s signature springy smell been muted by any other scent, even when he was drunk or sick. The smell that soulmates pick up on represent each other’s true personalities, their essence, who or what they were at the very core.

Which is why it makes no sense that in his presence—especially pressed this close to him—you can smell anything other than the sweet-tangy scent of lemon-mint you learned to associate him with.

“You—” You let go of him abruptly, stepping back away from him but the only thing that’s behind you is the sink, so it digs painfully into your back as you look up at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hurt in his eyes, voice low. His hands reach for your shoulders, but you brush them away impatiently.

“I think there’s a mistake,” you whisper, staring at the ground.

His hand reaches for your chin and he lifts your head so that you’re forced to look straight into his eyes. “What do you mean there’s a mistake?” He leans in, so close that his next words tickle your ear. “I smell you, and I know you smell me, too. You want to know what you smell like?”

“What?” you ask, despite yourself. At this point, your heart is pounding so fast, so hard, there’s no way he can’t feel it given how close he is to you.

“You smell like the ocean breeze,” he answers, wrapping his arms around you again, and rests his head against your shoulder.

“That’s it? That’s all you smell?” Because you still think he reeks of alcohol and cigarettes underneath the citrus.

“Is there something more I should be smelling?” he asks against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“I guess not,” you say. Because there isn’t. Yet there’s something wrong, obviously. He’s drunk, maybe high. You smell it. Maybe he won’t even remember finding you, saying all these things, come morning and he’s sober. And even though you know you should push him away, leave and try to figure out this mess, find out what’s going on, every inch of your body is screaming at you to stay put, to hug him. And because you have no inclination to move, to act as logic dictates, you stay wrapped in his arms.

“My name is Kim Mingyu,” he says after a while, voice slightly slurred, straightening up to his full height to look into your eyes. “And I’ve found you.”

[hanwooz]

Sillage

noun // a lingering scent a person leaves behind, the impression in space after something or someone has passed by

Genre: fluff? but its going to be a wild ride tbh Pairing: Mingyu x Reader Summary: A Soulmate!AU where soulmates identify each other through scent Words: 3,270

A/N: I’m sorry I’m not putting a read more (because the “Keep Reading” option never shows up on my phone and I can’t be the only one…). Also thank you @wonnhao for agreeing to be my beta  ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | epilogue

At any moment in the day, we humans are surrounded by a mirage of scents. Scents of food, of people, of the new-clothes smell in department stores, of the pizza place down the street and the lingering perfume of passersby. Oftentimes we get so many stimulants that we get overwhelmed and we eventually learn to tune some out, recognizing and responding only to those out of the ordinary.

According to Jiwoo, though, science all goes to hell when you find The One. “You can tell he’s around when he’s within a mile radius,” she gushes, repeating the story for the millionth time, almost spilling her cup of coffee. “The smell just hits you, and oh, my God, Jihoon smells like a sunny spring afternoon spent in the park—”

“Alright, I get it, I get it,” you say, smiling placatingly to stop her before she goes on her god-knows-how-many rant about how Jihoon smells. You, for one, don’t think he smells like much besides the sweet cologne he likes to wear. In fact, like most normal people, you don’t think anyone smells like anything unless it’s B.O. or overpowering perfume.

Sometimes you wonder if you will ever find The One, as you stare at your friends and their soulmates, or whether you’re one of the rare cases that just don’t have a soulmate. Or maybe you were just too intent on other things in your life—finding a balance between work and studying is so hard that maybe you missed sensing The One when he passed. Or what if he was on the other side of the world? Is it even possible to find him then?

Jiwoo leans forward, setting her cup down. “I’m telling you, Y/N, you just need to get out more. Stop denying me shopping trips and just walk around! You’ll find him someday.”

You sigh, not in the mood for a pity party. “I’m busy, Jiwoo, you know that.” Unlike you, I can’t afford to take days off of work all the time, nor do I have any inclination to. Jiwoo is off work practically every other day, and the fact that she hasn’t been fired yet amazes you. Then again, that’s probably because you agree to fill in for her—secretly, of course, because she runs out of sick days too quickly, and the manager is never actually there anyway.

“Then make time, Y/N. You won’t get anywhere if you don’t try,” Jiwoo replies, rolling her eyes. At that moment, her phone rings, and you see the name Jihoon appear before she holds the phone, shooting you an apologetic glance.

“Go ahead, take it,” you say resignedly.

She picks up and turns to the side, murmuring into the phone. You can tell she’s trying to keep it short and quiet, since this was supposed to be a you-and-her night for old time’s sake, but it’s impossible to miss the gleam in her eye or the way her hands fidget as she struggles to keep her hands from moving animatedly the way she normally does when she talks.

Jiwoo finally turns around again to face you as she ends the call. “Sorry, he said he couldn’t find the bag of cocoa for hot chocolate. But honestly, I put it in the cupboard, he knows—anyway. Sorry.” She glances down at her thin white wristwatch. “Let’s go shopping.”

You groan. “Jiwoo, you know I can’t afford—”

“Then we can go window-shopping,” she says, exasperated. “Whether you like it or not, Y/N, I’m dragging you around today. We are not going to stay in your house the entire night. You do that enough.”

There is no denying this girl. “Alright. Fine. Let’s go.”

Jiwoo drives the two of you to the nearby mall, chattering on about some new thing Jihoon has done that she’s currently obsessed about as you stare out the window. She made a good point; you’re often so busy that you can’t make time for yourself, so it’s nice to finally relax and appreciate the setting sun. The months have been passing by so quickly that you hadn’t noticed the days getting longer, but now it’s past seven and the sun is still out.

As the two of you walk in, you spot a clothing store displaying dresses and skirts that catch your eye. Despite yourself, you tug on Jiwoo’s hand, leading her into the store as she points out certain outfits. “Y/N, look at this dress,” she exclaims, pulling a blush-pink dress off the rack. “You would look gorgeous in this!” Jiwoo waves it in your face, at the same time ushering you into the fitting room.

“I don’t know,” you say as she thrusts it into your hands. “I normally don’t wear dresses like these—”

“Just try it on,” Jiwoo huffs, and you respond by closing the door and doing as she says.

You have to admit, the dress hugs your body nicely—making it look like you have curves, for one thing—even though you feel much too exposed and fancy than any occasion would require. You open the door to tell Jiwoo as much, but your words die in your mouth as she gapes with her mouth falling open, and runs in to hug you excitedly. “Yes, yes, yes, you look absolutely stunning and I am buying you that dress no matter what you say.”

“Jiwoo, no. I have no reason to wear this dress, ever—”

“Shut it. Who needs a reason to look good?”

“But it’s so fancy and when would I ever need to—”

“Well, you’re going to have to go to some kind of formal event sometime, right? You can wear it then.”

You close the door again to change out of the dress. As you hold it up in front of you, admiring the silky fabric between your fingers, you have to admit that it really is a beautiful dress. “Okay, I’ll buy it,” you say as you leave the changing room, but Jiwoo is nowhere to be seen. “Jiwoo?”

“Yeah, I’m here!” she calls as she comes over, shopping bag in hand. “Here. It’s the same dress,” she explains at the confused glance you give her, and takes the one in your hand to put back on the rack. “I really just wanted to do something for you, since it’s been forever since we’ve last hung out. And I’ve been so preoccupied lately that I’ve been a horrible friend.” She takes your hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Jiwoo, it’s not a problem. I know Jihoon is important to you. I’m not angry or upset. And you didn’t have to buy this for me,” you reply as you and Jiwoo leave the store, raising the bag. You’re inexplicably torn between frustration and gratitude. You’re tired of your friends treating you like a piece of glass, delicate and easily broken. You’re tired of seeing them tiptoeing around topics that they think would be insensitive to discuss around you—namely, their partners and their love lives. You know they stop their cheerful gossiping and teasing when you walk in the room, and now is as good a time as any to start fixing that. You lead her to the food court and sit down at an empty table, placing the bag in the seat next to you.

You let out a breath, not quite sure how to voice the warring emotions inside of you. “Jiwoo…the thing is, I don’t need anyone to pity me,” you say quietly.

“I don’t—” she begins.

“Just let me finish. I know that you, and Hana, and Nara, all look at me and maybe you don’t say it, but I know you pity me for not having found my soulmate yet. Not only that, I’m always either working or studying and I never have time for anything, because I don’t have the luxury of being financially stable enough that I can take time off and just hang out. And it’s true, it’s wearing me out, but I will ask for help when I feel I need it. I love you guys, and I appreciate your concern, but I’m really okay. Not everyone finds love, and not everyone finds it quickly.”

Jiwoo takes your hand from across the table. “I know. I know you’re strong, and you don’t need pity. I don’t pity you. I just want you to be happy, Y/N. And that’s not going to happen if you keep pushing yourself and pushing yourself like the way you’ve been doing.”

You put your head in your hands, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I just—I don’t know anymore. I can’t just stop working, can’t just stop pulling all-nighters to study for tests when I’m paying for these classes anyway.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out. And I’m always here, if you ever need me.”

You look at her and smile. “I know. Thanks.”

“Alright, enough sad talk. I say we each get a cup of ice cream and continue on. There are so many places left we’ve yet to explore. We haven’t gone here in what, a year?”

You agree and head over to the ice cream shop in the corner of the food court, where you get vanilla with gummy bears and sprinkles and Jiwoo gets strawberry and yogurt chips. Jiwoo leads you into a cosmetics shop, then an accessories shop, and by the time the two of you decide to call it a day and leave the mall you’re both carrying heaping bags of clothes, makeup, facemasks, and accessories.

On the way out the doors you drop a small bag containing some necklaces you had just bought, but Jiwoo is oblivious as she continues making her way to the parking lot. You sigh, hoping to god that the necklaces haven’t broken or cracked somehow—they’re glass—and bend down to pick up the bag. “Why on earth did I let her convince me to get all this when I need to save to buy textbooks for next semester?” you mutter under your breath.

As you stand up and hurry to catch up to Jiwoo, a breeze blows your hair in your face, carrying along with it a faint scent of lemon-mint; sweet, spicy, and crisp.

-

“Come on, slowpoke, it’s late and I want to get home and shower,” Jiwoo jokes as you reach her car. She’s stuffing all her shopping bags in the trunk and you join her.

“You’re the one who suggested we go to the mall in the first place,” you fire back good-naturedly, done with your bags and getting into the passenger seat. “We could be home, warm and comfortably watching a movie.”

Jiwoo rolls her eyes as she shuts the trunk and slides into the driver’s seat, yanking on the seatbelt. “Please. As if you didn’t enjoy that just as much as I did.”

“I can’t believe we got those shoes. Seventy percent off! And they were so cute, too.”

“Exactly!” Jiwoo hums contentedly as she reverses and drives out of the parking lot. “Did you want to stay over at my apartment, or do you want me to drop you off at home?”

“Please. I love you, and you know I love our sleepovers, but I’m not in the mood to third-wheel you and Jihoon.”

Jiwoo laughs. “Not likely. I think he just stopped by to pick up something he needed and left.”

You look over at her and raise an eyebrow. “And decided to make himself some hot chocolate before he headed out?”

Even with the dim lighting you see Jiwoo blush as she shoots you a sheepish smile.  “He does that sometimes. Anyway, I need to turn now if you want to go home, so what’s your answer?”

“I’ll sleep over at yours.”

“Wonderful!” Jiwoo continues humming as she turns on the radio, and you find yourself singing along horribly to the pop songs playing. Jiwoo joins you, and by the time you reach her house you’re laughing so hard that you can almost pretend it’s just like the old days, before she ever met Jihoon, before any of your friends had found their soulmates, and you were just a group of fun-loving high schoolers hanging out and enjoying life the way only the young and carefree can.

Jiwoo unlocks the door and kicks off her shoes, heading straight to her room. “Can you lock the door?” she calls out behind her. “Thanks!”

You do as she asks and follows her into her room. “Just put your bags in that corner over there,” Jiwoo says, pointing with her chin at a relatively spacey corner in her cluttered room, clothes strewn everywhere. “Sorry, I should have cleaned a bit earlier,” she mutters as she picks up clothes by the armful from the floor, gathering them all into a neat pile by the door.

You laugh as you flop onto her bed. “It’s fine, not like that’s anything new.”

“That’s true,” she admits, giving the pile one last kick and turning to her closet. She picks through her clothes, flinging a worn gray t-shirt and pink sweats at you. “Here, you can change into those after you shower.” She finds a change of clothes for herself as well and heads to the bathroom, shutting the door. “Oh yeah, if you need underwear, they’re in the second drawer!” she shouts.

“Got it!” you yell back, still lying on her bed. You start a game on your phone, waiting for Jiwoo to finish showering. Twenty minutes later, she emerges, smelling freshly like strawberry shampoo.

You grab the outfit she’d lent to you and head into the bathroom. “You can use the extra towel—it’s the plain white one!” she calls after you.

You roll your eyes as you look at the towels hanging on the back of the door: a pink towel with white polka dots, a black-and-white striped one, and a new-looking plain white one. It’s not like Jiwoo needed to tell you which is hers; you don’t think Jihoon is the type to use the sad plain towel when there’s the perfectly good striped one. But then again, who knows, right?

It’s amazing what a nice hot shower can do, you muse as you dry your hair, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You look happier, you realize, and less stressed. Taking some time for yourself is probably something you should do more often.

When you’re done, you head back into Jiwoo’s room to discard your dirty clothes into one of your many bags. You head into the kitchen afterward to find something to drink, where you see Jiwoo and Jihoon talking in hushed tones. Jiwoo has her back to you, but Jihoon spots you, giving you a smile and a wave. “Oh, hi, Y/N. Jiwoo mentioned you’re staying over.”

“Hey, Jihoon,” you reply, giving him a smile back as you walk over to the fridge. “Did you miss Jiwoo too much or something? I thought she said you had to grab something and leave.”

“I did,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “But I realized I forgot my flash drive here so I had to come back and get it.”

“Next thing you know—” You begin, but then the smell hits you again, stronger this time: definitely a lemon scent, but also sharper than a lemon scent would smell, and sweeter. Jiwoo and Jihoon are still staring at you, though, so open the fridge as you continue on. “Next thing you know, he’ll be coming back for his headphones, and then his hat, and then his socks, and then at one kernel of popcorn he dropped on the ground yesterday,” you say wryly as you take the carton of orange juice and close the door.

Jihoon laughs and grabs his keys from the counter. “I promise I won’t intrude on you girls anymore. Anyway, Wonwoo’s waiting outside in the car; I said I’d drive him home, and then I have to head to the studio to work on some things. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Jiwoo says as he pulls her in for a quick peck on the forehead and leaves, probably out of consideration for you.

“You want some orange juice?” you ask Jiwoo as you grab a cup.

“No, I’m good, thanks.” She takes a seat by the counter, scrolling on her phone.

“Can I ask you something?” you blurt.

Jiwoo looks up from her phone curiously. “What?”

“Does Jihoon still smell like spring or whatever to you?”

“Yeah,” she answers, looking at you strangely. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I was just curious.” But a million thoughts float through your mind then. Jihoon still didn’t smell like anything to you when you walked past him, and yet there definitely was a lemony scent. It isn’t Jiwoo, or yourself either, because she uses strawberry-scented shampoo and vanilla body wash. Which means there is only one explanation…

Jiwoo seems to have reached the same conclusion, because her face suddenly brightens up. “You smell him, don’t you?” she whispers excitedly. “You smell something.”

“Smelled. It’s gone now,” you whisper back, as if the two of you are conspirators, speaking of some forbidden thing.

Jiwoo gasps. “Is it Wonwoo? Jihoon said he was in the car—”

“I don’t know, you said it’s a mile radius so it could be anyone on this street—”

“But what are the chances you smelled him just when Jihoon arrived? It’s got to be Wonwoo, I’ll tell Jihoon to set something up—”

“Oh, my God—”

Jiwoo jumps off the seat and runs over to hug you so suddenly you almost fall over. “I’m so happy for you, Y/N! You finally found him, oh my goodness—”

“But what if it’s not him?” you ask. A mile radius includes a lot of people. For all you know, it could be someone visiting a neighbor.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll mention it to Jihoon tomorrow when he comes over.” Jiwoo grabs your empty cup and drops it into the sink with one hand, turning you around with the other. She leads you out of the kitchen and into her room. “It’s past midnight now. We should sleep and get you ready for your date tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” you squeak.

“Yeah, Jihoon hangs out with him a lot. He’s a nice guy—I’m glad he’s your soulmate,” Jiwoo says, beaming, and turns off the light.

You settle on one side of the queen-sized bed, and Jiwoo flops onto the other with a very unladylike oof. “This is nice,” she comments. “It’s just like before.”

“Yeah,” you agree, and the two of you lapse into a silence so long you’re sure she’s fallen asleep. But you break it anyway. “Can you tell me about Wonwoo?”

“Ah,” Jiwoo says sleepily, but complies anyway. “His name’s Jeon Wonwoo. Hmm, let’s see…he’s pretty tall, nice eyes, a really deep voice. He’s generally pretty quiet, but if you get close enough you’ll find he cracks really stupid jokes and he’s just an awkward guy, I think, but it’s cute. I’m sure you’ll get along great.”

“You think so?” You hate to sound so desperate, especially after giving her your speech about not needing pity and ‘not everyone finds love.’ But now that you’re finally close, there’s a strange sensation in your chest and it’s freeing, because it means that you’re not destined to be alone forever after all.

“Definitely.”

Five minutes later, you find yourself drifting off to sleep with thoughts of a tall, dark-haired boy with golden skin and a smile like the sun.

[hanwooz]

carnival, hoodie, shadow - vernon

anonymous: “Vernon; summer nights”

i’m just gonna do them both bc they kind of go together and tbh i have no idea what i would do with “summer nights” bc there are so many possibilities like is it romantic fluff is it angst is it steamy is it cute is itp.s. - this is kind of a The Night Circus au (i highly recommend it–it’s beautifully written and the story itself is also intricate and fascinating)

01. carnival

The Night Circus works in mysterious ways; they come and go without warning. Hansol has never seen them, though, only heard of them through stories, such fantastical and magical stories that he figures must be purely the result of some overworked imagination.

So when Y/N comes positively bounding up to him with a piece of paper in her hand, he’s confused and skeptical. “It looks fake to me,” he claims, examining the flyer claiming that the Night Circus would be coming that night.

“Yeah, but haven’t you heard? They just come and go unexpectedly, like this,” she replies, her eyes bright.

He relents. “Fine. We’ll go check it out tonight.”

She claps and hugs him. “It’s going to be great!”

And great it is, Hansol discovers, big grandiose tents in the middle of the giant field the kids usually played in during the day. He couldn’t have said how they got there; one moment they weren’t, and then they were, music and tents and lights flashing alluringly.

The summer air has cooled down considerably, and he sees Y/N shivering slightly in her light clothing: a thin cotton tee and black shorts, with black sneakers. He snakes an arm around her waist, hoping to warm her up some.

Together they walk from tent to tent, each filled with impossibly beautiful, intricate details: a landscape of ice, one filled with bright, bubbling, lava, one tent that seemed to rain sparkles endlessly.

“Let’s go look for some food,” she whispers in his ear, and he laughs; that’s what he loves so much about her. She doesn’t try to pretend to be prim, neat, the “ideal” girl–she’s real, shes tangible, approachable, not some unrealistic image society projects.

They head outside, where crowds of people are gathered around various tents. She fights her way through the crowd, but then again she’s always been determined, and nothing is going to come in the way between her and food.

02. hoodie

They find an empty area to eat their fried fish cake sticks. Hansol reckons it must be near midnight, and the wind is picking up. He doesn’t fail to notice Y/N’s shivers despite the heat from their steaming food, and he holds his fish cake skewer out to her. “Hold this for me,” he says.

She takes it, eyes questioning him as she munches her food. Hansol shrugs off his maroon hoodie, grateful that he had had the foresight to prepare for the chilly night air. “Here.” He offers her the hoodie and takes back his skewer.

She accepts it with a smile and hands him her half-finished skewer to put the sweater on. It’s slightly big on her, but somehow it just makes her look cuter, and he ruffles her hair as she takes back her fish cake.

They eat in silence, as they often do, because they both appreciate food to its fullest. Afterwards, they set the empty wooden sticks aside and sit side-by-side in a pleasant food coma, basking under the unusually bright stars, the sound of chatter and laughter behind them in the distance. Hansol pulls her into him. “I’m glad we came,” he says.

“So am I,” she agrees, the wind blowing her hair against him, tickling his throat.

“Is there anything else you wanted to see here?”

She sighs. “Not really. I kind of just like the atmosphere, though, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“But it’s getting late. And it’s cold, and I took your sweater.” She looks at him then, staring pointedly at his plain white short-sleeved tee.

“I’m fine,” he protests, standing up and turning around to help her.

“Maybe, but I don’t want you to get sick. Let’s go home.”

“Home it is, then,” he says, smiling down at her.

03. shadow

Walking her home, the streetlights play strange tricks on their shadows, almost as if the shadows were alive. They would follow them, detach, follow them again, but twist and turn into strange shapes.

“You think there was something in that fish cake?” Y/N muses.

“Maybe. I doubt it. I think it’s more like the circus itself, you know?” He turns to look at her.

“How do you mean?”

“Like, the circus had…an aura. You felt it too, right?” She nods. “I feel like us being there somehow affected us.”

She giggles. “So like in those fantasy novels, where magic affects people.”

“Something like that. Except unless both of us are drunk or high, it’s real. Our shadows are acting up.” At that precise moment, Hansol’s shadow curls upward, making the shape of a wing, while Y/N’s curls outward into what looks suspiciously like a tail.

“I guess you’re right.” Then she sighs, because they’ve reached her home. At the front door, she turns to hug him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Hansol replies, heading home.

What they both do not realize until much, much later, is that there is a reason shadows play such an important role in the stories. They reflect one’s true self, regardless of the physical appearance, and by going to the Night Circus that night, both Y/N and Hansol had been altered, just a bit, beyond perception, but significant enough that within the coming months, what was reflected in their shadows began to take shape, and thus, Hansol will realize with a pang, sometimes, there are things that were never meant to be.

[hanwooz]

Across the Sky in Stars

Words: 3,507 Characters: you, Woozi Genre: fluff

“I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands and wrote my will across the sky in stars.” –T.E. Lawrence

Magic isn’t real. Magic is something you believe in when you’re five, and you’re too innocent and naive and believe too much in the goodness and spontaneity of the world to realize that everything happens for a reason. There’s an explanation for everything, even if you don’t always see it, and people never, ever do things just for the hell of it even though they claim to, because there’s always something, someone, occupying their thoughts as they make their decision.

The first time you meet Lee Jihoon, he’s nothing spectacular. Ordinary, actually, shuffling awkwardly with his burgundy turtleneck collar pulled all the way up and hands hidden by jacket sleeves so that you can only see the tips of his fingers, curled around the hem. “One caramel macchiato, please,” he orders as he looks at you in the eye for half a second before turning his gaze to the counter.

You punch in his order without much thought, only that he must have been freezing to be so bundled up. You look outside and realize that it is, indeed, snowing, and you note that the tips of his ears are a bright red. Despite how busy you’ve been since morning, and how numb and detached you’ve become, punching in orders and making the drinks, you feel a shred of pity for him. When you hand him his drink, he meets your eyes again with a tiny smile and a nod of thanks.

As he leaves, you realize that his eyes are black, with specks of silver that glitter and shimmer like stars in the night sky.

The second time you meet him is a month later. The cafe is empty and again he orders a caramel macchiato. You’re almost not sure it’s him; after all, you’ve met hundreds of people who stop by to get a cup of coffee or latte to warm themselves up in the cold weather. But then he looks you in the eye again, and it’s him, you’re sure, because no one else you’ve ever seen has those eyes. There seems to be even more silver in them today, and you can swear they’re moving as you stare into them, mesmerized, until you realize that he’s talking to you. “…so, um, do you want to sit with me?”

“Yeah,” you say, blinking out of your reverie. “Yeah, let me just clean up here first.”

He chooses a table in the back, near the employee entrance to the storage and sits down, sipping occasionally at his drink and scrolling through his phone whenever you sneak a glance at him, though you swear you feel his eyes on you. Those twinkling eyes, beautiful and mysterious and ever-changing as though they hold the secrets to the universe–

But since when did you sound like a deluded, love-blind fool? You sigh slightly and finally plop the towel back in its place, heading out from behind the counter and taking off your apron in one smooth move. You drape it across the back of the chair as you sit down across from him and now, yes, his eyes are on you and you realize that his eyes aren’t the only thing beautiful about him.

“Tired?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you as you prop your right elbow onto the table and let your head rest on your hand.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I’ve been here four hours already, and I have a bunch of homework to do once I get home.”

“Same.” He sets his cup down and rubs at his eyes, and for the first time you notice the bags under his eyes, the way he droops slightly into himself, not quite hunched but shoulders worn down with exhaustion. “What time does your shift end?”

You check your watch: seven-thirty. “It actually already ended,” you answer, smiling wryly.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound the least bit sorry as he props his elbow on the table and mirrors your pose down to the angle of his head. “I didn’t mean to keep you here past work hours.”

“It’s fine. Can I ask why, though?”

He blinks. “Why?” he repeats.

“Why did you want to talk to me?”

At that, his eyes drop down to the table top and he traces unknown patterns on it. You stare at his long, slender fingers as they trail across the wood surface in swirls and rings, looping and elegant and you wonder how his fingers would feel tracing patterns along your hand, your arm, your back. You’re almost too distracted when he answers, “I guess I just needed company tonight, the company of someone I don’t know, and seeing how no one else is here I hoped it wouldn’t be too bothersome for you.”

His words sound like something a guy might say at a club, half-drunk and delirious with rage and lust, and your first reaction is to want to cringe. But he’s not drunk; he’s sober, and the two of you are at a quiet cafe, a perfectly safe and comfortable space to be. And given his tired face, the bags under his eyes, and as you now notice, his disheveled hair, he seems sincere enough. Plus, all he wants is for you to sit with him, so what’s the harm?

He tells you about his worries, about school and work and how his parents were pressuring him to graduate early and find a job to help out financially. He also talks about his insecurities, about doubting his passions and skills, about not knowing whether he is good enough, or whether he would even be able to wander his way through life because he feels utterly lost. You listen to him, nodding, not really saying anything because he’s pouring his heart out to you, and you feel your own heart open up to him, understand and sympathize and somehow learn to care for this stranger who decided to come to you with his life problems.

After about five minutes of silence, him staring down at his empty cup and you staring out the window of the cafe you were supposed to have cleaned up and closed an hour ago, he breaks the silence. “Sorry for all that. I guess I just needed to get it all off my chest, and my friends are nice and I trust them, but I wouldn’t really want to burden them with all this.”

“It’s totally fine. I get it. I’m sure you’ll figure everything out. And in the meantime, you’re welcome back anytime.” You pause. “Well,” you amend, “anytime I’m working.”

He smiles at you, a perfectly open, grateful smile, complete with a set of dimples that you have the insane urge to reach out and poke.

You don’t.

“I should get going,” he says, standing up. “It’s late, and I’ve kept you much longer than I should’ve. I’m so sorry about that. And you said you were busy, too.”

“Don’t worry about it! Have a good night!”

He walks toward the door, awkwardly, still facing you, before he stops and walks right back. “I’m Lee Jihoon,” he introduces himself, sticking out his hand.

“Y/N,” you answer, shaking his hand.

Apparently satisfied, he gives you another smile before he leaves, calling out behind him with a wave, “Thanks again! And I’m sorry! I’ll come at a more reasonable time next time!”

Later he would admit that the reason he gave for coming to you was only partly true; he knew your name, who you were, because he’d come in several times, but with his friends, and he never ordered. He would admit that for some reason your face stayed on his mind, and every time he saw you smile and laugh at your coworker his heart twinged a little, wishing that he were the one who had made you smile. As it were, it had taken months of teasing from his friends and mustering up courage for him to finally walk into the cafe alone, without his friends, and order a drink, and even then he couldn’t even look at you, couldn’t even stay in the cafe to enjoy his drink as he rushed outside where the cold air calmed his nerves and cleared his head, after which the euphoria set in, because he had finally come within five feet of you.

And when he had felt like the world around him was about to combust, was about to press down on him from all sides, and he was suffocating, drowning, lost, looking for a breath of fresh air, he’d thought of you, because he didn’t feel like talking to anyone he knew intimately. He was tired of their half-hearted encouragements, tired of their lies and the smiles they put on their faces for his sake, telling him it was okay, everything would turn out to be fine, because it wasn’t okay, and he had no idea what he was doing, what he wanted, even. Maybe it was stupid of him, a result of too many daydreams and his romanticist nature, maybe it was naivety on his part, but he wanted to believe that somehow being near you would help. And if there was any opinion he would trust, it was yours, because you didn’t know him, and you would be sure to give him the truth as you saw it, no sugar-coating, just pure objective advice.

Jihoon hadn’t really expected much when he’d gone to the cafe by himself a second time, but he’d been pleasantly surprised to see it was empty and you were there, hair bouncing in its ponytail as you hustled about trying to clean up. He’d almost turned right around and gone back home, but he didn’t, mainly because he would rather be uncomfortable here in this empty cafe in your quiet, serene presence than uncomfortable at home, where his parents would stare and whisper to each other when they thought he wasn’t looking and couldn’t hear. To his complete surprise, you’d agreed to listen to him, and for the first time in weeks he felt himself relax as he looked into your eyes full of concern, as he studied the way your eyebrows furrowed as you listened to him, the way you nodded and just let him talk instead of interrupting to say some unnecessary variation of “I’m so sorry,” or “it’ll be fine!” You didn’t try to give him any useless advice, either, which he was thankful for; more than anything, he’d really just needed someone who would listen to him. And you’d invited him back, too. He walked out of the cafe feeling lighter than he could ever remember feeling before, although he was guilty when he recalled the droop of your shoulders, the way you seemed to be struggling to stay awake and focus on him.

Jihoon did make good on his promise, though. After that, he shows up an hour before the cafe usually closed, and you always find a coworker to take your place as you make yourself a cup of vanilla latte and him his usual caramel macchiato, which you set before him as you sit down across from him at what is now known to the entire cafe as “your table.” 

One day he asks if you wouldn’t like to go on a walk with him. “It’s getting warmer,” he says self-consciously, ears red, staring down at the table as if he were trying to bore holes into the thick wooden surface. “Besides, it’s a nice city that we live in, and you sound like you’re so holed up between work and school that you barely get a chance to ever just go out and about.”

“Sure,” you answer, and he looks at you like he had been expecting you to say no and walk away. So you smile at him, and talk to your coworker to beg her to cover for you, since it was only half an hour before closing time, anyway.

She agrees, eyebrows raised and giving you a meaningful look that travels over to Jihoon sitting alone at the table. You choose to ignore it, and you grab your coat and bag, walking over to Jihoon. “Let’s go.”

He stands up, and without the separation of the counter you realize that he’s actually a bit taller than you, and you realize that you’re standing so close to him that you can smell the faint scent of lemon and vanilla on him, along with the faint scent of the outdoors. Jihoon walks slowly, leisurely, on the streets, occasionally pointing out places that had some special meaning to him. You listen as he updates you on what has been going on in his life, and inquires after your own. He leads you to the river, where you sit side-by-side on the soft grass, watching the occasional biker ride past. This late, this dark, the only people here are couples, a fact that does not escape your attention as you struggle not to dwell too much on it. Instead you study his profile as he stares up at the stars. And no matter how many times you see him, you always find yourself lost in his eyes and his smile, marvel at the way the wind brushes against his hair, until he turns to face you and asks, “Why are you staring at me? Trying to peer into my soul?”

At that, you blush and with great effort, look away. “No, I…”

“I’m kidding,” Jihoon says, laughing.

“Your eyes,” you blurt. “They look like the night sky.”

He blinks. “You…”

“They have tiny little silver flecks in them, did you know that?” You can’t seem to stop yourself. “And they move the more I look at them, and it’s like I’m looking at the sky, the vast expanse of a billion stars, new and old, bright and dim, all sizes and it reminds me of how small I really am and I just think it’s beautiful, okay? I–”

Suddenly Jihoon’s face is an inch away from yours, and now you have a full, unobstructed view of his eyes. You take the chance to study them, all shyness gone. The stars in them swirling around so fast you almost get dizzy trying to follow them. So you don’t. Instead you search his face. “Jihoon…”

“I didn’t realize you noticed,” he breathed, warm air tickling your face. You fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into him. “You’re the first.”

“First?” you repeat. For some reason you can’t bring your voice above a whisper, and your gaze travels down to his lips. Your fingers itch to reach out and trace them–or better yet, feel the softness of them with your own.

“First to actually see,” he says, as if that explains anything, and then you don’t have to wonder what his lips feel like anymore, because they’ve found their way onto yours, and they’re just as soft as you imagined, soft and gentle and slow. Unhurried, as if you two have all the time in the world, which is surely what it feels like, because you can’t seem to focus on anything besides him, and the smell of him, and the feel of him.

Jihoon pulls away first, and his eyes have faded to a midnight blue, so rich and dark that you can almost mistake it for its normal black, but they hold promises and a million unsaid words behind them so you can only stare, speechless. “See what?” you finally ask when you get your voice back.

“See me,” he answers with a crooked grin, and he looks back at the sky. “Who I really am. No one can really see me, all of me, underneath all the glamours. Not unless they understand who I am, and look at me without any idea of what they want to see, without any expectations except seeing just…me.”

You’re utterly lost, not sure if he’s secretly drunk or rambling some deep thoughts beyond your comprehension. “Sorry…what?”

Jihoon just sighs and closes his eyes, as if he’s thought about having this conversation for a long time. “I mean…I was born different.”

“O…kay?” You’re sure you sound completely rude, and you hate it, but your mind is still spinning from the kiss, and you’re having trouble taking in what he’s saying when he’s so close and you can still smell him, and if you just stretched your fingers out they could reach him–

“Maybe it would be easier if I just showed you,” he sighs again, standing up. He offers a hand and you take it, standing up beside him. You’re frozen as he wraps his arms around you, trapping you against him and you turn your face so it rests against his shoulder. His heart is beating wildly, as you’re pleased to find out. “Although I imagined this would happen when we knew each other better. I’ve never done this with anyone else,” he mumbles, and you feel his breath tickling your hair.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer, though. “Close your eyes,” is all he whispers back, and you do. His arms tighten against you, and you hear him take a breath before he he says in a low voice, “Okay. You can open your eyes now.”

You don’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. You’re literally standing among the stars, and you think that somehow Jihoon has just made you two float in the sky, and he’s somehow carrying the weight of both of you before you look down and realize that you’re standing on a translucent cloud, barely big enough for both of you.

You finally look back up at him, and up here, you realize, he looks right at home, as if he is some kind of star-child who walks the earth during the day and spends his nights up here, a thousand miles up in the sky, where the wind blows both freely and gently, where the moon that seems so far from down below is almost like a nightlight now, giving off a cool warmth. “Jihoon,” you breathe, and you want to praise him, marvel at him, hug him, kiss him and never let go of him but you can’t do any of that, not now when he’s looking at you with his beautiful eyes, a mirror of the sky all around you, and it seems like he’s on the verge of panic.

“Look, I’m sorry, I can take you back if you want, I should have asked, should have warned you–” He’s rambling, looking everywhere but you but there’s a limitation because his arms are still wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him and you can feel his panic, palpable in his tension, his quickening heartbeat, in the way his hands are shaking slightly.

“Jihoon,” you say again, and he stops and stares at you. “Stop. I love it here.”

A tentative smile breaks out across his face, and he looks so young and hopeful that you feel your heart constrict. “You do?”

“Yeah, but,” you say, and you grin as his face sinks at the sound of the word ‘but,’ “I’ve always wanted to try something.”

“What?”

Instead of answering, you show him. You stand on the tips of your toes and place your lips firmly against his, arms reaching up to circle his neck; you had always wanted to feel his hair, and it’s just as silky and soft as you had imagined. You pull away first this time. “I’ve always wanted to kiss someone among the stars,” you tell him.

His eyes are bright, extremely bright, and his smile is perhaps the most beautiful thing you’ve seen. He could outshine these stars any day. “Look around,” he whispers, loosening his hold on you so you can turn around.

The stars have rearranged themselves into roses, flowers, and hearts, scattered all around you, as if you were the center of the universe. “I can’t believe you make such a mess of me,” Jihoon says from behind you, chin resting atop your head. “Our first official date, and I’m already bringing you roses.”

Your cheeks flame at the word “date,” but you reply, “What can I say? I turn men into romanticists, no matter how macho they are.”

“You think I’m macho? Manly, huh?”

“I’m just saying I have the potential to turn even the manliest of men into mush.”

“Is that a challenge?” he demands, turning you back around.

“Not unless you want it to be,” you reply, and he laughs.

So perhaps magic is, somehow, inexplicably real. And perhaps Lee Jihoon is magic, or spun of dreamstuff, or stardust, or perhaps he just is.

The one thousand, one hundred twenty-second time you meet Lee Jihoon, he takes you to the stars after a light dinner. “Open your eyes,” he whispers in your ear, but when you do, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Instead, written in stars across the sky are the unmistakable words of, “Will you marry me?”

[hanwooz]

Vernon; peace, closure, protector

Words: 2,279Summary: For Shadowhunters, there is no peace; no such thing as calm or rest or normalcy. When you’re at war with demons for your entire life, you can’t afford to have such things.

yes, this is a Mortal Instruments/Infernal Devices/Dark Artifices au, because I just finished Lady of Midnight and currently rereading the Mortal Instruments series and this is the first thing that popped into my head when I read this prompt

oh yeah if you havent finished reading the series and plan to do so, this does contain spoilers so…keep that in mind

01. peace

For Shadowhunters, there is no peace; no such thing as calm or rest or normalcy. “Normal” is overrated, anyway. Hansol isn’t even sure what “normal” is, not when his whole life he’s been born and raised knowing of the Angel blood running through his veins, the demons that lurk between worlds, threatening to suck the life right out of his.

Ever since he was twelve, he’d known he was special. Different. And not just different in the way the all Nephilim were different, having Angel blood.

Different as in the way Jace Herondale and Clary Morgenstern were different.

His father–or mother, who knows, he was an orphan, after all, though he can’t fathom why any mother would willingly drink blood–had learned of what Valentine had done, his experiments, with his two children and Jace. Had heard of their special abilities. And so he’d proceeded to do the same with Hansol–though this is purely speculation, of course, being an orphan who never knew his parents, but he can’t imagine any other reason why except for this.

Hansol, in addition to having physical abilities no human should be able to have, could see. He can see between worlds, glimpse the demons beyond, and up until he was five he would cry and try to warn his foster parents of them. They never believed him, laughing at patting his head, assuring him that his “imaginary monsters” weren’t there. They labeled him as special, different, with an overactive imagination, maybe even schizophrenic, until he learned to shut up about it.

Over time, he learned that by imagining a wall, a block, in his mind, he could unsee the demons. Not have to have nightmares every night that one day too many of them will rip through the thin fabric, the delicate seams that hold the worlds apart, and they’ll pour into his world, his life, and drain every drop of life force out of it.

But until then, he’ll keep fighting, keep killing demons. His face is grim as he yanks his seraph blade out of a pile of ichor on the ground, cleaning it on the grass. “The demon activity has been increasing lately,” he remarks.

“They’ve been increasing all around the world, I hear,” Y/N says, answering him.

He doesn’t doubt her; she’s bounced around Institutes all over the world, from London to Chicago to Madrid to Tokyo, and now Seoul. She has her connections. He’s never mentioned it, and he doesn’t plan to anytime in the near future, but he admires her fighting spirit. She was calm, cool-headed and logical, extremely reliable. Hansol has gone on missions with her since the day she arrived, when a horde of Drevak demons had decided to attack the Institute, and she’d marched right out the door with a seraph blade in each hand, cutting through demons like she was slicing her welcome party cake.

Which, incidentally, she had been doing just minutes prior.

He would trust her with his life, but somehow she also scares the shit out of him. Hansol straightens up, tucking his blade away in his belt. “We should head back.”

“Yeah,” she says, standing up as well. Her hair has escaped from its ponytail, and a lock of hair is framing the right side of her face. He feels an inexplicable urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he leads the way back to the Institute, Y/N close behind. So close, in fact, that he can hear her ragged breathing. “Are you okay?” he turns to ask before he sees her pale face and the hand that’s pressed to her side. Hansol curses; how had he missed that before? “Shit–why didn’t you tell me?” He slips his black jacket off and wads it into a ball as best he can, then reaches her and presses it against her side.

She accepts the bundle with a small, strained smile. “It’s fine,” she says, though it obviously isn’t. She’s got poison running through her, and he can feel her weaken by the second as she leans into him.

“No, it’s not,” he says through gritted teeth, lifting her into his arms and reaching for his phone, dialing his parabatai and sprinting as fast as he can without dropping her.

“Goddamit, Hansol, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for half an hour after i finished with the nest here. I can’t believe you would run off like that, what the hell kind of idea–”

“Seungkwan, shut up. I don’t have time for this right now,” Hansol pants into the phone jammed between his head and his neck. “Are you back at the Institute?”

“I’m a block away. Why, are you back?”

“I’m on the way. Y/N got bitten by a Raum demon. I need you to call Mingyu to the Institute.”

Seungkwan sighs, but Hansol can hear the tension behind it. “Hansol, you know we can’t just call Mingyu here. He’s not a warlock at our beck and call.”

“I don’t care how you do it, Seungkwan, I just need it done.” Hansol fishes the phone out from the crook of his neck and ends the call, shoving it into his back pocket. Y/N’s face is too pale, and she’s lost consciousness, and the wound was still bleeding.

At long last, he sees the Institute looming in front of him, a grand hulking building that looked like a worn-down abandoned church to mundanes but to those who could see, was a seven-story cathedral built Victorian-style. Hansol takes the stairs two at a time, and the doors open for him once he reaches two feet away from them. He storms through, sprinting up the stairs to the infirmary, where, as promised, Mingyu stands waiting, looking tremendously peeved.

“You Shadowhunters,” he grumbles as he rolls up the sleeves of his royal blue dress shirt. “I know you think we’re close just because I’ve helped you out the past hundred or so times, but this is a little too much, don’t you think? I was at a party, for God’s sake. Can’t I have a life?”

“Well, Y/N’s about to lose hers,” Hansol replies, setting her down on the bed gently, “and if she can’t have a life, then no, you can’t either.”

“Touching,” Mingyu says dryly as he removes the jacket wad and cuts through the bottom part of her shirt to inspect the wound. “Raum?”

“Yeah.”

Mingyu waves a hand irritatedly in Hansol’s direction. “Shoo. I don’t need you hovering over her as I work. It’s distracting.”

“Fine,” Hansol relents, stepping back next to Seungkwan. “You can fix her, right?”

“Yes, yes, now get out!” Hansol and Seungkwan hurry out the door with one last look at Y/N, and the moment they’re both out the door, it slams shut behind them.

It’s at that exact moment that Seungkwan whirls on Hansol, scowl on his face. “Like I said, what were you thinking? Jihoon and I were worried sick about the two of you! We were so scared when we couldn’t find you, even after searching everywhere, and you didn’t pick up your phone–either of you!”

“We were preoccupied,” Hansol growls, not in the mood to discuss how he had weakened his wall, his block, and glimpsed about two dozen demons trying to rip through the seam, and run off without a second thought.

Seungkwan, used to Hansol’s seemingly inexplicable actions, throws up his hands and gives an exasperated, “Ugh!” before marching off to his room.

Hansol stares after him with a wistful expression. If only I could tell you. Would you think I’m a schizophrenic freak?

02. closure

The only person who knows the truth about him is Y/N, which makes him feel guilty, as if he were betraying Seungkwan in a way by telling her but not him. It’s why she’d run after him without a second thought, because she knew he’d seen something, and that he would need help. And he was glad that she had; there was no way he’d have been able to take them all on his own, but it would’ve been disastrous if he’d decided not to go.

He’s by her side, watching her sleep, feeling slightly creepy but she looks so peaceful, so young and innocent and free from worries that he normally sees in the tight set of her face and intense eyes. “You’re staring at me,” she says quietly, with her eyes still closed. “Hasn’t anyone told you staring is rude?”

“I didn’t realize you were awake,” he replies ruefully, and at that she opens her eyes and grins at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone ran over me with one of those gasoline trucks with a million sets of wheels, and then reversed and did it all over again,” she says frankly.

Hansol laughs. “That’s always pleasant.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.” She tries to sit up and winces, and Hansol helps her. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days.”

She’s quiet for a while. Then she says, “You know, you really ought to tell Seungkwan. He’s your parabatai, you shouldn’t be rushing into battle without him. And he deserves to know the truth.”

“Truth about what?” They both look up, startled, as Seungkwan strolls in with a tray of bread and soup in hand. He sets it on the bed in front of Y/N, then sits on the bed beside her.

Y/N gives Hansol a meaningful look, and he runs a hand through his hair, wondering how to start. “I–it’s…” He takes a breath. “I have something to tell you.”

“You don’t happen to be gay and in love with me, right?”

“No,” Hansol says, shocked. “I’m not–no.”

“Okay. Then what is it?”

“I see demons,” he blurts.

“So do we all.”

“No, I mean…through the worlds. Like I see them at the seams…as they’re trying to break through. I see them.”

“O…kay,” Seungkwan pauses, absorbing the information. “Is that why you keep running off and getting hurt when there shouldn’t be demons? I’d always assumed there was something about you that attracts them. Like your horrid body odor. Maybe it calls out to them because they both smell disgusting.”

“Shut up,” Hansol says, but he’s grateful that he’s accepting it without question, without wondering about Hansol’s sanity. “I smell better than you.”

“Boys, boys,” Y/N says, calmly, spooning soup into her mouth. “Don’t fight.”

Seungkwan gets up, stretching. “Well, I should go. I promised Jihoon I would train with him today.”

“Okay. I’ll go down too, in a bit.”

“Sounds good.”

As Seungkwan shuts the door quietly behind him, Hansol breathes out a sigh of relief. It feels as though, finally, the secret he has been carrying with him his whole life, his burden, has been lifted off his shoulders somewhat. The two people he trusts most in the world know, and don’t hate him or judge him. He feels lighter, freer. “Thanks,” he says, looking down at Y/N.

“No problem,” she replies, and somehow he finds himself leaning down, kissing her like he’s only done in dreams, hands finding their way to her hair, and she’s kissing him back, arms wrapped snugly around him.

Hansol breaks away first, out of breath. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

She grins. “Me too. And as much as I’d like to do that again, Seungkwan and Jihoon are probably waiting for you.” He smiles back at her, squeezing her hand before he heads out the door. “Kick their asses for me!” she calls out after him.

03. protector

Hansol doesn’t like feeling like he needs to be protected. It makes him feel small, weak. So it pains him when he realizes that sometimes he needs to step back and let someone else do the work, someone who’s more skilled in certain areas than he.

Seungkwan is his parabatai. His partner, his most trustworthy friend. His other half. Hansol has realized more times than he can count that despite Seungkwan’s joking personality and gentle manner, he’s a fierce warrior and will cut down anything in his path, anything that would bring harm to his loved ones. Hansol is proud of his parabatai, humbled by the overwhelming love Seungkwan exhibits to almost everyone.

So when Seungkwan pulls him aside one day and says in a hushed tone, “We need to talk,” Hansol doesn’t hesitate.

“What about?” he asks once they’re sure they’re alone.

“It’s about Y/N.”

“What about her?”

“Are you two dating?” Sharp and straight to the point.

“I…yes?”

“Look. That’s fine. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Seungkwan runs a hand through his hair and looks off to the side.

“Me?” Hurt? Why would you say that?”

“I know you. I know how you can get so blinded sometimes, you’ll rush straight into danger without a second thought.”

“And?”

“And Y/N would follow you without hesitation,” Seungkwan looks him straight in the eye now. “She���s not going to stop you, because she trusts you that much. If that kind of incident happens again, and you run off just the two of you without anyone else around to help you…”

“Okay, Seungkwan.” Hansol puts a hand on his shoulder. “I know. I’m going to think from now on.”

“Good.” And the look Seungkwan gives Hansol before walking off, shoulders hunched, is so unreadable, so full of raw pain and emotion behind his dark eyes, and Hansol isn’t sure how to respond.

“I promise you, Seungkwan, I won’t let anything happen to you. Or me. Or her,” Hansol says, although he knows that Seungkwan is too far away to hear him.

[hanwooz]

Jun: stars, flowers, sunbeams (also youre writing is so beautiful!!)

(ty omg)

01. stars

Y/N likes to look up at the stars and imagine Junhui is looking at them too. Gazing up at them, past them, to her.

She can feel his eyes on her, boring through the dimensions and galaxies that separate them. Hear his voice, his breath, as if he were right beside her. She can almost see his hand reaching up, up, pointing out various constellations before they drop back down and intertwine with hers.

She remembers meeting him, at midnight, in the wide grassy area of the park they liked to pretend was a meadow, fenced in by flowers and wild uncut grass.

“What if we pretend we’re lost among an abandoned field?” she asked, head resting on his leg, gazing up at the bright starry sky.

His hand, playing with her hair, stilled. “What if this field is the only thing protecting us from the death and disease outside, and we’re the only two people alive on earth? What if the flowers are our source of salvation?”

“Why the flowers?”

“I don’t know. They’re pretty, and they’re fragile. Just like us.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Well, either way, if we’re the only two people alive, then I guess we’ll get married. Then our kids would be inbreeding, and all humanity will go extinct.”

“I hate it when you ruin my romantic moments.”

She laughed. “Love you too.”

“Love you more.” And he pressed a soft kiss against her lips, gentle, unhurried, tasting of the cool wildness of the wind and the brilliance of the stars.

02. flowers

They say flowers each have their own meaning. Love, friendship, passion, what have you.

Y/N doesn’t like flowers, never has. Where people liked to lift the their noses and inhale and claim the flowers smell so good, oh my god, thank you! she hates them. She can’t stand the smell, can’t seem to find anything pleasant about the scent, especially the so-called fragrant ones, when all she can smell is stink.

Not that it matters anyway, really. Flowers wither; nothing can live forever, least of all plants that have been plucked away from their homes, cut and trimmed and arranged and re-arranged to please people who accept them with a thanks and a smile and a hug and don’t give a second thought about them half an hour later except for dammit, where can I put it down?

It’s kind of the way people treat each other. You care, or pretend to care, or try to care, but you’re so focused on yourself that you can’t seem to actually care. And Y/N only realized this, too late, when she saw flower petals on the ground, scattered everywhere. It seemed as though every square inch of the floor was covered in all sorts of flower petals: white, pink, red, yellow.

And in the middle of the giant pile lay Junhui, eyes closed, serene. It was quiet, and she could almost pretend that he was sleeping, and that if she just walked up to him and tickled him in just the right spot, his eyes would fly open and he would attack her, and a tickling war would break out, just like old times.

Except that his chest was still. His entire body was motionless, no up, down, up down of breathing, no sign of life.

And in the quiet, the only sound was the sound of her sobs, mixed in with Junhui’s name and I’m so sorry and why? and why didn’t you just tell me and I love you and …why?

“I don’t know. They’re pretty and fragile. Just like us.”

Breakable. Uprooted. Beautiful. Fragile.

Dying.

Just like us.

03. sunbeams

No, he’s not gone. He’s never gone.

She can feel his touch through the sunbeams streaming through the window. Hear him in the kitchen, making his way to the bedroom with two steaming mugs in hand, setting them gently on the nightstand.

“Wake up,” he says, shaking her gently. “It’s morning.”

She sits up, grumbling. “It’s Saturday, and I don’t have any appointments. Why’re you waking me up so early?”

“There’s only so much time I can spend with you during the day,” he replies with a soft smile.

“Yeah, but you’re here at night too. We’re always together.”

“Yeah but I can’t be touching you at night.”

That much is true. He’s only material during the day, can only exist in the physical sense during the daylight hours, after the incident occurred. She’d been devastated, until she woke up the next morning and there he was, up and moving and breath and very much alive.

Junhui had always been special. Always been mysterious, and nothing normal ever happened when it concerned him. So Y/N learned to accept it, and learned to cherish it because having him here even if it meant she wasn’t always able to touch him, kiss him, hold him close, was better than not having him here at all.

[hanwooz]

hoshi! honey, sugar, tea.

01. honey

Honey is an endearment, a term one uses with people one loves. It’s meant to be sweet and affectionate, just as the literal meaning suggests.

But it also speaks of effort, of time and skill and patience. It’s the fruition of all those things that ultimately culminate the thing we call honey, sweet and syrupy, sticky and viscous and tenacious.

It speaks of possibilities. When bees gather nectar to make honey, they pollinate the flowers they visit. They allow  for life to thrive, creating more and more and more, a cycle of give and take in the natural order of life.

It speaks of thoughtlessness and selfishness, and all the darker things in between. We, who are so spoiled and sheltered that we can’t possibly take in all the meaning behind every little thing we take for granted, the things we gobble up by the mouthful because we know there’s always more, always going to be more, because why wouldn’t there be? We take and take and never want to give back, or maybe we give back but it’s the bare minimum, just enough that we can look the other way because I’ve done my job and then keep taking because I deserve it.

That’s why Y/N has never called Soonyoung that, and will never.

Even though his lips taste like honey, so sweet and delicious. But she won’t give in, won’t be like the millions of others who take and take and take and never know how and when to stop. She’s going to savor every moment, going to learn to be patient and kind and understanding, thinking about all the hard work that goes into making the honey she knows is Soonyoung because he is so much more than just a taste.

But sometimes she wonders: is she his honey?

02. sugar

sugarspiceand everything niceand everything not nicebecause life isn’t always sweetisn’t alwayspleasantsometimes it’s bitter -black coffee to wake you upa sickening pit in the stomachthe pain that’s not quite painbut it’s not painless eithernot like floating on clouds orwalking among stars orwaking up on a bright Sunday morning, sunlight streaming through half-closed blinds as his breath is warm on her neck and his arm reaches out to pull her back in to warmwarmwarmthexcept sometimes sugar can be too sweetlife too pleasanttoo perfectto lastbecause there’s no such thing as perfector foreverno such thing asme and you orhappy endingsbecause life issugarspiceeverything niceand everything not nice

03. tea

Y/N has grown to love tea. She likes it now more than coffee, with its bitter taste bringing too much of a jolt when she realized all she had to do was learn to take care of herself. Sleep, time management, and the this-is-my-life-and-my-body-so-I-damn-well-better-take-care-of-it mindset, she muses, are the key. If only she could have figured it out sooner.

Tea is subtle. It can be bitter, depending on the type and how strong the tea itself is, but in the end it’s light and fragrant. Sweet but not cloyingly so, like coffee with too much cream and sugar on days she used to feel light and fluffy. 

Subtle, subtle, subtle. It’s funny how much a person can change.

She used to go all out with Soonyoung, all-or-nothing, blinding herself to the fact that the world didn’t revolve around them, around him, around her. She had been clingy, too eager to please him, and maybe that was why he took her for granted; if she didn’t give a damn about herself, how was he supposed to? He didn’t need her in his life, and it took her months to realize she didn’t need him, either. In fact, she was better off without him.

So now, she has grown. Learned to appreciate softness, quiet, slow and gentle. Subtle and sweet, easygoing, straightforward and clear.

Because if you take someone for granted, if you can’t learn to appreciate all the little things, the tiny details and preferences and what-have-yous, maybe you shouldn’t be with them in the first place.