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The prophecy- I.
ê„ summary: when an angel becomes enthralled by the prospect of emotions, he falls into your world hoping youâd teach him how to be human. little does he know, there's no safety net awaiting him below.
ê„ pairing: fallen angel!yongbok x fem human!reader.
ê„ genre: slow burn. heavy themes relating to the complexity of emotions (insecurities, grief, nostalgia, love and sacrifice). angst. comfort. hope and healing. the members are included in the fic as well.
ê„ warnings: plot installment. mention of alcohol and drinking, description of scars, self-loathing thoughts.
ê„ word count: 17.8k.
Next. Series Masterlist.
authors note: this fic is my absolute baby. it is heavily inspired by Black Friday by Tom Odell, or rather my interpretation of its lyrics. angel felix is so so special to me, i got the opportunity to be very vulnerable while writing, so i hope you enjoy reading this first part as much as i enjoyed writing it. feedback is highly appreciated <3 this is for @forlix my angel who birthed this fic with me, and for @catboyanon for being my icon đ i love you guys đ«¶đ» thank you for reading!!!!!!
the series taglist is open! comment or send me an ask if you wish to be addedâ @linosssss @agi-ppangx @hwangism143 @httpdwaekki @booksndpoetry @courtnort455 @tonystenk @felixsbakingbud @oyinii @seungzsmin @kayleefriedchicken @freyjhasdesiredreality @babrieeee @nyasstars @lovefool-lix @velvetmoonlght @hash2013 @caticorn61 @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @minhosbitterriver @dorisnumber1fan @goldenmellow @juskz @chanshyunjin @aslou @hhwangsmoon @shinygubbins @msaddictions @abcdefgiwannasendmycodetou @realrintaro @theuntoldlullaby
Act 1. Everything comes with a price.
âSo for once in my life, let me get what I want, Lord knows it would be the first timeâ- Please, please, please, let me get what I want, The Smiths.
Yongbok's existence has been a steady current of nothingness.Â
He has known no low, yet simultaneously, no high. Has never stood at the edge of the world nor cradled it within his palm. He is a straight line, knowing no bumps on its road, crafted to stretch forward, and then some more, indefinitely.Â
That is until you were assigned to himâ his human to keep safe, to protect.
That is when Yongbok then realized that, all along, he had felt nothingâ that there was a void overtaking his being, an absence of something, rather than what he had always known to be the norm.Â
Yongbok knew the rules, he knew what his existence entailedâ that it was one entwined with yours, that once youâd both turn eighteen heâd sense it when you were in danger, each time you were in physical pain. So, heâd protect you, hover above you like a halo, keep you out of harm's way.
He also knew that it would happen unexpectedly. His one friend Seungmin described it as a minor nuisance, a thorn that needs to be plucked out, a bad weed that has overgrown. âYou'll help your human and itâll be back to normal.âÂ
Yet, for Yongbok it wasn't merely a lone thorn, nor a solitary weed, but rather, a myriad of nuisances falling upon him at onceâ akin to a deluge of rain pouring as soon as the skyâs gates part. A throbbing so intense it made him falter in his strides, made his golden wings envelop him, as if to cage this unfamiliar feeling, to stop it from seeping from his body and soiling the azure skies.Â
It was the first time you had called out to him, it was the first time he would see you in. He imagined youâd be in agonizing pain, skirting the edges of death on a final dance with the devils. But, you were on your bed, curled around yourself the way his wings enfolded his body. Sobs rippled from you, an undulating cascade of waves that almost drowned you in sorrow.Â
You werenât in danger. You werenât in physical pain. So why was he here?Â
Why had he felt it when you simply cried?Â
Yongbok hovered near your door, unsure of what to do. This wasnât in the rules he had learnedâ guardian angels do not deal with emotions, they do not feel the woes of the heart. âHumans are always hurt. Their heart bruises more than their body would ever endure. It is something we cannot control, nor can we help them with itââ those were the words of Christopher, the sovereign of all guardian angels, ones tattooed in the back of Yongbokâs mind.
âThey do not affect us,â he had asserted, his voice maintaining its customary tranquility.
So why was Yongbok feeling the bruising of your heart?
He pondered for a fleeting moment before making a soft breeze ripple through your hair. You looked up from your bed, eyes cast outside the window, as a sunbeam delicately landed on your face. To his surprise, that seemed to halt your tears. Â
In that instant, the weight on Yongbokâs heart suddenly dissipated, like a morning fog chased away by the sun.Â
âSo, this isnât normal?â he asked Seungmin upon his return, who blinked at him once, then twice.Â
âNo. It must be part of your anomaly.âÂ
His anomaly, what explains Seungmin being his only friend. But his loneliness did not bother him, the perk of never feeling.
âYeah, that makes sense,â Yongbok sighed, circling the rim of his glass with his pointer finger. âShould I tell⊠you know.â
âKeep it to yourself.â Seungminâs voice was stern, biting, leaving no room for Yongbok to object.Â
So he did not.Â
He kept it to himself, for the past five years, a diligent secret heâs gotten better at hiding. You were surprisingly a good human to guard, you never burned yourself, crossed the road while looking at both sides, and did not frequent shady places at 4 a.m.Â
But your heart weighed so much on your soul.
You cried an average of one hundred and sixty-five times per year, sixty of which being heart-wrenching sobs that almost paralyzed him, made the feathers of his wings wither down and scatter on the ground like sakura petals.Â
âIs it normal for her to cry this much?â he had asked Seungmin who had simply shrugged.Â
âI donât know. I donât befriend humans.â he sighed before adding. âWhy does she cry?â
âOther people hurt her.âÂ
âThen sheâs stupid for repeating the same process.â
âIsnât it fascinating, though? She knows the outcome might be the same, and yetââ
âDo you wish to befriend her?â Seungmin had cut him off, eyes narrowing down slightly. There was a hint of warning in his tone, a danger ringing somewhere near. You know where this path will lead you.Â
âNo,â he replied quickly. He never brought you up again after that.Â
But his fascination with you did not die. Though, it wasnât you, per se, that intrigued him. More so what you were feeling, every emotion that ran freely through your being. It was as if he perched on the precipice of your soul, drinking the droplets of emotions that escaped your being. Feeling through you, an extension of your very existence.
It wasnât only the throbbing when you hurt, it was also a satisfaction when he made you smile again. Through a sunbeam falling perfectly atop you, a rainbow appearing above your head, a star shining more brightly as your eyes found it. Each time your heart bled dry and you begged for a sign, he was there, conjuring up one of you, smiling as you smiled, inching closer to you as the months went by.Â
What if the sign was him? What if he showed you he was there all along?Â
Would you smile at him too?Â
These were dangerous questions swirling in his head, translating into even more harmful actions. Like getting closer to trespassing the line between your world and his, drawn by that fascination, that thirst to know more, to feel more.Â
To talk to you.Â
But it was all but wishful thinking, it is all thoughts he buried within himself, his body becoming the graveyard of his lifeâ through which he breathes and through which he dies.Â
Until tonight.
Yongbok felt that same familiar throbbing overtaking his being, only this one was much more intense, so much so he couldnât hide the discomfort on his face, twisted in agony at the pain overriding you. He expected to find the telltales of your sadness draped on your beingâ teary eyes and shaky hands, pouting lips and the scrunch of your eyebrows that heâs come to memorize.Â
But to his surprise, he finds you perched upon an abandoned rooftop overlooking Han River, the moon casting its shimmering reflection above its surface. You werenât frowning, nor blinking rapidly to dispel your tears. Instead, you sat there, gazing at the river below, legs dangling over the edge, your face as placid as the water before you. However, the burden on your heart was unmistakable, a weight he recognized because he, too, bore it.Â
He stops for a second, making a gentle rain graze your skin, light enough to feel like an embrace rather than a nuisance. He knew you loved these light showers as you always chased them, tilting your head to the sky as if thanking it for allowing the rain to visit, even for a fleeting moment.Â
But this time, you remain unmoving, eyes still fixated on the water, as if you wished it would rise from its place and carry you with it underneath.
You look like an angel, for you feel nothing, numbness seizing your being and trapping it into its hold, just as it does for him.Â
âSometimes the humanâs enemy is itself. They inflict harm upon their souls the most, sometimes even death.â He remembers the somber sayings of Christopher and then the question Jeongin asked, echoing the concerns that gripped everyoneâs thoughts.
âCan we still save them from themselves?âÂ
âNot always. We can be too late.âÂ
You inch closer to the edge of the building, and Yongbok wonders if you had felt too much there was no other emotion your heart could pump out for you anymore, no life for it to breathe in you.Â
Can humanity disintegrate once it pains you too much? Can you turn it off in a desperate bid for survival? Would it still be a life if you do not feel in it?Â
âIâm not going to jump if thatâs what youâre worried about.â Your cold voice startles him, and he looks around quizzically, wondering who you are talking to. But it is only the both of you atop the roof, and his wings are gone, the golden light that usually contours his being subdued.Â
The realization dawns upon him â you can see him, and you are speaking to him. Yongbok feels the stirrings of his heart, a singular beat that resounds in his chest for the very first time.
âIâm not worried,â he replies, after painstakingly long seconds. His voice sounds different, deeper as it floods his ears. I canât worry, he decides against adding. âBesides,â he clears his throat, walking over to you, his hands resting on the railing. âYou canât die from here. Youâll just break your bones. Get paralyzed, at most.âÂ
âWhat are you? A death connoisseur?â you snort, a small life seeping through your voice again as you finally look at him.Â
âSomething of the sort.â
âThis makes you sound like a serial killer,â you sigh, a heavy breath pulled from the depths of his heart. âBut you donât look like one.â
âI donât?â he questions.Â
âNo. You look kind.âÂ
Kind. Yongbok has been draped in a myriad of adjectives since his creation, ones that hang above him like a somber cloud, imprinted on his skin with ink visible to everyone but himself. âAbominationâ was the one that came back the most. But you described him as kind.Â
What do you see in me? He wants to ask. Tell me so I can look for it when I see myself.
Heâs acutely aware that heâs breaking the rules, his wings itching to fledge out and carry him away. But he forcefully keeps them at bay. Not now. Just a little more.
âAre you looking for hope too?â you ask, your voice much quieter than when you last spoke. Yongbok now sees itâ the numbness wearing off and leaving place to an agonizing sadness, its essence is poured in your eyes alone, dull under the marvelous city lights.Â
âHope?â he echoes, the word tasting foreign in his mouth.Â
âMm,â you hum, drawing one knee to your chest while letting the other dangle, straddling an invisible line between your two worlds. âI come here and imagine as if the moon shines only for me.â
âThat's not true.â
âI know,â you giggle quietly, your laugh swiftly morphing into a pout. âMost of the time it feels as if itâs shining for everyone but me.â
âI donât think the moon cares enough to single you out.â
âThat's somewhat comforting to hear.â
Running a hand through your hair, you speak again. âI donât usually talk to strangers,â you confess, lifting the nearly empty soju bottle in your left hand. âIâm just a bit drunk, and really sad,â you whisper, as if entrusting him with a secret, an admission that the universe can be cruel in the fates it deals out. He knows that more than most.
âI don't mind,â he inches closer to you, his curious eyes casting over your gloomy figure. âSo, you come here looking for hope?â
âIt's a bit silly, right?â you smile sheepishly, and he shakes his head.Â
âSilly, no. Itâs just unrealistic to look for something that is not tangible.â
âEverything that is good in life cannot be grasped with our hands.â
He knows nothing of all these good things you speak of, so he remains silent.
âYou know whatâs funny? Each time I ask for a sign I find it.â
Each time you call out for him he is there.Â
âIs that so?âÂ
You take a big gulp from your drink, setting it down as your tone grows melancholic with each word. âYeah. I think I've seen more butterflies in the past five years than the average person does in a lifetime.â
âAnd thatâs a good thing, right?â he asks tentatively, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. What if, all along, in his attempts to pull you up he has only been drowning you further?Â
âIt is. It makes me believe that things will turn out better, in the end,â you share, pausing briefly as if attempting to contain your words. Itâs only a moment later that you continue, âI guess I'm just tired of believing things will get better instead of feeling better.â
He was a temporary patch-up, a band-aid made of silk threads destined to wear off with time. Guardian angels cannot help with the woes of the heart. For all their immortality, they fall short before the power of emotions, kneel in surrender at the altar of humanity.Â
But on your darkest nightâ your black Friday where the sky resembles an abyss in which every star has fizzled out, he does not want to leave you without hope.Â
âMaybe you just need better signs,â he whispers, as a hoard of butterflies swivels before your eyes, a kaleidoscope of colorful wings fluttering in the hopes of breathing life into you once again.Â
âButterflies donât show up at nightâŠâ you marvel in hushed tones, your eyes darting everywhere to take in the magical scenery.Â
âDid you do this?â youâre breathless as you turn to ask but no oneâs near anymore.Â
The heaviness in your heart has dissolved, not entirely, but enough for Yongbok to dismiss it as a fleeting nuisance, a stubborn weed, a lone thorn that he deftly plucked away.
âŠ
Yongbok has not stopped thinking of your conversation, the steadiness in your voice as you spoke of hope, of good things that elude your gaze but infuse your existence with sweetness. He knew that he broke the rules by speaking to you, that there are but severe cases in which an angel is allowed to address their human. Sadness, no matter how profound, was not one of them. And yet, for all the years he spent abiding by the rules, he had not regretted talking to you, not once.Â
He had memorized the cadence of your voice, the sheer glaze in your eyes as they held his, the way you drowned yourself in alcohol, nose scrunching at its bitter taste. Everything about you, he learned, committing it to his memory that was once a blank canvas, for he had never lived something worth remembering, for he had never strayed from the straight path, drawn out eons ago for him.Â
Until you.Â
It is the following Friday and Yongbok hovers near a bar, his eyes absorbing the sight of the drunk humans mingling in there. Some of them are laughing, clinking half-empty glasses as they cheer loudly, Others, too busy pressing their lips against one another to dare dream of forgetting this moment. And then some sitting alone, their gaze fixated on the liquid within their glass, as if it holds the key to all their unanswered prayers. Foolish behavior, but he is drawn to the mundanity of it, for some odd reason.Â
He draws in a deep breath, before concealing his celestial wings and venturing into the dimly lit bar. He sits by a stool, curiously eyeing the array of alcohol on display. âWhat can I get you?â the bartender asks and he responds with a nonchalant shrug. âStrongest thing you have.â After all, inebriation is an experience beyond his grasp.
The abrupt sound of glass meeting the counter startles him, and he turns to his left. There, he discovers a young man, roughly his age, signaling the bartender for another pour. Ebony hair pulled into a small ponytail, a furrowed brow shaping his lips into a frown, the manâs gaze remains fixed on the scattered droplets of Whiskey across the counter. In the faint light, Yongbok spots a mole by his jaw, then another one underneath his eye.Â
âBad night?â Yongbok inquires, clearing his throat, a thrill coursing through him at the prospect of talking with another human.
âKinda,â the stranger sighs, turning around to face him. âIâm Hyunjin,â he says, extending his hand with a lopsided smile.
He firmly shakes it, before introducing himself back, âYongbok.âÂ
âYongbok, mm⊠Feelbok,â Hyunjin slurs, âno, no, Hanbok,ââ happinessâ Hyunjin giggles at his own words punctuating them with a thumbs-up. âNice name.â
âThank you,â Yongbok mirrors his smile, although the gesture happens more naturally than he expected. âAre you okay?â he asks softly, as he watches Hyunjin down yet another glass.
âI should be,â he mumbles, before placing his chin atop his palm, gaze lost somewhere far in the depths of his mind.
Yongbok remains silent as Hyunjin blinks slowly, a sad smile imprinted into his mouth. âI opened my art gallery today. It was acclaimed by all the art critics who visited. They said it was moving, woven with emotions that are translated into every choice I made, from the colors to the blending to the lighting.â
Yongbok frowns, a sudden confusion settling over him as he detects the sorrow dripping from Hyunjinâs tone. He realizes that his expression mirrors the same loneliness he witnessed in you countless times before. Humans, it seems, resemble each other at their most vulnerable.
âButâŠâ he continues, prompted by Yongbokâs silence or the strong alcohol, he doesnât really know. âAll these people came but not the one I painted for.â
Ah, Yongbok now understands what drives Hyunjinâs sadnessâ love. The irony of humans strikes him; for the one feeling they crave ends up hurting them the most.
âEvery painting was about her and she wasnât there to see it,â Hyunjin confesses as anguished tears suddenly well in his eyes. He cannot conjure hope for Hyunjin, for he is not his human to guard, so Yongbok mimics what he witnessed you do countless times to your friends. He places a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly.
âIt will pass,â Yongbok reassures, not with a misplaced sense of optimism, but because it is an undeniable truth. Humans forget as much as they remember, grieve as much as they love, heal as much as they hurt. In their short life, everything they go through passes. It is how they survive the hurts of the heart.
âI donât want it to. If the pain passes then I wonât have anything to remember her by,â Hyunjin smiles sadly, patting Yongbokâs hand above his own.Â
âDonât you regret loving her?â he asks, perplexed by the breathing contradiction before him.Â
âI regret losing her, not loving her. Never loving her.âÂ
As he stood on the same rooftop you were on nights ago, Yongbok is left with Hyunjinâs sleek business card held between his fingers, and a dull longing in his heart, many, many hours later.
Can a straight line stray from its path? Can his void be replaced with love?Â
At what cost can an angel taste humanity?Â
âOur kind yongbok.â A calm voice speaks and the wings on Yongbokâs back twitch more intensely than theyâve ever done. The danger Seungmin spoke of was here.
At what cost could he not?Â
âChristopher,â Yongbok bows in respect, eyes refusing to meet those of his senior.Â
âYou had no problem looking at all these humans, no?â Christopher muses and Yongbok takes one step back. Chris knows, he has always known and yet he allowed it.Â
Why?
âFascinating creatures, right? I still fail to understand them. But what I do know for certain is that they are weak,â he pauses, Yongbokâs breath hitches in his throat. âJust like you.âÂ
Yongbokâs nails dig forcefully into his palms, it does not soothe his nerves the way it does to you.Â
âBut see, the difference between you and them is that they were crafted to be weak. Then again⊠everything about you is abnormal, you agree?â Chris speaks assuredly, his tongue telling facts alone. Yongbok remains silent, anticipating his punishment for trespassing into the human realm, for breaking the sacred rule of interacting with them.
Tales of chained angels, of those stripped of their wings, their bloodied feathers plucked out one by one haunt his thoughts. This is the closest Yongbok has gotten to fear.Â
In a blink, Chris materializes before him, his hand resting on Yongbokâs shoulder, reminiscent of the comforting gesture he extended to Hyunjin. However, this hold is not reassuring; it bears a weight that spells danger with every squeeze.Â
âDo you want to feel what humans do? Go, Yongbok, I wonât punish you. Roam with them, talk to them, and feel.â
Yongbokâs wings scatter with the wind, feathers falling like a curtain of white upon their heads. He falls to his knees, hand brought up to his chest as he suddenly senses everything surrounding himâ the bitter wind brushing against his skin and the rush of hot blood coursing within his veins, the loud ringing of cars that morph into hands choking him, and worse of all, the loss of his wings that his spine seems to be weeping for.Â
âBut remember, everything comes with a price,â Christopherâs polished shoes come into his viewâ Yongbok does not recognize the distorted reflection staring back. âEven weakness.âÂ
Act two. The heart weighs heavily on those who bear it.
âIf brokenness is a form of art, I must be a poster child prodigyâ - Neptune, Sleeping At Last.
Delicate snowflakes descend upon the earth, intricate crystals forming a pristine blanket that veils the ground, concealing its flaws to the naked eye. The snow doesnât discriminate, it falls atop every building in Seoul, from towering skyscrapers adorned with luminous billboards to the humblest abodes, nestled in concealed alleys, all bathed in a bluish glow at the heights of the night.Â
And in its fall, the snow does not leave Yongbokâs body behind, draping it in a cloak of icy tendrils, ones that seep through bones he did not know were capable of aching before. It mingles with his golden feathers, scattered all over the rooftop, tinged with his spilled blood. The crimson liquid oozes from his back to the ground, and in his first seconds as a human, Yongbok has already tainted the purity of the soil, he is already a nuisance, in this world too.
He is faintly aware of warm hands cradling his cheeks, attempting to infuse life into his pallid face. A kaleidoscope of blurry hues obscures his vision, and he is no longer sure how much time has passed since Christopher abandoned him on the unforgiven ground. It could have been mere minutes or lengthy hoursâ he is yet to be acquainted with how time passes on humans.Â
He also cannot recall you coming into the rooftop, does not remember when you pulled his head onto your lap, nor began combing your fingers soothingly through his golden locks. You are worried, he can still feel the pulsing of your heartbeat ringing in his ears, or maybe it is his own, he still cannot distinguish what is yours and what is his.Â
Heâs in a haze, standing on the edge of a window, assaulted by biting winds that cut through him. He didnât expect humanity to crash onto him this hard, for it to force oxygen onto his lungs only to set them ablaze.Â
âYouâre awake, youâre okay.â Your reassuring words break through the disorienting daze, your hand firmly clasping his, guiding him away from the windowâs edge, ushering him back into safety. In the familiarity of your voice, the winds relent, morphing into gentle zephyrs that cool the burning storm within him. He can feel the softness of your hand, your thumb swirling around his palm as if drawing out a soothing spell with your touch.Â
âH⊠hurts,â he stammers, the words escaping between breaths that struggle to find passage. He brings your palm atop his heart, where a myriad of stones seem to have found refuge, crushing his lungs and rendering them a cloud of useless dust, scattered away by the wind.Â
âItâs okay. Youâre having a panic attack. Itâs okay,â your voice is calm, though it speaks of frightening things. Would what he felt pass now that you put a name to it? Was it supposed to reassure him to hear that panic, like an uninvited intruder, has seized his being and is attacking it relentlessly? A secret ambush, a Trojan horse infiltrating his body under the guise of humanity.Â
âHelp me,â his plea echoes weakly, an awkward sound that clashes with the very air particles, imprinting itself onto the oxygen you inhale. Is this what Christopher meant? Were his weaknesses only going to surge forth more now?Â
Is the cost of humanity facing the ugliness within you?Â
The questions swirl in his head like a relentless tornado, drowning out your voice until it becomes a distant murmur in the backburner of his mind. His body rebels against him, ears amplifying the cacophony of his breaths, shaky hands refusing to be still, lungs constricting to the point of near collapse. Heâs back before the window, dangling over its edge with one silky thread, worn out from the countless humans who had clung to it in desperation before.
His hand slips. You seize it before he falls.
âBreathe with me, focus on my voice,â you come to him like a calming tide, pulling him into safe shores. Youâre so close your nose almost brushes with his own, your hands enveloping his icy fingers to anchor him back to you. He tries to mimic your slow inhales, tuning out all his tumultuous thoughts to focus solely on you.
Under the starry sky and the unyielding snow, and through the panic that captures his being, his gaze seems to fixate on the most mundane of thingsâ the soft moonlight filtering through the strands of your hair, casting a faint halo around your figure. As you draw in deep breaths, encouraging him to follow suit, the thought crosses his mind â perhaps, you are his guardian angel now.
Time passes in this shared rhythm until, finally, you release his face, falling beside him on the snow. His breaths find a more regular cadence, mirroring yours, yet an ache persists in his chest, as if unseen hands continue to press down on his heart, squeezing it dry of its blood.
You run a hand through your face tiredly, eyes looking up at the expanse before you. âFuck, I thought you were dying.âÂ
An apology lingers at the tip of his tongue, vocal cords itching to free the three syllables into the chilly air. But Yongbok has never apologized before, he doesnât know how the words might crystallize in the cold. He isnât sure he could bear witnessing their form now.Â
âWhat happened?â he ventures, his voice small and fragile, his face turning slightly toward you. You appear like a crescent moon, soft and gentle even with only half of your face visible to him.Â
âI came to the rooftop and I found you on the ground, surrounded by bloodied feathers and shaking from the cold,â you begin to explain only to freeze as if a crucial detail has just resurfaced in your memory. He knows what youâll ask about before you speak.Â
âWhat are these feathers?â your inquiry hangs in the air, your gaze still directed ahead. He remains silent, unsure of how to explain the inexplicable. Â
âWho are you?â you press, and his reply comes in a single word, uttered vulnerably, âYongbok.â
Please leave it at that.Â
Your voice is softer, more resigned when you speak again. âWhat are you?âÂ
He does not need to voice the truth. He could chuckle and say that heâs human, what else do you expect him to be, and his voice might shake from the unrehearsed lie but you would believe him, and then heâll make sure your paths would never cross again.Â
But a small part of him feels as if he does owe the truth to you. Because you cared for his well-being when you did not need to, gave up some of your warmth to infuse his being with it, sacrificed minutes of your time to make sure heâll have sand left in his hourglass.Â
So, he sucks in a deep breath, gathering the courage to unravel the truth.Â
âIâm an angel. Your guardian angel. Or maybe was. I still donât really know, yet.â
An incredulous laugh escapes your lips, gusts of powdery air materializing before him. âAn angel?â
âYes.â
âThis is insane,â you shake your head, your face buried in the same palms that had cradled his cheeks tenderly moments agoâ his sail amidst the winds.Â
âIs that how you managed to make all those butterflies appear that night?â you question, and he nods, shutting his eyes and releasing a strained exhale.
âSo youâve been guarding me all this time?âÂ
âSince you turned eighteen.â
He freezes as he wonders what youâll say nextâ maybe youâll ask him to disappear from your life, not one to wish to mingle with angels and their kindred, maybe youâll leave him be in the snow, lonely as he has always been.
What he doesnât expect is for your eyes to find his, compassion swimming in your gleaming irises, your voice dripping with concern as you ask him. âWhat happened to you, Yongbok?âÂ
There was no way for you to feel what he did, and yet you spoke as if you couldâ as if you peered into his heart and discovered it butchered and bruised, found thorns entangled around his veins instead of vines.Â
âI donât know,â he chokes out a sob, as sudden tears stream down his cheeks, salty as they infiltrate his mouth, drowning him from within. The tears refuse to cease even after he wipes them, one after the other, a futile gesture akin to pouring water into sand, an attempt to nurture something not meant to grow.
âItâs okay,â you smile, your eyes shimmering like a million fireflies in the night. He shakes his head, as more tears escape him in the guise of words. In all of the times he has seen you cry, he never fathomed he would have sobs racking his body, too. That tears would cascade like an unyielding waterfall, an earthquake shaking the planes of his body, rattling his bones with an intensity beyond what he believed humans could endure.
âItâs okay,â you repeat, cradling his face against the warmth of your neck, his tears seeping through your clothing. He is weeping, though he does not know what for. For nothing yet everything. For the loss of his wings and the birth of his heart. For the harshness of the ground and the softness of your hold. For the Yongbok who perished and the one who came to life.Â
âŠ
A fallen angel comes in various forms, some are entirely disgraced while others retain fragments of their celestial countenance. Yongbok, though deprived of his wings, did not lose his powers. He realized this when he instinctively healed the wounds on his back, the torn skin scarring in fleeting seconds. A small mercy bestowed upon him by Christopher, or so it seemed.
He will understand the reasons behind this act much later.
But for now, in his first breaths of humanity, when the echoes of his sobs have at last withdrawn from his being, leaving behind a lingering weariness, he is dealing with less stellar facets of his existenceâ the more mundane technicalities of it.Â
âSo, not to rub salt on the wound but I assume you also donât have a place to stay in,â you ponder, waiting until he regains enough composure to grasp your words, ensuring they wouldn't float beyond his reach.
âNo, I didnât exactly prepare for this,â he winces, his gaze briefly meeting the scattered feathers on the ground. But not for too long, looking at them invited a grand sense of loss into his being, a sentiment too weighty for his fragile state to harbor.Â
âYou can stay at mine, and tomorrow we can start looking for a house for you?â you suggest, stretching out your tired limbs.
âYou donât⊠You donât need to help me.â
Yongbok does need your help, you are the only human he knows and he is unfamiliar with how your kind acquire housing. And yet he finds himself at the crossroads between what his heart wants and what his tongue speaks ofâ ready to vehemently refuse your proposal to not inconvenience you, as if heâs a towering mountain poised to shoulder burdens when in reality, his being has never been this frail.
âYou guarded me for five years,â you smile softly, effortlessly dispelling away his concerns like meaningless specks of dust. âItâs the least I could do.â
Stepping into your home was as familiar as walking into his own. He, unwittingly, memorized each nook and cranny of your place, a consequence of all the times he had lingered nearâ hovering, more accurately, above. So much so that he instinctively slips off his shoes and places them in your rack, mirroring the countless times he observed you perform the same task.
âSo you really are my guardian angel,â you shudder quietly and he hums in questioning, turning to look at you, âWhat was that?â
âNothing,â you respond, perking up and adorning your lips with a swift smile. âWould you like something to eat?â
âIâm okay,â he whispers, attempting to shrink as much as possible in the confines of your place. He has never felt this much discomfort in his own body, as though the skin draped on his bones belonged to a stranger.Â
âWell, Iâm hungry so youâll eat with me,â you say with a warm smile, putting your hair up in a quick bun before walking into the kitchen. You move seamlessly as if you are hosting a long-time friend rather than an angel you saved from possible hypothermia.Â
âBuldak ramen?â you ask, hands resting on the counter.
âSure,â he nods, settling atop the stool.Â
He watches in silence as you bring the water to a boil, before pouring two servings of the instant noodles into it. You pause, thinking it over before adding two more.Â
âHow are you so nonchalant about this?â he blurts out, finally freeing the question that had been swirling and growing in his mind- an insatiable weed that needed to be plucked before it infested his brain completely.
âAbout having an angel in my house who was apparently cast away from the skies and has guarded me for the past five years without me knowing, and who somehow knows where my shoe closet is without me needing to share?â you ramble in one breath, the tightness in your chest palpable. âYeah, Iâm totally cool about that.â
âYouâre totally not cool about that.â
âNo, Iâm not,â you admit sheepishly, settling on the stool before him. âI mean I am. A friend of mine met his guardian angel two years ago when he saved him from a horrible car accident. So, your existence does not freak me out, itâs common knowledge for us humans.âÂ
You bite your lip, averting your gaze from him to the painting adorning the wall above your couchâa bouquet of red roses where the petals seem dripping scarlet, resounding with passion and love, signed by H.
âItâs just⊠did you do something bad? For you to be left there alone?â
âNot bad,â he mumbles, clearing his throat awkwardly. It suddenly seemed silly to explain to a human that he envied their humanity, the one thing most of them seem to despise. âI broke the rules by talking to you that night, then to another human, and I was punished for it. I think,â he adds hesitantly.
âOh,â you gasp softly, redirecting your attention to the pot to turn off the heat. It makes breathing easier for him. âYou think?â you echo.
âItâs what I wanted,â he whispers, a bit breathless, now frightened by this newfound reality. He kept his powers and yet he lost his wingsâ he cannot fly back to his home and yet he can conjure anything his mind wishes for. He is with the one human that sparked his fascination and yet he cannot stop thinking of the price Christopher mentioned. Thinking too much about any of these things brings tears back to his throatâ his body yearning to produce a liquid it has never known before.
âSo, I assume youâve never watched Howlâs Moving Castle up there,â you abruptly shift the subject, a radiant smile gracing your face as you pour the ramen into two bowls, generously topping them off with cheese.
âNo?â His response carries a hint of uncertainty, and a sudden wave of frustration washes over him for feeling so displaced in his own existence. Yet, you appear oblivious to the awkwardness emanating from him as you gasp enthusiastically, seizing the two bowls and making your way to the couch.Â
âOh, I think youâll like it,â you beam, patting the spot next to you before taking the remote and queuing up the movie.
The meal tastes better than anything Yongbok has ever eaten in his life, each bite igniting his taste buds in a symphony of flavors, akin to the spark of a popping candy in his mouth. He finds himself engrossed in the movie, in the stunning visuals, the gentle hues, and the paradoxical characters, uncovering reflections of his own existence within them.
He has never understood the need humans felt for art, dedicating hours upon hours to creating something not for their personal gain, but for others to watch, to reach, to touch. A craft not to appease oneâs soul but to soothe the spirits of others. Yet, as the movieâs credits come to an end, a subtle shift occurs within him. Perhaps, he thinks with his widely beating heart, he now understands a little more.
âI feel terrible like there is a weight on my chest,â you repeat one of Howlâs concluding lines, stealing a glance at him, a tender smile gracing your face. The one dialogue that felt like a mirror was brought up to Yongbok's face.
âA heartâs a heavy burden,â he completes Sophieâs response to Howl.Â
âThatâs true. The heart weighs heavily on those who bear it,â you speak softly, as one would do to a child taking tentative steps into the world, learning that their first breath starts with grieving the only place you've known for nine months, followed by happiness, then sadness again, akin to the moonâs gradual phases. And maybe, in a way, he is a child lost in the overwhelming flood of these emotions, ones yet to be untangled in his mind but that already lay upon him like stones.
âNot everyone knows they have a heart, Yongbok. Some end up dying before ever feeling, without ever truly living.â Â
âI just didnât imagine it would be this⊠soul-crushing to bear it,â he admits softly, the words escaping him like a delicate secret. There's a hint of fear that accompanies his confession, an apprehension that Christopher might materialize before him, speaking in that calm, knowing toneâberating him with a simple âI told you so.â
âItâs a little organ facing a big life. Itâs normal for it to be overwhelmed, donât you think?âÂ
âMm,â he hums in agreement, placing a trembling palm above his heart. Still as heavy.Â
âYou had a long night, get some rest, okay? We can start looking for a house tomorrow.â
âOkay,â he nods, as you rise from your place, only to reach for your wrist before fully thinking it through. âThank you,â he says sincerely.Â
In the cracks of his heart, one seed of gratitude has been planted, a singular ray of light amid a stretch of darkness.
Finding a house turns out to be a strenuous task, and Yongbok feels remarkably disinterested in the discussions with every real estate agent you encounter. You play the role of his assistant, weaving a tale about an important businessman client who abruptly secured a job transfer to Seoul. However, he couldn't care less for the large windows ushering sunlight or the expansive patio offering picturesque views of Seoul. Instead, he focuses on your reactions to each roomâthe gasps of delight at spacious storage areas and the vacant rooms you dream of adorning in the future, once you're no longer a broke college student, as you explain.
You envision a room dedicated to your books, with a chair nestled in the middle for the long nights you spend reading, and another room designed as a painting studio. The expansive kitchens you visit are perfect for your baking endeavors, and Yongbok, perplexed by your fascination with fridges sporting two doors, finds amusement in your lively antics. Yet, a void persists within him, unfilled by the prospects of a shiny new home.
âStill not the one?â you ask on your third day of apartment hunting, and he shakes his head.Â
âItâs okay, weâll find the perfect one soon,â you reassure, and in that moment, he thinks back to your very first conversation on the rooftop, wonders how you can find hope for everyone surrounding you but yourself.Â
âI still canât believe I befriended a nepo angel,â you giggle, before inching closer to him on the couch, peering at him from beneath your eyelashes. âMy air fryer is broken by the way, can you replace it?â
He contemplates for a minute before shaking his head, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. âNo.â
âArenât you my guardian angel?â
âRight, a guardian angel. Not a bank.âÂ
âBut if my air fryer isnât replaced soon then Iâll keep using it even though all its electric wires are now exposed and a fire will break out and Iâll end up dyingââ
âFine,â he heaves a resigned sigh, âIâll replace it.âÂ
âCan you also get me the Le Creuset kitchen set?â you grin, standing in your kitchen a few minutes later, cradling your brand-new air fryer between your arms.
âI'm not your sugar daddy.â
Your gasp is so comical that it coaxes a little giggle from his lips. âSo you know about sugar daddies and not Studio Ghibli movies.â
âGossip travels in our world too,â he shrugs, and you put the air fryer down, leaning closer to his face. From this proximity, he can discern the delicate curve of your eyelashes and the way they frame your glowing eyesâhow can your eyes shine so brightly even under the shittiest kitchen lighting heâs ever seen?
"Hello? Did you hear me?" you wave a hand before his face, and he snaps back to reality, your voice flooding his senses again.
âHm?â
âNever mind,â you shrug your hand dismissively in the air, âshould we celebrate your third day of knowing me?â
âThat's cause for celebration?â he frowns, and you playfully hit his arm. âI feed you, I clothe you, I put a roof above your headââ Your words are muffled as he clasps a hand over your mouth.
âCan you hear that?â he wonders.
You shake your head no.
âIt's quiet, finally.â
His hand, a feeble barrier, does not manage to muffle your offended gasp, and in that moment, Yongbok laughs for the first time in his existence, a sound that ripples from the roots of his being, washing over his sadness and erasing it for a split second.
His eyes are closed as he tips his head back in laughter, and he misses the way your eyes soften, your retort withering at the tip of your tongue.Â
Heâs beautiful when he smiles, you think. You hope for all his powers he cannot hear your thoughts.Â
âŠ
Yongbok does not know whatâs there to celebrate on his third day in this world, for all he had felt so far was excruciating sadness. But he complies with your wishes, rising at dawn to join you on the shore of the nearby ocean. Seated on the sand dampened by morning dewdrops, the remnants of melting snow resemble ink on a page not yet dry.Â
He watches as the last threads of the night unfold before his eyes, leaving way to a mesmerizing palette of soft pinks and oranges, the sky blushing from a night spent with the moon.
You brought him to witness the sun rising above the ocean, said that it would help calm down the frenzy of his heart. You are quite right, since the rhythmic dance of the waves acts like a spell, unraveling the knot in his tongue and coaxing him to recount everything that has led him up to this moment, to you. You were the main reason for his journey, he did not see it fitting to conceal the truth from you. He did not know yet how to deceive or lie.Â
âSo you wanted to feel?â you conclude softly and Yongbok nods, eyes not peeling away from the sky before him. It looks grander from below, a vast ceiling you never fear might collapse on you.
âThatâs why it overwhelmed you a lot, every emotion is heightened because it was the first time, I supposeâ you muse.Â
âYeah, but does it ever lessen with time? Isn't that why you cry often?â he asks, now free of the bounds that once restricted his curiosity.
âCan you please not bring this up again?â you hide your face, and he tilts his head, a perplexed expression etched on his features.
âWhy is that?â
âIt's embarrassing that you saw me cry this much,â you mumble, your words nearly drowned out by the crashing waves.
âIt's not embarrassing. It's... fascinating,â he asserts. You stare at him incredulously, prompting him to elaborate. âYou go down the same path, fully aware of where it leads, and yet, you do it again on the off chance that you'll receive the same kindness you show.â
âI sound stupid,â you giggle, and he mirrors your smile, not to mimic you, but because the corners of his mouth yearn to curve upwards, refusing to leave you alone in your grin.
âNo, you sound brave.â
Your eyes soften at his words, the light of the rising sun filtering easily through your irises, causing your pupils to widen with each passing second.
âThank you.âÂ
A tranquil quiet settles between you, the soothing sound of the waves filling the silence. The sun hovers directly above the water now, perched on the horizon, the sky much bolder in the colors it showcases.
âI come here when my heart feels too heavy to bear. I suppose that looking at the sea calms me,â you murmur, your cheek pressed against your knee.
âWhy is that?â
âFor these waves to reach the shore, they go through a lot, you know? Storms and tumultuous roads, and rage fills them, anger, sadness too at being away from home for too long. But then, they always reach the shores at last. And they calm down, and theyâre at peace.âÂ
You turn to look at him, the hues of the sunrise reflecting off your face, dancing with the shadows that mold your features.
You look beautiful, so much so that he almost misses what you say next.
âSo it is comforting to know that no matter how grand my worries are, there will come a time when they too will grow tired and rest.â
âIt will pass,â he whispers and you nod cheerfully. âSee, youâre already getting the gist of it.âÂ
âNo,â he contradicts, âeverything I know about humanity is from you.â
The colors of the sky seem to seep through your face at his words, and an unfamiliar warmth spreads through his being at the thought of making you blush.
He licks his lips tentatively, bringing your hand to rest atop his heart, hoping that the pressure will help ease its tension.
It does, ever so slightly.
âIt feels like my heart is squeezed between two narrow walls,â he explains and you nod in understanding.
âLike itâs been sucked through a straw that drains you out of life.â
âYes,â He exhales with contentment at the thought of someone understanding what he means, of what he feels no longer being an anomaly, but the norm for most.
âWill you move in with me?â he suddenly asks, and you startle, your fingers growing limp in his hold.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âYour apartment is shitty, you hate your landlord and Iâm pretty sure there is mold growing on your walls.â
âOkay, no need to attack me,â you roll your eyes amusedly.Â
âIâll buy the apartment you wanted, it technically doesnât cost me anything and itâs closer to your university too, you no longer have to commute. You can get the library you wanted and the painting space too.âÂ
âButââ
âIâm a fallen angel tasting humanity for the first time, I donât know what Iâm doing or what Iâm supposed to do. I havenât looked in a mirror yet because I donât know who Iâll find there. And Iâm so scared, Y/n, so scared,â he confesses, breathless, his hand still pressing your palm against his erratic heart.Â
A few seconds of heavy silence pass, Yongbok senses a resolve in you unfold.Â
âAnd in return?â you ask tentatively.Â
âI want to be happy,â he breathes out, eyes flickering over yours like a swaying candlelight, âCould you show me how itâs done?â
Act 3. Whatâs an angel to a human?
âI want a better body, I want better skin, I wanna be perfect like all your other friends"- Black Friday, Tom Odell.
âSo, happiness.â You stand near a blank whiteboard in the middle of your cramped living room, the one you just asked Yongbok to conjure out of thin air.Â
Youâve been slightly abusing his ability to make your every wish materialize in a fleeting second, but only for useless things, like a bar of soap that smells specifically of these notes combinations you always thought would pair heavenly together (they did not), or a tube of salted caramel ice cream at 2 a.m. because you were too lazy to walk to the fridge (it was mere two meters away). Or just like now, a huge whiteboard so youâd explain to him, visually, how to achieve happiness.Â
You told him that youâd only allow him to buy you a new house if he truly felt happy, for the very first time in his life. When he asked you how heâd know, you said heâd simply do, when the time comes. You shook hands on that promise two days ago.Â
âWas this really necessary?â he questions, cocking an eyebrow at you. In response, you place your palms against your hips, eyes squinting at his dubious figure.Â
âDo you want to be happy?â
âYes.â
âThen, shut up.â
âI donât think violence is the way to go about joy,â he quips and you quickly shut him up with a glare. Yongbok came to find that annoying you brought him a strange sense of satisfactionâ he enjoyed seeing you pivot away, trying your best to conceal your amused smirk at his teasing. You always fail, or perhaps his perception of your being is heightened by the bond you share.
âI was saying, happiness is a byproduct of biological reactions.â You draw in a smiley face with utter concentration, and he stifles a giggle at the simplistic representation of the feeling. âThere are four main hormones that allow us to feel happiness.â You pause, pointing your pen at him. âYongbok, do you know which these are?â
âIf I did know, why would I be here?âÂ
âTrue,â you nod vigorously, looking back at the whiteboard before locking eyes with him once more. âCan you please play along? Iâve always wanted to be a teacher,â you smile excitedly, speaking in hushed tones as if it was meant to be a shared secret between you both, far from the reach of the angels and peers that must be looking down at you both right nowâ you in indifference, him in disdain.
He shudders at the thought.Â
âFine. No, I do not Miss,â his smile is small, it grows when your eyes soften at him playing along. âCare to explain?âÂ
âSo, in theory, we have dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin.â You flip the board, revealing some intricate drawings of what looks like the human brain, different arrows going out of it, filled with many inscriptions that he assumes are definitions of the hormones you just revealed.Â
âBut all of this isâŠâ you play the drums on the board, leaning forth in suspense. âUseless!â you shout, throwing your marker and eraser in the air. Yongbok claps diligently at your dramatics.
âYou know for humans with limited amounts of time on this earth, you sure do love wasting your precious minutes,â he taunts and a fire seems to light in your eyes, flames surging higher each time you poke fun at one another.
âYou know for an angel who desperately needs my help, you sure do talk a lot.âÂ
âTouchĂ©,â he sighs, rubbing his forehead. âPlease grace me with your special knowledge.âÂ
âFine.â You plop down next to him on the couch, your knee bumping against his. A pang of ache flares in his being before disappearing as quickly as it came. It leaves him no time to decipher its cause.
âHappiness is the hardest thing to get in this life. Sometimes you follow all the instructions on how to be happy and yet fail to achieve it.â You speak with a lingering bitterness in your tone as if youâve spent the best part of your life following defective manuals.Â
âHappiness wonât come to you, Yongbok. It doesnât come knocking on our doors. Youâll have to search for it. Especially on days when everything seems grim and dark, youâll have to squint your eyes and find it in the small things all around you. And when you do, hold on to them with all your might. Even if your hand bleeds, you hold on just as tightly.â
âWhat small things?â he asks, turning his entire body towards you. He is almost breathless, waiting for you to spell out the secret to tasting lifeâs sweetest fruit.
âThings that remain gentle no matter what time does to you. Like looking at flowers, sitting underneath the sun, watching the sea, being kind and helping people, enjoying your favorite hobbyâŠÂ â you enumerate, your eyes never leaving his. âDo you have a hobby?â
âNo?â he replies, though it comes off more as a question. You pick up on his uncertainty, waving a hand quickly through the air.
âItâs okay. Iâll help you find one. I promise.âÂ
His response comes as easily as an autumn breeze.Â
âOkay. I believe you.â
You beam at him, sunlight seemingly pouring into your pores, brightening your face from within. He finds it strange that he suddenly sees the sun in you, a star he has never taken an interest in. But he quickly brushes the thought aside, mirroring your grin.
âI was also thinking,â you add, âyou should work with me at my cafĂ©.âÂ
âMe?â he points at himself and you giggle, nodding. âYes, you! Do you want to just sit here all day waiting for me to come home from uni?âÂ
âWhat? Who said I donât want to be your trophy wife?â
You snort, bewildered. âA what?â
âI did a deep dive into Urban Dictionary yesterday.â
You blink once. Then twice. âCrazy words to hear from an angel. And itâs a no, to being my trophy wife.â
âPlease?â he pushes, tugging at the outskirts of your sleeve.Â
âNo,â you sing-song, standing up and heading to the kitchen. âWe needed a new barista anyway. And Iâll teach you how to make coffee. Also, I think youâll enjoy people-watching.â
âThat sounds creepy!â he shouts from the couch. Â
âSays the guy who told me I cry an average of 160 times per year!â
âItâs 165, actually,â he corrects.Â
You peek your head out of the kitchen, pointing a threatening finger at him. âDie.âÂ
âWhat happened to live laugh love?âÂ
âJust how much did you stay on Urban Dictionary?â
âA lot,â he shudders, shaking his head. You burst into uncontainable giggles, and the same satisfaction floods Yongbokâs being. Although this time it is much stronger.
It is a weird thought that suddenly brushes his mindâ he thinks that if the sun ever spoke it would be your laugh spilling out of its mouth.Â
âŠÂ
âWelcome to my humble abode,â you grin, spreading your arms wide as you open the door to Haven CafĂ©. Yongbok follows closely behind, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his black jeans.
âItâs nice,â he says absentmindedly, his eyes sweeping across every surface of the interior.
âNice? This is my baby. Please be more expressive,â you retort, pointing a finger at him threateningly. He shakes his head, amused.
âThis is the most beautiful place my fallen angel eyes have ever seen,â he says with mock reverence.
He isnât lying, though. Resplendent flower vases adorn every corner, and a warm, inviting atmosphere permeates the space, evident in the comfortable auburn chairs and the books scattered on the sage shelves.
âI was actually wondering⊠What makes something beautiful?â he suddenly asks. You pause in your tracks, then resume opening the blinds.
âHow it makes you feel,â you say simply. âHelp me?â you add. Yongbok nods, sidling up to your side to open the remaining windows.
âThis place is beautiful to me because it makes me feel at ease. I know that whatever happens, I can always escape here. Between the flower vases, the aroma of coffee, and the large windows, I feel good. At home,â you explain.
âBut isnât home your house?â he asks earnestly, tilting his head to the side. Your smile, warm and comforting, brushes over him like a fleeting sunbeam.
âHome is where you feel most like yourself.â
He does when youâre nearby.Â
Does that make you my home? He wants to ask, but something inside stops him. He thinks it is too big of a confession to be uttered at the rise of dawn.Â
âWhen did you start working here?â he asks, watching you refill the ice.
âSeven years ago.â
âOh,â he gasps softly, suddenly remembering that he hasnât known you your entire life. He wasnât there to guard you through your childhood, to watch you stumble off the steps, or swing high to the sky. He realizes how little he knows about you. He suddenly aches to learn more, to know everything.
âThe owner was our old neighbor, so when I was sixteen, he got me my first job here. Iâm very attached to this place and its memories so I still come here.âÂ
âMemories,â he repeats to himself slowly, as if tentatively tasting the way the word feels on his tongue.
âWhat was that?â you ask, as you sweep the counter with a purple rug.
âItâs nice to have memories,â he smiles and you scrunch your nose, shaking your head slightly.
âYou think so?â
âYeah, I have no memories. None worth getting attached to anyway because all my life was spent feeling the same way. So, in a wayâŠâ he pauses, licking his lips tentatively. âI have never lived anything that shaped me. Except for meeting you.â A few silent beats pass, and you feel as if he has more to say, so you remain quiet.Â
Yongbok opens his mouth, only to close it again, deciding against speaking. Yet again, too early.
âItâs your first life, in a way,â you finally say, âthere are all these unknown feelings that you are experiencing for the first time. Itâs unfair to you if you expect yourself to figure it out from the get-go.âÂ
Your palm rests upon his back, swiping gently left and right before you move around the corner to filter the coffee. But Yongbok feels as if the clock orchestrating the universe has halted, the seconds freezing the moment your hand touched his back.
It is a heavy, gruesome knowledge that he bearsâ knowing that beneath your warm, comforting touch lies a map of butchered skin and scars running down his spine. His powers had fallen short of erasing the remnants of his lost wings, leaving behind clots of skin that starkly highlight all his imperfections in one place.
Yongbok had looked at his back only once, a fleeting glance before he vowed never to set eyes on his abomination again, this grotesque reminder clinging to him like skeletons overflowing from his closet.
He felt ugly, and worthless for carrying such a vivid reminder of who he once was. Who he failed to be. No one should ever see his back.
Especially not you.
âThere are twenty minutes left until opening. Shall we discover what your favorite drink is?â you ask, snapping Yongbok out of his haze.
âYeah,â he clears his throat with an inhuman effort. âThat sounds nice.â
Yongbok doesn't like coffeeâyou could tell from the scrunch of his nose and the squint in his eye after one sip of his iced Americano. âAre you bad at making coffee, or does it always taste like this?â he asks, and you throw a dozen napkins at his head in response.
âPeople ask for me specifically to make their coffee. Know your place,â you squint threateningly. He raises his hands in surrender, biting his tongue cheekily. Your eyes linger a bit too long on his lips, shaped like a cupidâs bow, their arrow striking straight through your heart.
It sometimes astonishes you how pretty your guardian angel is, and how seemingly unaware he is of the beauty he carries within each one of his features, each worthy of paintings and sculptures to immortalize them for eternity to come.
âThis is good,â he grins, sipping his caramel Frappuccino happily.
âBecause itâs ninety percent sugar,â you smile just as brightly. He puts down the drink slowly, eyeing you curiously.
âWhy do I feel as if this is a secret insult?â
âItâs not a secret insult. Iâm doing it to your face,â you smile, and he rolls his eyes so much they almost reach the back of his head. You canât help but giggle quietly as he grabs the vanilla matcha drink. âWow I canât believe the sassy men apocalypse affects angels as well,â you sigh.
âI literally have no idea what half of these words are.â
âWhat happened to Urban Dictionary?â
âDie.â
âAww, look at you picking up my slang already,â you coo at him.Â
It's his turn to fling balled-up napkins at your face. You dodge them perfectly as if in a dance youâve rehearsed thousands of times before.
âAnyways,â you clap excitedly, âyou have five minutes to make me a latte.â
âMe? But I don't know how to.â
You place a recipe book before him, tapping the counter diligently. âI expect the worldâs tastiest latte.â
A small smirk draws upon his lips as he shakes his head slightly. The sight of him makes you flustered all of a sudden.
âAnything else, your majesty?â
âNo,â you grin. âHave fun!â
You wander through the cafĂ©, dusting the books on the shelvesâ your most prized possessions, ones that you bought and others that customers themselves have donated. You return to Yongbokâs side when his voice booms through the place, calling your name.
âHere,â he slings the drink toward you, and your face contorts in shock.
âWhat the fuck? Since when do you know how to do this?â
âDo what?â
âThis intricate latte art?â you point to the foam forming a perfectly drawn white swan.
âAh, this. One time you were in the kitchen, very frustrated because you couldnât get this shape right. So, I did it for you.â
âAre all angels as sweet as you?â you grin, taking a sip of the drink and holding his gaze over the rim of the glass. His heart catches in his throat for two reasonsâanticipation as he awaits your reaction, and hunger as he aches for you to describe him even more, to dress him in all the adjectives linked to his being so he wouldnât feel like a stranger, a blank canvas in his own body.
âHow is it?â he asks. You remain silent, taking another sip.
âMm.â
âMm?â he echoes. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âItâs opening time!â you sing-song, walking away, and he follows behind you. âWhy wonât you tell me? Is it that bad?â
âI donât want to!â you speed up walking, and so does he. You end up running, skirting around the chairs, your laughter coating the room like golden honey. âLeave me alone!âÂ
âYou have to tell me!â he shouts, chasing after you in an impromptu game of catch. He suddenly manages to grab your arm, spinning you around until your back is against the table, his arms on either side of your body. His eyes are suddenly drawn to the languid rise and fall of your chest, and then to the way your tongue slowly swipes across your lips, wetting them.Â
A sudden warmth pools in his lower stomach, and he lets out a shuddered breath, his heart caught in a web of unknown feelings.
âAm I interrupting?â an unknown voice breaks in, and Yongbok quickly takes three hurried steps away from you, his cheeks ablaze as if flames are latching onto themâhe doesnât know if itâs from his embarrassment or from the golden specks he could decipher in your eyes.
âMr. Kang!â you shout excitedly, skipping over to stand by the manâs side. Heâs shorter than you, his back slightly hunched from timeâs morphing hands, and his smile is warm as it lands on you. He reaches out to ruffle your hair in greeting before his gaze lands on Yongbok.
âIs this your friend?â he asks, the same smile still etched into his lips. You nod, and Yongbok bows deeply before straightening up.
âCan he make nice coffee?â Mr. Kang asks, and Yongbok stares at you expectantly.
âThe best,â you finally grin, and a worried breath dissipates from his chest.
âI think weâll get more clients too. Heâs very handsome!â
âI know, you should see his freckles,â you giggle, pointing to a lightbulb that needs fixing on the other side of the cafĂ©. Yongbok stays rooted in place, trying his best to steady his breathing. He is sure his face has turned the shade of the sky after a crimson sunset.
âŠ
âThis is Chris,â you say, standing by Yongbokâs side two hours later as he diligently wipes the counter. Yongbok follows your gaze to a young man nodding his head to the rhythm of his headphones. He looks serious, eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. His hair is hidden beneath a black cap, but a few strands escape, swooping like a duckâs tail.
âWe take a music theory class together. Heâs the nicest guy youâll ever meet, a true social butterfly. I think the term was coined for him,â you explain. As if summoned by your words, Chris looks up, his eyes finding the two of you. He tilts his head in greeting, clicks a few keys on his laptop, then rises to join you.
âHey, gorgeous,â he grins, and you roll your eyes. âWhen are you going to drop the cheesy nicknames?â
âNever,â he smiles, dimples deepening. They remain as his gaze shifts to Yongbok.
Yongbok isnât used to smiles that donât falter when they land on him.
âHey, mate,â Chris says, extending his hand. Yongbok nods, shaking it.
âIâm Chris.â
âYongbok.â
âAre you new here?â
âNo, we just found him outside and forced him to make coffee,â you tease. Chris bumps your shoulder playfully. âShut up. Good luck having to stand her for so long.â
âAs if you arenât obsessed with me,â you scoff, turning to Yongbok. âHe refuses to drink coffee anywhere else.â
âBecause you give me free sweets.â
âIn this economy?â Mr. Kang appears suddenly, and the two of you burst into laughter at his timing. âDid your daughter teach you that?â you giggle, and he nods, almost desolate as if forced to acquire this knowledge.
âAnyway, we should hang out at one of my parties, Yongbok. Letâs catch up,â Chris grins before winking at youâ âMy usual, please, baby.â
You send him a playful middle finger. He blows you a kiss as he returns to his seat.
âWeâve known each other for three years now. Heâs very annoying,â you smile, shaking your head. âBut heâs a good friend.â
Yongbok feels something chip away in his heart, as his eyes land on Chanâs figure yet again. A slow ache swirls in his stomach like thorny vines. Time seems different for humans. He has known his fellow angels for much longer yet he doesn't think anyone would ever speak of him with this fond of a tone.Â
---
âYou did well,â you smile, patting Yongbokâs shoulder at the end of the day, the cafĂ© as empty as it was at 6 a.m.
âThank you, it was nice,â he replies with a tired, yet genuine smile. You nod, a slight yawn taking over you.
âWill you help me get some flour from the back? Then we can go home.â
Home. A concept that seems less foreign when you are near.
âSure.â
âItâs there,â you point to a high shelf in the storage room. âWe usually use a staircase, but we broke ours last month. I almost fell on my headâ â
âBut ended up magically walking away unscathed?â he interrupts. âI know.â
You slam a hand over your mouth, staggering back. âHow?â
âY/n... please donât be surprised when I tell you this,â Yongbok frowns, placing a hand on his heart.
âTell me,â you whisper.
âWhen I told you I was your guardian angel, it meant that I actually guarded you from harmâs way.â
âNo,â you shake your head.
âI know,â he nods solemnly. âIâve saved you from many, many clumsy falls.â
âMy savior,â you giggle. âLift me?â you say, and he nods, squatting down until you climb atop his shoulders before rising again.
âOkay, get a bit closer,â you instruct as you grab a packet of flour. âShit, okay, this is heavy,â you giggle nervously.
âWhy are you shaking? Iâm the one carrying you,â Yongbok chuckles.
âWhen have you ever seen me around the vicinity of a gym?â
âJust hang in there, Iâll squat slowly,â he reassures.
Your feet are almost on the ground when the bag slips from your hands, falling with a resounding bang. Clouds of white envelop you both, shrouding your clothes in powder. You freeze, only to erupt into laughter as Yongbok grabs your waist, pulling you down to him.
âMy god,â you manage to utter between chuckles, staring at the flour scattered all over the ground. Your laughter intensifies as Yongbok stares at you blankly, his face completely covered in white.
âWhat should I do?â you giggle, clutching your stomach. Yongbok canât hold in his laughter much longer at the sight of the tears rolling down your cheeks. His giggles stream through your veins like a cup of hot tea, making your entire being warm up from within.
âIâm sorry,â you laugh, your palms settling atop his cheeks, slightly wiping away the powder.
âItâs okay,â he chuckles still, swiping his knuckles across your cheek to remove the flour, as well. Your hands cease their movements as you take in the fully concentrated look on his face.
âCan I ask you something?â you inquire quietly, and he nods.
âYou seemed quiet today,â you note. He stiffens slightly before turning your cheek to the left, wiping the other side of your face. âOr was I wrong?â
âI donât really know how to talk to other people.â
âWhy is that?â
âIâm scared theyâll be able to tell there is something abnormal about me.â
âYongbok...â you speak his name softly as if it was molded after your voice alone. âThatâs nonsense. There is nothing abnormal about you.â
He avoids your gaze, so you place your hand atop his, tilting your face to catch his eyes. âHm?â
âJust because my wings arenât here doesnât mean my past is erased.â
âWho said it should be? No oneâs asking you to be perfect. No human is, Yongbok.â He remains silent, so you sigh softly, inching closer to him.
âIf a straight line goes on with its path...â your fingertip drags a straight line across his chest, the white shirt heâs wearing suddenly igniting from the warmth of your touch. âIt will remain undisturbed for the rest of its life. But what good is that? If a line doesnât go down,â you trace a curve down his shirt, then one up again, âhow will it ever know how sweet a high is, right?â you smile, before bopping your fingertip across the tip of his nose.
âYou have pretty freckles, by the way,â you smile, and he clears his throat, nodding furiously. âThank you.â
âYou know, the guy who ordered the matcha latte, he spent his entire time here observing you,â you grin knowingly, and he frowns. âReally? I didnât notice.â
âYes, and when you gave him the change, he did the... what was it called again?â you muse for a few seconds before clapping. âAh, yes, the triangle method.â
âWhatâs that?â
âHe looked into your left eye, then your right one,â you demonstrate with your gaze gliding across his like a skilled ice skater grazing the surface of ice. âThen... his gaze flickered to your lips,â your eyes follow your words, and his breath suddenly catches in his throat, an unknown feeling swelling in the pits of his stomach. Tender and aching all at once.Â
âDid it work? Did I fluster you?â you giggle, leaning to place your ear atop his heart. Yongbok pushes your head away, grateful for the dim lighting that conceals his blushing face. He doesnât know what emotion will burst into him if your head rests across his chest.
He doesnât think his heart could handle it.
âNo, you didnât, umââ heâs flustered. He prays with all his might you canât tell. âLetâs clean this up, Iâm hungry.â
âWhat should we have for dinner?â
âSushi?â
âNo, letâs have kimbap.â
âThen why did you ask me?â
You shrug happily. âIâm giving you the illusion of choice.â
Your words send a chill running down his spine, his hands freezing in place. Is this what Chris has offered him? An illusion of choice. Of a different ending. Of a fate different from what he has always thought would be his.
No, Christopher canât be that cruel, right? Yongbok shakes his head, cleaning the entire room with an absentminded swipe of his hand.
A fool made to believe he can change a prophecy.
But Yongbok canât help the small voice growing in his head, feeding off his worries and anxiety, echoing mindlessly within his mind.
But he can.
He can.
He is.
âŠ
Time passes differently on humans than on angels. It now marks Yongbok in different ways, too.Â
The hours he spends feeling sad are excruciating, stretching long and long till he starts to question whether the sun does rise at the end of the night. Or if it is a cruel lie recounted by humans to make the sadness less harsh, easier to bear.Â
But those same hours he spends happily pass within the blink of an eye, their fragments stitching into Yongbokâs memory, a tapestry woven with threads of your silky voice and glimmering eyes. It is those happy moments he lived for the past month that he wishes to remember.Â
Only those.Â
He's gotten better at latte art, taking pleasure in drawing different shapes, animals, and even faces into the drinks. Itâs less the satisfaction of being good at a task, and more so the smile that blooms on the faces of whichever customer gets their drink. Delighted by something he did, for once.
Heâs good at making brownies. And apparently, his brownies are the best youâve ever had. Heâs only ever discovered the joys of baking because you were craving some but were feeling too lazy to make them. It was arguably hard to bake in the dark, as if ashamed of what your reaction would be if you found him struggling with pots and browned butter.Â
But all of his embarrassment dissipated when you tasted them first thing in the morning, your eyes lingering longer on his figure when you found the plate.Â
Mr. Kang agrees, too, so much that heâs asked him to put up these brownies for sale. Yongbok spends a lot of time with the kitchen staff, where Mrs. Kang, the head chef, teaches him the intricacies of carrot cake and cinnamon rolls. She calls him âsonâ, Yongbok doesnât know why an urge to weep overtakes him each time he hears the nickname.
You took him on picnics across the Han River, bowls of steaming hot ramyeon in your hands as you watched the sunset, sometimes the sunrise too. He reads books lying on the grass field, your shoulder brushing against his own. He doesnât know why he remembers the swipe of your skin against his, or the specific scent of your perfume as it intermingles with that of the salty river.Â
Sometimes it is bike rides across the river. You chasing the sun and him chasing something elseâ was it your smile, your happiness, a glimpse of your face each time you turned back to look at him? He doesnât know the exact answer, but he knows that when your gaze met his across your shoulder, the wind swaying your hair as if spelling out lullabies for his soul, something excruciatingly tender bloomed within his soul.Â
Sometimes it is day trips to neighboring cities, where you can see the beach once again. Where he swims and floats atop the water. Where he closes his eyes and feels at peace, where the water chases off images of his pain and leaves only images of you.Â
He also volunteered at your local food kitchen. The people who eat there have called him kind, too. He feels as if you sat the course of how he would be perceived when you described him as such, the very first night you spoke in. He likes being there. He likes talking to people, heâs gotten better at it, too.Â
He met Chan, and his two friends, Han and Changbin. He doesnât remember how he ended up singing ad-libs for their newest mixtape. But they complimented his voice, said itâs perfect for harmonizing. You had simply grinned as if you already knew that from the moment you had first heard him speak. You spent the rest of the night eating grilled meat and playing video games over at their dorm. Yongbok doesn't think he laughed as much as that day.Â
And each time he thinks the heights of his happiness are attained, that this is as joyful as he can get. That sorrow will undoubtedly follow closely, as it lingers just around the corner, waiting for the cup of his happiness to be filled to the brim. You prove him wrong. You make him laugh harder. You broaden his heart for him to receive even more happiness.Â
As you are doing now, missing every target to win this pink cat plushie in Lotte World.Â
âThis is embarrassing, how can you miss all of them?â he sighs amusedly and you turn around, pointing a finger at his face.Â
âBecause you are staring at me with yourâŠâ you stammer, waving your finger in front of his face, âeyes.â
âHow am I supposed to look at you then?â
âJust don't. I donât do well with scrutinizing.â
âOkay, Iâm not looking.â he turns around, closing his eyes for a second, waving his hand discreetly through the air. He knows that your delighted scream will follow.Â
âDid you get it?â he feigns being surprised as you shake his shoulder, turning him around. âI did!âÂ
Your smile is as wide as an ocean, as beautiful as the sunsets you take him to witness. Heâs lost in thought as he takes in your grin.Â
âYou look so pretty, Yn,â he says honestly, earnestly, because it is the only way he has ever known to speak to you. âPretty like the sun.âÂ
âOh,â your excitement fizzles out, the plushie growing lump in your hold. âDoesnât the sun burn the more you look at it?â you giggle nervously, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear. They are rebellious, refusing to stay still, so Yongbok steps forward, gently doing it for you.
âBecause the sun shines a bit too brightly to make sure everything else in the universe does.â he pauses, running his tongue across the expanse of his lips. âJust like you, with me and everyone else in your life,â he says. My light is a reflection of yours, is what you hear.Â
âYou are very honest,â you smile softly, bringing a hand to your ablaze cheeks, hoping to cool them down.Â
âIs it a bad thing?â he asks. Nervous. You quickly shake your head, despising the thought of a negative emotion trapping his heart.
âNo, no. Itâs a good one. Truly.âÂ
âOkay.âÂ
âShould we go to the ferry wheel?â you suddenly ask, hugging the plushie closely to your body.Â
âYeah, sure, letâs go,â he grins.Â
Yongbokâs limbs are slightly achy from all the rides you went on today, but nothing seems to deter the smile on his face, even as the line stretches for meters ahead. Nothing, except for the discomfort slowly growing on your face, your thumb tearing at the skin near your nails.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â he questions, trying his best to catch your fleeting gaze.Â
âThere are tooâ too many people around, I feel a bit suffocated.âÂ
Yongbok doesnât think, he simply grabs your hand and you are suddenly on the top of the ferry wheel, humans morphing into tiny ants to you from high above.
âBetter?â he asks worriedly, tucking a strand of your hair behind the cuff of your ear.Â
Youâre still slightly dazed, but the wind that slams into your body feels like a gulp of cold water.Â
âYour hands are shaking,â he notices, entwining your fingers with his, naturally, as if it is second nature for you both. âAnd they are cold. Are you dying?â he asks and you finally burst into giggles, shaking your head.
âNo, I⊠I sometimes get anxious around people; it usually turns into a panic attack but I think you stopped it.â
âI helped you?â he asks, eyes softening and you nod. âWhy are you surprised? you always do.â
Yongbok doesnât know how to face the gentleness of your tone. It is a much harder opponent than the harshness he was subjected to.Â
âDo they happen often?â
âIt depends. They come and go like the seasons. I actually⊠I learned how to help you from my mom. Do you remember? back on the rooftop?â
âReally?â he asks, bringing your interlocked hands to his mouth and blowing warm air onto them. His lips almost graze your knuckles in the process.Â
âYeah. She got them frequently and she taught me how to ground her. And then I used those techniques on myself. Then on you.â you sigh, closing your eyes and tipping your head back.Â
âHers happened because of a past accident. She once got stuck in a mob of people and ended up fainting. it was my dad who pulled her up from the ground, itâs how they met, actually,â you grin slightly, before breathing in slowly.
âYou know, I read that you can inherit trauma from your parents, but also from generations past. That it changes the genetic structure of your mind. I wonder if thatâs what triggers me.âÂ
âThat's fascinating to think about. How emotions and experiences can be inherited.âÂ
âI know,â you smile, âI think it passed.â you gesture to your interlocked hands and he lets go promptly, staring ahead at the twinkling city lights, light pink dusting his cheeks. Heâs embarrassed because he enjoyed the feel of your palm against his so much, maybe too much, enough to wish for your line palms to meld into one another. Becoming two indiscernible scriptures to the naked eye.Â
âWait. Does this mean we didn't need to wait all day for the rides?â you suddenly ask and he nods.Â
âThen why didnât you?â
âI don't⊠I don't like using my powers a lot around you.â
âWhy is that?âÂ
âI'm scared that the more I use them the more you'll realize that I'm a fallen angel and that you have no business talking to someone like me.â
âYou are very silly, you know that right?â you sigh, placing your cheek atop his shoulder. Yongbokâs world stops spinning right there and then. âI don't feel as lonely anymore now that youâre here. Angel,, human, or something else entirely⊠None of that matters to me.
To me, youâre just Yongbok.â
the question trickles suddenly into his being, tiptoes inside him gently like a droplet finding its way back to a waterfallâ what is the grandest thing the universe has to offer?
To him youâre it.Â
âI think I'm happy right now.â
âYou think?âÂ
âI don't know how to describe it⊠But it feels like I have a little sun in my chest. It glows and itâs warm.âÂ
You tilt your head back to look at him, a wide smile on your face. He finds his answer in the sunset that filtrates through the strands of your hair, the last sun rays of the day coating your face in a warm glow, as if it was made to make your features shine the most, to make the shadows in your face look like a sculpture.Â
âYeah,â he says after a few silent beats, âI really am happy.â
âDoes this mean we are moving?â you giggle, spreading your arms wide as if taking in the entire universe into your chest.
âYeah, wherever you want us to.â His words are soft, resolute, draped with a gentle discoveryâ he followed you down to earth, heâd follow you everywhere in it.
âŠ
âI don't know how I'll explain to people how I suddenly afforded this apartment,â you smile, hands on your hips, as you take in your new surroundings.Â
Yongbok moves to stand directly behind you, his chest almost brushing against yours. you feel your heart palpitate at his proximityâ so close yet so out of reach, simultaneously.
âJust say you moved in with meâ
âMm, Iâll say we are childhood friends and you just moved to the city.â
âFriends? Is that what we are now?â he grins, the light from the tinted windows bathing his features in a kaleidoscope of colors. Heâs so beautiful, You you suddenly wish for a change to what you are. you donât know by what exactly. But something, anything that will allow you to appreciate, venerate his beauty fully.
âWell, we arenât strangers anymore.â
âI think you are my first real friend,â he says, a bit shyly, pink filling up the spaces between his tan freckles.Â
Yongbok always speaks whatâs in his mind, with this air of innocence tainting his words as if he doesnât know that thoughts can be kept to himself.Â
You never mind it. Though it churns your insides, makes you experience this particular attachment to him. You want to orbit around him, hear what he thinks of everything, of the colors it seems he experiences for the first time, the food he tastes, and the humans he speaks to.
And most importantly, you.Â
You yearn to know everything he thinks of you. You donât allow yourself to decipher where this need is coming from. You donât think youâd be able to handle its consequences.Â
âYouâre lucky I'm like⊠The best human to ever walk on this earth,â you grin, throwing your hair over your shoulder and onto his face. He squints his eye to chase away strands of your hair.
âThe humblest too,â he says, his eyes drifting across the living room. You chose an apartment on the smaller side, as opposed to his unlimited budget. But he likes what you did to the place. He doesnât quite understand the intricacies of home decor, but he likes the plants everywhere, the flickering candles, and the fragrant flowers bathed in dim lightning.Â
And he loves your painting room the most, with a neat library on the side. It feels like taking a walk straight into your heart.Â
âWho painted that, by the way?â he suddenly asks, pointing to the painting in the middle of the room, right above the beige couch.Â
âHwang Hyunjin. It took me four paychecks to be able to afford it, three years ago. His pieces are now much more expensive.â
âHyunjinâŠâ he repeats, tasting the name on his tongue, it is familiar, and the memory suddenly hits him once again. âOh, I talked to him before.â
âDid you?!â you ask excitedly, grabbing his arm and shaking it slightly. âWhere, when, how?â
âAt a bar, before I became... half human?â he says, unsure a bit of what he is now. âHe actually invited me to his upcoming exposition. When was it again?â
âToday!â you nearly yell and he flinches.
âReally?â
âYeah, I've been following his news. He's really my favorite artist.â
âShould we go?âÂ
âActually?â
âYeah. you seem to really like him.â
âOh my god, Iâm meeting Hwang Hyunjin. oh my god, I need a dress,â you grab his hand, pulling him away. âWe need a dress!â
âWe?â
âLetâs go shopping, we need to buyâŠâ
Your words fizzle out in his brain, his whole focus on your entwined fingers as you push him through the room. Your palm feels like a soft petal brushing against his bruised skin.Â
If he freezes time, just for a bit more, to enjoy the feel of your hand in his, would anyone blame him?Â
The earth would understand surelyâ the desperate need to appreciate softness when all he has known is thorns pricking his skin.
...
âYongbok!â Hyunjin's boisterous voice echoes through the art gallery, drawing every eye to you and Yongbok as you stride inside. Yongbok barely has a moment to take in the lavish surroundings before Hyunjin walks toward you, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the white marble.
âI knew youâd come!â he grins, grabbing Yongbokâs hand between his two large palms, shaking it warmly.Â
âI didnât think youâd remember me.âÂ
âOf course I'd remember you,â Hyunjin says, his face darkening for a fleeting second, before his eyes rest on you.Â
âNice to meet you. Iâm Hyunjin,â he smiles, grabbing your hand and shaking it a bit more softly.Â
âYn. Iâm a big admirer of your work, truly.â
Yongbokâs eyes soften at your excitementâ they donât leave your figure when he tells Hyunjin that you have a piece of his hanging in the living room.
âReally?â Hyunjinâs face brightens up at the news, âwhich one?â
âThe red roses in the vase. Itâs one of my favorites.â
âThat was in my beginnings,â Hyunjin muses, a hint of nostalgia tinting his words. âI put a lot of love in it.âÂ
âI can tell, the colors especially scream of passion.â
âAre you one for passionate love?â
âIs love truly love if it is devoid of passion?â you ask, tilting your head. Hyunjinâs eyes linger on Yongbok for a moment before turning back to you.
âExcellent! Please choose whichever artwork you prefer; it will be my gift.â
âReally?â you beam, brighter than Yongbok has ever seen you before. The sun suddenly perishes within him.
âOf course. The prettiest artwork for the prettiest girl,â Hyunjin winks smoothly, before patting Yongbokâs shoulder. âShall I give you a tour?â
Yongbokâs voice is withered as it floods his earsâ âPlease.â
âŠ
Yongbokâs eyes are fixated on the red liquid swirling around his glass. He fears that if his gaze deserts the wine heâs drinking then it would inevitably drift to you and Hyunjin, giggling together, like long-time friends. Or is it lovers? The lines blur so easily for humans.
He had feigned an ache in his legs, telling you that heâd sit down while you go on with the tour. You had placed a hand on his arm, a worried crease in your eyebrows. âOkay?â you asked. Comforting, warm. It is the adjectives that always come to his mind when he thinks of you with him.Â
But you arenât his to describe. His to be kind with. His.Â
So, he hummed, a tight smile drawn on his face.Â
Itâs not that he despised Hyunjinâs artwork. On the contrary, Hyunjin is a skilled artist, he can see why heâs reaping the fruits he sowed years ago. And yet, what disturbs him is something silly, stupid, too feeble for an angel, a human even, to care for.
He doesnât like how your laugh travels around the gallery, how you fell so easily into conversation with Hyunjin, talking about your shared interest in art. He wonât ever have a passion of years to talk to you about. How could he when his existence merely spans over three months?
Yongbok is shrinking more and more, till he becomes a single dot of paint on the painting in the very far end of the gallery. Forgotten, dim before all the others. How can he dream to compare if he doesnât know who he is? If his memories of life donât even contain the four seasons, pausing in winter, barely brushing against spring.
When his torn skin doesnât bear blemishes from falls years ago, while riding the bicycle, while playing with other kids, proof of a childhood well spent. No, his scars are that of one stripped from his roots, cast into an unknown world, punished, ridiculed.Â
Heâs unworthy of being an angel, unworthy of being human, unworthy of being in your company. Why are you wasting time with someone like him, whoâd only pull you down, someone who needs instructions to understand how to carry his heart?Â
The thoughts play out in his head, again and again, on your ride back home. You are happy, radiating even at the thought of a painting delivered by Hyunjin himself, your favorite artist, sitting in your home. His skin ricochets off your happiness, morphs it into anger and bitterness, all directed at himself.
He hates Hyunjin. He doesn't. He hates Hyunjin with you. He wants you to be happy with him alone. Isnât he horrible for wishing to strip you away from happiness?Â
Horrible.
Horrible.
Abomination.Â
âCan you help me take off my necklace?â you knock on his bedroom a few minutes after you arrive, walking in to find him sitting on his bed, deep in thought.Â
He startles at your presence, backing away even more into the wall. You frown at the tumult you perceive in his eyes.Â
âGet out.â
âWhat?â
âI said,â he speaks through gritted teeth. âPlease, get out.âÂ
He canât bear looking at you. He canât bear you looking at him. What will you see? Someone poisoned by jealousy, whose insides are collapsing on themselves, whose body rejects his bruised soul, over and over again.Â
Where else is he supposed to flee? If he sheds this skin, which one would finally accept him whole?Â
âWhatâs wrong? youâve been quiet all night, avoiding my gaze. Did something happen that upset you?â
Heâs panicking, on the verge of combusting into tears. How would he explain this hatred coursing through his veins at the thought of being perceived? By your kind, beautiful beautiful eyes, nonetheless.Â
âI reallyââ a pause, â I really donât want to see you right now.â
You falter, your hand curling tighter against the doorknob.
âBecause each time I do, Iâ I see you with Hyunjin, and I feel as if flames are burning inside my lungs, choking me.âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âAnd I hate- hate how I⊠look how I exist right now. So please, leave, I don't want you to see me.âÂ
You hesitate for a few seconds, rooted in place.Â
And then you close the door.Â
You are inside.Â
âTalk to me, what is it youâre feeling?â you speak softly, your voice cautious, none of the things heâs used to. It angers him all of the sudden.Â
âThis is exactly what I hate. You are wasting your time helping me decipher my feelings, you are pitying me. Can't you see how burdensome I am?â
You shake your head, taking a step forward.Â
âI donât, I like it, I⊠I love helping you, I love seeing the world through your eyes again. It feels like I'm learning new things every day thanks to you and Iââ
âIâm an ABOMINATION,â he yells, the walls seem to shake from the voracity of his voice. âFrom the moment I was created, I have been nothing but anomalous, I⊠I don't belong anywhere, who was I kidding by coming here?â he tears at his hair slightly, now pacing back and forth in front of you. âDid I really think that feeling would suddenly fix the void within me? that talking to humans would make me normalââÂ
âYongbok!â you cut him off, no longer capable of bearing the sound of his shaky voice. âPlease you are not listening to me!â
âNo, you are not listening to me! Look! Look at how ugly I am, look!â he turns around, taking off his white shirt, exposing his butchered back to you. âLook at everything that haunts me, please look at it, hate me and leave.âÂ
He pleads, naked and vulnerable before your eyes. He waits for you to deliver the killing blow, to cement the horrible thoughts he bears for his body.Â
If it is your voice speaking of how worthless he is then heâd believe it more.Â
A pin-drop silence coats the room. Yongbok believes you somewhat vanished from existence.Â
And then. Your lips on his back, brushing across the plane of his shoulder in the softest, faintest manner. He almost thinks heâs imagining it, imagining you kissing his scarred skin as if it is a delicate petal, worthy of care. Worthy of admiration. Worthy of love.Â
âIs this what you hate about yourself?â you whisper, your knuckles grazing his scars. âWhy are you so mean to your body, Yongbok?â your voice shakes. Hot tears pool in his eyes at the sound of it. â Didnât it scab its best to keep you alive?â
âYou are such an idiot,â you breathe out quietly, your warm palms settling atop his waist. âI won't hate you for this. How could I hate you for this?âÂ
Yongbok is dizzy, drunk off your voice and the way your touch makes goosebumps ripple across his skin. âHow could I hate you when all I see is resilience?â Your lips brush against his back, the faintest kisses peppered down his spine. âWhen all I see is what kept you alive?âÂ
Yongbokâs blood has spilled into the first snow of Seoul, what feels like a lifetime ago. But somewhat, it is underneath the caress of your hands that he has felt most exposed.
âSo, I am thankful for your scars,â another tender kiss, this time to the nape of his neck. âOtherwise, you would have bled on the snow and I wouldn't have known you. And itâs a horrible horrible thing for me to imagine.âÂ
Your chin nestles across the plane of his shoulder, your hands wrap delicately around his chest. Can you feel his heart beating wildly? Can you hear it spelling out your name?Â
âDonât be so harsh on yourself, Yongbok. Haven't you been through enough, already?â
It isnât the thoughts in Yongbokâs head that finally make him breakdown. It is rather the feeling of your chest pressed to his back, your cheek resting across his shoulder, you hugging him for the very first time in existence, you enclosing him in a cocoon of safety the way his wings used to. Â
âIâm here. you can cry all you want,â you reassure, soft and comforting. His grief for his wings suddenly seem too far out of reach, the safety of his feathers paling before the safety of you.Â
Yongbok doesnât think as he spins around, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You respond swiftly, bringing his body even closer to yours, running your hand comfortingly along his spine.Â
He doesnât mind your fingers grazing his scars, he doesnât chase off your touch. On the contrary, he craves it, his cells calling out your name, thanking you for all the love youâre giving him. He wishes he could glue himself to you, crawl inside your veins, build himself a nest between the web of your nerves. He doesnt think he could ever survive mourning you.Â
âPleaseâ please donât leave me,â he begs, lost in waves of uncertainty, he thinks that if he holds you tightly you wonât ever disappear from his hands, trickling between his fingers like grains of sand.Â
âDon't be silly,â tears fall down your eyes too, landing on his back like dripping wax. You attempt to steady your voice but it still shakes like rattling branches. âWhere would I go?â
âWhat if they take you away from me?â
A flash of white clouds Yongbokâs vision, the cold returns to his body tenfold. He blinks repeatedly, and then he finds himself atop an abandoned rooftop. The blood runs cold in his veins, his heart pausing in his chest as he hears heavy footsteps approaching. Did he place a curse atop himself? Did his worst fear come true as soon as he spoke of it?Â
Are you gone?
Oh God, are you gone?
âYongbok,â a familiar voice speaks, and life resumes its course inside his feeble body.
âSeungmin,â he speaks the name in relief, a breathtaking smile blooming on his face. He sees the scrunch in Seungminâs eyebrows relax ever so slightly, before a placid look drapes across his face again.
âWhy did you do it?â Seungmin asks and Yongbokâs grin falters.Â
âDid they send you?â he asks, a hint of apprehension filling his words.
âNo, I came to bring you back.â
âWhat?â
âI will fly you back and you will kneel before them and apologize. And you will vow to never speak to humans again, and it will be forgotten.â
âI don't want to.â
âWhy are youâ âSeungmin pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, âthey are humans,â he says the words in disdain, as if looking down at them from atop an unreachable altar.Â
âI know they are.âÂ
âThey are weak. Driven by things they cannot touch or see.â
âAnd I love them for it.â
Seungmin frowns. âYouâre defending them.âÂ
âSeungmin,â he sighs tiredly, âwhy are you doing this?â
âBecause I'm trying to help you. This, emotions, feelings, love. It isn't worth the pain they will end up causing you.â
Yongbok scoffs loudly, angrily. âWhat do you know about love?â
âYou think you are special? You think youâre the first angel to go through this? I loved someone too Yongbok!'' Seungmin yells, taking him completely by surprise. âAnd they had him get in a car accident to punish me for it. I still hear the screeching tires; I still see his skull fracturing against the ground. I had to begâ beg for them to rewind the seconds and bring him back to life. And all for what?â he scoffs, grabbing Yongbokâs shoulders and shaking them. âYou are on cloud nine because this is something new for you, you think that those humans would ever accept you? But you are wrong! Tell me, whatâs an angel to a human?â
The shout that leaves Yongbokâs throat is a foreign one to his being. âThat doesn't matter to me!â he yells, pushing away his hands. âLook me in the eyes, ask me, whatâs a human to an angel? Iâll tell you itâs everything. Everything if itâs her.âÂ
âThis will ruin you. They will kill you, Yongbok. She will be your demise.â
âIâd rather die by her hands than live by yours.â
âWhat if she ends up dying by your hands?â Seungmin speaks calmly, coldly. Yongbok feels the ground give up beneath his feet. âWhat if in the process of hurting you they end up hurting her, what will you do then?â
âI⊠they wonât.â
âHow do you know?â
âBecause I don't love her.â
âWho said anything about love?â Seungmin sighs, shaking his head. He looks almost desolate, somewhat that terrifies Yongbok even more. âYou have your answer, I fear they have theirs too.â
Seungmin walks away, pauses, before turning back once more. He hesitates to speak, and in the seconds of silence that ensue, Yongbok discovers how terribly heavy fear is to bear.Â
âIâm sorry, Yongbok.â
His tongue is heavy as it moves to askâ âwhat for?âÂ
âFor the things yet to come.âÂ
#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x you#stray kids x you#skz imagines#stray kids imagine#stray kids imagines#skz reactions#skz scenarios#stray kids scenarios#skz au#skz fluff#stray kids fluff#skz angst#stray kids angst#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfic#felix x reader#felix fluff#felix angst
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Kinktober Day 11: Rough / Squirting
Cassian and Nesta Archeron x Reader || WC: 549
Cassianâs hands feel hot against the backs of your thighs, keeping you completely spread open as he mercilessly slams you up and down his thick fucking cock.Â
One of your hands grips the back of his head, fisting his long hair like a lifeline while he lifts up and down like you weigh nothing. Your other hand desperately tries to push Nestaâs head away from where sheâs sucking harshly on your clit.Â
Your entire body jerks when Nesta pulls back, smirking and slaps the sensitive bundle of nerves, hard. You scream and Cassian laughs next to your ear. âYou know you like it,â he taunts.
âNo, I donât!â you scream out again when Nesta slaps your pussy again.Â
She grins up at you, starting to rub tight circles on your clit. âAre you sure about that?â She teases.Â
You gasp when she pinches your swollen nub. âYes!â
âThen why does your pussy grip my cock every time Nes slaps it?â He growls. âEvery time I fuck you like weâre animal?â And just to prove his point he thrusts in impossibly deeper while slamming you down harder.Â
All you can do is cry and moan, losing your composure as they get off while getting you off. Nestaâs mouth closes around your clit again, holding it gently between her teeth, flicking her tongue against it. You wiggle and squirm in Cassianâs arms, tension starting to coil in your tummy.Â
Getting tighter and tighter.Â
Pressure starts to build in your pussy too. Building and building the more Cassian hits your g-spot with the head of his cock. You can feel yourself clamping around him. Your thighs try and fail to squeeze around Nestaâs head because of his hold on them.Â
âCass!â you whimper and he just laughs. Nesta laughs too, sending shockwaves straight to your clit.
âBrats like you, get fucked like this.â He bites your neck. Your shoulder. âSo youâre going to take what we give you,â he snarls.Â
You nod, chanting, âyes,â but it comes out more like incoherent babbles.Â
His grip on thighs turns punishing and with one last plunge of his cock, the tension snaps and you cum. The pressure in your pussy is so overwhelming that your release gushes out of you, around his cock.Â
He pulls out with an awed curse and Nesta replaces him with her fingers. Pumping them in and out of you as you squirt all over her hand and chest. Soaking your thighs and Cassianâs and his cock as she pulls as much pleasure as she can out of your weeping cunt.Â
Cassian kisses and sucks on your neck, you can feel his grin on your skin. Nesta praises you but canât focus on anything sheâs saying. You can feel everything tho, especially as she slurps up your release off your thighs, Cassianâs cock, and finally youâre cunt.Â
Youâre a soaking limp mess by the time she stands up, pressing into your front. Cassian still pressed at your back. âAre you done being a brat?â Nesta murmurs.Â
You shake your head, still slumped against Cassian's shoulder.Â
They both breathe a laugh. âNo?â Nesta asks.Â
You shake your head again.Â
Cassian grinds you against his cock, carrying you towards the bed. âCome on, Nes. I guess this means weâre going for round four.âÂ
****
Taglist: @daycourtofficial @03michi01 @impossibelle @the-sweet-psycho @aestheticalien99 @itsinherited @a-courtof-azriel @lalalucha @theonewithwritersblock @blessthepizzaman @the-starlight-way @anama-cara @halo-hanging @fhgsvbnh @p1nkfluffysocks @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @wolfbc97 @importantduckhumanoidpatrol @edance2000 @velarisnightsky444 @headcaseproductions1 @mellyy-1 @caticorn61 @baileybird71 @tired-sleepyhead @rosecobollway @scarsandallaz @lilah-asteria @90angiex @scorpioriesling @hellokittysbtc @thegoddessofnothingness @comeoneladiesitstime2yearn @that-one-small-world
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#acotar fanfiction#acotar smut#cassian#nesta archeron#cassian fanfic#nesta archeron fanfic#cassian smut#nesta archeron smut#cassian x reader#nesta archeron x reader#cassian x you#nesta archeron x you#cassian x y/n#nesta archeron x y/n#kinktober 2024
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hiraeth âą seo changbin [part three]
Ëâ· ÍÍÍÍâłâ„ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Â
â°Â pairing - roommate!changbin x fem!reader
â°Â warnings - some swearing, reader is harassed non-consensually but it's all okay in the end :c
â°Â word count - 2.9k
â°Â notes - lol i don't know how to feel about this one it's literally crap. also the picture yes they are fucking hot
â° tags - @hyunjinslittlestar @dunno-wut-to-do @caticorn61
â°Â sypnosis: after setting some boundaries with changbin, somehow you coincidentally find out his secret.
hiraeth - the longing for a home that you cannot return to, or never was.
masterlist | requests open!
Ëâ· ÍÍÍÍâłâ„ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Â
You knew it was probably wrong to follow your roommate through college, but when you find out heâs been hiding things from you, what choice did you have?
Changbin turned the corner, talking to Jisung and completely unaware of your current situation.Â
He was stopped by Chan, and the three headed off somewhere.Â
You decided that it was enough, and you wandered off towards your classroom.Â
The confusions only increased as Changbin disappeared off for random parts of the day, whether it was early morning, during the day, or late at night.Â
Worried would be an understatement. You didnât know whether he was okay or not, and the apartment felt emptier than ever.Â
Does he not want to be around me?Â
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âGo outside. Donât just sit around in here.â The mom barged into the room, scaring the living hell out of the poor girl, who was clearly deathly scared of loud noises.Â
âWhat? What are you hiding to make such a big reaction to me coming in? Keep the door open. And you better study something. Or else.â The older woman threatened, walking out the door and leaving the girl to bask in her thoughts.Â
âI SAID, GET OUT!â The mother screeched at the girl, who got up from the desk and ran to the front door.Â
She wandered the streets for a little while, not wanting to talk to people, much less make friends.Â
Going home for another half an hour wasnât an option.Â
The girl knew that someday she would regret not making friends.
People always told her that it was difficult at first.Â
To her, it seemed impossible. She would end up alone. All alone.Â
She bit back tears as she remembered her old friends, and how they had ditched her once she had finally opened up to them.Â
They had blocked her, and she felt more alone than ever.Â
No one. No one to open up to, to explain the bitter truth of her problems. Nobody to trust, to believe in.Â
Maybe, she was destined to be this way.Â
Alone.Â
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You stopped by the grocery store on the way back to the dorms from the library.Â
Wandering around through the isles, you selected many necessities, including food and medicine.Â
You stopped in front of a specific item; Changbinâs favorite cookie snack.Â
You immediately grabbed multiple packets, witt how much he was working, he clearly needed his energy, which was also sugar. Â
You almost giggled at the thought of him having a sugar rush last time, running around the apartment with you chasing him down.Â
It was almostâŠfun.Â
You knew that Seo Changbin was a major health freak, and that he would never have too much sugar, but there were sometimes where he really needed it.Â
Grabbing a few more of Changbinâs favorite snacks and making your way to the checkout counter, pulling out your wallet to pay for the items.Â
âNeed me to pay for them, pretty?â
Your heart nearly stopped. You froze in your position, turning slightly in fear.Â
A group of three men, all smoking and clearly drunk, laughed at your state of fright.Â
âU-UmâŠsirâŠiâm a minor.â You informed him, glancing at the cashier for help.Â
However, he just smirked at you instead.Â
âHow old âre you?â The drunk guy slurred, stumbling towards you, prompting you to take a couple steps back.Â
âIâm 17.â You whimpered. âThatâs plenty.â The guy grunted, limping towards you.Â
You immediately turned and ran without a second thought, hiding behind a column of wall that was inaccessible to the public.Â
You didnât care about how much trouble you would get into later.Â
Terrified, you pull your phone out of your hoodie pocket.Â
Immediately calling Changbin, you gasp as you hear a container getting knocked over in the next isle.Â
Praying that he would pick up, you sank to the floor to hide more effectively.Â
Your call was immediately sent to voice mail.Â
You called Jisung and Chan; neither of them responded either.Â
Finally, you called Mina, who picked up immediately.Â
Frantically, you explained the situation to her, and she told you to hang on; she was one her way.Â
Five minutes passed, and a hand grabbed your shoulder. Alarmed, you almost scream before breaking into sobs as your friend cradled you.Â
Safe. You were safe.Â
You both walked out of the grocery store after paying for your things.Â
The creepy guys didnât even dare to come near you now that you werenât alone.Â
âThank you. Oh my goodness, you saved me.â You gasped, gripping your friendâs shoulders.Â
âOh come on. Itâs what friends do. Also those guys were super creepy. What happened to your super buff roommate? Changbin? Why didnât he come?â Mina asked, continuing to hold you closer to give you a sense of security.Â
âH-He didnât pick up. Even when he knows I never call except when itâs an emergency.â You grunt. You were gonna give him a piece of your mind once you reach the dorm.Â
If he even was there. Â
âOoof. Girl, get your man in order.â Mina giggled at the wild blush coating your face.Â
âHe is not my man!â You scoff, slapping her shoulder while continuing to walk towards the familiar college building.Â
âI mean, heâa pretty cute. And heâs your type.â Mina teased, wiggling her eyebrows at you and cackling as you shriek in disbelief.Â
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Â
You entered your dorm after punching in the key code, walking straight to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water.Â
What you didnât expect, however, was for a certain black-haired man to be sitting on the couch.Â
You immediately walk in front of him, ready to go off on him for not answering your calls.Â
Normally, this would be a pretty crappy thing to get upset over, considering it was just one phone call.Â
But Changbin knew that you never called unless it was an emergency, and you had established that pretty early on in your friendship.Â
âWhat excuse do you have for yourself?! I even called you during free period! Why didnât you pick up?â You shouted.Â
âY-Y/N iâm seriously sorry, I had something going on at the time, so I switched off my phone. What happened?â Changbin replied, looking up at you with the saddest expression you had ever seen on him.Â
Clearly he was feeling remorse for his actions. You decided to go easy on him.Â
âThis guy at the grocery store tried to harass me, I called Mina though, so iâm okay.âÂ
Changbin gasped quietly, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes in guilt.Â
âY/NâŠiâm so sorry. Please forgive meâŠâ He quietly asked, grabbing your hands and placing them on his head in an attempt to ask for forgiveness.Â
âItâs okay, Binnie. JustâŠdonât ignore them again, kay?â You tried to calm him down, and he yanked you down onto the couch next to him and snuggled up to you.Â
Your chest warmed up at the affectionate act, and you played with his bangs while he slept. Wow, clearly he was exhausted.Â
You realize that he was wearing pretty heavy makeup, something he didnât do normally.Â
He looked very pretty, though. You dragged him to your room, removing all of his makeup and fixing his hair.Â
You change into your pajamas in your closet, doing your skincare before you both went to bed, in his room, or course.Â
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Â
âGirl! I got tickets for us both to go to the 3RACHA concert!â Mina squealed, jumping up and down in utter excitement.Â
âWhatâs 3RACHA?â You ask, not really insterested.Â
âTheyâre this new band! Theyâre anonymous, though. You only know them by their stage names. CB97, J.one, and SPEARB.â Mina rambled to you, handing you a ticket.Â
âI guess Iâll have to research them.â You reply, staring at the silhouettes in the picture and getting the fleeting impression of familiarity. Like youâve seen them before.Â
Later that night, you researched the group and listened to some of their music.Â
They only had one album, so you made sure to listen to all the songs.Â
The concert was tomorrow, and you could see why Mina was so excited.Â
They were seriously talented, but you couldnât shake the feeling as if you had heard their voices somewhere.Â
You decided to ask Changbin about it, he was majoring in music, so maybe he would know about them.Â
âCHANGBIN-AH!â You called, pulling up the album image and staring at the black silhouettes again.Â
True to your word, your roommate walked into the room, staring at his phone.Â
âDo you know these guys?â You ask, gesturing to the image on your computer screen.Â
For some reason, Changbin visibly panicked, stuttering and stumbling over his sentences and fiddling with his hands.Â
âN-No. I donât think Iâve seen t-them beforeâŠâ He trailed off.Â
âOh, okay! Iâll ask Hannie. Maybe heâd know.â
âNO! I mean n-no. Heâs probably super busy. he has an exam, you know?â Binnie giggled nervously at the end.Â
âOhâŠwell iâll ask him later, then.â You shut your laptop.Â
âTheir music actually sounds super good! I like all the songs produced by SPEARB, though. Theyâre exactly my style. You should listen!â You ramble.Â
âReally?!â He started, immediately changing the topic when you gave him a confused expression. âUm, so whatâs for dinner?â
Needless to say, you knew Changbin was hiding something. Maybe he knew who they were and promised not to tell or something.Â
That would make sense. Maybe.Â
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
You stared at yourself in the mirror. The dress suited you, but you still felt awkward in it.Â
It had been years since you had worn a dress, and you regretted it.Â
âY/N! Iâm heading out, oka-woahâŠâ Binnie stood at the doorway of your bedroom, staring at you in awe.Â
He set his phone down and walked closer to you.Â
âThis is the first time youâve worn a dress?â He smoothed out a crease near your waist.
âMhmâŠI was just about to change, though. I feel awkward.â You blurt, turning towards the closet.Â
A single hand on your waist stopped you.Â
Slowly, you turned around and looked Binnie in his eyes.Â
âIt suits you. Please wear it.â He whispered softly, turning you around and fastening the zipper on the back.Â
He grabbed a hairbrush from you drawer. turned so that both of you were facing the mirror.Â
âYou look so pretty, yeah? How come you donât wear dresses more often?â He breathed out, brushing your hair neatly and tying it into a cute updo.Â
âMy momâŠhow do you know how to tie hair?â You grinned as he flushed pink.Â
âY/NâŠdonât tease me. You know I have a sister!â He whined, albeit still giggling.Â
âWell, I guess we both have somewhere to go, huh?â You smile, genuinely, for the first time in a long time. Â
âMhmâŠstay safe, okay? No touching, not when you look this pretty.â Binnie winked, and you could feel blood rushing up to your cheeks.Â
Then you understood what he was implying. âAGH! Iâm not going to the bar, idiot! Iâm a minor, remember?!â You slap him playfully, squeezing his bicep once and poking his side aggressively.Â
He squawked loudly at the ticklish sensation, batting your hand away. Both of you ended up laughing your hearts out.Â
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Needless to say, somehow both of you were heading in the same direction, and Changbin offered to drop you off.Â
You gave him the directions, and you noticed how he started to get more panicky the closer you got to the the concert.Â
His face paled drastically when you both arrived at the stadium, and his eyes widened.Â
âYou donâtâŠby chance have a concert here, do you?â He whispered, sinking in his seat when you nodded your head.Â
âBinnie? Are you okay?â You ask.Â
âYup. Completely fine. You know what? I gotta go. See ya!â He dropped you off and drove away, leaving you majorly confused.Â
You entered the stadium and found Mina in no time.Â
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Changbin drove around a few times before parking at the same spot again, entering through the back door and meeting up with Chan and Jisung.Â
Heading backstage, he explained the situation to the other two, panicking and gasping out.Â
âHey, hey. Changbin. Itâs okay. I know sheâll know by today, but what is she gonna do? Either way sheâll figure out because of the internet, at least sheâll know in person , yeah?â Chan tried to calm the younger man down.Â
âHey, weâre in this together, okay? I didnât tell her either, and iâm her bestie. Iâm probably more screwed than you are! Now, letâs not let these nerves affect our performance, okay?â Jisung rubbed a hand along Binnieâs back, soothing the boy as he drank a glass of water.Â
âAaaagh. Of course she shows up at the one concert we reveal our faces.â Changbin groaned, turning in his chair to let the makeup artist continue his work.Â
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âOh my god. I bet theyâre really fucking hot.â Mina rambled, clearly ecstatic at the aspect of finally getting to see the artistsâ faces.Â
âEh, it wouldnât matter. Theyâre talented, and thatâs all that matters.â You shrugged, turning towards the stage when the lights dimmed.Â
You heard CB97âs voice echo throughout the huge stadium.Â
âLovely evening we have here today, yeah?â He walked out, removing his face mask.Â
You audibly gasp. Chan. What the hell?Â
âWoah. Heâs smoking hot.â Mina giggled.Â
âHeâs my roommateâs best friend, what the fuck?â You breathe out, shock overtaking your entire body.Â
Suddenly, all the pieces started fitting together. Wait. That meansâŠ
Jisung ran onto stage, the entire corwd erupting into excited cheer and chaos, and your jaw dropped.Â
Finally, the two coaxed a very giggly Changbin from the stage lift, and you and Mina both froze.Â
They started talking, but everything sounded like a blur. This is what heâd been hiding.Â
âGirlie, isnât that yourâŠroommate?â Mina gasped, and you nodded your head frantically.Â
Changbinâs eyes landed on you, directly in the middle of the crowd.Â
He flushed pink and waved at you, grinning cutely and winking softly. Â
âWhat the fuck?â You mouthed at him, bursting into disbelief filled laughter.Â
He giggled and pursing his lips.Â
They started performing, and though all three of them shined on stage, your eyes stayed on one person.Â
He looked soâŠhappy. He was so different from your shy roommate.Â
He was so confident, flexing his muscles and biceps and causing your mind to turn to mush.Â
Mina was right. They were really fucking hot.Â
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After the concert, you walked backstage, accompanied by Chan, who had secretly come to pick you up while Changbin and Jisung tapped freestyle on stage for the crowdâs entertainment.Â
The stage curtain closed, and Changbin and Jisung ran into the backstage room, both running and squealing in adrenaline rush, before engulfing you in a huge hug.Â
âSooo?â Jisung started. âHow was it? Youre the roommate of the super hot and famous Seo Changbin.â Changbin giggled at the end, slapping Hanji playfully.Â
âOh, stop it.â He turned to you, pursing his lips again and grinning softly.Â
âHow was it? Did I do okay?â He asked, clasping your hands in his, excitement flashing through his eyes.Â
You were lost for words. âWow-Changbin! This is absolutely insane! You did so well.â You ended off with squishing his cheek.Â
âSo pretty, so amazing. Your rapping is actually next-level.â You blurted, grabbing his face with both hands as he blushed a deep red.Â
âReally?â He whispered, and you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek before you could stop yourself.Â
His eyes sparkled in happiness. You made sure to memorize every detail, to keep in your mind.Â
You both stayed in each otherâs arms for a while, Chan and Jisungâs knowing smirks passing over both of your heads.Â
Once the other two had left to attend to Mina, Changbin immediately picked you up by the waist and spun you around, eliciting happy giggles from both of you.Â
âYou need to wear dresses more, seriously so prettyâŠâ He murmured, resting his head against your collarbone.Â
âIâll get more, I donât know which ones look good on me, thoughâŠâ You sounded uncertain, sentence trailing off before Binnie interrupted.Â
âIâll come with you. Seriously need to spoil you every once in a while.âÂ
Ëâ· ÍÍÍÍâłâ„ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Â
masterlist | requests open!
Ëâ· ÍÍÍÍâłâ„ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Â
#binibop writes <3#skz fluff#skz#stray kids#changbin x reader#stray kids scenarios#changbin#seo changbin#changbin fluff#changbin angst#changbin x fem!reader#stray kids fluff
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series taglist (minors and ageless blogs were not tagged in this fic): @skzms @atinyniki @krishastumblernow @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @vivioluh @jordan1024 @lanatheawesome @lovesunshinefelix @heartsforhyunjin @caticorn61 @everlastingspring143 @muddy-waters @halesandy @captainchrisstan @scottmcallisdaddy @ren0325 @moon0fthenight @mellowmentalitydragon @soulphoenix1618 @angelsquid @bmnyy @thatoneperson1911 @smhlino @starsandrqindrops @mlink64 @chaeryred @skz-streamer @sseastar-main @yourfavoriteaudrey @newhope8 @ilychee08 @kayleefriedchicken
. . . the taglist is open! send me or sahar an ask or drop a comment if you'd like to be added âĄ
⧠â Ë đđŠđ©đđČ đŠđČ đŠđąđ§đă»h.j.
â stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.
wordsă»6.4k
pairingă»han jisung x female reader
genresă»college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn
warningsă»depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut
playlistă»stay - acoustic by jonah bakeră»all of me by big gigantică»babydoll (speed) by ari abdulă»oasis by exoă»volcano by han
a/nă»hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoasterâthis one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year âĄ
smut warningsă»spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare
Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebodyâs back.
Itâs leaving. Traipsing somewhere he canât follow. He tries to chase itâhe always does, he never learnsâbut the premise doesnât so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.
So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.
Who does it belong to? Heâs left to wonder. Where is it going?
Why canât I follow?
Then he wakes up.
No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dreamâs every frame for his answers.
Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.
Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.
You see him.
Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways.Â
Jisung can barely make out the rest of your faceâhe blames the lighting, or the soju, or bothâbut your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.
He hopes you like horror movies.
Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.
Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisungâs arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.
âLix, hey!â
âDarling, itâs good to see you! Feels like itâs been ages.â
âI know, right? How are you? How is everything?â
âGood, thank you. Just happy the semesterâs over.â
âIâll drink to that.â Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. âOr I wonât. Whoops.â
This prompts Jisungâs first contribution to the conversationâand his first effortless laugh in a long while.
âEventful night, huh?â
He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.
âMaybe,â you giggle. âSeems Iâm a little too happy the semesterâs over.â
âWanna not get a drink to celebrate?â
Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadnât expected him to ask so soonâor for yourself to have your answer so quickly.
A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.
âIâd like that.â
He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felixâs elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.
Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.
Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. âWhere are we going, by the way?â
âSomewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,â you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.
You donât stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.
Itâs warm for December, but heâs still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. Thatâs not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.
You turn towards it.Â
In a hurry, he sputters, âIâm, uhâIâm not sure about this.â
A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.
âItâs safer than it looks, I promise.â
Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.
Youâre right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but itâs intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.
âSorry,â he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.
The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. Heâs with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear itâs almost lustrous and heâs too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.
Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.
He wants to remember everything about you.
Itâs not often he wants to remember anything.
Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic youâve yet to breach.
He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.
âYouâre still drunk, arenât you?â
You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that youâre instantly dizzyâand no longer confused.
Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. âYes, I think so.â
Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.
You do the stupid thing for him.
You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him.Â
The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But youâre so close that he canât, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, âwhat are youââ
âGimme your lemonade.â
The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige.Â
You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mindâs precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of yourâhisâhoodie.
The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.
âOpen,â you murmur.
His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.
You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisungâs parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.
He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.
He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.
The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if youâre savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second itâs about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.
âA placeholder,â you breathe, and Jisungâs head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.
âYouâre a monster,â he croaks.
You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adamâs apple.
âTomorrow, if weâre both soberâŠâ
One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.
â...and you still remember my addressâŠâ
A suckle to the lobe of his ear.
â...you can kiss me, for real.â
A trembling breath.
âAnd then some.â
Jisung moans, loudly.
Thankfully, he remembers a few things.
He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.
âHi.â
âHey.â
Then heâs kissing you like a man famished.
Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. Itâs the back of his dreams.
The back in his dreams keeps walking.
Jisung has never liked winter.
He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.
He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter.Â
And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when heâs allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks heâd rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. Itâs an act of mercy when heâs still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.
This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray windsâitâs hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where itâs headed or what itâs directed to. Or who.
When winter break comes to an end, heâs probably the only person whoâs happy about it.
His friends certainly arenât, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.
Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.
âWhat is there to smile about? Enlighten us.â Thatâs Hyunjin. âI have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.â
âHeâs accepted his fate, I reckon.â Thatâs Felix. âWe should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, yâknow?â
âNo, no, heâs smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.â Thatâs Jeongin. âYou did, right? Please say you did.â
Jisung is stunned into silence. âCan I not be happy to see my friends?â
âNo,â Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.
âMy bad,â he sighs.
âMy notes,â Jeongin repeats.
âI have them, dude. Letâs sit down first.â
The younger boy shouts an impassioned âTHANK YOUâ at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the cafĂ©, then stops at the sound of Felixâs voice.
âWeâre waiting on one more person.â
He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. Heâd been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.
âWho?â
Felixâs response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisungâs seen before.
âLook behind you.â Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, âyo!â
Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. Itâs not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.
In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.
This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.
But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.
âThank god,â Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. âIâm saved.â
You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. âLower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.â
âYou aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,â Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, âthis is comfy.â
âOkay, okay, letâs go get some caffeine in you,â you giggle. âWe have a lot of ground to cover today.â
Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. âSuperb.â
Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesnât even notice his growing smile until youâre standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks thereâs the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.
âHi,â he offers.
âHey,â you reply.
Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. âAre you guys betrothed?â
Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.
It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test youâve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisungâs notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And youâre leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.
He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.
Jisung: do you have plans after this?
Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisungâs from across the table.
He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.
Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.
Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thingâŠ
Heâs the one who laughs this time. Fuck, youâre cute. Youâre so cute.
Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, Iâd love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: itâs a date Y/N: Itâs a date! Y/N: Excited đ
With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.
He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.
Or both.
He doesnât get much studying done after that thought surfaces.
Jisung: me too <3
When nine oâclock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. Thereâs confusion written all over Hyunjinâs and Jeonginâs faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shouldersâbut Felixâs expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isnât the only reason he invited you today.
As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.
He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.
âYou know what I realized?â You say as you walk towards his SUV.
âWhat did you realize?â
âWeâve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?â
Jisung has broken hearts before.
Thereâs no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like theyâre nothing more than props in a circus act.
He doesnât do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. Itâs for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds.Â
Thereâs blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.
Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his lifeâs greatest honor to be discarded by you.
âSure,â he answers.
He doesnât even last until heâs inside the car.
Your back meets the door to the passengerâs seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.
âI like when we donât talk, though.â
Itâs the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.
Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driverâs window completely. An unnecessary blockade.
The glass fogs up anyways.
âFuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.â
You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. Itâs not comfortable. Youâre too busy getting fucked open to care.
Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, âhere, baby?â
The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.
âYes, yes, yes, donât stop, please.â
Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.
It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.
His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.
âW-whyâdâwhereâd you go?â
He canât help but chuckle at how incoherent youâve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.
âRight here, beautiful. Didnât go anywhereâpromiseââÂ
He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.
âWould never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deservesâholy fucking shit, baby.â
You clench around him at his words and then heâs setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.
Youâre enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.
âGood?â He whispers, and you nod blissfully.
âSoâgood, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I canât evenâcanât even think.â
âYouâre the perfect one. Canât believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. Itâs like it was fucking made for this.â
âIt was,â you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. âIt was, it wasâoh, god, I thinkâthink Iâm gonna comeââ
âDo it,â he rasps. âCome for me. Come on this cock and itâs yours.â
âR-really?â
âReally.â
âThen, I will. Iâll come on your cockâmake it mine. Need it so fucking bad, Iâm so fucking close, ohâpleaseââ
He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then youâre pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.
âMy cock,â you sigh into his mouth. âMine.â
âForever,â is the breathy response he doesnât know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.
And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. Thereâs liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.
He catches up the moment he realizes whatâs just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge youâve just finished tripping over.
Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.
He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.
Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.
âYou squirted,â he says.
âI know,â you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.
He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesnât think heâs seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.
Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.
He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. âIt was sexy as fuck and youâre everything.âÂ
Thereâs a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, itâs all in his head.
His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.
Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night heâs had in so long.
After you reminded him that heâs still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.
Snow comes a few weeks into the new year.Â
This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen.Â
The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. âWait here.â
He goes to roll off you. You donât let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.
Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and youâve known it every hour of every day since. But itâs always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia.Â
When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.
You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.
He breaks away once youâre both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.
âEverything okay?â
âYes,â you reply shyly. âI couldnât help myself.â
The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candleâs flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.
âCan you wipe your cum off me now?â You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.
The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.
Only then do you notice the blizzard.
You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.
Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.
âAm I dreaming?â You murmur.
âWhen did that happen?â
âI have no idea.â
You donât even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like heâs asking himself the same question.
âCâmere,â he hums, and you oblige.
He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.
Your ribcage fucking throbs.
âYou donât seem excited,â you say.
He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.
âIâm not,â he answers, not unkindly.
âYou donât like snow?â
âNot really.â
âWhy?â
He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.
âItâs a long story.â
Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt.Â
You glance at Jisung. Heâs already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.
âWell, I have time.â You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. âWeâll be stuck here a while, after all.â
âStuck?â Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.
A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.
âYouâre not driving right now.â
He breaks eye contact.
âRight?â
That was the plan, you read in his expression.
You know better than trying to reverse a riverâs current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.
You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.
And you wonât.
âI have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,â he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. âThe snowâs not heavy, Iâll beââ
âStay.â
Youâre not asking.
Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.
Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.
âYou can stay, Jisung.â
He shudders at your words, and youâve got him.
Itâs oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothingâa pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneckâlike this isnât the first time youâre sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.
In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisungâs face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.
The inevitable question follows.
âCan I save the story for another time?â
âSure,â you return, keeping your voice small. He doesnât hear your disappointment this way. âShould we go to sleep, then?â
âWe should.â
Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.
You donât remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisungâs lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and heâs uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.
In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.
You wake to a black hole.
For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why youâre conscious again.
Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.
Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and youâre wide awake.
The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.
The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning lightâs fluorescence.
Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.
Youâve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you canât. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds.Â
But he isnât shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. Heâs simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. Heâs becoming one with the bitter winds.Â
At first, you donât recognize the man in front of you.
Youâre well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isnât completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.
Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.
And you recognize him for the first time ever.
You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.
âWhy donât you like snow?â You ask.
Jisungâs eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that heâs with you.
Heâs been having this nightmare.
It takes place in a small clearing. Itâs winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind thatâs hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.
Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesnât want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and theyâll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesnât know how not to.
Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds.Â
Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. Heâs seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.
This time, though, the snow tastes like something.
After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.
His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.
He wakes up.
âCherry blossoms and vanilla.â
You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.
âThatâsââ
My shampoo.
A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and itâs trembling.
âSilly,â he murmurs. âIâm used to it now.â
âI donât want you to be.â
âI donât want you to cry for me.â
âYou died.â
âAnd I would do it again.â
This response comes without an shred of hesitation.
You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisungâs SUV. Youâve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.
Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through?Â
Too late. Itâs rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose youâll find out.
He saves you the trouble.
âHonestly?â
Your confession stills.Â
âI donât know if Iâm okay, and I wonât try to convince you otherwise. Youâd call my bluff. Youâre good at that.
âBut everything feels okay when Iâm with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human againâyou make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.â
You feel as if youâve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.
âI never believed in having somebody to lose,â he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. âBut I would rather disappear than watch you go.â
You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.
âDonât go,â he exhales.
You kiss him.
It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongueâs pliant swipe. But thereâs something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.
The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.
Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.
âI love you too,â you breathe.
The night comes and goes.
The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghostsâ injuries with bruises of your making.
Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisungâs arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumberâs cusp.
You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means.
âThank you for refracting me.âÂ
Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. âNever mind.â
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© đđšđ«đ„đąđ± (est. 090323) · đ„đąđ€đđ đđĄđąđŹ đ°đšđ«đ€? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!
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Meowdy đ€
/commissions closed/ 06.15.21 /
Twitter: caticorn07
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#art#caticorn61#aesthetic#cats#portrait#colored pencil#artist#small art account#small artist#cute#cat in a hat#realism#photo realism#traditional art#commissions#pet portrait
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I had a guy come to my doorstep yesterday and just gave me cucumbers he grew. Iâve never seen him in my life but this being a village it somehow just made sense. Also I tried to it orange overtime color in my hair and like đđđ nothing happened
you hv been blessed by the c u c u m b e r boi âšâš
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I put my notifs on for you bb also i love you
I no longer feel pity for you people. This is a conscious decision all of you are making and you will suffer the consequences as I see fit
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Hi bby! I hope you are doing well i miss you and i adore the theme! Itâs so chic and cool omg
AH hi!!!! I miss you too! đđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđ Iâve been ok, I hope youâve been doing well too âš and thank youuuu âșïž I wasnât sure about it at first but everyone else has said it looks nice so now Iâm happy with it hehe
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1,5,37,56!!!
1: is there a boy/girl in your life?nope rip
5: are you afraid of falling in love?i guess this was the worst thing iâve done in my life lmfao so yeahÂ
37: are you friends with the last person you kissed?yes sdjksdjk
56: what do you usually do first in the morning?i open twitter to see what happened while i was sleeping
Questions time
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Idk how long ago that post about wanting to chit chat was but hi bby đđđ Iâve been so MIA from tumblr but Iâm back and i have a new fishy
I'm always down for chit chat!! đ
Where have you been if you dont mind me asking? đ€đ€
Also, how cute! A fishy!! đđ What kind of a fish is it?
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hi hi im redoing my taglist since iâve noticed that some accounts no longer interact with any of my fics (which is okay!! i just donât want to clog up ur notifs and it takes me time to tag every single acc) so if you still want to be in it, please let me know!!! <33
@ellestray @dorisnumber1fan @ilevaar @moon0fthenight @persnyako @softquokka @mrsseals16 @felixsbakingbud @maruskz @bunnies-only @a-cute-french-fry @l3visbby @djeniryuu @imsoopure @like-a-diamondinthesky @planetscollideskz @nappynapnaps @starsandrqindrops @caticorn61 @mellowmentalitydragon @aroacehongjoong @forlix @jiwuu @stardustlixie @ketchupaeternum @foxinnie8 @meloncremesoda @astronomicallyyy @stayinlimbo @agi-ppangx @its-stayville-forever @meloncremesoda @mybelovedhamji @kylielovesu
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Kinktober Day 13: In Public
Ruhn Danaan x Reader || WC: 611
The bite of the cold glass window on your peaked nipples sends shivers down your spine. âRuhn,â you mutter anxiously, âwhat if someone sees us?â
One of his tattooed hands snakes up the back of your neck, up into your hair as he threads his fingers in the strands. âI want them too, my love.â The other splays against your tummy, applying pressure as he thrusts into you.Â
âRu!â Your hands slam against the glass window giving you enough leverage to push back into him. Meeting him stroke for stroke. âThatâs why weâre fucking in the living room, at night with the lights on? So everyone can see me?â
He slides in and holds you to him, grinding himself against you. He places kisses on your back, shoulder, and up your neck. âSo everyone can see us.â He whispers into your ear. His lips tickling the soft skin.Â
Something in your tummy flutters at his words and you rock your hips gently, making him groan. âDonât you want them to see how beautiful you look taking my cock?â
Your heartbeat quickens. Your breathy moan makes the glass fog for a couple seconds.Â
He tilts your hips, pulling out and pushing backing. âOr how you look like a goddess when I make you cum?âÂ
âYeah-h,â you breathe.Â
He picks up the pace. Plunging in and out. âThe way your perfect tits bounce when you pant.â You take in a deep breath, your chest straining against the glass window.Â
He licks your pulse point on your neck. âThe way your pretty little pussy quivers around my cock.â His hand that was gripping your hip moves to stroke your clit.Â
You drop a hand from the window and place it atop his, urging his fingers to swirl over your clit faster. A content sigh leaves you and you close your eyes. Basking in his touch.Â
You fuck back onto him, skin prickling from the budding pleasure, the muscles in your tummy and thighs tensing. âLove,â he rasps.
âRuhn.â
âOpen your eyes,â he instructs. You do, exhaling sharply at the sight in front of you. Shuddering as goosebumps bloom all over your body.Â
Fae, angels, shifters, and other crescent city inhabitants all watch you and Ruhn. Some are on the street below, others in the building across from you. Their chests rising and falling with shallow breaths, their pupils blown wide, making their eyes look almost entirely black.Â
Some of them touch themselves discreetly over their clothes. Others, touch themselves under their clothes. The bolder males have their cocks out, stroking themselves. While the bolder females tweak their nipples, rubbing tight little circles on their clits.Â
You canât help the smirk settling over your lips. âAll their eyes are on you,â Ruhn groans. âTheyâre captivated by you.â You nod, before turning your head to look at him. Heâs smirking too, the perfect picture of pure male satisfaction.Â
âKeep your eyes on them as you cum.âÂ
âOkay,â you hum. Struggling to keep your eyes open as his fingers glide over your clit while he slams into you. âCum with me?â
âWhatever you want, love.âÂ
You see some of the males spill their loads while some of the females gush on their hands.Â
âRuhn,â you whimper.
âLet go, Iâm right behind you.â
Your hands fall to his thighs pulling him deep into you as your legs tremble. Everyoneâs eyes on you setting your body alight with pleasure as you cum on Ruhnâs cock with a shattered cry. His cock twitching inside of you as his cum floods your quivering cunt.Â
Both of you satisfied and spent just like the males and females who came from watching you.
****
Taglist: @daycourtofficial @03michi01 @impossibelle @the-sweet-psycho @aestheticalien99 @itsinherited @a-courtof-azriel @lalalucha @theonewithwritersblock @blessthepizzaman @the-starlight-way @anama-cara @halo-hanging @fhgsvbnh @p1nkfluffysocks @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @wolfbc97 @importantduckhumanoidpatrol @edance2000 @velarisnightsky444 @headcaseproductions1 @mellyy-1 @caticorn61 @baileybird71 @tired-sleepyhead @rosecobollway @scarsandallaz @lilah-asteria @90angiex @scorpioriesling @hellokittysbtc @thegoddessofnothingness @comeoneladiesitstime2yearn @that-one-small-world
(Comment to be added to the taglist or you can also turn on post notifitcations !!)
Main Masterlist
Kinktober 2024 Masterlist
#crescent city fanfic#crescent city smut#ruhn danaan#ruhn danaan fanfic#ruhn danaan smut#ruhn danaan x reader#ruhn danaan x you#ruhn danaan x y/n#kinktober 2024
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What music are you listening too? And i hope your grandpa is well!
currently listening to this song! the vibraphone is very nice ^_^ and thank you so much! heâs doing well~
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series taglist: @skzms @atinyniki @krishastumblernow @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @vivioluh @jordan1024 @lanatheawesome @lovesunshinefelix @luvskai @heartsforhyunjin @ebbaskz @caticorn61 @everlastingspring143 @muddy-waters @peachproductions @halesandy @captainchrisstan @scottmcallisdaddy @ren0325 @moon0fthenight @mellowmentalitydragon @soulphoenix1618 @chocohyakusen @angelsquid @henloiamaweirdobye @troublemaker02 @bmnyy @thatoneperson1911 @smhlino @wormi @hyunjiinnnn (italicized names mean i was not able to tag you, please look through this link and check if any apply to you)
. . . the taglist is still open! send me or sahar an ask or drop a comment on this post if you'd like to be added ⥠(minors and ageless blogs will not be tagged in han's)
⧠â Ë everything has changed (besides myself)ă»l.f.
â you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.
wordsă»5.4k
pairingă»lee felix x gn!reader
genresă»babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline
warningsă»cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown
playlistă»house song by searowsă»glad by tori kellyă»let's pretend by del water gapă»you were good to me by jeremy zucker
a/nă»hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ⥠every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)
I. everything
âOne day,â you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, âyouâll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and Iâll be there to witness your downfall.â
Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.
You folded like a lawn chair. âMotherâ!â
Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.
ââoh, my dear mother, why? Why me?â
Technically speaking, your aunt shouldâve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, sheâd said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).
You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift shouldâve ended two minutes ago.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasnât too far off; you swiveled your head in the soundâs direction, sang out âcoming!â in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeolâs ankles anchoring her in place.
You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeolâs babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.
He was the most beautiful man youâd ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth.Â
Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.
The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything youâd experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the strangerâs expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words âDeath by Furious Aunt.â
âWas thatâ?â The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.
âMy fucking god,â you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.
âYou okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didnât it? Iâm so, so sorrââ
Byeol started to laugh.
Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.
This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.
âI broke my cousin,â you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.
His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.
âCan I?â He asked.
âPlease.â
Carefully, you shifted Byeolâs small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.
âHi, princess,â he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. âWhy are you laughing, silly girl?â
Oh.
Oh.
You might just continue your lineage after all.
âY/N-ie,â she answered, still tittering.
He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. âWhat about Y/N-ie?â
Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your noseâin preparation.
âP-pretty.â I knew it!
The man let out the laugh heâd been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.
âI agree.â His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. âAnd so are you.â The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.
The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didnât confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didnât know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.
He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.
âAnd âcause Iâm good with kids,â he added, splitting apart a tangerine. âSo Iâve been told.â
âOh, you definitely are,â you said, plating a couple blueberries. âYou melted her earlier.â
âShe melted me. Sheâs so cute. And youâre so cute with herâI didnât realize I was robbing someone of their job.â
You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.
âShe doesnât take me seriously, and I canât stay mad at her,â you mused. âI would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. Sheâs all yours.â
Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didnât respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.
âWill you be around much, then?â
You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, youâd been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentrationâheâd been contemplating how to best flirt with you.
âYâknow. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,â he appended.
It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. âPlease donât tell her mom.â
âI wonât, I wonât.â He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. âOn one condition.â
Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. âWhich is?â
As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.
It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted youâd let him.
âBe around,â he said simply.
It wasnât a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.
II. has changed
Felix pulled Byeolâs hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for herâshe looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.
âAnd what was the last rule again?â He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the worldâs woes.
âNo barking at other kids,â came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.
âThatâs my girl,â he hummed. âI believe in you.â
âIâll believe it when I see it,â you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like youâd just confessed to hating kittens. âCome onâshe doesnât have a good track record. Iâm allowed to have my doubts.â
âI dunno what that means,â Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.
As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.
âItâll be fine,â he soothed. âA little barking never hurt anybody, baby.â
âLix, last time somebody called animal control.â
âErmmâa little barking never hurt most people.â
That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.
Funnily enough, youâd never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire summer vacation of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment the day before your graduation, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase âhappy anniversaryâ on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. Youâve celebrated both days ever since.
You loved the ocean growing up. You didnât get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the waterâs very edge so that your toes dipped into the coldâand just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.
Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sunâs beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.
Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddessâ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sunâs very spots like an homage to his creator.
You didnât love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.
The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your auntâs neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies.Â
âIâll be over there,â you called after them.
Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. âYou okay?â
âYes, yes.â You shooed them off. âDonât worry about me. Go have fun.âÂ
With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost.Â
Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you couldâve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldnât yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldnât help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeolâs smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felixâs smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.
It always did something to you, seeing how good Felix was with Byeol, how good he was to her. But it was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like youâd broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of timeâs trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.
Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place.Â
The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldnât you remember where they went?
Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriendâs arrivalâthat, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.
âIâm not cut out for this anymore.â
Byeolâs neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldnât be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.
âYou know how people walk their dogs?â You mused. âSome dogs walk their people. Sheâs one of them.â
For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.
âYouâre whipped, my love. Itâs okay.â
âMaybe a little,â he admitted, suddenly perking up. âHey, no barking though.â
âAre we considering that a win nowadays?â
âDo you see animal control anywhere?â
âGood point.â
Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensuedâsaw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadnât been there before.
You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.
âAngel,â he murmured. âTalk to me.â
You shook your head. âItâs silly.â
âItâs not.â Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. âYou know itâs not.â
âItâs just thatââ
Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it couldâve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.
âI wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,â you sighed, ânot just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, Iâd still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. Iâd like that, I think.â
His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.
Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupidâs bow. A painting.
âThatâs easy enough,â Felix hummed. âHow do you feel right now?â
You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. âHappy.â
He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. âAnd now?â
âHappier.â
He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. âWhat about now?âÂ
âEven happier.â
His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.
âGET A ROOM!â
You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.
âWhere did she learnâ?â The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.
âIt had to be you.â
âOutrageousâyouâre the Australian here!â
âYou cuss like one too!â
âBecause of you!â
âSo weâre just lying now?â
âWell, yes.â
Felix cracked a smileâand then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. âWe have to do something about her vernacular, donât we?â
âOh, badly,â he replied. âBadly.â
After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. âThank you, baby.â
âWhat for?â
âBeing my happiness.â
He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasnât enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.
Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.
III. (besides myself)
Heâs blonde.
Thatâs the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your auntâs porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than youâve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.
Itâs not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. Itâs impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.
But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.
Youâre so occupied with this game of âI spyâ that you donât notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.
âIs it him?â She asks breathlessly.
You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wallâwhat did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.
You simply sigh instead. âYes, butââ
âBOKKIE!â She shrieks, and Felixâs head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.
You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.
âPut everything down. Quickly,â you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.
The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.
âBokkie,â Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.
âHi, princess.â He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. âWhoa, youâve grown strong, havenât you?â
âShe takes taekwondo classes now,â you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.
Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. âIs that true?â
She bobs her head. âI want to be like Bokkie.â
And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like heâs gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. Itâs all because of you.
âAnd kick some ass!â Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.
A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felixâs smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousinâs departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.
Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.
âHi,â he says.
You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain youâd grow old with greeting you like youâve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.
âHi,â you answer. âYou lookââ
The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.
âânice,â you finish.
ââbeautiful,â Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.
Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think heâs a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sunâs beloved sea. You canât tell if itâs his stylistâs doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.
âThank you,â you reply quietly. âAnd thank you for coming.â
âThank you for inviting me. I didnât think you would.â
âI didnât do it for me.â
No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead.Â
For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what youâre really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.
Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felixâs whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.
âHer Highness beckons.â The smile you manage feels like drying cement. âShall we?â
On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrusâno lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that itâs a stranger youâve just let inside.
That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.
Itâs clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but itâs even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. Youâve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too.Â
With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?
After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeolâs bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.
You give your cousinâs door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.
Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. âCan I tell you a secret, princess?â
This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear heâs the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. âSure!â
âPromise you wonât tell anyone?â
âPromise.â
âNot even Snernard.â
âMâkay.â
âOr Bong.â
âMâkay.â
âEspecially not Trash the chicken. I donât trust him.â
âI know, I know, I wonât!â Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousinâs plushie-naming conventions.
âThank you,â he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you donât catch the next thing he says.
All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over oneâs sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.
Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.
âWhy?â Her voice sounds microscopic.
âWell, do you remember what Bokkieâs dream job is?â
Byeol considers for a moment. âBeing a singer?â
âThatâs right.â He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. âAnd I found a place where I can do that, but itâs very, very far away. I wonât be able to come home very often.â
The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeolâs face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before itâs being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.
âNo,â she replies.
âYou've grown so much.â Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. âYouâre growing so well.â
âNo,â she repeats.
âYouâve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.â
âI donât want it,â she whispers. âI want my Bokkie.â
His vision starts to blur also. âBut you donât need me anymore.â
âWe do.â
You know the precise moment Felixâs heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.
âWe?â He repeats, and she nods.
âYour dream job is being a singer.â Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anywaysâ
âBut what is your dream?â
It becomes too much for you.
You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeolâs room to whirl in your direction. You donât care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.
You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.
Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.
You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldnât change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the worldâs most fucked-up mural wouldnât alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one whoâd asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.
But youâre not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; youâre bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish theyâd been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldnât have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.
Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.
Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.
You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and thereâs no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.
Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, âitâs you.â
You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.
âGod, itâs you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.â His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. âEverything has changed besides myself.â
Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You donât even spare the ring a glance; you donât doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.
âThank you for being around, my dream.â His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. âWill you let me do the same?â
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âŒïžPRINTS FOR SALEâŒïž
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Thatâs for sure, life has tried to kick my ass and doesnât want me to have fun anymore đ€ sheâs rude af but exo has my back
Ugh tell me about it, lifeâs a bitch đ€
EXOâs the Angels we need âđ»
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