#i just waited til the last minute on the assumption of the can of soup i bought being there.

[inmirova]

2nd night in a row my dinner plans were foiled by Someone Ate Most Vital Ingredient but we are prevailing.

[daebakinc]

Warmth in the Storm

Pairing: Hyunwoo x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 1.K Summary: In the middle of a blizzard, you stumble into Hyunwoo’s bar and wind up with more than the snow on your boots melted. A/N: Inspired by @monstaxnight ‘s imagine here. 

           Winter is not known for its gentleness. It has its moments of soft, white, silent beauty of diamonds and velvet, made all the more so by knowledge it will melt away beneath the sun’s prolonged gaze. But tonight, is not one of those nights.

           Tonight, Winter rages and curses, throwing snowflakes so thick and fast at your face that you have to squint to see anything at all. Its winds buffet your body side to side even as Jack Frost paves the road beneath your feet with ice. With childlike shuffles, you fight through the blizzard towards the neon sign that shouts ‘Bar’, its holiday red letters blanched pink by the snow.

           The parking lot is empty except for a solitary truck already asleep under a deep blanket of snow when you at last reach the building. But the windows are all still merrily lit so you clutch onto the hope someone is there as desperately as you do the handrail leading to the porch. Your stiff fingers slip on the doorknob. A whimper squeaks through your teeth as they sink deeper into your split lip. You try again and nearly fall when the door swings inward.

           It swings shut behind you as you stumble forward. The excited chatter of a sportscaster is brash in your ears after the howl of the storm.

           “Oh, my god. Are you alright?” a man’s voice asks.

           Ice and snow coat your eyelashes, so you can only make out a large white and blue blur coming towards you. A hand presses against your back to guide you further inside. You try following, but your knees crumple with the relief of even a hint of warmth.

           “Easy there.” Your savior pries your arm from your chest to wrap it around solid shoulders.

With his support, you hobble forward. He stops and lowers you onto something soft. A couch. The faint smell of spilled beer and popcorn sneaks through your frost-bitten nose.

“I’m going to move the couch, so don’t freak out, okay?”

You’re not sure he can see you nod through your triple wrapped scarf, but you do. The floor glides beneath your feet and heat engulfs you like a mother’s hug. Your insides melt alongside the ice on your eyelashes in the presence of that comforting smell of woodsmoke only a fire brings.

The man squeezes between the wall and the arm of the couch. He crouches by the fire to throw a few more logs in the wide fireplace and stoke the fire. It gives you time to blearily admire just how broad his shoulders are, stretching the fabric of his cream-colored cable knit sweater. And a cute butt in snug jeans to boot.

“Alright, let’s get out of those wet things.” He pivots on the balls of his feet and reaches for your boots. His fingers brush melting snow away from your boots’ shoelaces, but he pauses. Looking up with uncertainty in his eyes, he asks, “May I?”

He waits for your starstruck mind to remember to nod, then starts stripping you with careful efficiency. First your boots, then your socks, vest, sweatshirt, and scarf are lined up on the bricks in front of the fire to dry. Even as you defrost, you still find your breath coming in uneven puffs as the man gets closer and closer to your face.

You may still be delirious from freezing, but right now, he is unquestionably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen with artful bedhead, bronzed skin, pillow lips, and a jawline to kill for. But what has you truly staring are his eyes. They’re the shade of brown dreamers possess, dark and deep with their passions, but they now carry only gentle concern. The care with which he handles you, only making contact with your body when necessary, baffles you. You’ve never met before, yet he’s treating you with the tenderness you would reserve for a dear friend.

After plucking your hat from your head and dropping it beside your other clothing, he reaches over your shoulder, his chest coming a whisper away from your face. Zesty cologne and the unmistakable scent of a man fill your nose. When he pulls away, you stifle a sigh.

He tucks the blanket now in his hand around you, entrapping your entire body in warmth. Rubbing the bottom of your blanket over your feet to finish drying them off, he says, “There we are. Hang on one more second. I’ve got some spare clothes in the back that you can borrow ‘til yours dry.”

You take the opportunity to look around when he disappears down a hallway. Rustic stacked logs make up the walls of the spacious room, decked here and there with pine branch draped frames that enclose various band posters. In the opposite corner from the couch sits a long hardwood bar, lined with the usual variety of green and brown glass bottles. A big screen TV sits above the bar, playing the end of the soccer match you’d heard earlier. Echoing the game on the screen, a large foosball table takes up the corner behind you.

“Here we go.” The man returns with a folded stack of clothes, thick black socks sitting on top of the pile. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the way he’d come. “There’s a bathroom back there if you want to change there or you can change right here. I’m going back to the bar for a minute, so it’s up to you.”

You glance to the dark hall, then back to the fire. There’s no way you’re leaving its warmth, not when you’re just beginning to defrost.

As he hands you the clothes, you finally find your voice. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, blinding you like the sun shining on fresh snow after the breaking of the storm. Leaving your line of vision, he says, “It’s pretty late to be out on the roads.”

Keeping your head above the blanket as you slide off your jeans to exchange them for the sweatpants, you reply, “Schools got out early, so I switched shifts at work with a coworker, so he could be home for his kids. I didn’t think the storm would be this bad.”

“Your car slide off the road?”

“Yeah, right into a snowbank. Luckily, I could see your sign from where it did, or I might’ve frozen to death.”

“You’re legal, right?”

The question jolts you upright. “Excuse me?” You turn your head to look at him.

He holds up a bottle of something, the label too small to read at the distance. His gaze is guileless as he clarifies, “You can drink?”

“Oh, yeah.”  You duck your head under the blanket to discard your shirt for his hoodie, glad for the excuse to hide your embarrassment at your own assumption. Your cheeks getting hotter when you realize it smells like him.

For a few moments, neither of you speak, the only sounds being the crackling of wood, the television, and the clinking of glasses. The thick walls completely mute the wailing of the storm outside.

“Everything good?” he calls from the bar when you stop wriggling.

“Yes,” you answer.

He walks over, two surprisingly elegant glasses in hand full of luxurious cocoa-colored liquid topped with a mountain of frothy whipped cream. “Spiced Irish coffee for you,” he says, handing you one of the glasses.

Gripping it with both hands, you take a sip and shudder as the burn slides down your throat to settle in your stomach like a glowing coal. “Thanks. Is that what you’re drinking too?”

“Nah. Just Mexican hot chocolate here. Don’t drink on the job.” He laughs and takes a drink of his own, sitting on the floor by your feet. Your eyes can’t help going to his lips when his tongue darts out to wipe away cream that clings there. “Getting warmer?”

“Yes, thanks. So, you own this place, Mr. …?”

“Yeah. And it’s just Hyunwoo. Son Hyunwoo.”

You shake his offered hand, that warm feeling in your chest spreading at the way his envelops yours, and offer your name in return.

“Nice to meet you. I don’t mean to pushy, but can I suggest something?”

“Sure,” you answer, curious as to what he could be about to say.

“I really don’t feel comfortable with you going back to your car tonight. We won’t be able to get a tow truck out here until the morning, if even then, so you should probably stay here for the night. The couch pulls out and everything.”

Your eyes drop to the coffee in your hand, considering. Hyunwoo’s right and despite knowing him less than an hour, with the kindness he’s treated you with, you can’t help trusting him. “What about you?”

“I live in one of the backrooms, so I’m all set. So you’ll stay?”

“Yes. Thank you, really. You’re being incredibly generous,” you say, glancing at him with a shy smile.

Hyunwoo smiles back, his eyes crinkling in a way that spreads a fuzziness through your veins entirely different from the alcohol-inspired kind. “It’s the holiday season, isn’t it? Are you hungry? I can’t do much, but I can make us some mean tomato soup and grilled cheese?”

“That sounds great, thanks.”

“Cool.” He points to your glass as he gets to his feet. “Just give me a yell if you need a refill.”

You watch Hyunwoo’s back as he heads to his rooms again, the smile he conjured on your lips feeling like it may be tattooed there. Maybe this storm wasn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you after all.