#renmin imagines | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamycarat · 4 years ago

Text

Gallery Of The Fading Ones

Title: Gallery Of The Fading Ones

Characters: Photographer!Jaemin, Dancer!Renjun, NCT Dream

Summary: Na Jaemin decides to photograph a dancing butterfly for his next gallery, knowing that the season is about to pass soon.

Genre: Friendship, love, slight angst

Words: 7745 words

October 2019; The Angel Who Paints Galaxy

Pictures speak volume.

Nothing but the photos captured on Jaemin’s camera can describe how it is possible for an angel-like figure to appear among the hospital volunteers. With the soft piano melody accompanying the man on the centre of the small stage, he paints a galaxy full of bright shining stars with his graceful limbs. Hands forming a circle in front of his chest, he twirls a few times in a rhythmic pace before he lowers his upper body and extends his right leg high in the air, into a full back split. Jaemin swears he can see white blinding wings spread from the back of the figure, but his camera doesn’t agree with him.

The cheers the dancer receives from the audience don’t match the ethereal beauty of the world he takes them to in his dance routine. At second thought, Jaemin thinks the man doesn’t get enough acknowledgement for his talent- which explains why the Korean drops the camera in his hands and gives the dancer a deafening round of applause a few seconds after the cheers fall silent. All heads turn to his direction and before he knows it, he looks like a ripe tomato in summer.

Renjun pauses his step down the stage to find the source of the late applause, and their eyes meet. He flashes a big grin to the embarrassed man before he shifts his eyes somewhere else, containing his laughter at how red Jaemin looks.

Jaemin lets out a big sigh of relief as the emcee comes to his with a few remarks from the fantastic performance Renjun and Chenle hold. He shakes him head in disbelief, giggling at the incidence few seconds ago. He makes a mental note that a Jaemin in complete awe should never be allowed to appear in public. What a shame to his professional image…

Jaemin takes a quick preview on the photographs he managed to take during the performance, and one conclusion is made – The dancer is, indeed, an angel.

“Thank you,” an unfamiliar soft voice rings in Jaemin’s ears. “That’s quite of a… loud round of applause.” A hint of amusement is laced in the man’s honey-like voice. Renjun gives the taller man a shy smile as he turns around with a big Canon camera in his long fingers. The Chinese notices the picture displayed on the device – it’s him, black hair, with the brown plaid shirt and black slack pants, forming a split.

“Mind if I take a look?”

Jaemin somehow forgets to breathe. As if all the oxygen in the world is suddenly depleted, his lungs stop asking for more air. To be more exact, his brain is on the ‘pause’ mode. Perhaps it’s the way the smooth voice matches the angelic face of the man in front of him. Or perhaps it’s the absence of gap between them when the other person steps closer to see the photo in the camera. Either way, Jaemin is not used to the erratic heartbeats he is experiencing.

“Can I?” Renjun looks up to meet Jaemin’s eyes.

The photographer swears he sees the galaxy in those round eyes. It’s the same galaxy Jaemin sees through the man’s performance when he decorates the stage with stars and orbits through his short limbs.

“I guess I’ll take your silence as a yes,” the dancer says again.

The warm fingers wrapped on top of Jaemin’s send a jolt of electricity down his spine and hit him with a sudden wave of realization. His hands tremble as Renjun hold both his fingers and camera steady in those tiny hands of his, and Jaemin confirms that the man is indeed from heaven. It makes no sense how a complete stranger has the power to make his heart race with such unfamiliar comfortable kind of warmth.

“I look quite good here,” the shorter man chuckles, releasing his hands from the camera.

“You are,” Jaemin replies under his breath. It is more of a mumble, something that isn’t supposed to be heard by the man before him, but Renjun is quick to reply with a sly “I know.”

“And you take beautiful pictures,” the man compliments.

Jaemin’s daily happiness meter reaches the maximum level at the praise. Even if he is a world-famous photographer with various achievements, it feels different to be acknowledged by an angel with invisible wings.

Jaemin doesn’t know how to respond verbally, so he plasters a small smile on his face. God seems to be saving him from making a fool out of himself even more when the green hair man who played the piano during Renjun’s performance calls the dancer. They speak in a foreign language Jaemin doesn’t understand as he stands frozen in between them. The pianist is all grinning the whole time, eyes forming cute crescents as he tells a story or something. A tall, broad figure of a younger man then appears out of nowhere, eyes on the excited man.

“Do you want to get some ice cream after this?” The man with the tag ‘committee’ pinned on his shirt asks, voice deeper than the ocean.

The green-haired man steals a quick glance on Renjun before the dancer nods and pushes him towards the committee. They speak Mandarin, Jaemin realizes, when Renjun shouts the word ‘jiayou’ at his friend.

“You speak Chinese?”

Renjun raises an eyebrow. “You speak Chinese too?”

The taller man shakes his head.

“I’m Chinese, that’s why,” Renjun offers a brief explanation.

“But you speak good Korean? Like… I don’t hear any accents or anything.”

Renjun turns to Jaemin with an amused face. “It’s because I came here when I was 14.”

“Oh…” Jaemin mouths before the conversation meets a dead end. At times like this, he resents himself for being an introvert because today is his only chance to talk to an angel, but here he is, by the window in a hall full of cancer patients, hands holding the camera, eyes straight into the dancer’s, but mouth sealed, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

“My late mother was treated here. She used to sit on the front row, right opposite of the centre of the stage…” Renjun points at the empty chair. “She used to cheer for me so loud after every dance,” he giggles, “it was quite embarrassing.” The giggle stops and after a few seconds, Renjun gives Jaemin a soft gaze. “You kinda remind me of her.” His voice lowers before he laughs it off. “But it’s a good thing, no worries. It’s just that… If you were to ask me, I would suggest you clap at the same time of the audience, not after everyone has finished clapping.”

Jaemin breaks into laughter. “I’ll definitely remember your suggestion, sir.” At the mention of ‘sir’, he realizes he still doesn’t know the name of the beautiful person he’s been talking to.

“I prefer ‘Your Majesty’ instead of ‘sir’, but since you take great pictures, you get to call me by my name…”

Renjun’s soft voice is drowned by the high note from the trot singer on the stage.

Jaemin squints his eyes to read Renjun’s mouth. “Say again?”

“Huang… Renjun.” The pronunciation is so Chinese that Jaemin has a hard time to follow along. Upon reading Jaemin’s awkward face, Renjun mentions his name again, making sure Jaemin repeats after him. He finds the Korean struggling to pronounce his name cute, he won’t lie. Although his Korean name is much easier, he prefers his Chinese name. After all, it’s the name his mother gave him.

After a few trials, Jaemin finally gets the pronunciation right.

“You owe me a dance because your name drains my energy,” he dramatically cries, a hand wiping off imaginary sweat on his forehead.

Renjun flashes him a confused look before his lips curl upwards into a pretty smile. “Sure,” he shrugs. “That means you’ll have to see me perform in Seoul Plaza next month for my graduation.” His eyes light up at the thought. “Give me your number. I’ll text you the details.”

Jaemin fishes for his business card in his pocket, and when he hands the rectangular piece to the Chinese man, the man straight away reads what’s written on it.

Na Jaemin, an award-winning photographer based in Seoul.

“Photographs are impressive storytellers…” Renjun coughs. “Interesting.” His eyes then fall on the quote on the bottom of the card. “Let the pictures tell your stories…” He looks up. Upon the eye-contact with Jaemin, he carefully asks, “Do you think you can tell my story to the world?”

Jaemin blinks.

“It’s nowhere near great, but I’ve always wanted to be known as a dancer, even if it’s just for a brief moment.” When the taller man is lacking any response, Renjun scratches the back of his head. “It’s okay, forget I asked that,” he laughs it off as his face turns red.

“N- No,” Jaemin stutters, “I’d love to!”

It feels as if an angel falls from heaven for him, and he is willing to use all his luck in the world for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with the beautiful dancer that paints galaxy.

November 2019; Dia De Los Muertos

For the first time in forever, Jaemin is having second thoughts at capturing Renjun’s solo performance on the stage. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but a big part of him wants to enjoy the beauty of the hard work Renjun puts into his self-made choreography. Renjun even gets him the most strategic seat among the audience as he requested, emphasizing the importance of the right angle and lighting. And here Jaemin is, right in the middle of the front row, with a large camera in his hands. He clutches on the device tightly as the lights are switched off. Only the fairy lights outlining the stage shine as a guide for the performers, before it gets total dark.

The drum beats once, followed by the strumming of the acoustic guitar. The spotlights focusing on at the stage are switched on, highlighting the troop of performers on the stage with synchronized steps. Jaemin’s eyes are quick to catch the familiar small build of the Chinese man at the side of the stage before he makes his way towards the centre, leading the other 20 dancers in the performance. Jaemin is too busy clicking on the snap button of his camera, adjusting the angles and focus every other second to even be immersed into the story they’re telling through their bodies. The only thing at the back of his mind at that moment is to capture the photographs that will do justice to Renjun’s angel-like moves.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Through a series of steps, Renjun then disappears at the back of the stage as the other performers take the stage. With the camera still glued on Jaemin’s face, he scans the whole stage, looking for any signs of Renjun. What surprises him is when the lights are switched off, leaving a spotlight at the centre of the stage. The dancers are on their knees, pointing to the only lighted area as an angel in white from neck to toes falls slowly from the ceiling.

There, supported by the strong wire, is Huang Renjun.

He looks ethereal.

The satin white shirt that hugs his abdomen in such a sultry way as his arms spread like a butterfly’s wings, as if he is enjoying all the attention on him. He closes his eyes, lips slightly parted, chin tilted. His ebony black hair completes his look in every way possible. He stills in his position for a good minute before he finally opens his round eyes. Among the sea of audience, the man in baby blue coat on the front row catches his attention. The big lens the person is holding sends thrills to Renjun’s spine as he takes a deep breath and spins mid-air.

The audience gasps.

Like a whirlwind, he twirls with such delicacy again and again, until his feet finally reach the cold stage. The music stops. Lights off. The sound of an arrow hitting a target then echoes in the hall. A few horrified yells come from the stage as the spotlight focuses on Renjun. He suddenly falls backwards in calculated steps. Red inks are smeared all over the silky white clothes and before anyone knows it, the curtain falls.

Jaemin is in complete awe. He doesn’t realize he hasn’t been breathing until his lungs burn from the lack of air. He lets out a deep cough and pants, catching his breath.

What a performance! And it’s just the first performance of the night!

Jaemin enjoys the rest of the performance with an easy heart before his phone lights up with a message from Renjun.

I’m up next. I hope you’ll get your aesthetic shots from your seat. Good luck!

Jaemin scoffs. Renjun is the one who needs good luck, not him. He’s just sitting in his seat comfortably with a camera in his hands, about to take pictures of an angel who paints galaxy with his limbs. Luck is already on his side.

The curtain opens with the first strum of the acoustic guitar, revealing Renjun at the centre of the stage, with a spotlight on him. He has his back facing the audience as he sways to left and right lifelessly, according to the downbeat melody. Petals of marigolds cover certain parts of the stage, creating a trail which ends with a frame of a woman’s picture on the altar at the side of the stage. He looks small compared to the big stage, but he conquers it with his powerful yet elegant movements, still back facing the audience. And when he finally turns around, he shocks everyone with the absurd makeup on his face.

Jaemin zooms in.

Renjun’s face is all white, decorated with a few flowers of blue, pink and purple all over his forehead, cheeks, and chin. Tiny yellow petals surround both of his eyes, encircling the dark brown eyeshadows. The tip of his nose is black. His lips are drawn as if they are stitched by a black thread. He looks like a skull, overall, but a magnificent one.

The other instruments join right after, violin and piano making up the beautiful Mexican-themed music. Renjun’s limbs hit the notes each time, bringing the audience to the afterlife. He dances around the trail of marigolds, expressing his sadness and longing for someone. For a brief second, it reminds Jaemin of Renjun’s mother. He did mention that his mother was suffering from breast cancer before she died 3 years ago. Perhaps that is the reason why the feelings he radiates from the choreography are raw and suffocating. His face says it all.

And when the music comes to an end, Renjun falls on his knees, defeated, still stuck in the afterlife he’s in. He pants hard. The beads of sweats are obvious through the lens, rolling down Renjun’s sideburns like a stream. He shuts his eyes, chin tilted, as the audience cheers for him.

It hits Jaemin that Renjun doesn’t just paint galaxy on the stage.

He paints life, too.

After the show finally ends, Jaemin waits for Renjun outside of the hall, eyes skimming through the photographs he captured. The proper lighting does justice to his pictures, and not to mention that Renjun looks extremely dashing the whole night with his white costume that compliments his black hair. And the most important thing is the expression Renjun wears on the stage – he seems as if he belongs there, as if he was born to tell stories through his body movements.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Renjun runs towards Jaemin with a knapsack hanging on his small shoulders. He has erased the skull makeup, and now he looks like an angel again. “Do you want to grab something to eat before we part ways? I’d like to hear your feedback.”

Luck is always on Jaemin’s side, and he is sure he will have to pay for the interest later.

They stop at a chicken restaurant. Renjun orders a lot because he says he hasn’t been eating since morning, but Jaemin knows the Chinese won’t be able to finish them later.

“So, how was it? Did you enjoy the show?” Renjun asks, eyes light up from excitement.

Jaemin only speaks compliments, as if it’s his mother tongue. He loses count of how many times he utters the word ‘wow’ but he’s glad the man before him looks pleased with his comments. The wide grin he pastes on his handsome face at every praise fills Jaemin’s heart with such warmth.

The grin somehow fades gradually when Jaemin asks about his inspirations for his solo performance. The Chinese then takes out his phone from his pocket and types out something. After a while, he shows Jaemin the screen. Pictures of people in aesthetic skull makeup fill his eyes. They remind Jaemin of the makeup on Renjun’s face during his solo dance.

“Dia De Los Muertos… Day of the Dead.” As Jaemin scrolls the screen, Renjun continues, “It’s a national holiday for Mexicans. It is believed that spirits of the dead visit the living during the celebration.”

The waiter then interrupts to serve their food and after she leaves, Renjun adds, “I was watching Coco the other day. And I thought, ‘oh, why not do a performance based on this story?’ so I did some research regarding the culture and walla, there goes the performance.”

Jaemin passes him the phone as the Korean mutters, “Oh, I see. I thought it has something to do with your mother, I’m sorry.”

Renjun places a fried chicken on his plate before he flashes Jaemin his teeth. “You’re not wrong, honestly. I do think of my mother when I was on the stage. I put her picture in the frame on the stage, if you notice.” He chuckles darkly. “And for your information, today, 1st November, is the Day of the Dead. That’s why I even put some efforts in decorating the stage with marigolds. They say marigolds will guide the spirits to their altars with their scent and colour.”

“So, your mother is there, too?”

“I guess,” he shrugs. “I’d like to believe that she’s with me on the stage, watching me perform in front of the audience.” He takes a sip on his hot green tea before he adds, “I personally think that believing in such things help me gain some confidence.”

“You don’t feel like you deceive yourself?”

“No, because I have faith in it.” He takes another sip. “You see, Jaemin, belief is such a powerful tool to enhance yourself in any aspects. You can do everything if you believe.”

Jaemin nods and smiles.

Turns out Renjun’s mind is as beautiful as his appearance.

December 2019; The Bee Among The Flowers

Ever since Jaemin agreed to tell Renjun’s story to the world, they have been spending their free time together. Be it at a playground near Renjun’s house, at the studio where Jaemin works on his upcoming exhibition, at the streets, anywhere, really, Jaemin is always ready to snap Renjun’s pictures as he shows the photographer his new choreography. Sometimes he does ballet, some other times he performs contemporary dance, but currently he is into yangge. It’s a Chinese folk dance he learned when he was 5, and somehow, he wants to showcase his culture to the Korean. He is proud of his nationality, and Jaemin finds him adorable whenever he talks about his culture.

They are currently in the middle of a snowy park full of red camellias. Renjun performs some slow yangge moves that highlights the gracefulness of his arms as the camera focuses on him. Jaemin circles around him for the perfect shot as the dancer remains unbothered. His eyes are glued to his fingers, creating magic in the heavy snow. The fluorescent yellow shirt he wears under the thick black winter coat reminds Jaemin of a bee, but a beautiful one. The one that outshines the flowers, that catches people’s attention with its vibrant colour.

“Are the shots good? Or do I have to perform them again?” Renjun rubs both of his hands together, creating some heat to keep his bare hands warm. “It’s freezing though,” he says as a matter of fact before he coughs a few times.

Jaemin checks the photographs he took and grins. “They’re perfect,” he ruffles Renjun’s hair. “Let’s get something to eat and you can view the pictures in the meantime. I’m unoccupied today. My day is all yours today, Your Majesty.”

Renjun scoffs at how Jaemin uses his unfunny joke during their first meeting but he doesn’t complain.

Their friendship develops over time, and they get even closer when they know they are of the same age. While Renjun is a little too friendly and talkative, Jaemin is the opposite. The taller man always takes his time to speak, as if he is contemplating the right things to say in a situation. And fair enough, he always says the right things. For example, when Renjun feels like his moves are not smooth enough, Jaemin will always say he does great, if not amazing. And to prove his statement, he will always show his pictures.

“Pictures don’t lie,” Jaemin always says.

Renjun often notices the way Jaemin observes his pictures to the smallest details to finally call them a perfection. And he is true – they are all perfect. They never fail to put Renjun in a complete awe, no matter how many times he sees Jaemin’s work. But Jaemin is much more than a skilled photographer. He is passionate in what he does despite confessing that he doesn’t have a specific goal in life. He is committed to his work. And the most important thing is that he is a cute ball of sunshine that lights up Renjun’s life when things get hard.

Perhaps Renjun is attracted to the new things he discovers about Jaemin every day.

Jaemin, to Renjun, isn’t just a photographer.

He is the Sun among the dark clouds.

January 2020; The Confession

Each second is fleeting. Capture well the moments, they always say, because they are evanescent. They are temporary, while pictures keep them alive. Jaemin makes sure to bring his camera everywhere he goes, especially when he meets Renjun for fun. The thing about Renjun is that he is a wonderful model without having to try so hard. His pose, expression, and gaze – everything is perfect. He can easily be a world-class high-grossing model, if he’s taller. But Jaemin is glad he is not, because or else, he won’t be asking for Jaemin to tell his story.

“Perfect,” Jaemin breathes.

Renjun takes a good look at the recent picture and beams like a child. “You’re amazing!”

The picture highlights Renjun’s sharp side profile as he stares at the stars above them. Everything behind him is a blur, but the colourful lights of the city can still be seen. It feels as if he is among the stars, with the city becoming the galaxy in the picture.

“Let me take your picture,” Renjun looks up. “You always snap my pictures. And I think it’s such a shame that a person this good-looking doesn’t have photos of him in his camera.”

Jaemin giggles and shakes his head. “Nah, it’s okay.”

Renjun makes his puppy eyes and pouts. “Please…”

The next thing Jaemin knows, Renjun is already in between his arms as he teaches the settings to the shorter man. He only points out the important things such as focus before the Chinese pushes him away with a simple “I get this.”

Jaemin stands awkwardly, facing the camera. He plasters a small smile on his face which looks a little too forced to Renjun’s liking.

“Pose like a model, Mr. Photographer!” Renjun instructs.

Instead of listening to the direction, Jaemin looks even more awkward.

“Okay, let’s do it your way,” Renjun says under his breath before inhaling a large amount of air and raises his tone. “Na Jaemin, smile as if you’re seeing the most beautiful person in front of you.”

And it works.

Within a millisecond, Jaemin flashes his sweetest smile to the camera- or to be more specific, to the person behind the camera. He looks like Snowball from The Secret Life of Pets, but cuter.

Renjun clicks the snap button a few times, not wanting to miss the beautiful smile on Jaemin’s face. “There you go,” he hands Jaemin the camera. “Send me these pictures later, okay?”

Jaemin raises his eyebrow at the sentence.

“I deserve to have this masterpiece I took for you,” Renjun shrugs.

The night is calm when the clock strikes 1.30 in the morning. Both of them lie on the grass of the park in the middle of the city, eyes fixed on the ocean of stars above them.

“I’m glad I met you,” Renjun speaks, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “At least now I tick off one of my things-to-do-before-I-die.”

“And what is that?” Jaemin turns his head right and lands his eyes on Renjun’s pretty face.

“To have someone tell my story,” the Chinese answers. “I was thinking of a writer, actually. An autobiography about me? Hahaha…” he laughs at the thought. “But I’m no one compared to the billions of people in the world. I’m just a dancer who is yet to run a dance academy. I’m all alone in this world, without a permanent job.” He squints his eyes. “Oh my God, how sad is that?!” Renjun dramatically cries, jolting upwards. “Now I sound pathetic.”

Jaemin giggles at the sight. “No, you’re not.” Jaemin doesn’t continue his sentence right after, which makes Renjun think as if he’s lying. The truth is the man is contemplating whether he should confess all the truths his heart sees or not. But he doesn’t want to be taken differently.

“You’re an aspiring dancer, if you ask me,” Jaemin finally says after a few moments of silence. He props himself up and sits. “I think you’re an amazing painter as well.”

Renjun makes a surprised face at how the taller man suddenly mentions his hobby, only to realize that he means something else.

“You paint galaxy and life with your movements so effortlessly. I find that amazing.”

The dancer coughs. “I did put a lot of efforts in dancing, in case you don’t notice it.” He coughs again. “But… thank you. I’m honoured you see it that way.”

Jaemin nods, eyes pinned on Renjun. With the snow falling on his face, he looks ethereal, even when he’s laying still. Jaemin thinks Renjun is the most beautiful when he stares at something a little too long, as if he is immersed in his ocean of thoughts.

“I have something to tell you,” Renjun turns to his left and meets Jaemin’s dreamy eyes. “Promise me you won’t see me differently after this.”

Jaemin’s heart races. Adrenaline rushes throughout his whole body as he gulps, nodding slowly at the promise. His lips pursue tightly.

“I-“ Renjun coughs a little too hard. He fishes for his handkerchief in his pocket and covers his mouth. The moment the velvety piece of cloth is removed from his mouth, Jaemin sees a bright red spot tinted on it. It’s blood coming out of Renjun’s mouth from the rough cough.

Worry takes over Jaemin as Renjun continues coughing. He wheezes every time he breathes in more air and coughs. It’s not the weather anymore, Jaemin knows. It’s something else…

“I have oesophageal cancer.”

Jaemin tries to hide his surprised face, but he fails miserably.

“You promised me you won’t see me differently,” Renjun shakes his head.

In no time, Jaemin’s trembling hands pull Renjun into a tight embrace. When he is out of comforting words to tell, he hopes the sudden affection is enough to radiate some strength to the man. He caresses Renjun’s short hair gently, afraid if he’ll break with more force.

Later that night, Jaemin promises to let Renjun perform on his upcoming exhibition.

February 2020; The One That Shines

Photographs keep the expressions alive, but videos exist to keep the moments alive. While the simplest details are barely appreciated enough in videos, photographs come in handy in capturing a change of expression. Even though Jaemin prefers pictures over videos, he will not deny the fact that he will miss seeing Renjun’s graceful moves later when time steals him away. For such reasons, he hires a professional videographer to specifically record Renjun’s special performance on his exhibition. The video is for future purposes, just in case.

He wants to keep as many memories as possible with Renjun while he still has the chance.

“Do you think I’ll do well tonight? I haven’t been performing in front of a lot of people for a few months now… I’m a little nervous.” Renjun shakes his whole body, trying to ease off the rushing adrenaline throughout his body. “I mean, what if I mess up?”

“I know you’ll do amazing, Renjun,” Jaemin pats his back. “And you won’t mess up. But even if you do, I’m sure you’ll be able to recover from it in a speed of lightning.” He says from experience. He watched how Renjun never stopped dancing to the beats, even if he landed on the wrong position. He saw the passion in Renjun’s eyes through the mirrors surrounding the practice room. He knew how great the performance Renjun would deliver, because he is Huang Renjun, Jaemin’s favourite dancer in the whole world.

“And Renjun…” Jaemin breathes. “I believe in you.” He pulls the shorter man into a friendly hug. He can hear Renjun’s fast heartbeats, loud and clear in his ears. When they pull away, Jaemin stares right into the sea of stars in Renjun’s eyes and his lips form a small smile. “You can do everything if you believe.”

There is something magical in Jaemin’s words that Renjun can’t quite point out specifically. Perhaps it’s the way he means every single word he speaks, or perhaps it’s the way he is very straightforward with his choice of words. Either way, his words ignite a spark of hope and strength in Renjun’s heart.

“Thank you.”

To Renjun, those are not two common words. There are indefinite meanings behind them, and he means each and every one of them, whichever applies. The phrase holds significant values and Renjun hopes Jaemin understands the rich meanings behind it. He hopes Jaemin feels the sincerity from his fragile heart.

And Jaemin knows.

From the soft gaze that holds the galaxy, Jaemin knows Renjun means more than a simple ‘thank you’. It is ‘thank you for letting me have this golden opportunity before I die’. It is ‘thank you for making my wish come true’. And most importantly, it is ‘thank you for believing in me’.

“Now, go show off your talents to the world.”

As Renjun makes his way towards the centre of the gallery, the lights dim. Melancholic piano notes accompany his baby steps, alerting the visitors that a breath-taking performance is about to start very soon. With all eyes on him, he takes a deep breath and stands tall, feet pointed in the new ballet shoes Jaemin bought for him. He starts with pirouette before he turns his whole body elegantly in a series of chains and jumps with a perfect 180 degrees split, arms spread like a butterfly’s wings. After he lands on the marble floor, he extends his left foot forward to perform a pique, followed by a beautiful arabesque. He repeats the steps several times. And each time, Jaemin swears a new star is painted on the galaxy. He then performs some versatile fouettés, dropping some jaws from the audience. Each turn is on beat, and Jaemin thinks it is unfair how Renjun is not listed among the wonders in the world. When the dancer ends his 7-minute routine with saut de chat, a big round of applause echoes through the four walls of the exhibition gallery.

Renjun finds Jaemin with his camera from the corner of his right eye and he turns his head, meeting the lovely gaze the photographer sends him. Jaemin shows a proud thumbs up as he mouths, “You did great.”

Renjun shines the brightest when he dances, and it shows. He outshines everything, including all Jaemin’s masterpieces hung on the walls. He stands out in the most beautiful way possible because he believes, because he has Jaemin’s unbreakable faith in him.

And that is simply why Jaemin is the Sun.

March 2020; Of Life, Goals, And Death

While photographs keep the moment frozen, time passes by. As if it has the wings of an eagle, it flies so fast. With Jaemin being busy editing the countless pictures of Renjun he took for the past five months, chasing the unknown deadline, Renjun spends most of his time in the hospital. From chemotherapy, to surgery, to chemotherapy again, the man is doing his very best to survive. He will survive. He believes, and Jaemin believes too.

Sometimes, however, things get rough.

As the coughs worsen, burning his dry throat, he wishes he can cut off his oesophagus. He suffers every second of the day, hopes crushed, replaced by a silent plea to die. The pills kill him inside more than he can remember, but at the end of the day, a video call from Jaemin helps pick up the shattered pieces of hope and faith.

“I’m sorry I can’t visit you again today.” Low, Jaemin’s voice is, filled with a lace of regrets. He takes off the hat he is wearing, revealing his messy hair. “In case you need to hear this for the thousandth time, I miss you.”

A small smile appears on Renjun’s pale face.

“By the way, I’m half-way done with your photographs!” the Korean beams. His tired eyes light up with rays of excitement. The dark circles under his eyes become apparent every day, but he reassures Renjun that he is getting enough sleep. Renjun notices he is wearing the same blue shirt he wore yesterday, but he is feels guilty to point that out. The thing is he feels like a burden because he knows Jaemin is working extra hard to make his wish a reality.

“Why do you put yourself into so much trouble for me?” Renjun manages to say, voice cracks here and there. “Just forget it, please. I don’t deserve your time.”

Jaemin pouts. “You deserve the whole universe, Renjun. You truly do.” Jaemin places his phone against his monitor as he pushes his chair backwards, grabbing something from the corner of his studio.

“Look,” he shows a printed picture of Renjun during his graduation performance to the screen.

In the photograph, Renjun extends his right arm above his head, chin tilted. The passionate desperate eyes make him look as if he longs for something he cannot reach. The spotlight on him adds the dramatic effect to the picture. Before he knows it, Jaemin states that it seems as if he is reaching for the Sun.

It is amusing how Jaemin puts it in a way Renjun has always felt about him.

“It’s one of my favourites,” Jaemin flashes him a smile. “I miss seeing you dance.”

Renjun looks away. Tears well in his eyes at the sentence because truth be told, he misses dancing too. He misses the way his mind brings him to travel to a fantasy world whenever he listens to the beats. He misses the sweats that sometimes stick his bangs to his forehead. He misses the endorphin he experiences after every successful routine. He misses the round of applause he always receives from the audience. And most importantly, he misses the amazed grin on Jaemin’s face as he hides behind the lens.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.”

Renjun’s tears fall upon Jaemin’s apology. He quickly wipes them away with the hem of the sleeve. “You never have to apologize, Jaemin,” he replies, facing the camera.

Oh God, he misses seeing Jaemin face-to-face.

“Will you put that on hold?” Renjun suddenly asks.

“Why would I?” Jaemin shakes his head. “Look, Renjun, we’re on a deadline.” His eyes mirror his fear, lips tremble. “I- I know you’ll survive…” he pauses. “But just in case…” Jaemin blinks a few times. “I’d like to do what I can to make you happy.”

“Spend time with me.” It is more of an instruction compared to a suggestion. “It hurts like hell right now. Everything is overwhelming. At least, if I have you by my side, I think the chances for me to survive will increase.”

Jaemin stares at the camera for a good minute before he nods.

“As you wish, butterfly.

May 2020; A Beautiful Transition

Renjun reminds Jaemin of butterfly metamorphosis, except that after the fourth stage, it turns into an angel. Jaemin doesn’t think the Chinese suits to be a caterpillar, because he resembles a butterfly already. But a caterpillar will have to digest itself to transform into a more beautiful version of itself.

In other words, it requires suffering for one to truly transform into a better shape.

With the chemotherapy and all, Renjun is now too weak for the world. His tiny build seems even smaller. He looks barely alive, except for his dreamy eyes. They hold a thousand messages Renjun wishes to tell Jaemin, but too bad they will be buried together with him.

Jaemin can see it coming. From the weaken grip of cold bony hand he’s holding to the forced heavy breathing that’s getting slower at rate, he can see it coming clearly. The end is near, he can sense it. “It’s okay…” He whispers under his breath. “It’s okay…” For some unknown reasons, only the two words are able to roll off his tongue. Perhaps those are the words Renjun needs the most at times like this. Perhaps he needs to know that it’s okay for him to leave Jaemin now, that the brown-haired man will be doing fine after a few days, weeks, months, or years. Perhaps it’s just Jaemin who’s running out of words because his mind can’t process what’s about to happen. He can see it coming, but he can’t see it happening so… slow.

The death he imagines is quick and easy – the kind of death that happens in a blink of an eye and before you know it, he’s gone. He never imagines he will be able to witness the pain Renjun has to bear when his soul is leaving his body. He never imagines he will get to listen to the wheezes of the forced air into Renjun’s failing lungs.

“It’s okay…” he says again, with a small smile masking his fear. “Don’t worry.”

The look in Renjun’s eyes softens as they fall onto Jaemin’s worried face. The older man gathers all his strength to reply the smile before his eyelids shut on their own. His breathing shags. His fingers, however, search for Jaemin's. The Korean intertwines their fingers at the cue as a wave of sorrow hits him at how their fingers are of the perfect fit for each other.

“I’ll be fine…” Jaemin speaks through the lump in his throat. The rawness of his voice is apparent. “I’ll hold the exhibition. I’ll tell the world your story.” he exhales. “I won’t let you die.” The hot crystals welling in his eyes fall like a stream, each drop hits their intertwined fingers. “I’m sorry,” Jaemin wipes the tears away with the back of his other hand, “I don’t mean to cry. I don’t mean to make you worried. I’m sorry.”

The grip tightens a little, as if Renjun is telling him that it’s okay.

“I know,” Jaemin creeps a smile, “We’ll be fine.” The man leans forward and presses his lips gently on Renjun’s forehead. “You can go now,” he whispers with a heavy heart. “Go to a beautiful place where you’ll re-join the troop of angels, the place where you truly belong.” Another peck is left on his nose. “I love you, butterfly.” And finally, he places the softest last peck on Renjun’s chapped lips. “Till we meet again, my dancing angel. I love you.”

As if it’s a cue, Renjun takes a sharp breath with a sudden jolt.

On 30th May 2020, 3.14 in the morning, an angel spreads its wings to make its most-awaited way towards heaven.

1st November 2020; Gallery Of The Fading Ones

Na Jaemin is an award-winning storyteller; except he replaces his voice with stilled photographs. The beauty that takes his breath away, the feelings he experiences from behind the lens – they are all being described in a series of printed pictures under the exclusive frames with small clumps of marigolds on all four corners. The golden colour of the frames fades gradually, coupled with the dimming lights with each section of the exhibition. On the last section, the petals of marigold fall off as the frames turn cream under the warm orange hue. It is the whole concept of the exhibition – The Fading Ones.

“Why ‘The Fading Ones’? Can you please elaborate?” The famous reporter with the tagline “Haechan, 37.5% viewers rating” asks, holding out the microphone right in front of Jaemin’s chin.

Jaemin pauses for a while. His eyes are glued to the electronic device he calls friend in front him, mind processing the rehearsed sentences to this expected question. “Ah…” He lets out a disappointed sigh. The words he prepared the night before are too formal, he realizes now.

The reporter notices the beads of cold sweats under the half swiped up bangs of the photographer. He then gestures at the cameraman to put the camera off. “It’s okay. Take your time,” he ends the sentence with a small laugh. “It has been what? Almost 9 months now? Since your last exhibition…” Haechan pats Jaemin’s back in a friendly manner, considering that he has been covering every photography exhibition Jaemin showcases for the past 4 years.

“It’s not that, actually…”

The thing is the wound deepens more than his expectation. The immeasurable longing for the person who inspires him the concept leaves him breathless, as if a rock is pushing against his chest. The nights he spends tearing up over his loss are hard to describe with words.

“I— I just— Okay, let’s start again, shall we?”

Jaemin forces his face muscles to creep up a small smile as Jeno, the cameraman, sets up the camera once again. He shakes his whole body slightly, loosening up the string of tension around his 177 cm figure. Haechan checks on his condition one last time and as he exhales deeply with a nod, the camera starts rolling.

“Hi, everyone! Welcome to Haechan’s corner with 37.5% viewers rating! And today, we are thrilled to show you this magnificent photography exhibition from the pride of South Korea, the one and only, my favourite photographer, Na Jaemin!”

The camera then zooms in to Jaemin’s face.

“I heard that the concept of this exhibition is The Fading Ones.”

Here it comes.

“Can you please elaborate a little bit about the concept? Why did you choose the concept? What inspired you? Or who inspired you?”

Jaemin’s lips feel dry. Once the microphone stops in front of his mouth, he throws his sanity away and stabs the bleeding imaginary wound in his heart. A name – that’s all it takes to break his inner strength down. Renjun; A simple Chinese name of two syllables rolls off his tongue smoothly. He emphasizes the ‘r’, pronouncing the name as if he is a native Mandarin speaker.

“Renjun…” he repeats after himself. “Renjun…” His tongue seems desperate to sound the name again. “The concept, the whole gallery, everything is inspired by him.” Jaemin steps aside, revealing the picture of a Chinese man in brown plaid shirt and black slack pants, right leg extending into the air, forming a complete split. His hands spread widely, giving off the image of a butterfly at first glance. His face hangs low opposite of the hospital tiles, but a hint of small smile can be seen on his reflection. It is the photograph that takes his breath away every single time. It is the photograph that introduces him to a magical world painted by Renjun. It is the photograph that holds all his luck in this world.

“The Fading Ones refer to the time limit we have in our lives,” Jaemin continues, eyes straight into the camera. “Just like how time fades away, we do, too.” His eyes steal a quick glance on the photograph of Renjun surrounded by flowers opposite of him. “But the right person will leave their footprints in our hearts forever, even if they fade away.”

Haechan’s eyes soften.

“Where is he now, if you don’t mind?”

Jaemin’s lips curl upwards slowly. His eyes glisten with crystals, which he tries so hard to blink them away. “Somewhere beautiful…” He manages to speak before the lump in his throat blocks his voice from coming out. “I’m pretty sure it’s a place surrounded by the stars and the galaxy, as he dances all day long until he’s exhausted. It’s a place where everyone will worship him for his talent.” The image of Renjun twirling comes across his mind. “In other words, I think he’s in heaven, being placed among the angels.”

Haechan pauses. He exchanges looks with Jeno before he turns to Jaemin and asks, “Any last words for Renjun? He might be watching you from above.”

Jaemin has a lot to say, but Renjun already knows everything. The Korean looks down. That is when he notices the petals of marigolds covering the whole floor of the exhibition. His heart stops for a second as a sudden wave of realization hits him hard.

“Dia de los Muertos…” he breathes. “It’s today, 1st of November.”

“I’m sorry?”

It’s Day of the Dead. With photographs of Renjun everywhere around the four walls of the exhibition, combined with the marigolds on the floor, Jaemin is sure he has summoned Renjun to this promised exhibition.

“Renjun is here with me today,” Jaemin’s face lights up. “Renjun…” he calls out, “Thank you.”

He hopes his photographs are enough to show that it is not just a simple ‘thank you’. Those two words hold thousands of significant meanings behind them, just like the pictures he took.

#jaemin #renjun #renmin #renjun imagines #jaemin imagines #nct dream imagines #nct dream #renmin imagines #renjun scenarios #jaemin scenarios #nct dream scenarios

14 notes · View notes

2jaeh · 4 years ago

Text

sweet chaos | haechan

you could never understand why everyone threw themselves at that notorious group of boys in your university, but maybe one of them can show you.

genre: smut

content: fem!reader, college au, profanity, alcohol, just making out and fingering in a closet, a tiny bit of renmin action

word count: 2.6k

author lin

"Renjun my beloved, what have we gotten ourselves into?" You asked as you remained frozen at the doorway, your best friend equally distraught at your side.

"Are all frat parties this… aggressive?" Renjun shouted over the deafening music and you shrugged.

You and Renjun had been to several parties in your three years of university, but said parties were nowhere near as rowdy and wild as the one currently being thrown by Na Jaemin and his friends. Jaemin had greeted you guys upon opening the door, but he slipped away to chat up some girl just as quickly and you were left to fend for yourselves.

The living room had been turned into a makeshift dance floor with Johnny from IT managing the music in the corner. There were drunk and/or high people sprawled all across the house, sitting on the floor or holding themselves up against the walls. The floors were littered food wrapped, bottles, beer cans and couples were borderline fucking each other in several not so discreet areas.

"Maybe we should just go…" Renjun's voice trailed as he started to back away from the chaos.

"Now you know we can't," You quickly grabbed onto Renjun's wrist to halt his movements, turning your head to face him, "we promised Jisung that we'll look after him for his first college party."

"Yeah, well that was before I realized this party is actually in the pits of hell," Renjun whined dramatically, "let's just go!"

"If you want to keep our platonic companionship alive you will stay here and protect our shared son." You narrowed a threatening index finger at him and he let out an exaggerated groan.

"Fine, fine, fine," Renjun rolled his eyes as you gave him a victorious grin, "but the moment someone gets too close to me, I am running out of this place with or without you, alright?"

"Alright." You chuckled before Renjun looped his arm through yours and you both entered the house.

The interior of Jaemin's dorm was surprisingly not as terrifying as it had seemed from the outside. Sure, the place was still littered with stumbling party goers and trails of dirt left by said party goers, but the hallway to the bathroom and bedrooms was kept quite clean and a lot of people seemed to be just having a good time. You tugged on Renjun's arm when you saw Jisung standing in a corner with a few of his friends and you both walked over to him.

Jaemin and his friends, namely Jeno, Haechan and Mark, were notorious on campus for throwing crazy parties and getting every - and I mean every - girl they wanted. You were never quite sure how your sweet Jisung himself had made friends with them, but he did know them by association because of his own best friend Chenle. Mark had bumped into Chenle, breaking Chenle's phone in the process and Chenle had made him pay back his dues by forcing him to invite him to their parties to give the younger boy some street cred. Jisung tagged along this time.

"Jisung!" You beamed as Jisung turned around and pulled you into a soft hug.

"______! Renjun!" Jisung spoke softly, grinning at Renjun as he gave him a high five, "I didn't think you guys would come."

"I wanted to leave, but ______ said we can't let you fend for yourself." Renjun threw his arms over you and Jisung as you rolled your eyes.

"Why did you want to leave?" Mark raised an eyebrow, prompting you to realize that Jaemin and his frat boy friends were also standing with you guys.

"Because they're boring!" Chenle exclaimed as Jisung groaned in protest, playfully shoving his cackling friend.

"No, we're not boring," Renjun ran his fingers through his hair, "just no offense, but this place would make my mother weep."

"No offense taken," Jaemin smirked and you felt Renjun shift under his stare, "but if you guys wanna prove you're not boring why don't you play a game with us?"

"Why would we need to prove anything to you lot?" You scoffed under your breath as Renjun snickered softly at your side.

"No need to be rude," you lifted your head up to see Haechan looking down at you with amusement on his face, "we just wanna have some fun."

You had never taken notice of Haechan for the sole reason that you weren't interested in boys like him. He and his friends were known players who just fucked girls with no strings attached before jumping over to the next one. They knew they were hot and if there is one thing you truly hate, it's cocky men who think they "have a way with women". But with that being said, why did you feel butterflies in your tummy when you made brief eye contact with Haechan. Why did you find his stupid smirk so damn attractive? You cleared your throat, somewhat getting ahold of yourself.

"Alright, but we'll need some drinks first." You nodded before Renjun guided you and Jisung away towards the kitchen, Chenle trailing behind.

To say Mark, Jaemin, Haechan and Jeno were taken aback would be an understatement. The four of them were so accustomed to people, quite literally, falling at their feet. They would just smirk and say one word and said people would be giddy beyond repair. So to have you and Renjun just brush them off and not melt for them definitely made them frustrated and intrigued at the same time, especially Haechan towards you.

You rested your back against the wall, sipping your cider while Jisung told you some wild story about how the rat in his dorm was playing mind games with him as Chenle laughed hysterically and Renjun tried to reason with the youngest boy. Your attention shifted when you saw your least favorite frat boys walking towards you guys. You unintentionally made eye contact with Haechan and you felt lump form in your throat. He had the prettiest, brightest eyes that directly contrasted his long, messy hair and that sinful smirk on his face.

You shook your head slightly, as if to wake up from the trance you were in, and focused your attention back on Jisung. You looked at them in the corner of your eye as they moved closer, mentally cursing yourself when you saw Haechan looking at you with amusement once again. You were a strong person and you would never fall into the trap of those kind of men, but Lee fucking Haechan was ruining that for you.

"We're gonna go to my room," Jaemin shouted over the music, that permanent smirk never seemed to leave his face, "you guys can join if you want."

Jeno sent a wink in your direction before the four of them walked off towards the room at the end of the hallway. You turned your head to face your friends and when Renjun shrugged, you all started to make your way towards the room as well. When you arrived, the four boys had already occupied the large space, Jeno and Jaemin seated on the carpeted floor sipping their beers, Mark sprawled out on the bed staring at the ceiling and Haechan lounging in the swivel chair at Jaemin's desk.

As soon as you stood at the doorway, Haechan twirled the chair to the side and locked eyes with you for the third time that night. You almost had to stop yourself from looking too interested, enthralled by the way he sat with his legs spread and his eyes hooded. For once you were excited to hear Jaemin's voice as he noticed your arrival and you broke away from Haechan's smug stare.

"So you guys decided to show up?" Jaemin grinned cheekily as he bustled the four of you into the room and closed the door behind Jisung, "what game should we play?"

"I got an idea," Jeno took a swig of his drink before leaning back, holding his upper body up with his arms, "how about 7 minutes in heaven?"

"Woo, Jeno!" Mark whistled as he playfully tapped the younger boy with his foot.

"You guys in?" Jaemin turned towards the four of you, his mischievous smile lingering on Renjun, before you all hummed in agreement.

You took a seat on the edge of the bed, Renjun close to your side as Chenle and Jisung opted for sitting on the floor. There was a brief moment of awkward silence before Mark spoke up.

"Who wants to go first?" He asked, sat up with his knees pressed against his chest as he sipped on his glass of Gin, "I nominate Jaemin."

"I nominate Jaemin and Renjun to make out first." Haechan grinned smugly when Renjun's eyes widened at his statement.

"Jaemin and Renjun for me too." Jeno nodded.

"Me too," Chenle snickered as Renjun shot him a glare, "Renjun needs to loosen up anyways."

"Oh I'll loosen him up alright." Jaemin smiled while Renjun's face was flushed with embarrassment.

"What do you me-"

"Jisung, please my child you don't wanna know." You patted Jisung's head, but flinched ever so slightly when you heard Haechan chuckle under his breath at your words.

"That's three out of five," Mark's amused voice caught your attention, "you two better get a move on."

"Don't worry Renjun, I don't bite... maybe just a nibble or two." Jaemin giggled before walking over to your frozen best friend, holding out his hand.

Renjun gave you a nervous look and you nodded in reassurance that everything would be okay. He sighed deeply before getting up from the bed and walking towards the fairly small walk-in closet, ignoring the hand Jaemin had offered him. Jaemin grinned sheepishly before making his way to the closet and closing the doors behind him. Those seven minutes felt like an eternity, but eventually Renjun appeared through the doors first and quickly took his seat back next to you, Jaemin trailing behind him with a proud smirk on his lips.

"Did you kiss him?" You asked in a low voice.

"For like a minute… he's really not as great as he makes it out to be." Renjun admitted and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, who's next?" Haechan asked, crossing his legs.

"How about you and ______?" Jeno smiled innocently and you couldn't hide the disbelief on your face.

"Yeah I second that." Jaemin agreed, tapping his index finger on Renjun's nose as he walked past.

"Me too." Mark nodded.

"Lowkey feel like we don't even need to be here." Jisung whispered to Chenle whom shrugged in response.

"Let's go then sweetheart." Haechan cooed as he got up from his seat, glancing over his shoulder at you before entering the closet.

You cursed under your breath before lifting yourself off the bed and walking towards the closet. You closed the doors behind you and moved to the other end of the small closet, keeping your distance from Haechan. He watched you with delight in his eyes as he chuckled softly.

"Do you want to kiss me?" Haechan asked bluntly, licking his bottom lip.

"I don't really wanna get involved with anyone like you." You replied just as bluntly, folding your arms across your chest.

"Anyone like me? And what's that exactly?" Haechan cocked his head to the side.

"You guys just mess around with anything in a skirt and then toss them aside for the next one," you shrugged lazily, "y'all don't seem interested in anything more than bragging rights so…."

"So if I said I'm genuinely interested in you then you wouldn't believe me?" Haechan raised an eyebrow as he took a few steps towards you, causing you to instinctively move backwards until you were backed up against the wall.

"I probably wouldn't, no." You kept an unimpressed expression on, despite feeling a bit flustered at how close he was to you, practically hovering over you as his breath fanned your face.

"That's too bad because I am quite intrigued by you." Haechan's voice was filled with teasing and you kept your eyes focused on the door, not able to make eye contact with him anymore.

"Anyways, you still didn't answer my question," Haechan dipped his head down so you could feel his breath on your neck and his words danced into your ear, "do you want to kiss me?"

Yes. The answer was yes. He was undeniably attractive and the way he was almost pressed against you, his hands leaning against the wall on either side of your head, was driving you insane. You were intoxicated by the smell of his strong perfume, the way his sweet voice spoke with so much arrogance and the way his bright, starry eyes were filled with lust. You understood why all those other girls before you melted right into his trap, but you were much too stubborn to admit that.

"Do you wanna kiss me?" You pondered innocently, making eye contact with him again and he groaned almost inaudibly under his breath, those simple words sending him over the edge.

Without wasting anymore time, Haechan pressed his lips to yours, his hands coming down to hold onto your waist. You unconsciously slid your hands up his torso, resting them on his shoulders. He licked on your bottom lip before biting, making you gasp softly. He smiled against your lips before resuming the make out session, his tongue dancing with yours.

His fingers played with the hem of your shirt before his warm hands dipped underneath, roaming up your abdomen. His hands cupped your clothed boobs and he began to massage them, eliciting a small moan from you that was fortunately muffled due to the heated kiss. As much as your stubborn self wanted nothing more than to throw him off and tell him you weren't interested, you couldn't deny how attracted you were to him and how good you were feeling in that moment.

His body pressed closer to yours, your thigh resting in between his legs and he groaned deeply at the friction on his clothed member. He began grinding against you, swallowing his moans, and you couldn't hide the satisfied smile on your face when you realized that you had the same effect on him that he did on you. You were both drunk on lust and cheap alcohol, stubborness was merely an afterthought.

"Enjoying yourself, aren't you?" Haechan whispered against your lips.

"I can see you are too." You replied with a smirk, but all too quickly you let out a sharp gasp when Haechan dipped his one hand down your jeans - the other still fondling your breast - and rubbed you through your underwear.

Once again you were thankful for Haechan's lips silencing your moans as you were a mess in his hands. His skilled fingers slipped past your underwear and began teasing your womanhood as you squirmed against the wall, not knowing how to handle yourself. You could tell that he'd had countless of other girls in this exact same predicament and you mentally cursed yourself for falling just like everyone else. But you couldn't blame yourself or the girls before you. Haechan was like a drug you couldn't resist and he knew it.

A harsh knock on the closet doors was the only thing that snapped you both out of your euphoric state. Haechan hastily removed his hand from your pants and took a small step back, still close enough for you to smell him and feel his heavy breaths on you. You watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, smirking as he looked at your shocked expression through the corners of his eyes.

"I know you two are clearly having fun, but your times up!" Mark called out from the other side of the doors and your face flushed with embarrassment as you heard the other boys howl with laughter.

"We can finish this later." Haechan spoke softly, a surprisingly gentle tone that actually matched his sweet voice.

"Later?" You pondered as you neatened up your appearance.

"Of course, I'm not planning on tossing you aside," Haechan winked before opening the closet doors to clapping and whistling from his rowdy friends, "I told you… I'm very intrigued by you."