summary: loosely inspired by yellowstone, but i rly just wanted to capture the vibes (tw: mentions of blood, violence / also not edited lol)
wc: [1k]
a/n: hi am i back? not rly i feel so out of the loop on tumblr nowadays... pls enjoy this bc im kind of proud of her. except the ending idk what happened there whoops lol this goes out to all my cowboy enha lovers i see you you are valid!!!! also imagine heeseung w a southern drawl just close ur eyes and let it happen shhhhh
the heat is unprecedented; there is no breeze, and the sun is completely unobstructed, beating down on the earth like a whip lacerating layers of flesh. summer is the season of slow death, roasting you alive until your rot begins to seep back into the earth. sweat pools at the base of your spine, and you feel like a frog in boiling water.
this feeling is primitive. the cruelty of humanity always seems to be matched and doubled by mother nature; her responses speak to revenge, warranted explosions of grief and fury that do well to quell ego and hubris, if only for a little while. there are few people left on the earth that truly respect it. this is what you have come to learn after living all your years on a wide, open piece of landābusiness moguls looking to buy the world from beneath your feet, tourists who come under the guise of admiration only to bring destruction. every day is a new trial, another tribulation, but you and your husband are handlers, finishers, harbingers of retribution.
leaning on the wooden fence of the training yard, you glance down at your hands. they are calloused from years of hard work on the farmācreating, maintaining, rebuilding. the imprints of your boots have been cemented into the legacy of this land. your blood has spilled into the sand more times than you can count, and you have grown to understand that carnage is a small price to pay for the preservation of paradise.
"'careful not to think too hard on a hot summer day like this, doll. wouldn't want you to overheat."
your husband's voice is smooth; soft and airy like the butter your grandma used to churn by hand. the sound of it alone disarms you. he grins down at you from atop one of the farm's older geldings, and their combined height manages to provide a brief respite from the glaring sun. taking a rich, blue cotton rag from his breast pocket, he hands it to you and chuckles, "so, what're you over here ponderin', anyway?"
instead of offering up an immediate answer, you reach up and comb your fingers through the mane of your husband's horse. the hair is a deep, midnight black; it contrasts beautifully with the mousy gray of his muscular, dependable body. morae sighs, bobbing his head a few times before his jaw loosens and his tail begins to swish back and forth.
"i should just give him to you, huh? he's always liked you more," your husband grunts, leaning forward to place a couple hefty pats on morae's neck. mischief twinkles in his doe eyes as he glances down at you once more, "ain't that right, buddy? well, you can't have her, 'cause she's mine."
"oh, stop it." a smile dances at the edges of your lips, and you meet his gaze through your eyelashes. "you act like you're chopped liver, when you know damn well how much i love you, you dog."
"yeah, doll?" your husband simpers, dismounting in the blink of an eye. he climbs over the fence and ties morae's reins to the sturdy timber. inching closer, his sweet breath overwhelms you in the same way honeybees instinctively gravitate toward fragrant flowers. "prove it," he says, and you're never one to back down from a challenge.
hooking two fingers through his belt loops, you tug his body infinitely closer. the heat radiating between your bodies reaches dangerous heights; if a fire erupted, it would burn blue. when he kisses you, sparks fly as though two pieces of metal have just collided. you imagine this to be what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. two pairs of lips move with one another, chests heave in tandem, and the only thing keeping you grounded is the sensation of his roughened palms cupping your cheeks. desire, however, is not yet powerful enough to outweigh necessity, and the need to breathe forces the two of you apart.
"feelin' better, hee?" you chortle, jabbing a finger into his sternum.
he doesn't budge, feet fixed in place, "much."
"you do know it, thoughādon't you?" you press your forehead into the worn denim of his jacket, taking in the familiar concoction of patchouli, fresh-cut grass, and sweat. "you know that i love you, heeseung?"
a laugh rumbles in his chest, "is that what you were thinkin' so hard about?"
"sorta," you admit, "just thinkin' over all the trouble this place has brought us over the years. all the tears, all the bloodājust wonderin' if it's been worth it, wonderin' if there's enough good seed to plant over the evil rooted here."
he hums, "i'd say so."
the answer is simple. heeseung's fingers coax you from the refuge you found in his presence, and he gestures to a point just beyond the curvature of morae's back. the relentless summer sun is beginning to sink below the silhouetted mountain range; tall stalks of wheat stand like threads of gold in an endless tapestry while your cattle graze through the sea of boundless, green grass. heeseung runs a gentle thumb over the apple of your cheek as you stare out at your land, your legacy. the good seed has already taken root, and the fruits of your labor have been sprouting before your eyes. the answer is so simple.
"i think we've done one hell of a job here," heeseung says, pulling his hand away to adjust his hat. "good and evil come and go, but as long as you and i are livin', there'll always be someone to handle 'em."
you smile, resting your head on his shoulder, "i'd say so."
quietly, you let the extra weight you had been carrying fall away and watch as he pulls a peppermint out of his pocket for morae. after a moment spent together in silence, heeseung shoots you an impish wink, "'nd if you ever need a thing, you just call, doll."
"shut your mouth, you old dog," laughter spills from your lips, a delicate melody joyous enough to dispel the curse of slow, summer rot. and, in this moment, you continue to laugh. you laugh until the sun dips below the horizon line and the small piece of the world you and heeseung have cultivated is plunged into an immeasurable darkness.
you guys have no idea how vindicated i feel rnā¦ the prophet is always laughed at first and believed after itās too LATE!!!!!!!! COWBOY HEESEUNG LIVES!!!!!!!
summary: loosely inspired by yellowstone, but i rly just wanted to capture the vibes (tw: mentions of blood, violence / also not edited lol)
wc: [1k]
a/n: hi am i back? not rly i feel so out of the loop on tumblr nowadays... pls enjoy this bc im kind of proud of her. except the ending idk what happened there whoops lol this goes out to all my cowboy enha lovers i see you you are valid!!!! also imagine heeseung w a southern drawl just close ur eyes and let it happen shhhhh
the heat is unprecedented; there is no breeze, and the sun is completely unobstructed, beating down on the earth like a whip lacerating layers of flesh. summer is the season of slow death, roasting you alive until your rot begins to seep back into the earth. sweat pools at the base of your spine, and you feel like a frog in boiling water.
this feeling is primitive. the cruelty of humanity always seems to be matched and doubled by mother nature; her responses speak to revenge, warranted explosions of grief and fury that do well to quell ego and hubris, if only for a little while. there are few people left on the earth that truly respect it. this is what you have come to learn after living all your years on a wide, open piece of landābusiness moguls looking to buy the world from beneath your feet, tourists who come under the guise of admiration only to bring destruction. every day is a new trial, another tribulation, but you and your husband are handlers, finishers, harbingers of retribution.
leaning on the wooden fence of the training yard, you glance down at your hands. they are calloused from years of hard work on the farmācreating, maintaining, rebuilding. the imprints of your boots have been cemented into the legacy of this land. your blood has spilled into the sand more times than you can count, and you have grown to understand that carnage is a small price to pay for the preservation of paradise.
"'careful not to think too hard on a hot summer day like this, doll. wouldn't want you to overheat."
your husband's voice is smooth; soft and airy like the butter your grandma used to churn by hand. the sound of it alone disarms you. he grins down at you from atop one of the farm's older geldings, and their combined height manages to provide a brief respite from the glaring sun. taking a rich, blue cotton rag from his breast pocket, he hands it to you and chuckles, "so, what're you over here ponderin', anyway?"
instead of offering up an immediate answer, you reach up and comb your fingers through the mane of your husband's horse. the hair is a deep, midnight black; it contrasts beautifully with the mousy gray of his muscular, dependable body. morae sighs, bobbing his head a few times before his jaw loosens and his tail begins to swish back and forth.
"i should just give him to you, huh? he's always liked you more," your husband grunts, leaning forward to place a couple hefty pats on morae's neck. mischief twinkles in his doe eyes as he glances down at you once more, "ain't that right, buddy? well, you can't have her, 'cause she's mine."
"oh, stop it." a smile dances at the edges of your lips, and you meet his gaze through your eyelashes. "you act like you're chopped liver, when you know damn well how much i love you, you dog."
"yeah, doll?" your husband simpers, dismounting in the blink of an eye. he climbs over the fence and ties morae's reins to the sturdy timber. inching closer, his sweet breath overwhelms you in the same way honeybees instinctively gravitate toward fragrant flowers. "prove it," he says, and you're never one to back down from a challenge.
hooking two fingers through his belt loops, you tug his body infinitely closer. the heat radiating between your bodies reaches dangerous heights; if a fire erupted, it would burn blue. when he kisses you, sparks fly as though two pieces of metal have just collided. you imagine this to be what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. two pairs of lips move with one another, chests heave in tandem, and the only thing keeping you grounded is the sensation of his roughened palms cupping your cheeks. desire, however, is not yet powerful enough to outweigh necessity, and the need to breathe forces the two of you apart.
"feelin' better, hee?" you chortle, jabbing a finger into his sternum.
he doesn't budge, feet fixed in place, "much."
"you do know it, thoughādon't you?" you press your forehead into the worn denim of his jacket, taking in the familiar concoction of patchouli, fresh-cut grass, and sweat. "you know that i love you, heeseung?"
a laugh rumbles in his chest, "is that what you were thinkin' so hard about?"
"sorta," you admit, "just thinkin' over all the trouble this place has brought us over the years. all the tears, all the bloodājust wonderin' if it's been worth it, wonderin' if there's enough good seed to plant over the evil rooted here."
he hums, "i'd say so."
the answer is simple. heeseung's fingers coax you from the refuge you found in his presence, and he gestures to a point just beyond the curvature of morae's back. the relentless summer sun is beginning to sink below the silhouetted mountain range; tall stalks of wheat stand like threads of gold in an endless tapestry while your cattle graze through the sea of boundless, green grass. heeseung runs a gentle thumb over the apple of your cheek as you stare out at your land, your legacy. the good seed has already taken root, and the fruits of your labor have been sprouting before your eyes. the answer is so simple.
"i think we've done one hell of a job here," heeseung says, pulling his hand away to adjust his hat. "good and evil come and go, but as long as you and i are livin', there'll always be someone to handle 'em."
you smile, resting your head on his shoulder, "i'd say so."
quietly, you let the extra weight you had been carrying fall away and watch as he pulls a peppermint out of his pocket for morae. after a moment spent together in silence, heeseung shoots you an impish wink, "'nd if you ever need a thing, you just call, doll."
"shut your mouth, you old dog," laughter spills from your lips, a delicate melody joyous enough to dispel the curse of slow, summer rot. and, in this moment, you continue to laugh. you laugh until the sun dips below the horizon line and the small piece of the world you and heeseung have cultivated is plunged into an immeasurable darkness.
pls if i get one thing for christmas pls let it be jungwon ending everyone who sent those disgusting wreaths and trucks to the hybe building pls god pls
jealous pouty jake who doesnāt want to watch your favorite movie bc he thinks YOU think the mc is more attractive than him, so you have to turn on the movie and kiss him brainless while itās playing to make him feel better (and he does šāāļø)
[midnight thoughts: park jongseong + end of beginning]
rando posting on a thursday night bc this has been in my drafts 4ever. no summary you die like men. maybe i'll write a part 2. maybe.
whether the guitar is a meager subject bending to his will or an extension of his very own body, you are unable to decide. enveloped by the dim lighting and clouds of cigarette smoke, the black stained alder wood manages to melt into the obsidian of his leather jacket. the angularity of his face cuts through the darkness; the length of his nose is perfectly straight, the slant of his jaw is sharp enough to cut, and his eyebrows are two, thick lines of focus. he plays with so much precision that it almost makes you overlook the way he still purses his lips when he's concentratingāa habit he was never able to shake. it transports you back to a simpler time in which he wasn't a rockstar. instead, he was a college student studying business management who had a silly band on the side. he was a college student who never planned to make it big, who never planned to leave.
a break in the set forces you from the depths of your memories. he is almost unrecognizable as he works the crowd; a sea of people at this intimate show are screaming for him, begging for his attention, and you can't help but laugh to yourself. years ago, he used to play for you. with a timeworn guitar and a handful of hope, he shared his musings of the future. they were long-shots, pipe dreams, fantasies he entertained when his assignments proved too difficult and his imagination too wild. his voice was sultry as the nimble tips of his fingers waltzed over the fretboard; the melodies he created were happier than the ones he sings now. his stories chronicled a life with you, but now they're bittersweetātales of olde, reminders of the past.
the show is coming to a close; the throngs of listeners are beginning to thin out. minute by minute, there are less bodies to hide behind, less background to blend intoābut, you can't seem to make yourself leave. there's a part of you that wants to be seen, to be noticed by him once more. turning to the bartender, you order an elixir to forget. before you can take the first sip into oblivion, however, a shadow sits down next to you. he smells familiarāamber, sandalwood, a dark thicket. he orders a whiskey sour, and it reminds you of the first time you met. like an aged souvenir, you hold the memory delicately in the palms of your hands.
"what does it feel like, hm?" there's a momentary pause, then you hum into the thick, musky air, "to be a star?"
he takes in a labor-ridden breath. when he lets it out, it seems like more than air escapes him; the heavy exhale is almost painful as he ponders the question. a minute passes, and the quiet is stifling. "it feels good, at first. everything you want, anytime you want. but, it becomes hollow after a whileāall the drinks, all the blurry faces, all the memories melting together," he admits. "it's like i'm floating, y'know ... aimless, in space, millions of miles away."
"is it lonely up there?" you ask.
"most of the time, yeah," he answers, stopping for a few seconds to think. "but, it's what i wished for. it's what i wanted."
glancing over at him out of the corner of your eye, you see he's still nursing his drink. the fingers of his left hand trace circles around the rim of the glass while he itches at his wrist with his right. the blonde streaks in his hair are tousled with a mixture of gel and sweat, and the darker parts fall forward to shield his gaze from yours. remnants of the boy you used to know, used to love are resurfacing from the deep recesses of your mindāwhere you had kept them hidden for years.
"you're still a terrible liar," you say.
his body tenses at the comment. as his muscles remain rigid, he scoffs, disbelieving and defensive, "what do you even know about me, anymore?"
it grows quiet again; the only sounds filling the air are a symphony of closing ambience. dishes are clattering, glasses are clinking, and chairs are scratching against the floor. this time, however, the silence is not deafening. in a way, it is almost familiarāreminiscent of spring nights spent in the diner close to campus, faces full of pancakes and hearts full of joy. but, this quietudeāwhile being peacefulāalso breeds cruelty.
"i'm sorry," his voice pierces through the wisps of smoke and the faint scent of burning incense off in the distance. he leaves the rest unspokenāfor leaving, for not saying goodbye, for not giving you an answer. but, you hear it. in spite of it all, you hear it. the words don't penetrate the toughened shell around your heart; instead, they echo in your mind. everything you wanted but nothing you needed.
you hesitate, "i don't know if i can believe you."
"why did you come then?" he asks, voice solemn.
pins and needles prick at the skin of your cheeks as the question makes the tips of your fingers go cold. it's almost unreal. he shouldnāt have the right to question you like this, to interrogate you like youāre the criminalālike youāre the one who left. his words make slow work of you like a bullet to the stomach. as you pour out everything for him, you come to the bitter realization that it ended this way all those years ago. it would always end this way. you, dead on the floor; him, gun in hand. āi wanted to see for myself, i guessāā you spit, āif it was all worth it.ā
turning towards him, you break down the wall that time and distance had erected between the two of you. there's a ferocity that shines in your eyes; it makes them glow with a certain conviction. he avoids your pointed stare, instead choosing to swirl his watered down drink. only now do you allow yourself to take a closer look at him. his skin is pallid, a ghost of the deep, tawny beige you used to run your fingers along; the dark circles under his eyes accompany sunken cheeks and slumped shoulders. fatigue seeps down to his very being, and this life the has managed to sap the life from his veins.
"was it worth it, jongseong?"
hearing his name fall from your lips seems to send a bolt of pure lightning down the length of his spine. no one has called him that in years; the thought makes you wonder who else he left behind. the corners of his eyes crinkle as he shuts them tight, trying to be anywhere but squirming under the weight of your gaze. after a few moments, he shakes his head. it starts slowly, a gentle back and forth movement before it becomes violent and erratic. when he stops, the man finally connects with you.
his rich, umber eyes are the one of the only things you still recognize. behind the severity of his face, there is a softness dancing within them; at his waterline, tears twinkle like diamonds under a jeweler's light. jay has never cried, never felt the touch of someone who loves him for who he isābut, jongseong? jongseong misses that feeling. the freedom of being loved unconditionally, the all-encompassing warmth of not just being seen but being known.
[midnight thoughts: park jongseong + end of beginning]
rando posting on a thursday night bc this has been in my drafts 4ever. no summary you die like men. maybe i'll write a part 2. maybe.
whether the guitar is a meager subject bending to his will or an extension of his very own body, you are unable to decide. enveloped by the dim lighting and clouds of cigarette smoke, the black stained alder wood manages to melt into the obsidian of his leather jacket. the angularity of his face cuts through the darkness; the length of his nose is perfectly straight, the slant of his jaw is sharp enough to cut, and his eyebrows are two, thick lines of focus. he plays with so much precision that it almost makes you overlook the way he still purses his lips when he's concentratingāa habit he was never able to shake. it transports you back to a simpler time in which he wasn't a rockstar. instead, he was a college student studying business management who had a silly band on the side. he was a college student who never planned to make it big, who never planned to leave.
a break in the set forces you from the depths of your memories. he is almost unrecognizable as he works the crowd; a sea of people at this intimate show are screaming for him, begging for his attention, and you can't help but laugh to yourself. years ago, he used to play for you. with a timeworn guitar and a handful of hope, he shared his musings of the future. they were long-shots, pipe dreams, fantasies he entertained when his assignments proved too difficult and his imagination too wild. his voice was sultry as the nimble tips of his fingers waltzed over the fretboard; the melodies he created were happier than the ones he sings now. his stories chronicled a life with you, but now they're bittersweetātales of olde, reminders of the past.
the show is coming to a close; the throngs of listeners are beginning to thin out. minute by minute, there are less bodies to hide behind, less background to blend intoābut, you can't seem to make yourself leave. there's a part of you that wants to be seen, to be noticed by him once more. turning to the bartender, you order an elixir to forget. before you can take the first sip into oblivion, however, a shadow sits down next to you. he smells familiarāamber, sandalwood, a dark thicket. he orders a whiskey sour, and it reminds you of the first time you met. like an aged souvenir, you hold the memory delicately in the palms of your hands.
"what does it feel like, hm?" there's a momentary pause, then you hum into the thick, musky air, "to be a star?"
he takes in a labor-ridden breath. when he lets it out, it seems like more than air escapes him; the heavy exhale is almost painful as he ponders the question. a minute passes, and the quiet is stifling. "it feels good, at first. everything you want, anytime you want. but, it becomes hollow after a whileāall the drinks, all the blurry faces, all the memories melting together," he admits. "it's like i'm floating, y'know ... aimless, in space, millions of miles away."
"is it lonely up there?" you ask.
"most of the time, yeah," he answers, stopping for a few seconds to think. "but, it's what i wished for. it's what i wanted."
glancing over at him out of the corner of your eye, you see he's still nursing his drink. the fingers of his left hand trace circles around the rim of the glass while he itches at his wrist with his right. the blonde streaks in his hair are tousled with a mixture of gel and sweat, and the darker parts fall forward to shield his gaze from yours. remnants of the boy you used to know, used to love are resurfacing from the deep recesses of your mindāwhere you had kept them hidden for years.
"you're still a terrible liar," you say.
his body tenses at the comment. as his muscles remain rigid, he scoffs, disbelieving and defensive, "what do you even know about me, anymore?"
it grows quiet again; the only sounds filling the air are a symphony of closing ambience. dishes are clattering, glasses are clinking, and chairs are scratching against the floor. this time, however, the silence is not deafening. in a way, it is almost familiarāreminiscent of spring nights spent in the diner close to campus, faces full of pancakes and hearts full of joy. but, this quietudeāwhile being peacefulāalso breeds cruelty.
"i'm sorry," his voice pierces through the wisps of smoke and the faint scent of burning incense off in the distance. he leaves the rest unspokenāfor leaving, for not saying goodbye, for not giving you an answer. but, you hear it. in spite of it all, you hear it. the words don't penetrate the toughened shell around your heart; instead, they echo in your mind. everything you wanted but nothing you needed.
you hesitate, "i don't know if i can believe you."
"why did you come then?" he asks, voice solemn.
pins and needles prick at the skin of your cheeks as the question makes the tips of your fingers go cold. it's almost unreal. he shouldnāt have the right to question you like this, to interrogate you like youāre the criminalālike youāre the one who left. his words make slow work of you like a bullet to the stomach. as you pour out everything for him, you come to the bitter realization that it ended this way all those years ago. it would always end this way. you, dead on the floor; him, gun in hand. āi wanted to see for myself, i guessāā you spit, āif it was all worth it.ā
turning towards him, you break down the wall that time and distance had erected between the two of you. there's a ferocity that shines in your eyes; it makes them glow with a certain conviction. he avoids your pointed stare, instead choosing to swirl his watered down drink. only now do you allow yourself to take a closer look at him. his skin is pallid, a ghost of the deep, tawny beige you used to run your fingers along; the dark circles under his eyes accompany sunken cheeks and slumped shoulders. fatigue seeps down to his very being, and this life the has managed to sap the life from his veins.
"was it worth it, jongseong?"
hearing his name fall from your lips seems to send a bolt of pure lightning down the length of his spine. no one has called him that in years; the thought makes you wonder who else he left behind. the corners of his eyes crinkle as he shuts them tight, trying to be anywhere but squirming under the weight of your gaze. after a few moments, he shakes his head. it starts slowly, a gentle back and forth movement before it becomes violent and erratic. when he stops, the man finally connects with you.
his rich, umber eyes are the one of the only things you still recognize. behind the severity of his face, there is a softness dancing within them; at his waterline, tears twinkle like diamonds under a jeweler's light. jay has never cried, never felt the touch of someone who loves him for who he isābut, jongseong? jongseong misses that feeling. the freedom of being loved unconditionally, the all-encompassing warmth of not just being seen but being known.
[midnight thoughts: park jongseong + end of beginning]
rando posting on a thursday night bc this has been in my drafts 4ever. no summary you die like men. maybe i'll write a part 2. maybe.
whether the guitar is a meager subject bending to his will or an extension of his very own body, you are unable to decide. enveloped by the dim lighting and clouds of cigarette smoke, the black stained alder wood manages to melt into the obsidian of his leather jacket. the angularity of his face cuts through the darkness; the length of his nose is perfectly straight, the slant of his jaw is sharp enough to cut, and his eyebrows are two, thick lines of focus. he plays with so much precision that it almost makes you overlook the way he still purses his lips when he's concentratingāa habit he was never able to shake. it transports you back to a simpler time in which he wasn't a rockstar. instead, he was a college student studying business management who had a silly band on the side. he was a college student who never planned to make it big, who never planned to leave.
a break in the set forces you from the depths of your memories. he is almost unrecognizable as he works the crowd; a sea of people at this intimate show are screaming for him, begging for his attention, and you can't help but laugh to yourself. years ago, he used to play for you. with a timeworn guitar and a handful of hope, he shared his musings of the future. they were long-shots, pipe dreams, fantasies he entertained when his assignments proved too difficult and his imagination too wild. his voice was sultry as the nimble tips of his fingers waltzed over the fretboard; the melodies he created were happier than the ones he sings now. his stories chronicled a life with you, but now they're bittersweetātales of olde, reminders of the past.
the show is coming to a close; the throngs of listeners are beginning to thin out. minute by minute, there are less bodies to hide behind, less background to blend intoābut, you can't seem to make yourself leave. there's a part of you that wants to be seen, to be noticed by him once more. turning to the bartender, you order an elixir to forget. before you can take the first sip into oblivion, however, a shadow sits down next to you. he smells familiarāamber, sandalwood, a dark thicket. he orders a whiskey sour, and it reminds you of the first time you met. like an aged souvenir, you hold the memory delicately in the palms of your hands.
"what does it feel like, hm?" there's a momentary pause, then you hum into the thick, musky air, "to be a star?"
he takes in a labor-ridden breath. when he lets it out, it seems like more than air escapes him; the heavy exhale is almost painful as he ponders the question. a minute passes, and the quiet is stifling. "it feels good, at first. everything you want, anytime you want. but, it becomes hollow after a whileāall the drinks, all the blurry faces, all the memories melting together," he admits. "it's like i'm floating, y'know ... aimless, in space, millions of miles away."
"is it lonely up there?" you ask.
"most of the time, yeah," he answers, stopping for a few seconds to think. "but, it's what i wished for. it's what i wanted."
glancing over at him out of the corner of your eye, you see he's still nursing his drink. the fingers of his left hand trace circles around the rim of the glass while he itches at his wrist with his right. the blonde streaks in his hair are tousled with a mixture of gel and sweat, and the darker parts fall forward to shield his gaze from yours. remnants of the boy you used to know, used to love are resurfacing from the deep recesses of your mindāwhere you had kept them hidden for years.
"you're still a terrible liar," you say.
his body tenses at the comment. as his muscles remain rigid, he scoffs, disbelieving and defensive, "what do you even know about me, anymore?"
it grows quiet again; the only sounds filling the air are a symphony of closing ambience. dishes are clattering, glasses are clinking, and chairs are scratching against the floor. this time, however, the silence is not deafening. in a way, it is almost familiarāreminiscent of spring nights spent in the diner close to campus, faces full of pancakes and hearts full of joy. but, this quietudeāwhile being peacefulāalso breeds cruelty.
"i'm sorry," his voice pierces through the wisps of smoke and the faint scent of burning incense off in the distance. he leaves the rest unspokenāfor leaving, for not saying goodbye, for not giving you an answer. but, you hear it. in spite of it all, you hear it. the words don't penetrate the toughened shell around your heart; instead, they echo in your mind. everything you wanted but nothing you needed.
you hesitate, "i don't know if i can believe you."
"why did you come then?" he asks, voice solemn.
pins and needles prick at the skin of your cheeks as the question makes the tips of your fingers go cold. it's almost unreal. he shouldnāt have the right to question you like this, to interrogate you like youāre the criminalālike youāre the one who left. his words make slow work of you like a bullet to the stomach. as you pour out everything for him, you come to the bitter realization that it ended this way all those years ago. it would always end this way. you, dead on the floor; him, gun in hand. āi wanted to see for myself, i guessāā you spit, āif it was all worth it.ā
turning towards him, you break down the wall that time and distance had erected between the two of you. there's a ferocity that shines in your eyes; it makes them glow with a certain conviction. he avoids your pointed stare, instead choosing to swirl his watered down drink. only now do you allow yourself to take a closer look at him. his skin is pallid, a ghost of the deep, tawny beige you used to run your fingers along; the dark circles under his eyes accompany sunken cheeks and slumped shoulders. fatigue seeps down to his very being, and this life the has managed to sap the life from his veins.
"was it worth it, jongseong?"
hearing his name fall from your lips seems to send a bolt of pure lightning down the length of his spine. no one has called him that in years; the thought makes you wonder who else he left behind. the corners of his eyes crinkle as he shuts them tight, trying to be anywhere but squirming under the weight of your gaze. after a few moments, he shakes his head. it starts slowly, a gentle back and forth movement before it becomes violent and erratic. when he stops, the man finally connects with you.
his rich, umber eyes are the one of the only things you still recognize. behind the severity of his face, there is a softness dancing within them; at his waterline, tears twinkle like diamonds under a jeweler's light. jay has never cried, never felt the touch of someone who loves him for who he isābut, jongseong? jongseong misses that feeling. the freedom of being loved unconditionally, the all-encompassing warmth of not just being seen but being known.
hi cass :(( i'm just making my rounds and checking on all my loves :(( saw you haven't been active in a while and i just wanted to say that i miss you :((
hi janani!! sorry for taking so long to answer :( my heart is sooooo full just knowing you were thinking of me .. i rly appreciate it <33
i've been rlllllllly busy lately ... in may i got all my wisdom teeth out and then i had to have an emergency root canal right before i left for study abroad in taiwan. and now i'm in taiwan doing intensive chinese study every day hahahaha :,))) even tho it's sooooo hot here, i'm enjoying myself .. but i don't have as much time for enha/tumblr lately :(((((
enough abt me tho, i hope you've been well lately!!!!! pls tell me how you've been!!! how did the rest of the semester go? do you have a good schedule next year? how has your summer been?
pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader (reader is jake's sibling)
genre/warnings: angsty fluff (happy ending) / mentions of alcohol, vomit, some blood / idk it could potentially be a bit suggestive but i don't rly think so?
wc: ~2.1k
a/n: LOL cass write abt someone other than won challenge pt.2: FAILED!!!! / whtv! this had been in my drafts n then i reworked the idea into that jay drabble i posted but i still rly wanted to write abt motorcycle jungwon so here you go.. (it turns rly soft at the end bc i am incapable of writing hurt without comfort LMAOOO)
as you climb out your window to perch atop your shingled roof, a wave of cold surges up your spine, taking care to freeze each and every vertebrae on its way. your breath billows before you, the white cloud contrasting the pitch black of night. from this vantage point, you can watch all the bodies as they move in tandem, warm from the alcohol and the dancing. it's mesmerizing, the rhythmic swaying lulls you into a state of peace, a state of tranquility. paying no mind to the booming party music or the numbness blooming at the tips of your fingers, you let your eyelids flutter closed. comforted by the nothingness, you take in the scent of wet earth mingling with the air freshener you have in your room as it permeates the air. with chilled bones and a clear mind, you remain a passerby, a shadow, a ghost.
that is, until an unceremonious rumbling breeches the music blasting from your brother's speakers. the people below begin to whoop and cheer as the manmade thunder grows quiet; your brother shouts a greeting, and you're all too familiar with the person who manages to turn heads merely upon arrival. a rush of nerves tingles through your body, and you run over a checklist. heeseung, jay, and sunghoon are all presently dancing, sunoo is watching over the kitchen, and riki has been relegated to the dj booth for the night. with all other options exhausted, you know it has to be him.
craning your neck, you catch a glimpse of his crimson steed. it glints, almost menacingly, in the light of the moon. the chrome accents are like liquid silver as he dismounts and casts a myriad of shadows over his bike. jake claps him on the shoulder as he removes his matching helmet. his hair falls outādeliciously messy, perfectly tousled; it's a waterfall of silky, black strands that somehow look windblown and gelled back simultaneously. save for everyone that has continued to dance, girls and guys alike are crowding around the boy and his bike.
a cursory smile is offered to all of the faces in the crowd, but it becomes real as he turns to look at your brother. friends since they met through soccer practice years ago, friends despite their differing social circles, friends through the thick of it all. they push through the throng of classmates, acquaintances, and strangersācloser to the house, closer to you.
before they disappear beneath the awning, jake pulls him into a hug, and you can see him dig his fingers into the boy's leather jacket. "it's good to see you, man," jake says, just loud enough for you to make out. "drinks are in the kitchen with sun, i'm sure he'll be surprised to see you make an appearance."
and, just like that, the party resumes. you watch as the horde of people assembled around the motorcycle gradually disperses, and they begin to partner up again. despite not offering any physical warmth, a fire builds inside of you; small embers of memory are ignited by the nervousness that rips at your stomach. reliving each one is painfulāthe images that flash behind your eyes are hot, burning themselves into your mind once more. you guess that there are mere seconds left until he comes to see you, and you are proven correct when a measured knock sounds against your door. it confirms any suspicions and lays any doubt you might've had to rest.
you know all too well who this is.
the slab of wood creaks open, groaning as if aged by the cold. gazing back at him, you notice how young he looks when bathed in the warm, yellow light emanating from your desk lamp. he seems to glow, crowned with a halo of innocence, overflowing with something you can't place. this angelic countenance distracts you from the red solo cup sitting in grasp, distracts you from the fact that he is inching forward, distracts you from the movement of his lips. and, after a few moments, he is settling next to you and fidgeting in an attempt to get used to the frigid air. suddenly, you are stripped of your alien status because he is looking at you, seeing youājust as he always does.
ghosts notice ghosts, you think, daring to steal a glance in his direction. he catches you, ensnaring you with those deep, brown eyes, but he doesn't say a word. it isn't like him, really. he's an obligatory people person, a fan favorite, a crowd worker; he can have you doubled over with laughter one minute and crying the next. this irregularity is not lost on you as he continues to stare. you can almost feel the words waltzing on the tip of his tongue, and it kills youāthe waiting game. it's one you always manage to lose.
"thought we agreed to take a break from each other ..." you hum, breaking the silence and turning your head away. "hm, jungwon?"
he mirrors you, and takes a sip from the cup. his impenetrable pokerface doesn't give you any hints as to what he's drinking. peeking over, you watch as jungwon answers with a nod and a sharp clench of his jaw.
"so, why are you here?" you ask, scoffing and shooting him a forceful glare. "why are you here, sitting with me in weather you hate, not saying a word? whatādo you care about me, suddenly? about us?"
he prickles at this particularly harsh jab, rushing to defend himself, "i told you, [y/n]ā"
"oh, yeahāyou told me, jungwon. you told me about sunghoon, about how protective he is of his sister, about how he broke siwoo's nose after he found out about their relationship. you told me that you didn't want jake to get in our way, that you didn't want things to get ugly if jake didn't like us together," your tone is venomous enough to kill as you berate him. "then, after i called you on your bullshit, you told me that it was for my own good. you didn't want me to get hurt, didn't want me to walk away broken ... you talk such a big game with your motorcycle and your leather jackets, but really, jungwon? all you told me is that you're a coward."
the aftershocks of your explosion are still rocking through jungwon as he tries to process all of your words. absorbing your poison, guilt and realization wash over him; he is a coward. and, a fool for letting you slip through his fingers. his mouth gapes as he searches desperately for the right thing to say. jungwon flounders, and you take perverse delight in his struggle. all of the weight that had been crushing you is now his to bear; it feels good, but only for a minute or two. then, this parasitic love you harbor for him squeezes at your heart. the silence starts to suffocate you, balls of cotton begin to fill your throat, and the cold air is making your lungs burn. you turn to see him already looking at you, and the apology you were about to let free dies away.
his eyes are wild, frenzied almost. not in a way that frightens you, but in one that saddens you. jungwon is frantically hunting for a way to make you see how sorry he is, for a way to make you stay. he reaches out to you but flinches away on his accord, unsure of what your reaction might be. taking a deep breath, all he says is: "you're right."
as the admission of guilt hangs in the air, it is almost underwhelming. you sigh, preparing to push up from your seat and head back inside, but jungwon stops you. he grips your wrist before he is able to stop himself this time and wills you to sit once more. his hands are as warm as you remember, calloused and rough and surprisingly gentle.
"you're right, [y/n]. i'm a coward, and i don't deserve a second chanceāi didn't even deserve the first one you gave me. but, godāyou have to believe me when i say that i care. i care about you, about us. my stupid, fucking thoughts got in the way, and i was scared," jungwon explains, blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay. "i used jake to hide from you, to hide from how much i loved you. from how much i've always loved you."
jungwon begins to shakeāfrom the desperation or the cold, you're not sure. but, as the conversation dips into a natural lull, you usher him past the threshold of the window pane and shut it behind the two of you. a quietude settles between your bodies, a static that coaxes you closer while simultaneously pushing you apart. gently, you slip the tingling tips of your fingers beneath the leather of his jacket; it is replaced with a fluffy blanket before he can blink, and he relishes in the silken sensation blooming in his chest. enveloped by this newfound warmth, you ask him the same question from before: "why?"
he answers immediately, ignoring the searing pain as his blood begins to flow again, "because, i'm not good, [y/n]. i'm not good ... and, you're perfect. i'm afraidāif we go any further, i'll turn you into someone else. i'll ruin you."
you exhale sharply out of your nose, "selfish."
yang jungwon is stunned to silence; the remnants of vitriol seep like a toxic sludge into the cracks forming in his heartāa heart that he claimed to never have, a heart that you managed to steal for yourself. selfish. you called him selfish. jungwon wanted to protect you from the person you might become after being with him; he wanted to keep you away from the sight of bloodied knuckles and the putrid scent of vomit and alcohol. "i'm ..." jungwon starts, incredulity ringing clear in his voice, "selfish?"
"beyond belief," you sniff.
"whāhow?!"
"how? jungwonāwho are you to decide what's good for me? who are you to tell me that i'm good ... that i'm perfect? what do you know about me that i don't?" inhaling deeply, you inch forward; jungwon unceremoniously plops down onto the pillowy cloud of your bed, and you follow suit. in this light, the halo makes a reappearance, and you swear the entire galaxy twinkles in his wide, blown out eyes. resting mere millimeters away, you whisper, "who are you to try and make me believe we aren't meant to be?"
his facade is crumbling bit by bit; walls upon walls of cold concrete are reduced to dust in the wake of your storm. falling back into the soft down of your comforter, jungwon flings an arm over his eyes. stupid, foolishādistracted by the possibility of losing you, he managed to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. "i'm sorry," jungwon admits once more. "i was selfish. you deserve better."
"sure, i guess. if you think so ..." you begin, interlacing your fingers with his and taking away his hiding place, "but, i want you."
jungwon feels fragile in your hands. the look in his eyes is tentative, almost as though if he were to move, you would fade into a fine dust. in this moment, he is vulnerableāa turtle without its shell, a knight without his armor. there is a certain frantic hesitance you can feel as his heart beats against yours; the rise and fall of his chest is not so steady, and the rhythm is not so sure. having already done so once, jungwon doesn't want to lose you again.
you sigh, and jungwon takes in the sweet aroma of starlight mints and lemonade. "stop thinking so hard, won," you murmur. "i want you. i deserve you. i love you."
"you do?" he asks, uncertain.
"i do," you answer, resolute. "can i show you?"
when he nods, the butterflies flitting in your stomach begin to settle because this is jungwon. pressing into him, the rich taste of butterscotch and tang of beer blooms on your tongue; the sensation of your lips slotting against his is only rivaled by the victorious completion of a huge puzzle. perfect in every wayāpieces fall into place, and everything just fits. jungwon is familiar, a home that has returned to you. you make jungwon know your love. so, you kiss his forehead, and you kiss his nose, and you kiss his lips.
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