the first time you see hansol is at a house show for your friend's birthday. he's part of her newly formed alt-rock band, a group she'd thrown together via flyers with QR codes taped across campus. eventually, she received enough submissions to put together a full band, and her birthday show was their first official gig. they're not perfect, by any means, but you find yourself drawn to the letterman jacket-clad stranger playing a black jazzmaster.
"you never told me your guitarist was hot," you blush when you finally have a chance to talk to her after her set.
"oh, vernon? yeah, he's decent-looking," she admits with a shrug. "i'm more interested in his friends over there, though," she continues, pointing in the direction of where vernon stands with three other guys. they're all handsome, but you can't stop looking at him. it makes you giddy in a childish kind of way, the thrill of having a meaningless crush adding excitement to an otherwise peaceful evening. "if you like him, you should go talk to him!"
"fuck no, i'm not drunk enough for that yet!" you dodge. "i need at least two shots to talk to him, five if i actually start flirting." your best friend bursts out laughing and mutters something about you being hopeless. when you glance at vernon one more time before floating into another area of the party, you're surprised to see him already looking your way. you don't end up talking nor flirting with him, but you have a feeling of someone watching you for the remainder of the night.
---
the first time you meet hansol is at a tapas lounge a few blocks away from your campus. it's a friday night and the restaurant is lively, patrons chatting idly in the candlelight while servers flow between tables like water. you're setting up for your set at the weekly open mic, plugging in your acoustic guitar and fidgeting with the cable when you spot him and the same three friends step into the threshold. you freeze momentarily, still as a statue in the warm yellow light of the small stage. he doesn't spot you, you think, and you exhale shakily as he and his friends find seats at the bar.
the open mic emcee brings you a stool and you settle onto it, the familiar wood and metal strings of your guitar grounding you. your name is announced. there's scattered applause you don't really hear and you slip into your own little world of just you, your guitar, and the faceless void of the audience. you don't get fazed by their eyes anymore, but still make a point to avoid looking in the direction of vernon and his friends, just to be safe.
your set goes well, 30 minutes of originals with a few covers thrown in for good measure. you're tossing your capo into your bag when you hear someone approach from over your shoulder. when you turn and see him standing there with a shy smile tugging at his mouth, your heart feels like it's threatening to burst from your chest.
"hi," he says. "i, uh, really liked your set." you will your face to stop burning for a single second so you can respond.
"thank you, i appreciate it," you reply with a smile of your own. "did you have a favorite?"
"the fall out boy one, definitely," he answers immediately.
"oh, 'sugar we're going down?' that one?"
"yeah, that one sounded really good on acoustic. also your voice is really beautiful." if he could x-ray into your mind, he would see that absolutely everything is on fire.
"that's really nice of you to say, thank you," you say and hope he doesn't notice the way you're trying not to stammer. you offer him your name and he repeats it quietly to himself, like he was trying to solidify it into memory.
"i'm hansol. it's nice to finally meet you." your head tilts.
"finally?"
"i saw you at the party last week and wanted to talk to you, but i got too nervous," he admits. your conversation is interrupted by an employee ushering you off stage, and you both hurriedly move to the side. the hardware of your guitar case straps is digging into your back and the pads of your fingers are already peeling dead skin, but you couldn't care less. right now, all you could focus on was hansol and his pretty eyes and the way he was looking at you like you were the only person in the room.
"what's different about being in a random tapas bar?" you tease. he glances toward his three friends at the bar, who you just now notice are watching your interaction and buzzing with excitement. "ah," you nod in understanding. "your friends put you up to it?"
"technically i put myself up to it; i told myself i'd actually talk to you if i ever saw you again outside the party," hansol explains and you don't try to hide the giddy grin that breaks onto your face.
"what comes next then?"
"not sure," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "i didn't think this far ahead." you chuckle, your heart fluttering.
"give me your phone." he does and you type in your number, snapping a quick selfie for the contact photo. he watches you in awe the entire time. this was going so much easier than he thought it would. you hand him back the phone, saying, "i texted myself so now i have your number too."
"cool. yeah. nice," he stammers like an idiot. it makes you smile wider.
"so, uh, dinner? tomorrow? 7 o'clock at the ramen place on main?" you propose and hansol thinks he must be dreaming.
"right. yeah. that sounds amazing," he manages to answer.
"cool, i'll text you. see you tomorrow," you say, sending a smile over to his friends, who excitedly wave back at you like you were a superstar on a red carpet. when you're gone and hansol has returned to mingyu, coups, and wonwoo, his forehead hits the counter with a lovesick groan.
he was so screwed.
---
the first time you kiss hansol, it's as unremarkable as the rest of your relationship has been thus far. not in a bad way, just in a way that there's no fanfare, no cheering, no swell of music in the background as the credits start to roll. no, it's just you, him, and the porch light outside your apartment. you've had five dates at this point and with each one, you feel yourself slipping further and further into the familiar stability that he brings to your life; he was a constant, someone who always knew what you needed even before you needed it. he understood you in a way most didn't, and never pushed you to share more than you were ready to. he was so good to you, and you've been working up the courage to kiss him since your third date. your roommates are watching through the second floor window, no doubt, but all you can feel is his hand in yours as you walk the last few steps to the door.
"can i ask you a question?" you say, your voice fighting to stay even. he nods. "are you...are you having fun?" hansol stares at you like he'd misunderstood the question.
"having fun?"
"yeah, like, are you happy with me?"
"more than i am with most people," he replies and it's so honest, the same way all of his answers to your questions were. he was straight to the point and never bothered with beating around the bush. you figure it's what's scaring you the most right now, knowing that he could shut you down in the blink of an eye if you'd read the situation wrong.
"would you ever--" your words catch in your throat as he steps closer. your heart feels like it's about to explode outward. "um, sorry. i don't know what i'm--"
"can i kiss you?"
you blink at him.
"wh-what?"
"i want to kiss you."
oh. yeah, that'd be nice.
he stifles a laugh and you realize painfully late that you'd said your thoughts out loud. mortified, you start to cover your burning face with your hands, but he catches them and guides them to wrap around his neck. then his lips are on yours and the entire world ceases to exist. your friends loved to joke about the stars aligning and whatnot, but it truly did feel like something had fallen into place the first time hansol kisses you. he kisses like he has all the time in the world, like he was savoring every movement of your mouth against his. there's no crowd applauding the climatic moment, no rain soaking you to the bone, no desperation like you'd never see each other again.
just you, him, and the porch light, and that's all you really needed.
---
the first time you cry in front of hansol is at a halloween party you shouldn't have bothered going to. alcohol was never your friend, whether it was at a party or at a restaurant, in the sense that you always ended up sad and big-mouthed by the end of the night. crying was inevitable, this particular night, because it was also the first night you and hansol had been in a fight.
you don't know how many times you've drunkenly lamented your situation to strangers whose faces you won't remember. somehow, the story had morphed into him forgetting a date, to him forgetting your birthday, to him forgetting that he was your boyfriend. no one actually believed the last part, but you'd sobbed about it enough that there was a possibility it could be true. your best friend frowns when she sees you hunched over the toilet and shaking like a leaf.
"yep. okay. you're done," she declares, hauling you up and forcing you to down the contents of a water bottle. "i'm calling your boyfriend."
"he doesn't love me anymore," you cry and she rolls her eyes.
"oh my god, you fought because he forgot to bring you your laptop charger," she groans and you stare at her through watery vision. was that really what the fight was about?
"really?" you sniffle and she looks at you like you'd just asked her how to spell your own name.
"yes, babe." your face contorts from grief to confusion.
"well that's...fucking stupid," you say slowly and she barks out a laugh.
"yes, it is stupid. you're both incredibly stupid, which makes you good for each other." you don't remember much about what she says after that (you might've fallen asleep on the floor of the bathroom for a few minutes), but by the time you're conscious again, hansol is kneeling in front of you.
and you start crying.
a lot.
"i love you so badly, hansol," you choke out and alarm flashes over his face. you're very, very drunk. much more than your best friend had described in the brief texts his phone received. maybe she'd been more specific, but he didn't read anything past the single text that read can you come get her, she's really out of it rn. he wasn't sure if you wanted to see him, but he'd thrown on a sweater and grabbed his car keys anyway, running at least two stop signs to get to the house where the party was being held. "i don't want you to break up with me over a stupid charger."
"charger? what charger?"
"the charger that you forgot to bring me," you continue, tears rolling down your cheeks. he tugs some toilet paper from the roll and gently wipes your face. seeing you like this was breaking him apart.
"i didn't forget to bring you a charger; i was mad at myself for not bringing you a bag that was larger," he corrects, his eyebrows drawn. you gape at him like a goldfish.
"why the fuck would i get angry over that?" you whisper in disbelief and he shrugs, letting out a nervous laugh.
"baby, i have no idea. i think you were mad at me because i was getting mad at me? you were just caring too much about me, it was stupid," hansol recalls and you feel the same familiar indignance flare in your chest.
"it's not stupid to care about you too much. you're stupid for not being nice enough to yourself," you argue and he fights down a snort. yeah, you weren't going to remember any of this in the morning. "i love you and i don't like when people aren't nice to you, including yourself."
"i get it. i do, and i'm sorry i was being mean to myself," he says mostly to placate you so he can get you into the car, which he does.
"i love you, hansol," you whisper while you're wrapped in a jacket he left on the passenger's seat for you and humming to the music playing faintly on the radio.
"i know, baby," he says.
"i love you, hansol," you repeat when he takes you to his apartment instead of your own because he knows your roommates won't know what to do with you.
"yeah, let's get you in the shower," he says.
"i love you, hansol," you murmur while he's helping you change into a set of his clothes and carefully removing your makeup with a cotton round of micellar water, like you'd taught him.
and when you're tucked into his bed and on the verge of drooling on his pillow, he finally whispers it back because he was too afraid to say it while you were awake.
— synopsis: you and wonwoo are bound by the radio waves of wireless fidelity — and lose each other to the ether, until you're both on opposite ends of the same state, and on opposite sides of where you need to be to belong to one another...even when something tells you that it was never supposed to be you and him forever.
– genre: estranged friends to ??? ; angst, suggestive, tiniest bit fluff.
— pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader [feat. choi seungcheol.]
– word count: 6.8k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: long-distance situationship. lots of angst. mentions of sex and sexual acts but nothing happens? like the sex is described but its not a sex scene. mingyu mention hehehe. mentions of fraternities and everclear (yes they get a warning.) swearing. mentions of pregnancy and labor, nothing graphic. mentions of virginity loss, oral sex, marking, p in v sex. will tag smut just in case!
— what to listen to: facebook friends - niki ; on the drive home - niki ; the apartment we won't share - niki ; take a chance with me - niki ; oceans and engines - niki ; anaheim - niki ; man i need - olivia dean.
– author’s note: welcome back to haologram! this is a special segment i’ve created to give a quick thank you to all of my friends this holiday season, and this one is for the moomin to my snufkin @kkaetnipjeon. mj, you have truly shown me what it is like to be able to tolerate a gemini and i could never be more thankful for your presence in my life. you have shown me kindness and bestowed wisdom upon me that i would feel too worried to ask anyone else and yet, your ability to make me feel comfortable enough to ask questions has made you such a standout figure in my life. thank you for being around and i love you. happy haolidays, mj! i love you!
♫ NOW PLAYING: FACEBOOK FRIENDS - NIKI.
You'd met Jeon Wonwoo on a Reddit forum on Halloween.
It was years ago — you were both sixteen under the stupid r/Minecraft forum. You'd been looking for friends to play with, he'd been new to the game and asked the most basic questions, and you'd found it easy to tease u/GAM3BO1 (while still giving him the answers he was looking for) about not being as much as a 'game boy' as he thought. He'd wound up DMing you to join his server, and you did — eventually, building crafting tables in your shared pink wool cottage.
Eventually, the friendship fizzled out and long nights staying up playing together stopped. You were friends on Facebook, he wrote on your wall once and then, like the plethora of internet friends you'd made at that point — disappeared into the ether.
Until four years later, you were splayed across your dorm room bed with your cousin, eating a plate of stale cookies and comparing how long your lists of Facebook friends were. She had the odd hundred, you had kept yours small (and hadn't checked or updated your account in ages) — and she quickly pointed at Wonwoo's profile.
"Who is that?"
"Somebody I met on Reddit a handful of years ago. We played Minecraft together, he built me a pink house. It was pretty cute."
She gave you an odd look as you shoved the last cookie into your cheek, and proceeded to scroll through her list of friends, seeing no one with the same name. You clicked his profile, seeing an update from just six days back. He was bigger — broader, smiling brightly as he posed with a tagged friend: Kim Mingyu.
"He's cute," your cousin pointed at Mingyu, and you scoffed, turning your phone away. "Wait, what's his name? What if I find him?"
"Mina, if you do, have him." You rolled your eyes, tilting your phone closer to your face and scrolling a bit more. It seemed like he'd fully fleshed his life out — he was going to school for engineering, transferring from Rutgers on the East Coast and had lots of soccer posts. You remembered being on calls with him when you were sixteen, often hearing his choppy laugh through his shitty microphone whenever you asked about his soccer team. He said he'd been shit, but the more you scroll — he got a scholarship for soccer, and he was the UC Berkeley team captain.
You were at San Diego State, almost eight hours away by car — the closest you had ever been to one another. He'd grown up in the rainy streets New Jersey and cheeks pricked by brutal winter winds, your skin kissed by the warm sun of California's soft seasons, barely knowing what a thunderstorm was.
Mingyu seemingly posted on his wall, too — giving him song recommendations, telling him to call him back because he knew he was on his phone. You wound up clicking around and finding that Mingyu was also at Berkeley, and a brother of Alpha Sigma Phi — having roped Wonwoo into Jell-O wrestling at the house parties and you didn't see a single beer can or bottle along his profile.
He was smart.
"Says here Kim Mingyu is single." Your cousin sang, tapping the screen with her manicured nail, courtesy of you (after you both inhaled a shitload of monomer due to the fact that your dorm windows barely cracked and inch and your ceiling fan had broken two weeks prior. You gave her a pointed look, waving her off — not seeing her add him and send off a message request.
That was the beginning of the end, you think.
♫ NOW PLAYING: ON THE DRIVE HOME - NIKI.
Mina had managed to score a day to meet with Mingyu — the guy had been incredibly intrigued by her story of finding him through her cousin (you) and her cousin's (still you) old internet friend (Jeon Wonwoo.) Apparently, the trip up to San Francisco had been a lie — you were sat in her passenger seat after she'd gotten on the I-5 S, absolutely silent after she told you the truth. You weren't mad, you don't think — but you felt…invaded. You felt like your privacy was now held in someone else's hands, and that you had no choice but to stay in the car and go to Berkeley.
It was Halloween weekend, and you were missing several ragers that you'd been invited to (but weren't going to go to, anyway. You'd just gotten a new set of beads in the mail and you were absolutely going to spend all weekend making bracelets for your Student Council.
She told you when you cruised through Lost Hills that if you really didn't want to go, she'd take you to San Francisco and drop you off with your grandmother and go back on her own. She didn't want you to be there if you were uncomfortable — and you'd only argued that she should've asked you that before she used your life to weasel her way into Mingyu's good graces. She frowned, pulling into a 7-Eleven and getting you a cherry Slurpee, fruit snacks and a bag of Doritos as an apology.
You accepted them, but still turned your nose up at her as she continued up the interstate — the too-sweet taste of the artificial cherry reminding you of an odd situationship back in high school. Nothing serious, it didn't make you want to die at all — but free Slurpee is a free Slurpee, and you'd be damned to let it go to waste.
It wasn't until you saw UC Berkeley in all its glory that it hit you — how real this was becoming.
How real Jeon Wonwoo could be. Choppy laughed heard clear, his off-key renditions of 2NE1's I Am The Best and what he was potentially like with girls.
Did Wonwoo get girls?
Was he still glued to his computer? You remember him spending weekends talking to you on the phone, fiddling around with old computers while he let you tinker around on the BedRock server while his skin was idle. You remember chewing on your cheek as he cut in and out, his signal horrible in the attic that was his room. Sometimes it would fail and he'd call you back again, sounding clear for three minutes before the signal got shitty again.
You don't think you could handle the idea of Wonwoo being flirty. Much less, liking girls enough to come onto them. You don't know if Wonwoo drinks, if he's even ever had his first kiss — it wasn't any of your business when you were teenagers, and it certainly wasn't now.
You begged your cousin to take you to San Francisco as she parked her car in front of the fraternity house — her eyes wide as your panic became far too evident and she simply reached over and tugged on a strand of your hair to snap you out of it. You scowled, smacking the back of her head as she huffed, "you were going to ralph all over my center console if I didn't! Take a deep breath, man. Chances are that Wonwoo won't even be here."
She lied.
Well. She was wrong, but she was also still a liar — because the front door of the frat house swung open, the sound of Apink's Luv blasting through the air as the Jeon Wonwoo came barreling out. There was a boyish grin on his face as he ran down the hill, glancing over his shoulder once as he bolted past your cousin's car — Mingyu just a yard behind him. Rickety laughter was heard all throughout the parking lot and you glanced at Mina, whose eyes were wide when a bunch of other brothers followed, spitting their drinks out and pouring a bowl of punch into the bushes.
Mingyu gave up on catching Wonwoo, apparently — returning with a crushed cup in his hand and a grimace on his face. His lips were pursed as you and Mina gave each other confused glances, before one of the other fraternity brothers comes towards Mingyu.
"Did you catch him?" His thick brows are furrowed, lips pouty as Mingyu rolls his eyes.
"Obviously not, Cheol. If you wanna go—"
"Fuck no. God, here. Just get Jeonghan to run back down to the liquor store…I'm sorry, are you ladies looking for someone?"
The guy was holding a wad of cash in his hand, counting out what seem to be twenties as his eyes landed on you. His eyes shamelessly raked up your frame, stopping at the hem of your shorts. You scowled, and Mingyu rolled his eyes, shoving the guy and taking the money from his hand.
"They're here for me, dickwad." Mingyu scoffed, and Mina's cheeks flushed as she made eye contact with him. You rolled your eyes so hard you were sure they'd get stuck, but the boy with the brows — 'Cheol' — only smirked, "both of them are here for you? Isn't that a little greedy, Mingyu?"
"Uh, Mingyu. This is Y/N, my cousin. The one I told you about." Mina finally opens her historically big mouth, and you shook Mingyu's hand over the top of her 2009 Civic. He gave you a cute smile, before the boy with the brows rapped his knuckles on the hood of her car, "Mingyu, he's right there."
"Ladies, I'll be right back." He excused himself, and Wonwoo sprinted back across the lot the moment he saw Mingyu peeking at him. You aimlessly took a sip of your Slurpee as Mina introduced herself to the boy with the brows, before he extended his hand over to you.
"Seungcheol."
"Y/N. Nauseated to meet you."
"Chipper. I like it."
Mingyu caught Wonwoo by the shirt, tackling him on the grass moments later — only for Wonwoo to wiggle out of Mingyu's grasp and run around other side of Mina's car. He was sweaty and out of breath, but his eyes never left Mingyu as he adjusted his glasses.
"Just hear me out, Gyu…" he laughed as Mingyu lunged for him, and Seungcheol only leaned on the hood of the car as you nibbled on a fruit snack. He wiggled his brows at you as you offered him some, holding his hand out as Wonwoo dodged Mingyu's attempts at catching him, "I made money from it! I'll buy your shit to make the punch, I promise!"
"Someone paid you to put Everclear in the punch and you listened?!" Mingyu grabbed Wonwoo's arm but he twisted out again, giggling as he hid behind you, his hands on your arms as Mingyu scowled. You were trapped between the two of them, your eyes wide as Mina met them across the roof of her car. You glanced at Seungcheol, who stood up abruptly, ready to intervene if you needed it.
He was kind of cute.
"You wouldn't hit me now, would you? There's a girl here! Think of her…think of…I'm sorry, what's your name, Miss?" Wonwoo's hands pulled you back against him, your face burning hot as his eyes made contact with yours. His brows furrowed as he turned you, Mingyu face palming behind you, "Y/N?"
"Is this where you guys kiss? Because I'll be sick." Seungcheol piped up from his spot behind Wonwoo, and you snorted, "we're not gonna kiss."
"Oh my God, it is you!" Wonwoo exclaimed, "how have you been? Are you okay? Did you move here? I thought you would've gone to San Diego State?"
Surprisingly, Wonwoo did not forget about you.
He broke his phone and forgot his Facebook password for three years. By the time he'd gotten back in, you hadn't posted on your profile in ages — so like any loser, he decided not to message you. Mingyu was also witness to all of this, because he transferred out of Manhattan to Cherry Hill the same summer that you and Wonwoo stopped playing together.
Wonwoo wasn't staying for the weekend, he'd been dared to dump the Everclear into the punch and dash. He'd actually packed his car up to leave right after — to San Diego of all places, meeting his girlfriend at San Diego State for one of the many ragers you'd been invited to. He'd given you his number and a sweaty hug, begging to catch up soon — that he'd drive down or you could drive up or you'd figure something out.
No one noticed the way your heart sank to your stomach except Seungcheol — his eyes fixed on you as Wonwoo gave Mingyu half the money he'd gotten to repurchase punch materials. He offered his room for you to stay in, saying he'd room with Jeonghan down the hall while your cousin shacked up with Mingyu for the weekend — giving you privacy and a moment to realize that Wonwoo was a boyfriend to someone that went to school on your campus.
And enough time to make you realize that you might've gone up to Berkeley with the hopes of something blossoming between you both. You felt dumb, just a tad — and decidedly spent the weekend getting absolutely plastered.
And maybe just a bit too close to Seungcheol. Close enough that he danced with you all night while both absolutely sober, dragging his hands down your sides and holding your hips to his. Close enough that he pulled you upstairs with him, pinning you against the door of his bedroom as the reinforced wood muffled the sound of In The Dark by Dev playing throughout the house.
Close enough that he almost took your virginity that night, but stopped when things got too heated — saying he didn't want to do something you could regret. You'd raised a brow at him, glancing at the bulge in his pants that was pressed against your thigh, his hands cupping your chest under your top but over your bra. He'd climbed off you, but you cut him off before he could apologize — asking if he'd stay the night. He eagerly agreed, and far more intimate things ensued — a shower together in his small tub, tentative tongues wandering and curious fingers traveling wet skin enough that you ended up on your knees in front of him and he'd splayed your legs open on his sheets right after, burying his face between them.
You went home with Seungcheol's phone number, three hickeys blooming on your chest and the taste of his lips on yours.
And Wonwoo's number was long forgotten at the bottom of your contacts.
♫ NOW PLAYING: THE APARTMENT THAT WE WON'T SHARE - NIKI.
Your junior year of college came and went. You and Seungcheol alternated weekends driving up and down the bay of California. By the spring semester, you were his girlfriend and things felt serious — serious enough that he drove down to San Diego on June weekend to stay with you. He was meant to meet your other friends and some of your cousins you trusted not to rat to your parents — said parents had gone up to San Francisco for a week, turning their noses up at you for saying you didn't feel well enough to visit your aunts and gossip about people you didn't know anymore.
Gossip clearly made the world go round.
Unrelated to Seungcheol's trip, Wonwoo had also made a trip down. The two of you were on semi-speaking terms — talking more when you'd gone up every other weekend to see and spend time with Seungcheol, carpooling with your cousin who had successfully sunk her claws into Mingyu's honeyed shoulders. You spent Friday evenings talking to Wonwoo. Saturday morning was spent watching soccer practices and the afternoons watching games…and the evenings and all of Sunday spent getting Seungcheol's fingertips bruised into your hips as you took your weekly frustrations out on each other. He'd taken your virginity on a very sweet weekend, spent away from soccer and his stupid fraternity brothers, constantly telling you that things did not have to happen if you didn't want to.
Yosemite National Park was now a landmark in your relationship, and you remember the way he'd nervously told you about the cottage he'd booked and the way he practically forgot how to kiss you. You'd taken the reins, checking you both in and making sure you both enjoyed the trip.
Including the quiet night that you realized Seungcheol could be the love of your life — and how much it scared you to think that he was. Not because Seungcheol wasn't a good guy, he was absolutely great.
It just worried you that he wouldn't feel the same — so you kept it to yourself. You bit your tongue, you kissed his neck and held him close as his thumb circled your clit to ease the ache between your thighs.
And you whispered those three little words right back, after he let them fall first — the moment he thought you fell asleep, right into the skin of your shoulder as he pressed a lingering kiss to it.
I love you.
Seungcheol's week in your bed was only on it's second day when Wonwoo called you — saying he was in San Diego and stranded because he broke up with his girlfriend. You had looked at Seungcheol with a worried expression as Wonwoo meekly asked to stay with you for the time being, because he'd taken a flight instead of driving down to kill time.
"He's our friend," you'd told Seungcheol through gritted teeth as you drove the two of you back to his now ex-girlfriend's complex to pick him up. Seungcheol had tongued his cheek, "this is the only week I get to spend with you and we have to keep him until Sunday."
You'd made Seungcheol smile and laugh for the rest of the week, not wanting Wonwoo to wallow in his breakup. You argued with Seungcheol in your bedroom in hushed voices, Wonwoo just down the hall in the guest bedroom that you'd cozied up for him. This went on for two days, until Mingyu and your cousin made the trip down to meet her parents — and Wonwoo drove back up to Berkeley with them.
The trip down had been soured for you and Seungcheol, and he left your house with a sigh and a tick in his jaw. He pressed a kiss your lips, hard — like he was trying to prove something, like he was trying to stake his claim.
Your senior year of college was hard. You and Seungcheol were slammed with coursework and couldn't make the drives to each other as much as you would have liked, opting for FaceTime calls and Seungcheol took one flight down to spend twelve hours in your bedroom with you before climbing out your window and going right back to the airport.
Winter break came around, and you meekly asked if he wanted to spend it with you and your family. Your mother had overheard too many FaceTime calls and you'd spilled the beans, and he had eagerly agreed — and you booked his flight to stay with you for a week, and you'd both fly up to Yosemite for the New Year. Your mother made him sleep in the guest bedroom, and your father quickly put him to work — clearing the gutters, mowing the lawn, polishing silver around your house. Seungcheol did it all happily…
Until Mingyu and Mina showed up at your door, yielding a drunk Wonwoo who was very clearly searching for you. You'd gaped as they explained that he'd made the trip down with them, wanting to spend his Christmas in San Diego with his best friend — only for them to get a few beers in him and realize that he meant you.
Seungcheol was furious, but he swallowed it and moved Wonwoo into the guest room for the night. You'd explained to your parents and they quickly agreed Seungcheol could sleep in your room — but your boyfriend of almost a year (come January third) turned away from you, marking right back down the stairs and sleeping on your couch.
You promise yourself you'll never love a man enough again to lay on the ground and hold his hand while he sleeps. You promise yourself you'll never, ever love a man enough again to let him peel open his eyes, tears brimming in them as he pulls his hand out of yours and tells you he doesn't think it'll keep working if this keeps happening.
You and Seungcheol boarded the flight to Yosemite with a fight brewing in your bellies, and it officially broke the moment the two of you stepped foot in the booked cottage. You started pacing around like caged animals — you called him insecure and he called you too available. You said he was overreacting and he accused you of disregarding his feelings.
And a part of you knew you were, but you didn't know why.
The fight continued throughout the week — wake up, eat breakfast and argue, then fuck all your pent up stress out until the sun went down. The nights were quiet, some full of tears — some his, some yours, but the thickness in your voices was unmistakable.
Your relationship would not survive the year, the distance, or Jeon Wonwoo.
Your flights flew out at different times and from different terminals. You said goodbye to Seungcheol with a kiss that broke him, tears spilling down his cheeks as he silently begged you to stay. To try, to fit him into your life the way he knew he did — but you knew you were haunted by what could've been.
He knew you were haunted by what could've been.
And he let you walk away from him, boarding your flight to San Diego on January 3rd and breaking his heart for the very first and last time.
♫ NOW PLAYING: TAKE A CHANCE WITH ME - NIKI.
You graduated university at the top of your class, and you cut contact with Wonwoo entirely. You deleted your Facebook profile, your Reddit account, and changed your number. You didn't speak to Mina all that often anymore, either — ignoring the hurt in her eyes when you'd cut conversations short or tell her you were too busy to hang out. You skipped her birthday party that year, spending that July weekend staring at your ceiling with a gaping hole in your chest that ached to call Seungcheol.
Yet, your mind wandered to Wonwoo.
Enough that you drove up to San Francisco, where you knew Mina was holding her birthday party — and walked in with an array of gifts. Puzzles, nail supplies, skincare she'd been talking about for ages but would never shell the money out to get…
And you made eye contact with Wonwoo as she pulled you into a crushing embrace, his face filling with surprise and your own with annoyance as you avoided him for the majority of the party — until he caught you outside, your phone in your hand with the urge to call Seungcheol.
"Y/N, please." Wonwoo begged, his hand gently splayed on your upper back as you sighed. "Just listen to me, I have to explain."
Explaining led you both to Wonwoo's car, parked at the end of the street and hidden from view by trees. Explaining led you both to the backseat of Wonwoo's car, his hands holding your thighs apart and his tongue working you over as you clapped your hand over your mouth.
Explaining led to you climbing into his lap and sinking on his cock with a muffled whimper, his thumb sucked into your mouth as his other hand palmed at your ass. It led to you letting him kiss your skin messily, sucking marks into it haphazardly and ripping the flimsy fabric of your bra. It led to him covering every inch of you that he could reach in him — your soft belly painted with his cum as he flipped you onto it in his backseat, your hips bruised with his fingertips and sharp smacks that made you push back against him marked across the swell of your ass in the form of his hand.
Explaining led to you going home with him to his place, leaving your car at your aunt's house as you both Irish Goodbye'd the party in favor of him practically ripping your dress off and pinning you to his mattress.
You both laid in said mattress with the realization that you couldn't even call it a drunken mistake, because you were both sober.
You agree to a date after Wonwoo begs you through teary kisses. You agree to a date after you tell him that he's ruining your life, that you wish you'd never met him on that stupid Minecraft forum — before you both laugh, because it's stupid. It's so stupid and you're both so young and dumb…and a part of you thinks you're in love.
And the other part knows.
One date turns to two, two dates turn to eight — and eventually, you're spending Christmas with his family in New Jersey. Eventually, you're undressed in his bedroom that he used to call you from, and the signal is still as shitty as it was then — check-in calls with your parents breaking up every few minutes to the point that you end up calling them from the Jeons' landline with an apologetic look on your face as your potential sister-in-law gives you a dirty look.
You're not his girlfriend until New Year's Eve, when he asks you two minutes before the ball drops. He's hold you close in the middle of Manhattan, his lips warm against the shell of your ear as you look at him through your lashes. He's got a gleam in his eyes that makes you want to say no, just to wonder if he'd pout. If he'd beg, if he'd plead.
You say yes ten seconds to the New Year, and you're already kissing each other when January 1st rings in.
January 3rd comes and goes, and you're back in San Diego when Wonwoo tells you that he could move down or you could move up to San Francisco.
You don't have the heart to tell him you hate San Francisco.
And you don't tell him that Seungcheol would've moved down as you decide to move up.
♫ NOW PLAYING: OCEANS AND ENGINES - NIKI.
Your relationship with Wonwoo gets to the three-year mark when you realize you want more out of life — you're just not sure what.
You're both twenty-five, spending your days in a sort of Groundhog Day rerun. You wake up, you eat breakfast together. You kiss in the doorway before going your separate ways to work — he goes downtown to the high school he's teaching Physics at, and you go uptown to the firm you're designing ad campaigns at. Wonwoo messages you twice — once before lunch, once twenty minutes before he gets off to ask what you might want for dinner.
You spend every Thursday together, roaming the streets of San Francisco. Wonwoo's hidden behind a camera, a hobby he'd picked up a year before the two of you reunited at Berkeley. He takes perfectly angled photos of you, he makes you feel like his muse.
Wonwoo is a good boyfriend. He holds you just right, he learned to cook, he pulls himself away from his computer and his desk to give you attention regularly. He plans date nights meticulously, he takes your anniversary very seriously.
So you don't understand the problem.
And you feel like a jerk as you slowly feel yourself start to pull away…not knowing he's doing the same.
It starts with Thursdays being scrapped. You'll go home, claiming a headache and he'll come to you — eventually, the migraine turns into period cramps, turn into vertigo, turn into whatever excuse you want and he takes it as a sign to leave you alone. He goes on his own, taking pictures of things he thought you'd like and showing them to you.
And you do like them. You love them, even — your hand smoothing over his mussed hair before you pull him into a kiss. A kiss that turns into your hand down his pants and his hips rutting into it, a kiss that turns into his fingers unclasping your bra expertly and sucking your nipple into his mouth. A kiss that was once a silly distraction turning into I'll do whatever I can to stop talking about this.
Wonwoo notices.
Wonwoo asks.
You don't answer directly. There's no one else and you're absolutely honest about that — even showing him all your phone records and credit card statements, your location long shared as the relationship progressed. But you can't tell him what it is, because you don't know.
Are you bored?
Are you tired?
Are you falling out of love?
You know Wonwoo hopes it's not the last, his eyes still full of stars and his heart telling him you hung each one of them.
He works harder to get you back. He plans more dates, he expands more on your interests — he takes you both to a pottery class, earning a bright smile from you as you carefully craft a couples' pair of mugs. He brings focus to you more during sex — forgoing the blowjobs to make you cry on his tongue, worshiping every inch of your body. He kisses you all over, dragging his lips up your calf and along the arch of your foot. He staves off his own orgasm, tracing shapes into your clit to make you crumble first before twisting you into any other position that could bring you there faster. He edges himself until you're at the brink, ruining your sheets as he pulls one last toe-curling orgasm from you.
He usually has to finish himself off, merely peppering kisses on your face as he checks in with you. His hand does all the work as he sweet talks you, kissing down your body and coating his knuckles in his release — only for you to lick his fingers clean and scold him about being wasteful.
And just like that, Wonwoo has you right back. Thursdays are spent together again, promotions are celebrated, you're enthusiastic about dinners in downtown….
Until you take a trip back down to San Diego with him, your parents asking the question every young couple dreads to hear.
Or at least, he thought it was a dreaded question.
You hadn't. You didn't.
You were excited for it.
"When are you two going to get married?" Your father had asked jokingly, and you'd smiled brightly as Wonwoo stiffened next to you. Your face didn't show it, but your eyes had quickly flamed as he quickly recovered, saying that you hadn't talked about it yet.
You had. Many times at this point — but it was never something you seemed to coincide on, and that night after the awkward dinner ended, you both proved it again. Marriage was a deciding factor of the near future of your relationship.
You wanted to get married. Wonwoo wasn't sure about the whole thing; he said it was just a piece of paper. That a piece of paper and a ring couldn't mean that much, and you argued that it meant almost everything if the two of you decided to start a family. That sparked another hushed argument — Wonwoo didn't understand why you had to be married to have kids. You spat back that children of married parents, happily married parents at that, had better quality of life. You rattled off how important it was that two parents were equally involved because it was important for the legalities of life with a partner, that marriage could decide whether or not he could be there when the kid was born, that marriage was important to you.
And couldn't that be enough?
The breakup was swift after that.
Thursdays crashed and burned. Dinner was silent until you got up and scraped your uneaten food into the garbage can and washed your plate. You went to bed three hours before he did, showering alone, and Wonwoo felt something in him sink when he heard the familiar buzzing through the door of your bedroom. The same buzzing that got you both through the few months of long distance before you moved up to San Francisco, and Wonwoo realizes.
You abandoned everything for him, and yet, built the world around him.
Without you, he wouldn't have gone on to be an engineer. Subconsciously, he would've never transferred with Mingyu to UC Berkeley. Without you, Mina and Mingyu wouldn't be getting married next year — a wedding you'd been made the Maid of Honor, and him the best man. Without you, that wedding would be incomplete…so Wonwoo sends in his RSVP saying I will not be attending.
You and Seungcheol broke up because of him, after he decided he had enough of being alone. You and Seungcheol fought after his ex-girlfriend in college asked who you were and dumped him when Wonwoo slipped up and said he thought you might be the love of his life.
Wonwoo didn't think.
Wonwoo knew.
And that's why he let you leave. He helped you pack, his eyes swollen from tears as you tongued your cheek. You looked nothing like him — your hair was clean and pulled back, your face even and even had a light layer of makeup spread across it, sparkling glitter on the high points as you loaded the boxes of your things into your car. You took one last look at Wonwoo, your hands trembling as you handed him your key.
Your eyes brimmed with tears as you pulled him into you, and he swore you were doing it on purpose. Leaving behind the smell of your perfume on his clothes as he lets his tears soak into your t-shirt, leaving behind the comforting weight of your arms around his shoulders.
Leaving him behind, again.
"You've ruined my life, Jeon Wonwoo." You whispered, sniffling as you pressed one last kiss to his lips, "and I'll never forgive you for it."
♫ NOW PLAYING: ANAHEIM - NIKI.
It's been six years since Wonwoo has seen or heard from you last.
He's moved on — or at least, he's tried to.
It's January 1st and he's living in Chula Vista — maybe three miles from your parents' house.
He moved three years after the breakup — submitting his photography to exhibits and blurring your face. He became hugely successful, his degree gathering dust in the basement of his new house on the hills. You don't live here anymore, he doesn't think — Mingyu had told him that he and Mina had helped you move out of your parents house to San Diego after the breakup. What was in San Diego for you, you didn't know.
Wonwoo spent his time wandering the streets, picking up things he thought you'd like subconsciously. He wrote down songs, made playlists, took photos.
All for safekeeping, he told himself. A part of him hoped you'd come back.
And the other knew you wouldn't. You'd never.
He'd taken a drive through the city, somehow crossing through Inglewood and landing in Santa Monica. He lingered on the infamous pier, taking photos of the horizon when he looks up. The pier had been quiet for a while — he'd gotten up early to catch the sunrise, arriving at the pier just minutes before they opened.
The footsteps are unstable. Small, pattering as a familiar voice calls out.
A familiar laugh rings out — rickety and it makes his heart sink as you look up, your left hand swiping at your hair. A white gold engagement ring is nestled on your hand, snugly followed by a wedding band. A hand wrapping around your shoulders showcases the same one, a doubled stack with your initials engraved so deeply he can see them from his spot across the pier.
A little girl with his eyebrows and your eyes, lashes that brush her cheeks with every blink just like his do. A little girl that has his surname, just like he calls it out when she gets a little too close to the edge, swiftly picking her up with one arm and hoisting her onto his shoulders. He's sure one day he'll convince her that he's a superhero.
"Choi this, Choi that. Her name is Minseo, in case you forgot." You roll your eyes, and Seungcheol sticks his tongue out at you, "I know my kid's name. I chose it, don't make me remind you."
"You chose it or you let my parents guilt you into taking that one because they liked it?" You raise a brow, and Seungcheol tongues his lip as he bumps your hip with his.
"Are you sure you want to move back to San Diego?" He asks gently, and you sigh, hooking your arm with his and leaning your head against your daughter's side. Grubby fingers pat your head, making you wrinkle your nose as she swipes your hair out of your face haphazardly. He chuckles, reaching up and helping her, "I know things got twisted for us out here back then. I don't want that to happen to us again."
"Babe, it won't. We are," you hold up your hand, a mischievous smile on your lips as his cheeks tinge pink, "married. And we've been married for years, mind you."
"Years, she says, but she took four years to say yes."
"I had to be sure you were the one."
"You knew I was the one the moment you met me, be so serious."
You laugh loudly, your hand swatting the backside of his jeans as he smiles, "at least, I knew you were."
"We've come a long way," you nod, cupping his face gently. Your thumb pinches his cheek carefully, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry." He shakes his head, your daughter squealing as birds fly overhead. He presses a quick kiss to your lips, "in the end, we ended up right where we were supposed to. We're married. We did it."
"You mean, I married you after you begged me."
"I mean you married me because you were so in love with me that you called me the moment that Mingyu called you telling you I was going to move to Barcelona."
"Can you imagine if I hadn't? Wouldn't have this little pumpkin," you grab your daughter's foot, making her squeal before you hold up your left hand, wiggling your ring finger, "or this. Or that tattoo between your shoulders."
"Are we ignoring the cherry tattoo you got for me? Because I vividly remember—"
"I didn't get it for you." You scoff, "I got it to commemorate the fact that I was the only kid that liked Wild Cherry Capri-Sun growing up."
Wonwoo remembers that. He'd been the only one, too.
He remembers thinking, at the tender age of sixteen — you were his soulmate.
"You got it for me, honey."
"…Okay, maybe I did but we're not telling Minseo that."
Your daughter pulls at Seungcheol's hair at the sound of her name, making him wince as you laugh, gently pulling her hands out of it and pulling her off his shoulders. You settle her on your hip, and Seungcheol slides up behind you, wrapping you both into his chest as the sun rises slowly.
Wonwoo can't be here.
He doesn't know when the tears started, but he knows he can't stop them.
His camera goes off silently in his fumble to put his things away, and the Polaroid floats down and onto the pier as he hoists his bag over his shoulder. He doesn't bother picking it up, giving curt smiles to other people now beginning to gather on the boardwalk — yielding fishing poles, warm waffles wrapped in wax paper, even excited dogs on leashes as he moves down the pier towards the parking lot.
He doesn't see your daughter wobble over and pick the picture up, Seungcheol's eyes immediately widening as you move to pluck it out of her hand — and he doesn't see the way you both still as you see the small black watermark on the edge of the custom Polaroid that has a perfect shot of your family facing the water, with pink marmoris against the waves as the sun rises carefully.
And you'll never know how he'd give anything to stop time, and go back to that day he'd driven you both to San Diego. How he'd stopped in Anaheim for a quick bite, leaving you at the diner that was next to a jewelry shop and perusing the engagement rings.
You'll never know how he'd give anything to stop time — and drive you around Anaheim at sundown one last time.
Maybe then he'd be the man you needed.
And maybe then, he'd be the man you wanted.
Until then — you've got Seungcheol. Your best friend and lover, all in one. Seungcheol, who you met organically, who smiled at you and stole your fruit snacks. Who gave you as much patience as he could, who gave you everything you wanted and more. And it was all Wonwoo's doing.
new year's resolution is to write more! i've lost the writing muscles:( so hoping to gain some of that back while writing some new fics. currently working on a severance themed fic, and i'd love to write more song fics :)
You’ve chanted this phrase time and time again, but it never gets old. Never for you and Seungkwan. You can go through a million things, catch on fire, somehow die and resurrect, and yet on the day of the first snow, you’ll find yourself running toward your best friend in a fit of laughter.
Of course, you tend to maul him, with 9 times out of 10 Seungkwan bruising his elbows from falling to the ground. “You always do this (Y/N)! My butt’s black-and-blue now!” He complains, but the smile on his face doesn’t waver. He says this next sentence slowly, tilting his head side to side. “Should we try to see who can make the fastest snowman?” He purses his lips in faux pondering, wrapping his arms around your waist, bringing you in little by little.
Your hands press onto his chest, jaw dropped. “Absolutely not! You know the rules.” Those being the ones you established when you were 10 years old in the backyard of your childhood home. If you thought Seungkwan was bossy, he would bow down to you all the time and still does. You’re adamant: the tradition doesn’t die just because you’ve grown up now. It just looks a little different.
Seungkwan lands a kiss on your cheek, getting a little bit of the furred lining from your hood into your mouth. His face turns sour as he gently spits the hair. “Of course that would happen to me.”
Your laugh is loud enough to fill the streets surrounding your place, and he’d literally do anything to capture the feeling he has when he hears your laugh. Just truly something about it forms magic out of thin air. “It’s ok, Seungkwan,” you plant a kiss on his lips before getting up and dusting yourself off. “Now, are you ready to go down?”
“Only if you’re ready,” he teases, putting his gloves on. He does three jumping jacks, takes his arm and stretches to the side, and breathes into the side of his fist. “You should be ready to go down, I’m gonna beat you.” His fake punches really sell it.
You double over in laughter, your chest resting on your knees as your laughter bubbles out of you. The tears that come out of your eyes freeze the slightest bit, maintaining the reminder of Seungkwan’s humor. “You’re so silly, Kwanie.”
“I’m glad you think so. I’m ready whenever you are, boss,” with a salute, you signal to one another that it’s go time.
You start balling up a pile of snow, collecting more and more to create a solid base. You then move onto the middle piece, taking a sneak peek at Seungkwan’s side, drawn by an imaginary line. You’re surprised an actual line wasn’t drawn.
“No peeking, (Y/N)! Might have to deduct points from you!” He yells over his shoulder.
“What points?!” You yell back, throwing your hands up.
“Might need to tickle you!” There’s always a teasing tone in his voice, sending a pang of love to your chest. If 10-year-old you knew how this was going to end up, she’d be jumping for joy, just like you are now. But you’d like to think your current self still has the biggest crush on Seungkwan, even with the hearts drawn around his name in your middle school notebooks.
The wind blows the flurries on your face as you finish the last crucial part to this piece of art: the head. After you place the last snowball onto the first two, you use your gloved finger to carve space for its eyes, nose and mouth. While carrots weren’t part of the equation, you bend down to find some appropriately shaped rocks for the facial features.
“Almost done, (Y/N)?” Seungkwan’s voice travels to you. Even his speaking voice is so pleasant; you could bottle it up and sell it to the highest bidder. “I’m done!”
“I…” You put your finishing pieces like you’re on an episode of a cooking show. One more rock and… “I’m finished!” You throw your hands up as you turn to face him. “Wow! Your snowman is amazing.”
His masterpiece is almost as tall as him with a strong, sturdy base. Somehow, he carved out a scarf and a misshapen hat out of snow. You walk up to touch the solid pieces, like the tiny rocks as buttons along the middle snowball.
“I don’t know, (Y/N), I think you might win,” Seungkwan muses and you turn around to see him doing the same thing as you to your snowman. “How did you think of making little accessories with the rocks? Almost like you were cheating…”
“Was not!” You march over to sail a fist into his shoulder, stopping your hand just before impact to softly kiss it instead. He still flinches, shaking his head.
“You always do that and somehow I still jump.” He laughs, throwing his arms around you. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he takes a deep breath in, taking a mental picture of this moment for the memories he’ll want to have forever. “I think great minds just think alike.”
decided to write something fun with the holidays coming around the corner! svt's tour singlehandedly taking me out of retirement LOL enjoy this christmas themed one-shot! (not proofread - read with caution!)
As you edge around the couch with mugs that threaten to topple over with the wrong move, you can finally breathe when the heart-shaped handle makes it into Vernon's hand. You love a piping cup of hot cocoa but you can never make it with a normal amount of milk.
"Thanks, babe," he says as he presses his lips to your cheek when he accepts the drink. "Jae's down for the count?"
"Yes," you look at him funny. You're used to Vernon riffing about and trying to make things stick. "But weird wording."
"Just wanted to try it out, it seemed cool." Vernon shrugs, not being too bothered. His smile disappears as he gulps down a lot all at once (again, to reduce the chances of spilling) and evidently burns his tongue. Vernon scrapes his tongue under his teeth, dragging and feeling every burnt tastebud that he'll be nursing for the next few days. Luckily, you imagined he'd be in this situation and pass him a cup of cold water. "Wow, you really know that would happen."
"Hey, out of our 5 years of dating and 5 years of marriage, you know I know you." You can't help but to chuckle as he downs most of the glass, seeing how his Adam's apple bobs up and down. You know how he likes to get up in the morning, and you know how he cools down after a fight, and you know how he likes to support and be supported. That's just who you are and your life has been a lifelong study to learn and love who Vernon is.
"I know, I know." Vernon sets down the mug on the coffee table and snakes his arm around you, resting his hand on your opposite shoulder. The ambiance is perfect: the tree is warmly lit, there's tartan patterned things all over the place, and your favorite—the fireplace video broadcasted on the TV. Yes, you have a fireplace, but with having a kid, it's just so much more safe to oo-and-ah at digital flames.
"So did we ever talk about how we're going to do Santa?" Vernon ponders aloud in between bites of popcorn that rests on his lap. He recalls memories of Christmas at home, resting with his grandparents around the tree. Some of his fondest memories are tainted by the visceral feeling of the ugly, scratchy, winter sweaters, trying to sit still while his body is on fire, but having to smile and pretend to have a good time anyways. Good times. He'd love to rewrite some of those stories in his head.
"Not really." You also take a handful, and your eyebrows furrow at the question. As you tuck in your feet on the couch, you purse your lips. "Huh, now that you say it, it's not really something that's spoken."
"Right?" He laughs softly, not wanting to wake the baby—that's nearly two at this point—who is resting upstairs. "I mean, Jae's starting to have consciousness." Chuckles get louder and you have to hit your husband. "Sorry, sorry."
"You're right though. You know, he asked me where the reindeers sleep if Santa's going around to every home?" You say in near disbelief, and Vernon looks more than impressed.
"What a smart kid. We did that." Vernon swoops his head to land a kiss on your nose. "He's cute like his mommy, but I think his mommy is cuter."
You shake your head, hitting his thigh with a light pat. "You're silly, you know that? Too, too cheesy."
"And you love that."
And so it was decided that your son would write his letter with his parents peering over his shoulder, and hand it carefully to Santa Claus. And then Vernon would snatch the envelope from the mall Santa's hand and know exactly what his son wants: a car Lego set, a scooter, and a guitar. Hmm, wonder where he got that last one from?
it's been really long since i've written something but recently, i've been wanting to write! so maybe a comeback is in store :) the people i've spoken to before probably aren't active anymore, but i'd love to make new friends if there are any people up to it :)
heads up! vernon performs fake surgery on med student!reader to cheer them up. he's just silly <3
"scalpel."
you have no idea what your boyfriend is doing. you've been slumped over the dinner table for the past who-knows-how-long because studying has turned your brain to mush (you're in med school, that's the medical term, you swear). vernon hums to himself, and then you can feel his index finger trailing down your back as he makes his own sound effects in the form of a steady beep... beep... beep... to simulate a heart monitor. his fingers trail across your back, as though searching for something, and the "beep"s turn a little more frantic.
"vernon, what are you--"
"patient's getting better," he says, and then immediately goes back to those faster 'beep--beep--beep's. "i think. heart rate is increasing. that's good right?"
you don't answer, burying your face in your arms again. you can't let him see you smile. he'll know whatever he's doing is working, and you kinda wanna see where he's going with this. he grabs a fistful of the back of your shirt, letting go as he draws his hand away, still making those beeps.
"the surgery is a success..." he says. "i've removed the heart... i've saved the patient."
you turn your face. "baby. you can't live without a heart. i think the patient's dead."
"nah," his hands rest on your shoulders, already kneading at them. "i stole your heart and you're still alive--"
immediately, you let out the loudest groan--although whether it's out of disgust for the cheesy line or amusement because he managed to entertain you, he can't be sure. he thinks its a mix of both, actually--but it doesn't matter. you're smiling now, and that's what he set out to do.
he leans over you, pressing a quick peck against your forehead. "food's here, by the way. gotta support my future doctor somehow."
(you don't have the heart to tell him that making you laugh is always enough... and not because he stole it.)
Getting inspired to write is actually really easy! All you need to do is be the busiest you've ever been in your entire life and as far away from a computer as humanly possible. Hope this helps 🥰
"I'm telling you, I don't care that she has a crush on Dokyeom, but all I'm saying is that he's not as nice as he lets up to be," Vernon can feel the frustration bubbling in his body as he speaks.
How did they even get to this conversation anyway? Why did Seungkwan have to pull stuff out of his ass once again?
The fire blazes bright alongside them, but with Vernon giving his best friend a bit of a cold shoulder, Seungkwan huddles into the blanket he draped over himself. It's their final day to hang out with one another before they head back to their respective universities for the next term, but Vernon wouldn't have guessed a conversation would light a match on their friendship.
It hurts inside to be having this kind of conflict. Respectfully, Vernon wishes he could do without interactions. He's used to watching from afar and if things happen, they happen. They shouldn't be ripping their friendship over stupid things like this.
"You literally like (Y/N)! You always have!" Seungkwan uses a hand to push Vernon's shoulder before sinking back into his corner of the couch, knowing Vernon would come after him. "I've known (Y/N) longer than I've known you, but I'm closer with you so I know basically everything. I just don't want you to agonize over not saying anything."
"I'm not agonizing," Vernon groans. He runs his hands through his hair, the only way he knows how to cope right now. "I," his voice gets softer. "I know I like (Y/N), but she likes Dokyeom. What do you want me to do about that?"
Seungkwan says one thing: "Fight for your life."
Vernon has no idea how to react to that sentence, so he shakes his head and asks him to repeat it.
"Fight for your life! Nothing is ever set in stone. We're only twenty; who knows what will happen in our lives but what matters is the things you can control," Seungkwan balls his hands into fists for further emphasis. He sighs, a slow smile stretching his face as he shakes his head. "What are we going to do with you, Sollie?"
After a pause, Vernon says, "I'm pretty sure Dokyeom already asked her out." His voice is actually quieter than the fire crackling in front of him.
Vernon always lets this happen to him. The ghost of imposter's past haunts him daily, from college decisions to meeting new people. That push he gives himself isn't a push he feels he deserves when dealing with others. He's always ready to surrender to the wayside, even if he has the right of way.
Seungkwan's head hangs low. "I'm just worried about you, Sollie," he mutters, continuing to use Vernon's nickname, the same one they used when they were younger and naïve to the world. "Be for real, why would you let people dictate how your life is supposed to go? Actually be selfish for once."
"I am." His voice is muffled as he buries his face into his shoulder, speaking into the fabric of his own hoodie.
"You're selfish with yourself and what you do, but you're never selfish when it comes to other people." Seungkwan's gritting his teeth at this point. What are you supposed to do with someone who has all the resources but does nothing with them?
"How do I tell her I want her more than Dokyeom could ever want her?" The strings in Vernon's heart are tugging past the point of healthy exertion; he can literally feel his heart breaking underneath the skin of his chest.
"Say it before it's too late. Ask her out and confess your feelings!"
Vernon pauses and waits.
"I think the fanciest place I've taken her to is Olive Garden."
"You're fucking kidding—" Seungkwan treads lightly, holding his annoyance back. "Anyway, just be yourself. Don't try to be someone you're not. Only you can be you."
"What kind of positivity BS is that?" Vernon scrunches his nose at his words. "I'll try though. I promise I won't take her to Taco Bell if she says yes to this date," Vernon places his left hand on his chest and his right in the air as if he were taking an oath.
"You're helpless."
(And when Seungkwan sees you and Vernon holding hands the next time he sees you, he exclaims, "He wouldn't have asked you out if it weren't for me, so you both should buy me a meal as a thanks!")
