✎ day6
↳ park sungjin
far too young to die (working title)
↳ kang younghyun
1 to 10 ✿✷✦
life's a peach! ✿✷
sweet enough for three ✿✷
bring it on! (working title)
wretches and kings (working title)
↳ kim wonpil
through signs and song ✿
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✎ nct
after rain, comes sunshine — huang renjun ✿
heavy is the crown — mark lee ✿✷
better than gold — zhong chenle ✿
hello! unfortunately i've been pretty busy lately and haven't had the time to work on anything, though my fingers are kinda itching to write something for tbou i just dont know what yet haha. sorry to keep you waiting 😅
I just read the latest youngk fic of yours! OMG YOU ALWAYS WRITE MY FANTASIES. LIKE HIM ASKING HER TO MARRY AGAIN. 😭😭😭😭 I feel like im being watched lmao. Anyways the series is such a masterpiece, looking forward to it ❤️❤️❤️❤️
hehehe thank u!!!!! i kinda hinted at the second proposal in deep in love when he kept playing with her ring and asking about her dream wedding, i don't know if anyone managed to catch that but yea :P
pairing: kim wonpil x (deaf) f!reader
genre: coworkers to lovers, meet-cute, mutual pining, fluff, soft romance
wc: 8.0k
synopsis: he speaks through piano keys. you speak with your hands. when wonpil is tasked to partake in the kindergarten’s upcoming theatre production, he doesn’t expect to find inspiration in you— quiet, kind, and often overlooked. it may seem like the two of you are worlds apart, but as it turns out, there’s nothing so different about two people who listen with their hearts instead of their ears.
an: my attempt at something different, i tried my best to do my research so i do apologise if there are any inaccuracies (and please educate me if that's the case haha 🙇♀️) happy bday piripiri!!! 🐰🩵
Wonpil shifts uncomfortably on his feet as he stands by the roadside, fingers gripping onto the handle of his briefcase as he stares at the one-story building before him.
It looks unassuming enough. If anything, it’s typical, like any other kindergarten in Seoul, but for some reason, he’s still hesitant to go in.
He thinks it’s likely because he hates change. Rather— he’s just not used to it. He’s been working at his parents’ piano school since he graduated university, and getting a career reset this late in his adult life just feels like a setup for failure.
But he knows he shouldn’t think that way. Not when he should be thankful for getting an opportunity like this in the first place; not when there are people out there, counting on him to guide the next generation of future musicians-
Perhaps he’s being dramatic.
With a deep breath, Wonpil steps forward, pushing the wooden gate that leads to the front door open.
He doesn’t really know who he’s supposed to report to, and walking around aimlessly while trying to find the general office feels intrusive in some way…
so he ends up in the garden.
It’s really more like a small patch of dirt next to the cafeteria, though clearly well-tended to as could be seen by the neat rows of lettuce heads and baby tomatoes that are just only beginning to ripen. Also, the figure currently hunched over the dirtbed with a shovel in hand, and probably the reason behind why a garden so tiny could look so perfectly maintained— you.
“Hi!” Wonpil greets, silently grateful that his voice hadn’t cracked due to his nerves. “I’m the new music teacher that’s supposed to start today…?” He trails off when you don’t turn to him.
Weird. Were you ignoring him? You probably just hadn’t heard him.
He clears his throat. “Um, I’m looking for the general office. Or, if you could direct me to the principal, that’d be great-”
“Mr Kim! There you are!” Another voice sounds, and he turns to see Principal Lee, eyes crinkling behind her glasses as she smiles warmly at him. “My apologies. I should’ve given you directions during our call. Welcome to our school!”
“Ah- thank you.” Wonpil bows his head slightly as he steps towards the lady, but not before glancing over his shoulder to look at you again.
Your back is still turned to him, though standing now as you water the crops. You don’t acknowledge him, nor do you acknowledge the principal— it’s as though you’re alone, and nobody else is there with you.
Strange.
Principal Lee must’ve caught him staring (shamelessly, as he only belatedly realises), when a small ah escapes her lips. She steps towards you, peeking at the side of your face before waving at you gently to get your attention.
That’s when you turn, and—
Oh.
You’re pretty.
Wonpil blinks when the principal starts introducing you. He only barely manages to catch your surname, slightly stunned as he realises that not only is she using her words— she’s also using her hands.
And that’s when everything clicks.
Oh.
That’s why you hadn’t turned when he spoke. It wasn’t because you didn’t hear him— it was because you couldn’t.
“- and this is our new music teacher, Mr. Kim,” Principal Lee says, signing at the same time.
You smile then, and Wonpil swears he could feel his heart leap out of his chest.
One, because he’s flustered, yes— and slightly guilty that a small part of him had assumed you were being rude by ignoring him. Second, he doesn’t know sign language.
At all.
Wonpil bows as he mutters out a hello, only to remember you can’t hear him, so he ends up adding in a small wave for good measure.
If you notice how embarrassing he’s being, you don’t show it.
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t notice you. I don’t have my processors on,” you say while signing, then tapping your ear.
Your gestures are unfamiliar— he’s never had someone talk to him in sign language before— but it’s your words that manage to catch him off-guard, not because they’re unclear, but because they’re even spoken at all.
And now, Wonpil feels even stupider for not considering it. Of course. Why did he assume you weren’t able to speak?
But it’s different, he realises, the way you form your words. Not in a bad way. Just… softer. More deliberate, like you’re placing them exactly where they need to be. They’re careful in a way that makes him listen a little closer, and Wonpil realises that maybe, this has nothing to do with you being deaf, but everything to do with you.
“It’s okay.” And because his ears are still warm from earlier, he clumsily adds, “I look forward to working with you.”
You nod, the smile not leaving your face as you sign together with your words. “Likewise.”
And for some reason, that gesture sticks with him all the way until he gets home, when he’s sitting in front of his laptop and ready to start crafting his first lesson plan for the term.
Except, Wonpil finds himself opening another Naver tab instead, and before he could stop himself, he types:
how to say hello in sign language
Wonpil finds you in the garden again, this time closer to noon.
The last time he saw you was a few hours ago, during a meeting with the creative committee about an upcoming play that’d be taking place in a few months. It’s something that the school organises annually for the graduating batch, though they’re planning to do something more special this year now that they have a music teacher. He’d learnt during introductions that you’d be in-charge of prop-making, and even though Wonpil doesn’t know you very well, he figures from your paint-stained jeans and crochet cardigan that it made the most sense.
Now, he tilts to look at you, waving his hand in your line of sight the same way he saw Principal Lee did to get your attention. From his research yesterday, he’d learned that tapping a Deaf person on the back without warning could startle them and potentially come off as invasive, and the last thing he wants is to be rude.
You look up when you see him from your peripheral vision, lips settling into your usual smile as you straighten your back. Before you could wave at him, he beats you to it—
Hello.
Your brows raise, before a small laugh tumbles out of your lips.
You hadn’t meant for it to happen, and it wasn’t like you were making fun of him. In fact, he had done it perfectly, if you don’t count the slightly-off placement of his hand near his forehead, and the way his eyebrows furrow like he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right.
Still, you understood him, and the fact that he even tried is… kind of sweet.
Hello, you sign back, and Wonpil laughs in embarrassment as he mirrors you, properly this time. He shifts awkwardly for a while before blurting out a soft oh! under his breath, taking out his phone from his pocket.
I’m Wonpil, he types.
“I still haven’t gotten the hang of signing my name yet,” he says sheepishly, and you nod, seemingly in understanding. He wonders if you could lip-read— not like he’d expect you to do that every time he speaks, of course.
You tell him your name and that it’s nice to see him again.
“I really like your garden.” He points to the dirtbed awkwardly, merely for the sake of having something to say.
You laugh again at that, but Wonpil knows it isn’t mean-spirited.
You open your palm, placing your thumb and middle finger together before tapping your chest lightly twice. “Like this.”
His lips part as he studies your movements, fingers curling as he tries to mimic you.
You step forward, glancing at him as though to ask for his permission, before gently taking his wrist and adjusting his fingers for him.
“There.” You smile. “Like.”
You step back, your lips still tugged upwards, and while Wonpil would like to think (or seriously hope) that he’d managed to school his expression, the sudden skip in his heartbeat clearly means otherwise, and only one thought crosses his head in that moment:
Shit. He’s in trouble.
Wonpil is slowly starting to get used to his new routine.
His classes are spread throughout the week, and since there are only three age groups in the school, his Tuesdays and Fridays are usually left free.
He’d often spend that time in the music room— it’s much easier to plan his classes there as compared to the staff room where it’s noisier. Occasionally, he’d find himself in the library, too— but only if you’re there.
Since the day at the garden, you’d gotten quite close to Wonpil. You believe it’s because his schedules aren’t as tight as the other teachers, though it does make you wonder why he chooses to spend his free time with you.
Even when you’re busy organising bookshelves, he’d still be at his usual table by the window, focused on planning out his lessons on his laptop. Other times, he’d be scribbling something down in his notebook. You’d dared to take a peek once, only to realise it wasn’t words he’d be writing down, but music notes.
You didn’t understand it, of course, since you had no reason to pick up a music module back when you were still in school, but Wonpil was kind enough to teach you the basics. In exchange, he’d ask you how to sign a colour, sometimes even a shape— depending on the material you’d be preparing that day.
It’s like we’re exchanging languages, he’d once written down in his music book for you to read, earning a small laugh from you. He decides that no composition of his could even come close to how lovely that sounded in his ears.
Your language may be silent, but Wonpil thinks it’s beautiful, the same way you find the way he translates feeling into music mesmerising.
The idea for the play had just been confirmed, and Wonpil’s finally able to start composing.
The theme is going to be garden-inspired, following a tiny seed that grows into a flower. Along the way, the seed will make other garden friends, with each of them representing different aspects of life like growth and change.
It’s cute, Wonpil thinks, fitting for six year-olds preparing to enter elementary school. The only problem is… he’s still new to working with children, and composing light, playful music isn’t something he’s done before.
Basically, he hit a dead end before he’s even started.
The piano lets out a series of jumbled notes as Wonpil drops his hands on the keys. He’d been hoping that inspiration would come to him naturally, what more now that he’s in a room full of drawings and colour, but his sudden creative block is making it hard for him to think straight.
Perhaps he should wrap up for the day and sleep on it.
A sudden knock interrupts him from his thoughts, and Wonpil looks up to see you.
You step in tentatively. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.” He smiles briefly. “Just… brainstorming.” He taps the side of his head.
You nod, peeking at his music book balancing on the lid of the piano. It doesn’t look like he's done much progress— if you count the scribbled-out notes as progress at all.
“Can I ask for your opinion?” Wonpil asks you suddenly, and you raise a brow.
“Of course." You gesture for him to continue.
He picks up his pencil before scribbling down in his book.
The play is garden-themed, and you know the kids better than I do. What do you think the score should sound like?
You laugh. “Wonpil, in case you forgot, I’m Deaf.”
“I know.” He pauses for a moment before scooting to his left, prompting you to sit. You do, and your shoulders brush when you settle next to him.
“Music isn’t just about hearing,” Wonpil tells you slowly, tapping his ear. “It’s also about… feeling.” He signs the last word, one he’d learned from a random YouTube video he watched last night.
He turns back to the piano before hitting a note on the far left— A, if you remember correctly. He does it again, only this time, he brings his other hand to touch the top panel. He looks at you, prompting you to do the same.
He presses the key one more time, and the vibration thrums beneath your fingertips.
A0 is the lowest note on the piano. The vibration is slower. Deeper, he writes in his music book before putting down his pencil, hand skimming to the far right of the keyboard. You feel the vibration again as he presses the key, only this time, it feels different. Lighter, almost.
You laugh, mostly in awe, and he turns to beam at you.
“You feel it, right?”
You nod eagerly. Now you understand why some Deaf people love attending concerts. You’ve personally never been to one, but today it feels like Wonpil’s teaching you things you never knew about yourself. Maybe you’d try it out one day.
His smile drops a fraction. “Can I ask you something?”
You tilt your head, prompting him to continue.
“I don’t know if this is going to come off as rude, so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to! But I was just curious…” he rambles nervously. “Is there a reason why you don’t wear your processors?”
There’s a pause as you take in his words, before a small giggle escapes your lips. You could see the wariness leave his face, clearly relieved that you hadn’t reacted otherwise, though his cheeks are now painted a faint pink hue, almost like he’s embarrassed.
You try not to dwell on how cute you think he looks, scrunching your nose instead as you sign, too noisy.
Wonpil laughs. That, he understood. You’d taught him that one day when he was telling you about the kids in his nursery class during their first music lesson. Needless to say, managing a bunch of three-year olds by himself was not a walk in the park.
“Anyway," you continue, “why don’t you join me at the garden tomorrow?”
“Oh, garden. That’s a new one,” he utters as he follows your gesture. You notice how Wonpil tends to pick up on your signing despite most of your conversations being verbal, his eyes always trained on your hands like he’s trying to learn even if you weren’t necessarily intending on teaching him.
You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone that keen in learning your language; it’s always been the other way round.
Then again, you don’t think anyone could ever be as sweet as Kim Wonpil.
In an hour, Wonpil’s managed to learn a few new words from you: seed, caterpillar, bee, sunflower.
Granted, it’s difficult to remember all of them perfectly, and he’d often mix up the hand gestures, but you’d laugh it off before gently adjusting his hands for him.
Wonpil totally doesn’t pretend to keep forgetting on purpose just so you’d continue helping him.
Not so bad, right? You beam at him as you pat the soil gently, having just planted a new row of peony roots.
Difficult, he signs with a pout. Your smile grows wider at that.
“There’s a reason why I do music and not this,” he huffs as he rakes the dirt with a gardening fork. “But I guess I did learn a thing or two.”
You nudge his shoulder playfully, and Wonpil stops sulking as he grins back at you. It’s hard to even pretend to be upset when you’re around.
Even now, long after he’s out of the gardening apron you’d loaned him and a pen in hand instead of a trowel, Wonpil can’t seem to stop thinking about earlier. He blames you for that— that gardening session was supposed to give him inspiration, not distract him further! And yet, the rows of music staff in his book still remain empty.
He sighs, mindlessly dragging his pencil across the paper. The random doodle eventually forms into a caterpillar, albeit a crooked one, and Wonpil smiles to himself. You’d shown him how to sign the word earlier— a little crawling motion across your arm— and there was something just so cute and silly about it that he couldn’t help but to laugh as he copied you.
He absently mimics the movement with his pencil, and it ends in a squiggly line right beneath his drawing. It kind of reminds him of a staccato; a set of short, detached notes ascending along the staff-
That’s it.
Wonpil’s eyes widen as he stares at the page, before he pushes his book aside completely. Stretching his fingers, he tentatively presses on some keys, following the staccato rhythm he had gotten earlier. He tweaks the notes as he goes along, but for the most part, he doesn’t think, he just does, until eventually, he ends up with a melody that sounds very much like it could belong in a kids’ musical.
A laugh escapes his lips as he plays the sequence again and again, making sure to write it down in his music book so he doesn’t lose it.
Finally, the first staff is filled. Even if it’s nothing much and he’d probably have to polish it later on, it’s still something, and Wonpil couldn’t wait to show you.
You find Wonpil at the piano in the music room, pencil in one hand, while the other rests idly on the keyboard. He doesn’t notice you standing by the door, too absorbed in scribbling something in the music book balancing on his lap. You can’t help but to smile at the sight. There’s just something so…endearing— and perhaps a little silly— about it; how someone as good-looking as him could also be so nerdy. You don’t mean it in a bad way, of course— you think the passion he has for his craft is admirable, and in the short time that you’ve gotten to know Wonpil, he’s easily one of the loveliest people you’ve ever met.
That probably explains why your heart always feels a little funny whenever you’re around him.
“Oh, you’re here!” Wonpil grins when he notices your presence, wasting no time as he shifts on the piano stool to make space for you. “I have something to show you. I finally figured it out! Ah, I’m speaking too fast, aren’t I? Hold on-”
You reach out to touch his arm just as he’s about to flip to a new page of his music book, nodding at him to signal that you understood. You don’t think he realises it, but he’s always been careful with enunciating his words when talking to you, even if he's practically buzzing.
Wonpil relaxes before he continues, “I finally managed to start on the first song. It’s still a work in progress, but- I wanted to tell you anyway,” he laughs sheepishly, like he’s embarrassed.
He pats the lid of the piano: your usual spot. You place your hand on the wood, and a second later, he starts to play.
The pulses come in quick taps. Light, almost playful. It reminds you of rubber boots splashing into puddles after a rainy day, or children hopping during a game of hopscotch. You could feel the space between each note, some high, some low, and somehow, even without sound, you understand what he’s trying to show you.
He turns to you when he’s done playing, a boyish grin on his lips before he signs: how did it feel?
And for some reason, that’s the question that completely unravels you.
Because he didn’t ask you how it sounded. He asked you how it felt. And maybe, you’re making it a bigger deal than it should be. He’d probably said it mindlessly and you’re dwelling on it for no reason at all, but neither of that changed the fact that his words had stirred something in you. Something… soft, like a flower that’s just beginning to bloom.
You sign back. I love it.
“Yeah?” Wonpil lets out a breathy chuckle. “See, I was thinking of what you taught me yesterday. The caterpillar.” He flips to a previous page of his book, pointing to a scrawny doodle at the top right of the page. “It inspired me to write this. It’s called a staccato. Where’s my pencil?” He mutters under his breath in the midst of his explaining, searching the fallboard.
You tap his shoulder, splaying your palm upwards in front of him. “Write it here instead.”
Wonpil’s lips part, like he’s taken aback at your request, before he nods, pulling your wrist towards him gently. He traces his index finger on the inside of your hand, spelling out the word. Staccato.
You smile, and when he meets your eyes, he smiles too. It’s only then do you notice how close you are, and the lack of distance between you both causes your heart to stutter.
Just like a staccato.
You expect Wonpil to let go, but he doesn’t, only hesitating slightly before bringing his finger to your palm once more and writing down another word. Thank you.
Your pulse quickens, and now it feels like there's a drum in the middle of your chest, fast and loud.
You wonder if there’s a term for that too.
“Okay, class! Who remembers what song we learnt last week?” Wonpil points to the set of notes written on the whiteboard next to him before capping his marker.
A few hands shoot up, and Wonpil pretends to ponder loudly as he taps on his chin, earning a few giggles from the kids. “Yes, Yijin?”
“Hot Cross Buns!” The boy chirps enthusiastically, the triangle in his hands clinking at the sudden movement.
“That’s right! Good job, Yijin!” Wonpil leans forward to give him a high-five. “Today, we’re going to move on to the second part of the song. But first, can anybody tell me the name of this note?”
You watch from the back of the class with a soft smile on your lips. It’s clear that Wonpil’s gotten more comfortable at teaching now as compared to when he first arrived, especially since the kids love him so much. He’d gone from standing awkwardly at the front of the class to sitting cross-legged with them on the foam mattress on the floor, opting to peruse the small whiteboard on the easel instead of the wall-mounted one behind him. It’s easier to engage with the kids that way, he’d said.
You feel a tug on your sleeve, and you turn to see Sera, one of the quieter kids in his class. You realise that she has her arms reached out to you, a pair of castanets in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” You ask.
“I don’t know how to play,” she mumbles shyly.
You smile, shaking your head as you put your hands over hers. “We’ll play together, okay? I’ll help you.”
The girl nods, your words seeming to calm her down slightly as she scoots closer towards you.
“Now, this one is called a semi-quaver.” Wonpil points to a set of four notes joined together with a line on top. “See how they’re holding hands? This means that they’re really fast— like they’re running a race together! It sounds like this.” He raises his hands to clap a steady beat, like a metronome, before he sounds out the notes with his mouth. And even though you can’t hear him, you’re somehow able to understand.
Ta-ta-ta-ta.
You find yourself mimicking the rhythm, tapping the back of Sera’s palm with your index finger mindlessly. Two semi-quavers make up one regular note, and you realise that what you’re playing feels familiar— a staccato.
There’s another tug on your sleeve. When you look at Sera, she’s already looking at you with a bashful smile, her small hands clicking the castanet according to your tapping.
Your lips part in surprise before they settle into a proud smile. Good job, you sign before patting her head, and the little girl giggles.
In the midst of it all, you don’t notice Wonpil watching you, softly, longingly, like he’s the one on the receiving end of your gesture. He knows he should look away, but he can’t, and even though the classroom is growing increasingly noisier, he thinks the thumping of his heart still remains the loudest.
And somehow, the realisation that he might just be falling for you isn’t as scary as he thought it would be.
With only two months left to the play, both you and Wonpil start to get busier— you with prop-making, and Wonpil with dry runs and rehearsals. Still, in a school this small, it isn’t difficult to cross paths with him, because the garden has somehow turned into an unofficial spot for you to bump into each other in between your respective schedules.
You don’t know if Wonpil is doing it on purpose. It wasn’t like the both of you would intentionally agree to meet up— the garden has always been ‘yours’ even prior to knowing him, and when you’d be there tending to the crops after hours, he’d show up with his messenger bag slung over his torso, like he’s done for the day. And somehow, without fail, he’d end up kneeling beside you on the dirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a shovel in hand instead of going home.
Sometimes, he’d even be there before you, pacing aimlessly on the grass patch like he’s merely taking in the fresh outside air (though very obviously waiting for someone), only to break out into a wide grin when he sees you, quick to ask you how your day was as he hands you a cup of coffee he’d gotten from the cafeteria.
Even if Wonpil doesn’t realise what he’s doing, you don’t think you mind if it means getting to spend more time with him.
Today is the same, except now, he’s already clad in his apron, kneeling on the dirtbed with his back to you as he tends to the blooming peonies that you’ve planted just a few weeks prior.
“Oh, hi.” Wonpil turns to smile at you when he senses you approaching.
You wave, placing your bag on the grass before moving to join him. “What happened to not having green thumbs?” You ask teasingly.
He shrugs mindlessly. “Figured I’d give you a head start.” He pauses, placing his shovel down to turn to you. You’ve been busy lately. I wanted to help, he explains in broken sign.
Your lips part at that; not out of shock that he was kind enough to go out of his way to help you, but more so the fact that he noticed. It’s been a hectic last couple of weeks, with most of your time being spent in the school hall, making trees out of cardboard and patching up costumes with whatever scrap fabrics you could find in storage. Your days have been ending later and later because of that, today being no different, and even though you’ve grown accustomed to the sight of Wonpil in the garden, you weren’t expecting to see him still here at this hour.
I hope I’m doing this right, Wonpil continues sheepishly, looking almost nervous at your lack of reaction, and completely unaware of the effect he’s left on you.
He’s gotten better at that too, you realised— signing. You’re not sure if this has anything to do with your conversation the other day, but it leaves a certain warmth in your chest nonetheless. You think it’s less about that and mostly to do with Wonpil himself, though.
Just as he’s about to start rambling again, probably something about his phone lying on the dirt currently playing a YouTube video about planting peonies, you quickly catch his wrist, and Wonpil startles at that.
I appreciate you, you trace the words right above his pulse, the same way he did to you the day in the music room.
Wonpil blinks once, maybe twice, before his lips bloom into a smile, soft and slow, like a flower unfurling in spring. Without a doubt, it’s a sight that’s quietly grown to be your favourite.
After all, you’ve always found blooming flowers to be beautiful.
You’ve never liked wearing your implants.
You’d gotten them when you were younger, and while they helped a lot in school, you also had to deal with headaches often due to all the noise and layered sounds. It wasn’t the most pleasant feeling, but back then, you knew you couldn’t afford to stop wearing them completely no matter how badly you wanted to— because removing them meant not being able to communicate with people. Removing them meant lesser job opportunities.
It wasn’t ideal, but you learnt from a young age that not everyone was willing to accommodate to your needs just because you were a little different, so you had to learn to adapt. Until eventually, you were fortunate enough to land a job with people that accepted you as who you were.
You never saw the need to wear your processors anymore since you started being a teacher’s aide here. The children don’t look at you like someone missing something— to them, you’re just their art teacher. The one who helps them mix colours, who laughs when paint gets on their sleeves.
Sometimes, without meaning to, you’d end up teaching them your language too. Small signs slipped in between lessons, curious hands mimicking yours. You’re not officially teaching it, but the fact that you can, makes this place feel a little more like it was meant for you.
You think that might also be the reason why you feel so comfortable signing with Wonpil— he’s never once pressured you to communicate with him verbally, never made you feel like you were difficult despite the communication barrier. If anything, he’s always been the one to meet you halfway, putting in the effort to learn sign, to slow down whenever he’s speaking, to keep his pencil and music book with him in case he ever needed to write something for you, until eventually, you stopped feeling the need to rely on your voice to talk to him.
Kim Wonpil is too kind, which is why right now, the moment you reach home, the first thing you do is to pull out your cochlear case.
You’ve been thinking about it for a while, and with the date of the play approaching, you figure you should probably try to get used to your everyday sounds first. That also meant hearing Wonpil’s voice for the first time, and for a moment, you let yourself wonder what he could sound like.
Warm, probably. Gentle. Maybe a little breathy when he laughs due to how big his grins usually get. You’d never be able to get the full picture even with your implants on, that much you knew, but it’s close enough— close enough to be him, and you’d take what you can get.
And suddenly, you feel like the you from many years ago, nervous to start school for fear of being different, only this time, it isn’t the world that feels overwhelming.
It’s how you feel for him.
You carefully drag the last tree into place before you take a step back on the stage, searching the completed set-up for any adjustments.
The assembly hall has always been colourful to begin with, but all the cardboard foliage and felt trees has made the room brighter, in a way.
You feel a sense of pride wash over you. Even though you’ve been involved in the annual play since you started working here, somehow, it feels different this time.
The silence of the hall is interrupted when you hear the doors open, followed by children shuffling in noisily as they sing,
“Line up, line up, one by one!”
You’d forgotten that that’s how things usually work around here; how the teachers would use an instructional song for every task because it made managing the kids a little easier. Even though you haven’t worn your processors in a while, you could recognise the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as the children sang-
But then, a voice cuts through.
Easy. Light.
That makes you turn around immediately.
“Left foot, right foot, don’t you run-”
The kids follow, some off-beat, some a little too loud, and Wonpil laughs.
That’s when it shifts.
Because even through the distortion, even through the sharpness, the sound spreads warm… and unmistakably his.
As if on cue, Wonpil meets your gaze, his lips instantly blooming into a wide grin as he waves at you, but his smile drops slightly when he notices your ears, almost like he’s confused.
You know he wants to approach you, but his attention is quickly stolen by his students asking him to continue the song. You quickly leave the stage— rehearsal will be starting soon, and you’d be able to catch him later anyway.
It takes a couple of minutes to get the kids ready in formation, even with the help of the other teachers. Wonpil only takes his place at the keyboard when the lights start to dim, and out of instinct, he takes one last glance over his shoulder to look at you, now standing at the back of the hall. In the dark, he can’t really make out your features, but he smiles anyway, though it’s mostly to ward off his own jitters. It’s probably the nerves building up to the actual day of the play which is only a week away from now, but more than that, it’s also the first time he’d be playing the entire production in front of you. And especially now that you’ve got your processors on…
Wonpil isn’t given the time to dwell on that fact before he receives the cue to start, though he knows you’d probably be sitting at the back of his mind regardless.
You always do.
His fingers fly across the keys like he’s practiced for the past couple of months. The stage, though, is anything but controlled.
One of the caterpillar kids is facing the wrong way. A sunflower is waving at an audience who isn’t even there yet, and the line he spent more than five minutes drilling earlier dissolves within seconds.
Still, they keep going, guided more by enthusiasm than timing, and despite the missed cues and uneven steps, there’s something so earnest in the way the kids move, unpolished and real.
Wonpil smiles to himself.
And out of instinct, he glances over again to look at you.
But you’re not there anymore.
He turns back to this keyboard, trying to ignore the worry that’s starting to bloom in his chest. You’re okay, right? Maybe you needed to take something from the classroom? Or the garden. You probably just needed to go to the washroom.
Shit. Wonpil knows he could make up all the excuses he wants, but nothing could stop his uneasiness, because he knows.
He knows how uncomfortable wearing your processors are. He knows how noisy it gets, how you’d get headaches just from trying to process sound alone. He might not know exactly what you go through, but the fact that you don’t wear them on the daily is enough for him to understand.
“Mr. Kim?”
Wonpil blinks out of his thoughts, only to realise everyone is staring at him— including the kids on stage, no longer dancing as they wait for his cue. He looks down to his hands, resting idly on the keys.
“Oh,” he mutters before clearing his throat. “Oh- sorry.”
A giggle sounds on stage. “Teacher Wonpil, you’re silly!”
Despite himself, he chuckles. “Yes. Sorry, everyone!” He calls out, louder. “Shall we take a water break?”
There’s a chorus of agreements as the children skip to their water bottles, and Wonpil gives the teachers an apologetic smile before he excuses himself out of the hall.
That’s exactly where he finds you.
“Hey.”
You look up, lips tugging into a smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes like it usually does.
Wonpil exhales softly. Are you okay?
You nod. “I just needed some air.”
Your hands are clasped together in front of you, and that’s when he realises— you're no longer wearing both of your processors.
You must’ve noticed his staring. “I… wanted to hear you,” you admit quietly. “I haven’t used these in a while, so my ears haven’t really gotten used to it yet,” you chuckle as you fiddle with the one of the implants in your hands, then looking past his shoulder to peek into the assembly hall. “Shouldn’t you be inside?”
A beat.
“I wanted to see you if you were okay.”
Your lips part at that, as though having not expected his response.
“Wonpil, I-,” you pause, shaking your head as you rephrase your next words. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to- I didn’t mean to interrupt-”
“Why are you apologising?”
You go quiet.
“It’s not fair,” he continues, frustrated. “It’s not fair that you had to push yourself like that. You shouldn’t have to, given everything you’ve done for the kids.”
Your heart skips at his words.
You’ve never had someone be so… passionate about your comfort.
Still, you chuckle. “I don’t expect the world to cater to me, Wonpil. Seeing the kids happy is what matters most.”
Wonpil’s heart clenches at that— how are you still smiling? After everything?
“But you matter too,” he mutters under his breath.
Your brows shoot up. You’re not sure if you’d heard him correctly, if you'd read his lips properly, and as if reading your mind, carefully, he raises his hands to sign, clearer, this time.
You matter to me.
You haven’t seen Wonpil since the last rehearsal.
With only a few days left to the play, it’s understandable— he’s probably been occupied with practicing with the kids, if not by himself. You know he’s a perfectionist, even for something seemingly simple as a children’s play.
You also haven’t worn your processors since, deciding there’s no use in trying to strain yourself. You’re still on the fence about wearing them on the day itself, but that’ll be a bridge you’d cross when you get to it— regardless, you’re sure you’d enjoy the show either way.
You hum to yourself as you tend to the peonies in the garden. Amidst all the production preparations, you haven’t been in a while, and somewhere along the way, your flowers have finally bloomed fully, petals unfurling in soft shades of pink. You’re suddenly reminded of Wonpil from a few weeks ago, clumsily hovering over the soil, hands too careful for someone who clearly has no idea what he’s doing-
And there you go again. You’re thinking of him. Again.
It’s easy to come to terms with your feelings for Kim Wonpil, but admitting it out loud? Not so much. If anything, the thought of telling him hasn’t even crossed your mind— maybe because things have always been easy for the both of you. Natural, that there’s never been a need for you to question it.
Until now, that is.
Because now that you do, you can’t help but wonder if telling him would change anything. If it’d make things… strange. You do work together, after all.
You decide to file that thought for another time— the sun is setting, and you might get chased out by the security guard if you don’t hurry and pack up.
You step back into the building to fetch your bag you left in the classroom, but your attention is quickly stolen by the fact that the assembly hall lights are still on.
Wonpil doesn’t see you when you stand at the door, his back to you as he sits cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with something in front of him.
You knock once.
He turns around, slightly startled, before he realises that it’s just you.
“Hi.” He’s slightly breathless as he stands up. “You’re still here?” He asks, a little too quickly.
You tilt your head as you slowly step in. You too, you sign.
Wonpil grins sheepishly. “Yeah. I was just… testing something.” He motions awkwardly to the set-up behind him.
His keyboard sits next to the stage, like it has been for the past few rehearsals, though the lone speaker on the floor— the thing you realise he’s been tampering with earlier— is a new addition you haven’t seen before. You highly doubt it belongs to the school seeing as the hall already has a built-in PA system, so you figure it must belong to Wonpil personally; though you can’t really figure out why he even needs it in the first place.
It’s nothing, he adds, like he knew you were going to ask. Are you leaving already?
You nod.
Okay. Let me… He turns around, clumsily turning off his set-up before picking up his bag. “I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”
A small chuckle escapes your lips, mostly at how weird he’s being, given he’s mixing up both his speech and sign, like he doesn’t know which one to use today. Are you sure you’re okay?
“Yeah! Yeah. Just-” He pauses, switching to his hands. Nervous.
You nod, beaming. You’ll be fine. I know you’ll do great.
Wonpil laughs before muttering under his breath, “that’s not what I’m worried about, though.”
You tilt your head, motioning for him to repeat. You hadn’t caught what he said.
But he only smiles, shaking his head. Nothing.
And he knows you’re unconvinced, but you choose to let it go anyway.
Wonpil exhales a quiet sigh of relief.
That was close.
The seats in the hall are slowly starting to fill with parents, and from his place by the door, Wonpil swallows nervously.
He’s been in a fit of jitters since he woke up this morning— it’s been a while since he last performed in front of a crowd, and even though this is nothing compared to the larger-scale events he’s done in the past, there’s still something so nerve-wracking about trying not to mess up in front of an audience.
Wonpil checks the time. About five more minutes before the doors would close, and he’d have to take his place below the stage, right in front of everybody.
He swallows again.
There’s a tap on his shoulder. He turns around to see you.
You look different today, in a white dress dotted with tiny flowers and a blue wool cardigan in place of your usual tee and jeans. The colours of your outfit sort of matches his, he realises, and before Wonpil could even chide himself for how silly it is to be thinking about that right now— he sees the processors on your ears, peeking out slightly from behind your hair.
You must’ve noticed his staring.
“Hey.” You pat his arm, and his eyes meet yours again. “Don’t worry. I’ll be alright.”
“I-” Wonpil pauses before he shakes his head, switching to his hands. I want to show you something, he clumsily signs.
You tilt your head.
Now?
He nods, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no more parents are arriving before he takes your wrist, leading you inside.
In hindsight, he knows he should’ve asked first— holding your hand like this out of the blue is kind of weird… even if he might not necessarily hate it.
But he’d overthink about that another time. Right now, the both of you stand before one of the chairs in the audience— specifically, the first one in the front row, right behind where his keyboard is set up. You notice your nameplate on the seat immediately, your name scribbled in colourful crayon and framed with crooked flowers. It was from an activity in the younger class you did a few weeks ago, to make one for each teacher as part of their contribution to the play. You’d expected to see it today, of course.
Just… not here.
You smile at him, confused. This isn’t my seat.
Wonpil shrugs as he purses his lips, like he’s trying to hold back a wide smile. I made some changes.
And that’s when you notice it— the same speaker you saw from last week, now tucked beneath your chair, the cable plugged in from its back just long enough to reach Wonpil’s set-up. The circular front presses slightly against one of the chair’s legs, like it’s deliberate. Like… it’s meant to be there.
The lights start to dim.
“I gotta go,” Wonpil mutters before you could say anything. A pause. Wish me luck?
You’re still in the midst of processing everything, processing how he did this for you, but quickly, you reach out for his wrist before he could turn away.
And there, right above his pulse, you trace with your finger,
I’ll be right here.
Just in case he needed reminding.
Wonpil smiles at that, a little pink, before he nods shyly and takes his place in front of you.
You take a sharp breath as you settle in your own seat, your leg resting slightly against the speaker under you. And before you could second-guess yourself, you take off your processors, letting them rest on your lap.
The room falls into silence.
And then— the first note.
You can’t hear it, but it reaches you anyway, the low, steady vibration travelling from the speaker, through your chair, and finally… into you. It goes on continuously, until it turns into a rhythm you can follow.
Just like that, you understand.
Just like that, you don’t feel like you’re missing out on anything at all.
The school has settled into a comfortable quiet this time of night. You didn’t need to hear to know— you could feel it in the way the hallways have dimmed, in the way the air is stiller. Calmer.
It’s gotten colder, too. The leaves of your crops and the petals of your flowers sway softly with the gentle breeze, making you shiver just a little bit. You wrap your cardigan tighter around your frame.
The door swings open, and out steps Wonpil, still catching his breath, hair slightly out of place, energy spilling out of him before he could even utter a word.
“That was- did you- okay, wait, the second part- I think I messed it up a little bit but I don’t think anyone noti-”
He stops mid-sentence when he finally looks at you, properly.
You’re already looking at him, of course, a soft smile playing on your lips.
“Oh,” Wonpil exhales softly. “Oh. Sorry. I forgot. Um.” He raises his arms to prepare to sign, only to shake his head in the end as he steps towards you instead, slowly reaching for your wrist.
The second time that night.
He traces your palm.
You felt it?
You meet his eyes. They seem to glimmer in the moonlight.
You nod. I did.
“That’s a relief,” he exhales, his usual grin making its way back to his lips. “I was so scared it wouldn’t work out. That speaker, I had to drag it from my parents’ studio-”
“Wonpil.”
“Right- my parents’ studio…” He trails off as he attempts to sign the words, but you quickly catch his hands with yours. That gets his attention.
Finally.
You turn his hand slightly, opting to write the words on the inside of his palm, because saying it— even signing it— out loud feels too much for your heart to handle, but after tonight, after everything, you don't think you could keep it in anymore.
I like you.
He blinks.
Once. Then twice.
Like he’s forgotten to do anything else.
Until eventually, he exhales slowly. “Yeah?”
You nod. And because you feel a little braver now, you lift your hands to sign.
A lot.
Finally, he exhales a laugh, somewhere between a mix of disbelief and relief, before shaking his head at himself.
“Gosh, I-” He stops himself. I like you too, he signs, slower this time. Careful. More certain. And then, softer,
I think I have for a while.
And just like that, you understand him— completely, effortlessly, the way you always have.
hope u had a great time during the decade in sg!! i was in awe with the fanproject during our season🥹
hope u did too!!! ⭐️ yes the fanproj was so sweet! unfortunately i didnt manage to get a sticker for my flashlight haha :~( but yonk called us his blooming flowers so that's enough for me 😌
pcd from sg con too real i actually binge read all your fics 😭
aww haha 🥺 hope you had the most fun at the con!!!!
I'm kinda sad that they removed barae+healer though, makes me wonder why sg setlists always tend to be shorter. but I'm so glad i got my eojjeodaboni heh.
the pcd hasnt hit me yet but i think it's because i haven't been listening to their songs over the weekend, so i'm sure it will come soon 😆
already can't wait to see them again! in dowoon's words - next time we will come here ~eolli eolli~ 💯
so let's love — kang younghyun (deep in love cont'd)
pairing: kang younghyun x f!reader
genre: arranged marriage, fluff, angst, romance
wc: 3.2k
synopsis: there's a thin line between love and hate. for you, it only takes a little over a year for your feelings for brian kang to change.
an: SURPRISE! in honour of thedecadesg today, here's a longgg one for ur indulgence! sorry for the angst, i needed an outlet to express my overwhelming emotions for the con and also its 4am lol. enjoyyy 😙
NOVEMBER 2023.
You never understood why a ring meant so much to Brian.
It was just a ring. It didn’t mean anything, wasn’t supposed to, the same way your marriage was supposed to mean nothing beyond a signed piece of paper.
Maybe that was why throwing it at him felt easy.
He’d waited for you again. It was already past midnight by the time you got home, having spent your Friday night with a few colleagues at the bar near your office. You didn’t even like them that much, but at that point, anyone else was better company than your own husband.
“You didn’t reply to my texts,” Brian says from the couch the moment you enter the door, hands in his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them.
You ignore him, heading straight to the kitchen to get some water.
“I was worried,” he says again, his voice nearer as he moves to stand behind you. You roll your eyes, grip tightening on the fridge door momentarily before you turn around. You’re not in the mood for whatever this is, but it seems that Brian Kang always has a way to get on your nerves without trying.
He’s quiet as he waits for your answer. Brian doesn’t look angry, just… tired. Concerned, maybe, if you’d even let yourself believe that. You scoff.
“No one asked you to.” Your gaze hardens. “Why do you care so much when no one’s forcing you to, Brian? If anything, you should hope something happens to me. That way I’d get out of your hair sooner.”
Brian clenches his jaw, the first reaction he’s ever let slip tonight. “Don’t say things like that.” He steps closer. “I’m your husband. I’m supposed to care.”
“There you go again,” you laugh sharply, moving to put some distance between you two. “Throwing that word around like it means something. If that’s the only reason why you even feel obliged to care in the first place, then maybe you’re not as sincere as you claim to be.”
His expression tightens, but only slightly.
“You think I’m pretending?”
“I think you’re only doing this because you have to. And if this is really all that is to you— a duty— then just say that,” you spit.
Brian doesn’t say anything else— not for a while. His eyes flicker away from your face, down to your hand.
“If this doesn’t mean anything,” he starts, voice lower now. “Why are you still wearing it?”
That hits, but you scoff immediately, like it’s obvious.
“Because taking it off would cause more trouble than what it’s worth.”
The words don’t sound convincing, even to your own ears. Because you know you don’t mean it, and you’re sure he knows it too.
But you don’t intend on telling him that, and as always, Brian lets you have it. Lets you believe that all the tantrums you’ve thrown since you got married was because you hated him and not yourself—
Or at least, you thought.
“And that’s it?” He meets your eyes again.
For the first time, he talks back.
You hesitate for half a second, but long enough for him to notice.
“It’s just a ring, Brian.”
“Then take it off.”
His words land heavier than any shouting could.
You blink. “What?”
“If it doesn’t mean anything to you,” he repeats slowly, “take it off.”
You swallow, but you manage to school your expression, tilting your chin upwards. “You want me to?”
“No. I don’t,” Brian answers simply. Honestly. “But if you’re going to keep treating it like it doesn’t matter, then there’s no point in wearing it.”
You clench your jaw. “Fine.”
You don’t think anymore. You don’t pause.
Your fingers find the ring before you pull it out harshly—
and you throw it.
Right at him.
The silver band hits Brian square in the chest before it falls to the ground. For such a small thing, the sound it makes when it hits the tiles is anything but. It’s sharp. Loud.
“There,” you snap, your heart thundering in your ears. “Happy?”
Brian doesn’t flinch. He just looks at you, then at the ring, before bending down to pick it up. Gingerly, like it’s heavier than it actually is.
Your eyes waver.
“Okay,” he says quietly.
Then, he turns around to leave.
No slammed doors. No raised voices.
Just… gone.
And somehow, the silence that settles feels heavier than the argument you’d started.
✦ ✦ ✦
Brian doesn’t wait up for you anymore.
So you stop going out.
What use was there in you trying to prove a point when he wasn’t going to give you a reaction?
It isn’t something that was easy to admit to, but all the sleepless nights spent in your room had forced you to reflect on the fact that all this was done not because you hated him, but how he made you feel.
Because Brian is kind; far better than you’d ever be. You’d been angry— at the world, at your parents, at yourself— for far too long, and you’d decided the only way to protect yourself from getting hurt again was to go against the one person who was willing to understand you.
You don’t like how that realisation makes you feel.
“Are you okay?”
You look up from the rim of your mug to see Brian studying you through his glasses. Despite the kitchen being silent, you hadn’t heard him come in.
When you don’t reply, he continues,
“You haven’t slept.”
Not in an accusing way. Just… factual. Like he’d been observing.
For some reason, your eyes flit to his hand. He still wears his ring.
You swallow before placing your mug in the sink. You think you just needed an excuse to turn away from him. “It’s none of your business,” you try to snap, but your words come off as weak.
“Right. Okay,” he exhales. Then, almost like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it,
“Don’t stay up too late.”
This time, it’s a little harder to watch him walk away, but the thing is, you’re not so sure what you want to do. You’re not sure what you need to do… to fix this.
“Stupid,” you mutter, the word catching as your vision blurs. You’re crying again— not like it surprises you. It’s been happening a lot recently.
Maybe you’re ready to admit that something’s wrong— no. That you’re wrong. But that’s not what scares you.
What scares you is the possibility that you’ve gone too far. That whatever this is between you and him isn’t something you’d be able to fix anymore.
That this time… you’re too late.
✦ ✦ ✦
You last exactly six nights before you fold.
Six nights of tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, hoping for the guilt to dull. Six nights of listening to the echoes of his footsteps in his room, sometimes walking past yours to the kitchen, wondering why he’s still awake.
Tonight, however, it’s quiet. You think that’s what makes you muster the courage to go to him— because even if he doesn’t open the door, at least you could still say that you tried.
You knock once, weakly, on purpose. Because despite everything, you’re still trying to hold on to any semblance of pride you have left.
The door opens.
Your breaths are still staggered from crying earlier, and you don’t think your measly attempt at drying your cheeks with your sleeves work at all, because Brian is looking at you like he knows.
He always knows.
“I-” you start, but your voice breaks immediately. You clench your jaw, frustrated, before you try again. “I can’t sleep.”
It’s not the full truth, but it’s the only thing you can get out.
“Hey,” Brian finally speaks, softly.
“I-” You shake your head, bringing the pads of your palms to your eyes, like that would help stop the tears from streaming; like that would stop the pain ripping apart in your chest. “I’m so tired, Brian.”
He steps aside immediately. “Come in.”
That’s it. No questions, no hesitation. No why are you here?
You’re not sure if that makes you feel any better.
You enter without thinking, before your ego could catch up and make you change your mind.
Brian’s room is dim. Warm. Different from yours.
The sheets are rumpled, the comforter hanging off the edge of the bed like he’d pushed them off in a hurry when you knocked.
You stand before his bed awkwardly, arms wrapped around yourself like you don’t know what to do with them now that you’re here.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” Brian asks from behind you.
Out of instinct, you hesitate. But right now, it doesn’t stick.
So you nod.
“Alright.” Brian finally moves, but you don’t look at him— not when he pulls back the covers to let you slip under, and not when he joins you on the other side of the mattress.
For a while, neither of you speak. Despite the distance between your bodies, you’re hyper aware of Brian’s presence behind you, but you don’t turn around. You keep your eyes trained on the wall as you try to regulate your hiccuped breaths, wishing sleep would take over soon and that everything would be fine tomorrow morning.
But you know you won’t get a peaceful sleep tonight, at least, not after you utter out the words that have been resting on the tip of your tongue since you threw your ring at him last week.
“I’m sorry.”
Brian shifts slightly. Then, “what for?”
Even though you’re not looking at him, you frown. “You know what for.”
“Yeah.”
Silence again.
“Do you…” you start before you trail off, deciding it’s too late to backtrack on your words. “Do you still have it?”
Brian exhales. “... Yeah.”
“Can you-” you finally turn around.
Brian’s already facing you, his eyes half-lidded, but alert; the way they always are when it comes to you.
You swallow. “Can you put it back on for me?”
At this, his expression shifts.
“You’re sure?”
You hate that he even had to ask. That meant you were cruel enough to the point of him having to second-guess your every word.
You nod.
You follow as Brian sits up slowly, reaching over to his dresser to pick up the ring. You hadn’t even realised that it was there— no box, no dustbag. Just… there, like he’d been hoping, waiting for you night after night to come around.
Your heart clenches painfully— and it twists even more when Brian gently slips the band onto your finger, his touch lingering after.
He didn’t even get to do that on your engagement or wedding. It’s the first time he’s ever put a ring on for you.
A tear escapes from your lashes once again, and he only moves his hand to cup your cheek, thumb wiping the moisture on your skin.
There’s a faint, sad smile on his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” You shake your head stubbornly, your tears now falling in a never-ending stream. “It’s not, Brian. I was cruel-”
“You were angry.”
“You didn’t deserve that.”
“Neither did you.”
You pause at that.
“I know it’s been difficult,” he mutters quietly. “And I’m not asking you for anything you’re not ready to give. Not a timeline, not… your heart. I just-”
His voice gets softer.
“I just want you to let me take care of you.”
Your bottom lip quivers. It’s in that very moment where you realise how exhausted you are— of fighting him, and fighting whatever it is you’re starting to feel for him.
“Okay.” You nod. “Okay, Brian.”
His smile grows this time, though it still remains fond, gentle. You realise then that he doesn’t look at anyone else the same way he looks at you.
And when he pulls you into your arms, for the first time, you feel like you could finally breathe again.
JUNE 2025.
Brian swears he hasn’t been thinking about it.
He swears he hasn’t been waiting for the last snow to melt, for the months on his calendar to change. That he hasn’t been keeping his wallet open longer on purpose just so he could let his eyes linger on the wish voucher you gave him for his birthday a few months ago.
But the moment he spots the first cherry blossom bloom on the tree outside your shared bedroom window— the one you claim to be your favourite— the first thing he does is to pull out his luggage bag from storage.
You lean against the doorframe with crossed arms. “Are you that excited?”
Brian glances over his shoulder to look at you, an easy smile on your lips. “Well, yeah. It’s our first vacation.”
You raise a brow. “We’ve been to Paris together.”
A pause.
“That’s different,” he says softly.
It is.
You move to join him on the floor, your shoulders brushing. He’s barely packed anything yet, the luggage still empty save a few sleep shirts he for some reason already decided to put inside.
“You should bring the white collared shirt. The linen one.”
Brian turns to you. “The one you said looks good on me?”
“I never said that.”
He grins boyishly, but it isn’t mean-spirited. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer to his side before placing a chaste kiss on your temple.
“Thank you,” he murmurs against your skin before pulling away.
“What for?” You mumble, feeling your cheeks heat up at the contact. You hate that even after all these months, you're still affected by his affection.
“For planning this trip for me.”
You scoff. “We’re not even there yet.”
“We don’t have to be. It’s already the best present I’ve gotten.”
You roll your eyes, only pretending to be annoyed. “Keep packing.”
“Yes, baby.” Brian gives you a final kiss before standing up to head to the closet, pulling out the shirt you mentioned earlier.
He hums a tune as he folds it mindlessly, letting it sit on top of his other clothes before reaching for the drawer next to him for his sweatpants.
You tsk under your breath as you grab the shirt to refold it, muttering something to yourself about how useless he is, probably.
Brian smiles, making sure you aren’t looking before he reaches for something else in the drawer, hidden neatly between folded layers of fabric.
A velvet box.
Next to him, you’re still fussing over his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles like it matters more than it should.
Carefully, he slips the box into the carry-on bag next to him, out from your sight, where it belongs.
For now.
✦ ✦ ✦
The weather is still slightly chilly by the time you arrive in Jeju, but Brian doesn’t mind.
You unlock the door to your lodge while he handles the bags, letting you step in first. You think you don’t show it, but he knows you’d been looking forward to this trip the same way he has.
You immediately disappear into one of the rooms, Brian laughing under his breath as he settles the rest of your belongings. It’s a quaint one-story beach house, all wood furniture and muted colours, the air smelling like the ocean.
“Brian!” You emerge before he could even look for you, a bright smile on your face as you’re practically bounding towards him.
And that’s what makes him still completely.
Because he’s never seen you this radiant, this carefree, smiling without a troubled thought in the world.
Gosh, he’s so gone for you.
“Close your eyes.” Your grin turns into something softer when you reach him, your fingers wrapping around his wrist loosely. “I want to show you something.”
“Yeah?” Brian heeds to your words without hesitating, letting you guide him.
The sound of waves crashing grows louder the nearer he gets, and even though it’s obvious what it is he’s about to see, Brian still waits for your command before he opens his eyes.
And when he does…
The sea looks like it’s within reach from the small patio he’s standing on, striking blue in contrast to the pale sand on the shore. He could even hear birds chirping in the distance, but it isn’t noisy like the sounds he’s used to in Seoul.
It’s peaceful here. Calm.
He turns to you, and to his surprise, you’re already looking at him, eyes gleaming in the sunlight, cheeks tinted red and hair flipping along with the wind.
“Do you like-”
“I love you,” Brian blurts before you could even complete your sentence, and your brows raise at his suddenness.
He doesn’t take it back, though. He would never.
He faces you properly this time, bringing a hand to rest on your cheek. “Gosh, I love you,” he says again, voice hoarser now. “I love you so fucking much I feel insane.”
“Brian-”
“Let me have this, baby,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “Fuck. I had a whole thing planned, but I don't think I could wait any longer. Just-”
His hand slips into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, and he feels your eyes follow his shaky fingers as he pulls out a card.
You squint at it. Then, you laugh.
“You’re unbelievable,” you breathe, amused, as you take it from him. “You still keep this? I forgot I even made it.”
“I didn’t.”
It doesn’t seem like you registered his tone yet as you fiddle with the card, the edges slightly creased, but still, unmistakably yours.
Wish Voucher.
Redeemable for any wish.
One time use only.
“You've been saving it all this while? For what?” You tease lightly before narrowing your eyes. “You better not use it for anything weird, Kang.”
“I was waiting,” he says quietly.
Your smile falters slightly. “Waiting for?”
He exhales quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. “For something I couldn’t ask you any other way.”
Your heart stutters. “Brian…”
“Can I use it now?” He asks gently.
You can’t reply. You only nod.
His hand dips back into his pocket.
And this time, when he pulls it out—
It’s a velvet box.
Your breath catches completely.
“I want this,” he starts, opening it to reveal a thin band, an oval cut diamond sitting right in the middle.
Simple. Nothing flashy.
He remembered.
Your vision starts to blur.
“I want you. Properly. Fully. However you’ll have me.” Brian’s voice is steady despite everything. “I want you, not because I’m supposed to. Not because anyone’s decided it for us-” he pauses, “but because I don’t want a life where I can’t choose you.”
Your first tear falls.
“So, this is it. My wish,” he murmurs, a soft smile on his lips before he bends down, getting down on one knee. “Would you marry me? Again?”
You let out a choked sob as you bring your hands to your mouth. “You’re so stupid.”
Brian laughs, but his cheeks are wet too. “Yeah.”
You sniff before you nod, over, and over. “Yes. I’ll marry you, Brian. I’ll always marry you.”
When he puts the ring on your finger, it fits perfectly, like it’s always meant to be. You don’t wait for him to pull you in before you fall into his arms on your own, for this time, you choose him first.
hello!! i was the first anon who asked you if you were from singapore, dropping you a message bc its the decade in sg tmr and i suddenly thought of you LOL. i hope you have the bestest fun even though you're at pil's side (me too even tho im yonks biased). i know we'll have fun either way, nothing beats going to a concert in your home country :( cant believe we're already breathing the same air as them after 1.5 years
ps. i miss reading your stories so much, i hope you have been well and taking care of yourself ♡
hello sweets!!!!! yes i cant believe its tomorrow. i saw vids of the boys ystd at ICN and i think only then did i register that it's TOMORROW tomorrow. soooo nervous but also excited!
and guess what - i actually managed to secure tickets at yonk's side & sold off my wonpil tickets, so i'll be in pen a instead! hope i dont get scammed tho LOL
i hope you have fun too! drink lots of water and keep sweets in your bag. we might even cross paths, you just won't know it's me :p plsplspls flood my inbox after so we can discuss and and relieve our pcd haha.
i'll be back very soon with new stories :D until then, let's groooooveeee to the music 🕺🕺🕺🪩
i have been one of your silent readers but i thought i permanently lost access to your masterpieces because my country decided to ban tumblr on a random weekday😭 good thing tumblr is back now and i can continue reading your works! HAHA
I'm so sorry but that is absolutely hilarious whattttt 😭 TUMBLR of all sites lol. the world has bigger things to worry about!!
but I'm glad you're back! thank u for supporting me 😘
I'm a new reader. I really like your fics 🥹 Your writings are AMAZING!! I need more of Day6 members' fics 😚 I'm waiting for Sungjin ones hehe he has been a husband material in my eyes after attending their concert in KL 🫠
hello and thank you!!! 🩵🩵🩵 the fact that there's a handful of you who are keen on reading my sungjin fic makes me so happy (albeit nervous haha). please be patient with me!
I've always been a sungjin girlie at heart so I totally get u anon 😋 and I'm totally not jealous that u managed to see them in KL
prev anon here! yes ofc i read sweet enough for three i think i've read all your fics LOL. but yeah i get it don't have to apologise! the little cameo was enough albeit sad for him
ps. entropy jae is so hot 😭 and i pictured him in sweet enough for three in that era somehow before you said that HAHAHAH
thank you!!! 🥹🩵 I'm definitely open to writing more jae cameos so maybe you can look forward to that hehe. I'll try not to make them too sad though. 😆
&& HARD agree! entropy is my favourite ot5 album and jae for sureee owned that era. aaahh I miss when the boys had fun concepts 😢
hello! just curious but will u ever write for jae? i know some people don't like him but he'll always be part of day6 to me and i loooooove your works smm
hello! I'm so sorry but I don't think I will 🥲 don't get me wrong - I do acknowledge his days in the band and there are days where I'd mourn ot5 like craaazy, but I don't really keep up with eaj so I imagine it'd be quite hard for me to write him!
if it helps, I did give him a cameo in sweet enough for three if you haven't already read that 😅 not that anybody asked, but I wrote that fic specifically with entropy era jae in mind LOL. the whole oversized suit + glasses just screamed office nerd to me haha.
hello there!! 👋 its been a while. was so busy with life that i haven't had a chance to catch up on your latest fics. 😓 though i've read some of your new tbou series updates! 👏👏 just dropped by to tell you that i've started writing again (in a different platform not here 😆). and reading your fics has been one of the reasons why i slowly got my spark back. 🥹 so letting you know.. just in case you feel burned out from writing that your fics matter! 💪 side note, i am very excited for you to see day6 in singapore!!! i've seen the boys a lot the past two years and i know for a fact you'll have the time of your life (pun intended). can't wait to hear all your stories from the show~ xoxo, butterflies anon 🦋
hello 🦋! I've missed u!! 🩵
I think you're giving me too much credit, seriously haha 🥹 but I'm so happy that you've gotten back into writing! ever since I started writing I realised how important it is to have a creative outlet, so I hope it'll give you as much joy as it does me~ (even though ur right - I am in the midst of a little block rn. but your message has made me feel significantly better, hehe :-) )
I'm so excited to see them too! the last time I saw them I was quite literally blinded by lasers half the time so i can't wait to see them up close this time hehe :D I'll be sure to update!
hai hai~ i hope u will continue writing new chapters for the book of us collection, i have been re-reading all of the chapters EVERY DAY i just loooove them so much, such a soft love story🥹 coming from a person who's never been in a rs, this is just how i imagine marriage with a right man would be like (gosh that sounds so lonely)
thank youuuuu 🥹 sorry I haven't updated in a while! as much as I too would looove for the series to go on, I've been feeling pretty uninspired lately :( it's not ending anytime soon though, I promise - I just need some time for the spark to come back!
I've actually been thinking of writing more in Brian's POV, maybe go into his backstory a lil bit + the beginnings of their marriage, but I'm afraid it might get too repetitive since it's already been implied in 1 to 10. unless of course u guys are interested in that!!!
hell. since we're here, might as well do a survey 🤣 should I bring back i-hate-my-husband yn or keep her in her lover era? lmk hahhaha
HIII just wanted to share that i just went to the day6 conc at the kl stop and i’m also one of ur loyal silent readers 😛 BUT LIKE YAY I FINALLY SAW YOUNG K #needhim
anyways it was so fun 😭😭😭😭 i wanna see them again, the pcd has struck me bad 💔 i hope you’ll have so much fun at your stop!!
i'm so glad you had fun!! i've been seeing videos from the kl stop and y'all really killed it, especially with the apeun gil singalong - that was CRAZYYYY! singapore's crowd will never be able to match, let alone top that energy i fear. the boys seemed genuinely impressed and im so happy for malaysian mydays! y'all really earned that one. 💌
having mad fomo right now because i actually considered going to the show on impulse but i couldnt find non-vip tickets (the soundcheck would clash with my hotel check-in so i scrapped the trip as a whole).... then i woke up that day and saw that tiket.com released more standard tickets. 🙂 so if there's one thing i learnt from this experience, it's to yolo and JUST. DO. IT. i hope i'd be able to attend the next kl show! being part of their crowd would be a dreaaaam.
that said, please wish me luck in selling off my ticket lol - like i said, imma yolo it out and get new tickets for young k's pen from a reseller. i might get scammed and i might lose money from not being able to sell my current tickets, but i just know i'd regret it even more if i don't do it haha. *wonpil voice* HAENGUNEUL BIREOJWO 🙏
