Summary: Sungyoon has never suffered from FOMO, there’s no where else he’d rather be than in the comfort of his own apartment. He’s about to learn, however, that there are some things in life that are just too good to miss.
Word Count: 2.6k
Content Warnings: drinking, mentions of vomiting, foul language (sorry, i swear like a trucker)
Author’s Note: i know i’ve been on hiatus for forever but the lack of golden child content on this site has forced me to write something for my baby sungyoon
Pairing: Jisung x Reader (gender neutral); a little Chan x Reader
Genre: angst, unrequited love, pining
Summary: Jisung knows what it’s like to love someone whose heart belongs to another, he knows you do too.
Word Count: 1.9k
Author’s Note: this is part of a title swap drabble game with the wonderful ursa over @thepixelelf . i really tried to make this story about something happy, but anguish is so deeply woven into the fabric of my sad, sad soul.
Pairing: Jisung x Reader (gender neutral); a little Chan x Reader
Genre: angst, unrequited love, pining
Summary: Jisung knows what it’s like to love someone whose heart belongs to another, he knows you do too.
Word Count: 1.9k
Author’s Note: this is part of a title swap drabble game with the wonderful ursa over @thepixelelf . i really tried to make this story about something happy, but anguish is so deeply woven into the fabric of my sad, sad soul.
Pairing: Jisung x Reader (gender neutral); a little Chan x Reader
Genre: angst, unrequited love, pining
Summary: Jisung knows what it’s like to love someone whose heart belongs to another, he knows you do too.
Word Count: 1.9k
Author’s Note: this is part of a title swap drabble game with the wonderful ursa over @thepixelelf . i really tried to make this story about something happy, but anguish is so deeply woven into the fabric of my sad, sad soul.
Just outside the chapel, moist flakes of snow fall to Earth, shrouding the land in ivory ribbons. Orchestral music begins as she makes her way down the aisle, the train of her beautiful silk gown gleams in just the same way as the frozen ground. You appreciate the symmetry of it all.
Chan stands at the altar, looking more handsome than ever. His hair is slicked back, the collar of his white shirt crisp and stark against his black tuxedo. You’re sure you’ve never seen someone so perfect. He turns to face her, and he cannot contain his tears. Sobs rake his body, and you know you’ll never feel so loved. The way Chan loves is pure and unwavering, you have always admired that about him, always wanted to know just how that felt. A sting in your chest reminds you that Chan’s heart belongs to another. You will yourself to believe that you are happy for him, but happiness has never tasted so bitter.
As the ceremony goes on, your eyes travel from Chan to his bride. She really is beautiful, perfect in every conceivable way: pretty, smart, compassionate. You understand why Chan has chosen her to spend an eternity with, you understand why he hasn’t chosen you. Even her vows are perfect. She recites them like a poem, her sing-song voice flowing through each word. You think she must descend from Byron. Art runs through her veins and metaphor her marrow. Chan has always had a way with words, but he may have met his match. As she finishes her sonnet, her declaration of love, all attention shifts to Chan. He has missed his silent cue, too busy staring into her starry eyes to notice how the church has fallen completely still.
The officiant clears his throat. “Chan,” he whispers, “it’s your turn.”
Awoken from his daze, Chan gulps. Swallowing his nerves and his excitement, he nods to the officiant before turning to face his love.
“From the moment I laid my eyes on you, I have been… completely enamored. The night we met, I- I couldn’t help but to stare. You were so beautiful, so breathtakingly unique. You had an air of sophistication about you that seemed to cloud the room in its entirety. I felt like I was suffocating - ” He pauses. “I felt like I was suffocating, but I welcomed the warmth in my chest. Your laugh was the most glorious thing I had ever heard, it felt like sunshine. It sounded like love. In hindsight, I should have been intimidated by you,” Chan stops to wipe a stray tear that had fallen and smiles “I would have been intimidated by you, if it weren’t for the sweetness of your smile. I felt like I was coming home. From the moment I laid my eyes on you, there has only been the two of us. In a room of a hundred, I am as alone with you as I am in the comfort of the apartment we share. I wish to live with you and maybe, if I’m lucky, I may be able to die with you as well.” With shaking hands, Chan presents the ring to the woman that he loves. No longer is he the only thing wrapped around her slender finger.
The air feels thick with love. Though, unlike Chan, there is no warmth in your chest. You are left to suffocate in your own loneliness. You silently gasp for air.
“You may now kiss the bride.” Cheers erupt from all throughout the wedding hall as Chan leans in. You watch from the second row as the love of your life kisses his new bride. You watch from the second row as your heart breaks in two. You are happy for him, really, you just wish your aching heart had gotten the memo.
Jisung watches from beside the altar as you do your best to contain your sobs. His heart aches for you, for a love that can never be returned. He has watched for years as Chan has paraded his girlfriends in front of you, endlessly oblivious to the pain he was causing, the torment he was forcing you to endure. With every tear that you shed for Chan, Jisung could feel his heart fracture. Jisung has witnessed first-hand your devotion to Chan, he has shared in your longing for a heart that belonged to another. He has grown to resent Chan for what he’s put you through. He knows it isn’t Chan’s fault, no one can control who they love. Though Jisung likes to tell himself that given the choice, he would still choose you. He can’t imagine it any other way.
The wedding has made its way to the reception hall. Beautifully dressed tables decorate the room, satin fabric delicately drapes each one, a flickering candle resting in the center. Name placards designate the seating arrangements and though you aren’t officially a member of the wedding party, a seat is still reserved for you at the head table, Chan’s wife had made sure of it. You settle down next to Jisung and he gives you a gentle smile. You return the gesture, the smile never quite meeting your puffy eyes. Jisung aches to hold you.
As dinner is served, Jisung tries extra hard to cheer you up. He tells stories of his drunken escapades, of the night Minho dared him to streak across campus, of the time he came home wearing someone else’s shoes. You hang onto every word he says, never tiring of the animated way in which he speaks. Though Jisung manages to get a laugh or two to breach your downturned mouth, the warmth in your cheeks never quite reaches your chest. Jisung can tell your mind is elsewhere, he wishes it was here with him.
Soon enough, the moment you’ve been dreading has come. Chan and his bride make their way to the center of the room to begin their first dance, her hands lovingly gripping Chan’s arm as he gently guides her. The first chord sounds and the pit in your chest threatens to swallow you whole.
It was a winter morning; you and Chan had just finished your chemistry final and, after a brief snowball fight in the square, you found yourselves in your musky dorm room. It was a tradition the two of you had; after each exam session, you and Chan would meet in your dorm to talk about what questions you might have missed. You would share snacks and exchange song recommendations. After all, sharing is caring, and you’ve always cared about Chan. A lot.
This particular day found you laying on your bed, arms folded behind your head, right ankle resting on your propped up knee. Chan sat across the room in your squeaky desk chair, head leaned against the cold wall. He seemed to be in a trance, breathing slow and peaceful. Sentimental music played in the background, the type of song that makes you nostalgic for a time that has yet to come.
“What did you say the name of this song was again?” Chan asked, not bothering to open his eyes. You turned to look at him. He was waving his hands about like a music conductor, analyzing each note, admiring each bar. You laughed to yourself, his passion never ceasing to amaze you.
“It’s called ‘Who Do You Love’, by The Black Skirts.” You hummed in response, turning back to face the ceiling and gently closing your eyes.
“It’s good. Like, really good.”
“I knew you would like it.” Your chest tightened as you smiled, your entire body suddenly warm despite the storm raging outside.
It was a memory of a simpler time, one before all the heartache and sorrow; one you often revisited when you needed a reminder of what life once was. Now, this memory leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and a heaviness in your bones. This song no longer belongs to you and Chan; it would forevermore be theirs; hers.
Jisung swears he’s witnessing the moment you finally break. Really, truly shatter. The light leaves your eyes as you look through the dancing couple, as if you are somewhere else entirely. He slowly places his hand on your shoulder, careful not to startle you as you return to the present. In your daze, you turn to him, confused.
“I’m gonna go get some air, wanna join?” His smile is soft and sweet, you can see in his eyes that he knows. You can hear the pity in his voice. Your secret is a secret no more.
Swallowing thickly, you nod. After wandering the venue for a bit, you find yourselves sitting on the balcony. The air is crisp, not unlike that winter day. It’s only when you are sure that you’re alone that you allow yourself to cry. You don’t want to ruin Chan’s special night, but you just can’t hold it anymore. As your shoulders tremble with the weight of your anguish, Jisung wraps his arms around you and holds you close. He thinks you fit in his grasp like you were made to live in it. Jisung feels the fault line in his heart travel just a little bit further.
You sit like this for what feels a lifetime. You sit like this long enough to begin to feel at home. Once your sobs subdue into quiet whimpers, Jisung lifts your chin so that you are looking him in the eyes. Yours are red and puffy from unleashing all your tears, his are glossy and wet from holding back his own.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” He asks quietly, scared to break the delicate silence blanketing the two of you.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to talk about it, not even when I’m old and wrinkly. I think I’ll die just how I lived, broken and unlovable.” Each word comes out a sniffle, but Jisung understands you just the same. He always has, you’ve just been too in love with Chan to notice.
Jisung swears he hears a heart crack, he just isn’t sure whose. His eyes bore into your own and he notices a tear streaming down his cheek. Before he can talk himself out of it, Jisung leans in to kiss you. It’s a soft kiss, just a peck really. It tastes like salty tears and sweet wedding cake, like heartache and longing. He cups your cheeks, afraid to let you go.
As Jisung’s eyes close, you feel his eyelashes flutter against your cheek. You allow yourself a moment, just a moment, to feel the touch of another - to feel like you are no longer alone. You allow yourself a moment to pretend it’s not Jisung kissing you, but a different brown-eyed man entirely. Pulling away, you see Jisung sitting in front of you.
You aren’t oblivious, you’ve noticed Jisung spending all night trying to cheer you up. It’s sweet of him, really, but you aren’t a charity run on pity.
“Ji, please, you don’t need to try and fix me. I’m not just a broken heart in need of repair. I just need time.” Jisung stares at you as his tears fall silently. He looks as broken as you feel.
Jisung can feel the splitting of his insides, a dark abyss separating the two halves of a heart that can no longer remember what it means to be whole.
hi casey!! i’d love to do a title swap with you! the title of one of my prev works is “to still a beating heart”. i originally wrote it as a hyunjin (skz) fic but i think you could make it work for just about whoever you want (: i posted it on my writing side blog (linked in bio) if you want a bit more context!
please read the following warnings: lots of blood, violence, knives and arrows, descriptions of death, attempted murder[?], animal cruelty[?], reader gets fucked up is what I'm saying
[to still a beating heart] It was not always Seokmin's intent to kill the white wolf.
His father had tried to hunt down and kill the beast for years, and he had trained Seokmin with the skills to do the same. At first, Seokmin would hang onto his father's every word, eyes filled with childlike wonder whenever his father shot an arrow with his trusty bow. Seokmin didn't even know, then, why he was training or what he was meant to do with the skills his father wished to pass onto him.
When he grew into his teenage years, he began a habit of scoffing at his father. There was no such thing as the white wolf; it was an old wives' tale of a beast the size of ten men. It would terrorize the village every full moon, yet, young Seokmin had never seen such a beast. No evidence of the so-called monster ever made itself apparent to him.
His skill for archery would be of better use as a warrior, he'd complain to his mother. There was no use in hunting down a beast that did not exist.
But his mother only shook her head. Just like all the parents in his village, she too believed in fairy tales. She looked out the window of their home, which faced the endless forest lit only by moonlight.
Each full moon night, her husband would enter the forest in search of the white wolf, and every morning, he would return empty handed. She was content, as the sun rose, with her love home safe and unharmed, despite his self-proclaimed failure.
Seokmin was not content. He did not join his father's hunts when the full moon shone, neither did he wait for him in the morning with his mother.
He did not care about the white wolf.
Until his father returned one morning -- not with the wolf's head as a trophy like he always promised, nor like every other morning he would return, into his loving wife's arms.
Seokmin awoke that morning to his mother's horrified shriek, and when he ran to the door, his only thought to protect her, he was greeted with the sight of his father crumpled on the doorstep, bloodied and broken and...
...dead.
That was when Seokmin decided to believe.
Now, years later, Seokmin's lungs do not burn as he runs through the thick brush. His feet do not hurt, and his eyes, though he's been awake for two days and a night, do not threaten to drift shut. He is alert.
On his last hunt, he saw a mass of white fur that glowed with the light of a full moon. His arrow, flying straight as it always did, barely managed to graze its skin before the beast disappeared in a blur, but the bloodied arrow was enough to prove what Seokmin saw was no trick of the moonlight.
The beast was real.
And Seokmin was able to hit it.
Tonight, he will not miss. The white wolf that killed his father and its reign of terror over his village will finally be put to an end.
Seokmin draws his bow and holds his breath. He waits, hidden in the brush, for the beast to appear in the spot he's studied for years to be its drinking place. The small dip of water coming off the creak shines under the moonlight.
When the beast appears, Seokmin does not hesitate. His silver-dipped arrow fwips off his bowstring, and the wolf lifts its head fast enough to watch it fly into its throat.
The beast roars and stumbles back, but does not lose its footing entirely. Seokmin draws another arrow, letting it fly less than a second before dinnerplate-sized paws tackle him to the ground. A loud, low growl rumbles from right above him as he screws his eyes shut, spittle and blood dripping onto his face and neck.
This isn't the end, his beating heart protests. He sunk two arrows into the wolf's neck, but it's not dead yet. Even if he will not make it home tonight, he refuses to die before finishing the beast off first.
His bow is useless this close, but he wrenches his hunting knife from his belt and raises his arm. The beast snarls again when he sinks the knife into its side, snapping its teeth at him and pressing itself heavier upon his chest. Before it can bite into his neck and take him out for good, Seokmin tenses his arm, trying to tear the knife through the beast's flesh. Warm blood trickles down past his wrist.
Hundreds of pounds lift off him in part of a moment, and a strangled grunt fills the clearing, though the sound does not come from Seokmin. Just as he dares to open his eyes, the warm, wet flat of a blade presses harshly against his jugular, and the beast--
No, you pant above him.
The arrows he'd sunk into the beast's throat protrude horrifically from your neck, which flows blood like water from a ringed washcloth. The blood drips onto Seokmin's chest; his neck; the knife you'd ripped from your own throat to hold against his. It stains the moonlight fabric wrapped around you.
"You." Your voice shakes, hoarse, and your lips tremble with an anger that reflects in your eyes. "You smell like him."
Seokmin can only gawk up at you, eyes wide.
"He hunted me for years-- do you understand?!" You choke on the words, blood coating the inside of your mouth and trickling out in what would be disgusting globs if Seokmin could register any emotion outside of his shock. "He tried to kill me every full moon. Shot arrow after arrow after arrow." The shafts of Seokmin's arrows bob with every syllable, probably tearing at your throat from the inside out. "I tried," you plead through a gurgle, swallowing down your own blood and spit. "I tried to leave him alone. All I did was take one sheep when I was starving because of the drought. All I did was what I needed to survive. Is that so beastly? Is that so monstrous? Is that so... so wrong?"
Seokmin gulps down his fear and does the only thing his mind can think to at the moment. His hands reach up to your neck, one cupping the uninjured side of it and the other threading his fingers between the two arrows. He tries in vain to hold them still, to place enough pressure to stop the bleeding and keep the sharp arrowheads from tearing further into your flesh. But your body shakes. Your breaths tremble through you with vigour. The knife you have pressed against his throat feels like it's barely there. You're not trying to kill him.
You just want him to listen.
"I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to hurt him." The look in your eyes has shifted. Seokmin can hardly see your eyes past the glistening sheen over them. "I just-- I didn't want to. He attacked me and I tried to get away, but he-- he held on and when I finally threw him off, he--" You try to breathe, but choke on the air as it tries to force itself past the blood in your airways. "He hit his head, and there were scavengers waiting--" Tears trail down your cheeks, mixing with the blood on your neck and disappearing. "I'm sorry," you whisper, faltering. Your head sways from the blood loss. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to return him looking like that. I thought-- I thought it was better than never knowing...
"But..." Your lips tremble once again as you curl them inward, shutting your eyes. "Don't I deserve to live, too?"
Seokmin doesn't react, doesn't nod or shake his head. He only tries harder to stop the bleeding from your neck. Deep within him, however, he knows it's not enough. Even if he could help with the wounds on your neck, there's still the open gash on your side, unattended.
"Don't I get to defend myself?" you whimper. "Even beasts... don't we deserve to live..?"
You remove your hand holding the knife from his neck, landing it next to his head just as you collapse, the last of your energy draining from you. Seokmin feels the weight of you on him, but his breath was already stolen the moment you became... you.
Your face hidden in his shoulder, Seokmin wraps his free arm around your middle, holding you close. He has no words. He wishes you wouldn't cry.
He wishes the white wolf was just the white wolf.
Through emerald leaves and swathed in the navy waves of night, the full moon smiles down on him, kissing his face and your back with cool light.
He curses the moon, for showing him this. For not letting her beast die as a beast but as a human in his arms.
You're still warm, breath shallow against the skin of his neck. He holds you tighter as the tears fall.
"You killed my father," he whispers up to the sky.
"I'm sorry." Your words are nothing but air. If you were an inch further from his ear, he would not have heard you. "I hope my death heals your heart."
sungyoon has never suffered from fomo, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in the comfort of his own apartment. he’s about to learn, however, that there are some things in life that are just too good to miss.
Summary: Sungyoon has never suffered from FOMO, there’s no where else he’d rather be than in the comfort of his own apartment. He’s about to learn, however, that there are some things in life that are just too good to miss.
Word Count: 2.6k
Content Warnings: drinking, mentions of vomiting, foul language (sorry, i swear like a trucker)
Author’s Note: i know i’ve been on hiatus for forever but the lack of golden child content on this site has forced me to write something for my baby sungyoon
Sungyoon hates clubbing, he always has. He hates how crowded it is, not being able to walk without accidentally brushing up against at least three people, hands and feet everywhere, no concept of personal space. He hates how dirty it is, sweaty and sticky, the bottom of his shoes always ending up caked in dried beer and spilled cocktails. He hates how loud it is. He swears he can feel his eardrums pulsing along with the beat of each song. Most of all, Sungyoon hates being forced to socialize. It’s not that he hates meeting new people, he actually enjoys it quite a bit. But speaking with someone over coffee and shouting over the noise of a club are two very different things.
To say that Sungyoon didn’t want to be here tonight would be the understatement of a lifetime. He had already tried to cancel three times before Jangjun had come to his house, vowing not to leave until Sungyoon got off his ass and got ready to drink until he could drink no more.
—————————————————————————
“Come on dude, you never come out anymore.” Jangjun could tell from the state of his tangled hair and his Dorito-stained sweats that Sungyoon hadn’t left his couch in at least two days. The apartment smelled vaguely of room temperature pizza and there was a stack of empty DVD cases at least two feet high, their matching discs scattered across the entertainment center. In the background he could hear Prisoner of Azkaban playing through the speakers and judging from the way Sungyoon kept glancing at the tv, Jangjun could see he had obviously interrupted a very important marathon.
“That is so not true! I went with you guys last time! Remember, Seungmin had too many of those lemon drinks he likes, and I had to carry him back to the car.” Sungyoon shivered at the memory, having spent the entire next day cleaning Seungmin’s vomit off his white tennis shoes.
“That was three months ago Yoon! We’ve gone out at least seven times since then, we’ve invited you every time. And every time you have some reason not to go. What is it this time? Your grandma die again? That would be the third time now, you know. You must have more grandmas than anyone I’ve ever met!” Sungyoon shifted in his chair, avoiding eye contact with Jangjun. For some reason he had assumed that no one had caught onto the fact that he only had a handful of go-to excuses. It wasn’t that he felt guilty for lying, but being caught in the act wasn’t exactly fun either.
“No, she’s fine, false alarms the last few times,” Sungyoon scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, still refusing to look at Jangjun. “All good here.”
Jangjun rolled his eyes. Of course Sungyoon wouldn’t admit it. He hadn’t expected him to. “Look dude, I don’t care that your fictional grandma holds the world record for the greatest number of times one person can die. We just miss spending time with you. Besides, I bet Jibeom ten bucks I could get you to come. He’s convinced you’re actually a ghost that can only come out once a year, on the anniversary of your death. I told him that was stupid. He told me I’m stupid. Please don’t let me lose a bet to Jibeom, the idiot will never let me live it down.”
Sungyoon chuckled. He forgot how entertaining his friends were to be around. He kind of missed it (don’t tell Jangjun that). “Alright fine, I’ll come. But I won’t be happy about it.”
“Of course not.” Jangjun smirked.
“And I’m leaving by ten.” He looked at the clock, it was just past seven thirty. He could survive a couple of hours.
“Eleven.”
“Ten thirty.”
“Twelve.”
Sungyoon sighed, admitting defeat. He was no match for Jangjun and would rather quit while he was ahead, or at least not behind.
Sungyoon spent the next thirty minutes showering off days of bedhead and popcorn butter before throwing on the first hoodie he could find. When he walked back into his living room there was not an empty chip bag in sight, all his dirty cups were sitting on the drying rack next to his sink, even his blanket was folded and placed nicely across the arm of his couch. Jangjun was sitting next to it, scrolling on his phone. Sungyoon wasn’t sure if he was even in the same apartment anymore.
Jangjun could sense Sungyoon’s presence and waited for him to say something. When the room was silent for a bit too long, he lifted his eyes from his phone to see Sungyoon completely dumbfounded. Where had his finely cultivated chaos gone?
“You were living in filth, man. I’m surprised I didn’t find any dead rats hidden in the mess. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“I was not, my apartment is perfectly clean. Messy and dirty are not the same thing.”
“Whatever you say,” There was no saving him, Jangjun had already tried. “You ready to go yet? I wanna get drunk.”
—————————————————————————
When they get to the club, Jangjun walks in first. The guys are disappointed to see him without Sungyoon, but not surprised. Jibeom’s already deciding which shot he’s going to buy with his newly acquired ten dollars. He sticks his hand out to Jangjun, eager to become ten bucks richer. Jangjun gently lowers Jibeom’s hand and shakes his head. Jibeom looks at him, confused. He looks infinitely more confused when he sees Sungyoon walk through the door. He stands there: eyes wide, still opened palm at his side, and he kisses his fancy shot goodbye. The rest of the group is thrilled to see Sungyoon. They let out a cheer that can barely be heard over the sound of the club, only Jaehyun’s raspy voice being even slightly distinguishable. Seungmin is so excited that he decides to buy everyone a round of lemon drops to celebrate. Guess Jibeom would be getting his shot after all.
—————————————————————————
That’s how Sungyoon ended up where he is now, stuck between Jangjun and Jibeom as they drunkenly argue over what Adele’s best song is. Or at least he thinks that’s how he got here, Sungyoon’s had a few too many, if he’s being honest.
“No way! Nothing beats Rolling in the Deep!”
“You’re welcome to your wrong opinion, but it’s definitely Set Fire to the Rain.”
Sungyoon didn’t realize two grown men could have such strong feelings about Adele’s discography. He doesn’t even know how the subject came up; he was too busy staring at the far corner of the bar. The same corner where his attention has been all night.
“She’s cute, huh.” Seungmin yells in his ear, the club version of whispering. Sungyoon turns to his friend, the tips of his ears turning pink. Had he really been that obvious?
“Uh… yeah… she’s alright.”
“Go say hi.”
“N-no, I’m good.” Sungyoon might not be fond of clubs, but he’s terrified of girls. Especially attractive girls.
“You need another lemon drop.” And just like that, Seungmin’s off to buy another round of shots. Sungyoon says a silent prayer for Seungmin’s wallet.
—————————————————————————
You’ve been at the club a few hours and have already had to help your best friend out of several unwelcomed interactions with grimy men. Most people would hate to be the person who always had to stand there awkwardly while their friend got all the attention, but you don’t mind. Afterall, whenever she is sent drinks, you usually are too; and there are few things in this world that taste as sweet as free alcohol. You’re now significantly buzzed, complements to the very smiley man who has been buying Chae shots all night. His name is Joo- something. Or was it Chan- something? You can’t remember, but he seems okay enough. Not creepy like the others.
You look around to see that the guy who’s been watching your friend all night is still staring over at your corner. Being used to it by now, you don’t think much of it as your eyes wander over the rest of the club, already bored out of your mind. Chae nudges you and tilts her head toward the far end of the room. You follow her gesture just in time to meet eyes with the man who had been looking your direction. He quickly breaks eye contact and turns away. That was weird. It almost seemed like he had been looking at you, but that’s impossible, you tell yourself. It’s always Chae that people are staring at; it’s like she’s a magnet for attention, both male and female alike. But still, something about this time feels different. You just can’t quite put your finger on it.
—————————————————————————
Another hour passes and Sungyoon is still watching you from across the club. He wants to talk to you, he really does, but he’s far too scared. Seungmin has convinced him that he just isn’t drunk enough, so he has a shot. And then another. And then another. And then…
Sungyoon has lost count. Whatever the number is, he is certainly drunk now. But he is no less nervous. In fact, he feels as though he may pull a Seungmin at any moment and ruin another pair of shoes. The thought alone is enough to sober him up a bit. Sungyoon makes his way through the crowd, eventually reaching the bar and ordering four waters. He downs them all on the spot, he needs air. Ordering another water to take with him, Sungyoon slowly weaves between the mess of people as he walks toward the exit. He hasn’t spilled a single drop, something he is unreasonably proud of.
Just as Sungyoon exits the door, he’s knocked to the ground, his precious water now scattered across the pavement. He sighs. Clubbing. As he begins to brush himself off and stand up, he feels a hand on his forearm, gently pulling him up. Sungyoon’s eyes lock on the hand and slowly follow its outline: up the wrist, the elbow, the shoulder, until finally, they reach the face of the person who’s responsible for the bruises that he’s sure to have on his ass come tomorrow morning. He gulps; it’s you. Of course, it’s you, who else would it be? It’s not like there are a hundred other people in the club he could have run into. Your eyes are wide, you seem mortified. Sungyoon slowly stands up, your hand still on his arm.
“I’m so sorry! Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did that! I-” You pause to look at the man in front of you. He looks like he has just seen the ghost of his (not so) dead grandma. “Are you okay?”
Sungyoon is frozen. He looks at you, down at your hand on his arm, and back at you. You gasp and quickly withdraw your hand. He doesn’t know what to do, the lemon drops hadn’t prepared him for this.
“I-I’m okay.” Sungyoon says. Except he didn’t say ‘I’m okay’, he said ‘괜찮아요’. Sungyoon doesn’t speak English. Fuck, Sungyoon doesn’t speak English! And from the look on your face, you don’t seem to speak Korean either. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. What is he going to do? Holy shit! What is he going to do?
It isn’t even that big of a deal, Sungyoon doesn’t have anything important to add to the conversation you’re attempting to have. But he wants to. Have a conversation, that is. Unfortunately, Sungyoon only knows one person that speaks English and that’s Jaehyun. Right, Jaehyun’s here tonight and he speaks English—where is Jaehyun?
As Sungyoon panics inside, you can’t help but think that he looks kind of cute when he’s flustered. His eyebrows are knitted together, and his mouth is slightly open, revealing an adorable set of bunny-like front teeth.
The silence grows longer and Sungyoon can’t tell what the face you’re making at him means. He needs to find Jaehyun.
“잠깐만- uh… w-wait… please?” Sungyoon’s eyebrows raise, and he looks at you like he’s pleading for patience. You nod your head, not expecting him to immediately turn around and run off. What a confusing man.
Sungyoon runs to the door and shows the bouncer the permanent marker x written on the back of his hand before hastily pushing through the herds of people. He makes his way to Seungmin and grabs him by the shoulders.
“Wh-where’s Jaehyun?” He asks, out of breath.
“I’m not sure, last I saw he was with Jangjun. What’s wrong?” But before Seungmin can finish his sentence, Sungyoon’s already bolting toward Jangjun. He stops right in front of him.
“Jaehyun? Where’s Jaehyun?” Jangjun says nothing, pointing to the men’s bathroom.
You’re still waiting outside, growing colder by the second and suddenly remembering why you never bother with cute guys. He must not have intended on coming back, that’s the only thing that explains how long he’s taking. You’re about to call a cab for you and Chae when your phone rings. It’s Chae’s new friend Joochan, (huh, so that was his name) and he, in very broken English, informs you that Chae is in the bathroom throwing up and would like you to come hold her hair. You sigh, all in a day’s work.
Sungyoon passes Joochan on the way to find Jaehyun, not sure why he’s standing outside the ladies’ room but not having time to stop and find out. He enters the men’s bathroom and finally, he finds Jaehyun. Only he doesn’t look too sober. Can he speak English when he’s drunk?
“Oh hey, Sungyooooonnn” Jaehyun says in a sing-song slur of words, followed by a singular hiccup. Sungyoon smiles and begins to fill Jaehyun in, Jaehyun’s glossy eyes light up at the fact that the Choi Sungyoon has a crush.
You don’t even have a chance to tell Chae about your run-in with the cute boy, the second you walk in she starts to heave. At this moment, your sole purpose is to be her human hair tie. It seems like you’re in there for a quarter of your life, Chae’s stomach now impossibly empty. She seems to be sobering up and you tell her to stay put while you go get her some water.
You venture to the bar and back to the bathroom, just about to round the corner when you’re hit straight on, water spilling down the front of your shirt. You look up to see the man from earlier. Instant karma, you think to yourself.
Sungyoon smacks Jaehyun’s arm nodding his head over at you.
“Oh! This is the girl!” Jaehyun says very, very loudly. Sungyoon shushes him, growing more and more embarrassed by the minute. You have no clue what the new boy has said or why it has made the taller one’s cheeks grow so red. Jaehyun steps in front of Sungyoon and introduces himself to you. Oh, a translator! You now realize why the boy had left so suddenly.
“This is Sungyoon,” Jaehyun says, gesturing to the boy behind him, you wave. “He thinks you’re cute, but he doesn’t know I just told you that because he doesn’t speak English, so,” Jaehyun puts his finger up to his mouth and makes a shushing gesture. You laugh.
“Well, Jaehyun, I happen to think Sungyoon is very cute as well. And you can tell him that I said that.” You say with a wink, Sungyoon doesn’t need a translation to know that you’re flirting with him. How many times can he blush in one night?
ilunga (tshiluba, n.) - a person who is ready to forgive any abuse for the first time, to tolerate it a second time, but never a third time
Pairing: Taeyong x Female Reader (third person)
Genre: slice of life au; angst; mentions of infidelity
Summary: You’ve grown tired of waiting for Taeyong.
Word Count: 2.7k
As the night went on and the time grew later, she found herself nervously fidgeting, her hands an entangled mess upon her lap. By this point in the evening, she would not have been surprised had she picked at each and every cuticle on her shaky fingers until they bled crimson. She hadn't moved from the couch in hours, though the exact amount of time she spent facing the door was a mystery to her. All she knew was that the once bright and clear sky had grown dark and the opened window to her left had begun filtering abnormally cool air into the room. Despite the chill, she could not will herself to get up and close it. Risking having her back facing him when he returned home was not an option. No, she wanted her face to be the first thing he saw after yet another late night out. It had become somewhat of a habit at this point, as she found herself waiting for him far too often. More often than she would like to admit, really.
It was not always this way, and that was a fact that she worked desperately to remind herself of whenever she could feel her patience slipping. It was not always this way. In fact, the two of them had once been so unbelievably, incomparably happy. Happier than any two people she had ever seen, she'd decided. There was a time when neither of them would have dreamed of keeping the other waiting, the anticipation unbearable for the both of them. There was a time when distrust was not even a word featured in their vocabulary. Back then, they only ever had love and devotion in their eyes when they looked at each other, when they spoke of each other, hell, even when they thought of each other. When they had first met, the two of them were inseparable. After all, they had spent far too much of their lives apart and they would never return to solitude like that again. At least, that is what they told each other then. Back when things were simple and beautiful. But time is cruel and unforgiving. Distance is inevitable, even for two people as hopelessly in love as they were. And distrust is second nature to creatures as feeble as humans.
No, things were not always like this, of that she was sure. There was a time when only her lipstick had littered the collars of his shirt. A time when the only scent he wore was a mixture of the two of theirs, not some odd concoction of countless other women. There was a time when the only purple marks upon his skin were created by her, but that time had ended long ago. She was not sure when she first noticed these things changing. Maybe it was when she found stains of red, a color she never wore, smudged across his laundry. Maybe it was when she returned from visiting her family only to see the scratches upon his back, scratches she had not been there to give. Maybe, it was one of those many times where she overlooked the obvious, in favor of the comfortable. Maybe, it was no specific time at all.
If she were asked to pinpoint exactly when she knew that she had lost him, when the fog had lifted from her overly clouded judgement, she would pick a night much like tonight. A night when she waited, tirelessly for him to return home. Only this time it was not out of dread and hate; the bittersweet desire of being right once again. On that particular night, she waited only out of the goodness of her heart. Out of worry and love, and perhaps a little bit of ignorance. She had waited and waited and waited until finally, the door creaked, his figure stumbling in shortly after. He was a mess of alcohol and sweat and a flowery scent she could not quite place, though she knew it was not from her. It never was anymore. When she had confronted him about it, he denied it so expertly that she would have thought his speech to be rehearsed. It was. His refusal was far too polished, too perfect and too flattering. Filled with all of the right things and none of the wrong; no missteps along the way. Even had he been sober, it would have seemed too good to be true. Words always were with him. He always knew just what to say to have her crawling back, and that night was no exception.
He had told her exactly what any scared and self-conscious woman would like to hear. That she was beautiful, that he loved her, that she was enough. Only now when she looks back to it, does she question just how many of those perfectly timed words he truly meant. Not that it mattered anymore. Not that it ever did, at least not to him. Tonight was much like that night, so much so that it left a bad taste in her already bile-ridden mouth. Tonight she found herself seated in that same chair, waiting for him to return. Waiting for the reemergence of a love that perhaps never existed to begin with. A lot of things about this night were the same as then, except this time she promised herself she would not cry. He did not deserve the warmth of her tears and the wavering of her voice. He did not deserve any of it. Most importantly, he did not deserve her.
Just as she reminded herself of this simple fact, the doorknob began to rattle. He no doubt had trouble unlocking it in his inebriated state. She was about to rise from her chair to unlock it, to help him, to let him in. It was a habit of hers by now, to be there to minimize any small inconvenience which he faced. Not tonight, though. Not anymore. Instead, she sat and waited until he finally figured something out on his own. It took him, at most, a minute. But to her anxious mind, it seemed an eternity. Soon though, that eternity ended as she no longer found herself looking at the door, but at the shell of a man she had once loved.
His hair was disheveled, and not in the purposeful, fashionable way it usually was. The buttons of his shirt did not line up with one another. His shoes were loosely tied and his lips were red and swollen. His whole being reeked of sex, though it was not with her. Upon seeing her seated there, he at least had the decency to look surprised, eyes wide and apology at the ready. He always reacted this way, as though he didn't understand why she had waited for him. And maybe he really didn't, maybe he never did. Maybe he had always meant more to her than she did to him. That was a thought she often found herself having and subsequently dreading.
He did not break eye contact with her as he settled into his home -- their home. Even as he clumsily toed off his boots, he remained focused on her. Not sure what to say anymore, he found himself speechless. Every excuse he thought of, he found had already been used. Without a backup plan, he was defenseless.
"What're you still doing up?" He asked carefully, a little too carefully. Uncomfortable under her stare, he continuously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was not used to this side of her, he was not used to her not falling to her knees in front of him.
"I could ask you the same question. Though I think we both already know the answer to that." She found that for the first time in her life, her voice actually remained steady in his presence, as if every moment leading up to now was simply in preparation for this conversation.
With a sigh, he began walking down the hall and into their bedroom. Into one of the many places where she had given him her love, her being, her everything. One of the many places where he had taken her for all that she was worth and left nothing behind; gave nothing in return. "Look, if you have something to say then say it, I'm too tired for this shit." He was beginning to undress and climb into bed. A sign that, to him, this conversation was over before it had even begun. She no longer had his attention. Perhaps she never did.
"Oh, you're tired? I'm sorry, I guess I forgot the toll that having an affair can take on a person." She had followed him to the bedroom, arms crossed as she stood at the doorway. It was devastatingly hilarious, she thought, how even when she felt nothing but anger toward him, her body was still drawn to him like a magnet.
His eyes widened at her words, at the way that for once, she was not bending to his will. She was no longer fragile, delicate, malleable. Now, she was strong and unmoving. She would no longer be ignored and brushed aside. This was not the woman that he knew and because of that, he had no idea what to do. He was in uncharted territory; a dangerous place for any dishonest person to be, and he had no escape plan. It was in times like these, times where he was forced into a corner, that he began to revert to old tricks, to the lies he knew all too well. After all, old habits die hard.
"Baby, I-I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry, I swear she doesn't mean anything to me." As if throwing their relationship away for someone he barely knew would make her feel any better. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was sure would be the conversation-ender. It always was. "I could never love her like I love you, you're the only one that matters to me. You know that, right?" Usually, this was when she would come crawling back into his arms. Usually, this was when she would hug him and tell him that she knows, that she loves him too, and that she would forgive him. She would always forgive him. Usually, this was when he knew that he had won.
She was tired of the usual; tired of being predictable, of being weak. She refused to love a man who showed her so little respect. She refused to grant forgiveness to a man who did nothing to earn it. She refused to let him win. No, this time she would stand her ground. This time, she would not cave in. She reminded herself of that as she prepared her next words.
Bitterly, she drew in a breath. Fiercely, she let it out in the form of all of her frustrations, anger, and pain. With a scoff, she told him "You don't love me. You never have. You've never, in your life, loved anyone. And even then, with all of the self-destruction that you commit, with how you ruin every good thing that walks into your life. Even then, I'm not sure that you really love yourself." Suddenly, she felt so much lighter, so much braver. She was no longer scared to say what was on her mind, her voice was no longer unimportant. It never had been, he had only made her feel as if it were.
"Look, I know I haven't been the best boyfriend, I know I'm gone too much and that we don't go out anymore. I know this, and I promise I will work on it, but I never meant for this to happen. I love you so much and I'm so, so sorry." She wasn't sure what he was trying to hold on to at this point. It was obvious that he didn't care for her. Perhaps he had grown so used to the routine that he knew no other options. Perhaps he had grown comfortable to the chaos that was their relationship.
"Get out." She had nothing else to say, she was fed up with his lies, with his deceit, with him. She couldn't even stand to look at him anymore, let alone be in the same house as him.
"Baby I'm sorry I-"
"Sorry isn't enough. Not anymore. Not after everything that you've done and everything I've overlooked. Do you realize how much I've given for this relationship? Of my time, of my love, of myself? Do you realize that I let you take and take and take until I had nothing left? At first, I thought it was fine, I thought that we were in this together, that you were giving as much as I was, that you loved me with every fiber of your being as I did you. But now I see how foolish I am, how foolish I always have been. You've turned me into a person I don't even recognize and I hate it! I absolutely hate it! And I hate you for making me this way!" For the first time since he'd known her, her voice began to rise.
His face fell. "You think I wasn't devoted enough? That I didn't give my all to you? I gave you everything I had! My heart has never been anywhere but here!" Now they were both shouting, as if the volume of their words could overpower the static of their love.
"You couldn't have! You couldn't have been here and also have a foot halfway out the door! It doesn't work like that. You can't take from me everything that I have while you keep a part of yourself guarded and hidden. I put my heart in your hands and you shattered it like glass. Like it didn't matter. Like I could simply rebuild it after you'd had your fun!" She wasn't sure when she had first started crying, but now her tears fell down her face with such ferocity that even she was unaware she was capable of. Another promise broken. She wasn't sad, she hadn't been in a long time. They were tears of anger and hatred, of repulsion and loathing. She had forgotten how wildly the storm had raged within her, his manipulation always doing the most to contain it. She no longer had to worry about the destruction of her being or if he could handle the currents of her existence. His comfort was no longer a concern.
In his eyes, she could see the shock. In the way his lip quivered, she could see the regret. In his posture, she could see the resignation. In his being, she could see the totality of his realization. He did love her, more than she knew. More than even he knew, but it was too little too late. He could never mend what was broken, he did not even know where to start. "I never meant to do that, I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you." He, too, was sobbing now. This time, it was not for himself, but because of himself.
"You didn't hurt me." She said with a look on her face which rattled him to the very core. It was not her anger that broke him, it was her disgust. "You didn't hurt me," she repeated, "You destroyed me, and I hope you're happy with the mess you've made." With that, she left and his heart left with her. To his right, the window was still ajar. The draft chilled him to his core and he knew he'd never be warm again.
He had been satisfied with the stagnancy of their relationship. He had been content with the loveless life he lived, with the way she dedicated every moment to him, asking nothing in return. He was happy with the way things were, him taking, and taking, and taking. Only now, did he realize how much of himself he had lost, not to her, but to his own selfishness and greed. He no longer knew who he was, her not being there to tell him. And he was not sure which hurt more: the loss of her, or the loss of himself.
i just wanted to say that “to still a beating heart” is one of the most beautiful yet heart wrenching things i’ve ever read. your words were so eloquently placed and i cried. i just wanted to let you know that you truly to have a gift bestowed upon you and your words
hi love! you genuinely have no idea how much this means to me, i’m literally speechless right now. thank you thank you thank you
tsabh is the very first piece of my writing that i’ve ever shared online and to say i was nervous posting it is a massive understatement.
i’ve been very lucky in that i’ve gotten a lot of engagement and feedback with that piece, and every single message you guys send me like this makes me smile so much (:
thank you for reading and i truly am sorry for making you cry ):
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