After your morning hike with Min Yoongi, he asked you out for dinner at his apartment. After “helping” him with a home-cooked meal, you sat down over a bottle of wine to get to know each other a bit better. You finally felt he was opening up to you a bit more compared to this morning. After learning he wrote songs for a living you asked him to play something on the grand piano located in the main room of his apartment, you would have never guessed that the man you just had dinner with was in the largest K-Pop band in the world.
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, an older injury from last episode, a couple swear words, and a very passionate kiss eluding to sexual tension.
Word count: 2,824k
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5
This chapter took me forever to put onto paper (or Microsoft Word?) I felt a bit stumped about where these two were going to go from here, but I think I’ve got a bit of a plan. Since this story was based off a dream originally, I’ve officially had to create the rest of the script. I think this is how my subconscious would want it to be…
Again, any advice and constructive criticism is welcome! Thanks for reading 😊
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You slipped off the rubber gloves and turned around, watching Yoongi play a few broken melodies on the piano before settling on a song. You walked toward him, being careful to not get too close or disrupt his playing. From behind you could see his right hand played a few chords gracefully as his left hand played a lower melody, his hand moving swiftly across the bottom keys of the piano. After a few seconds, you immediately recognized the song. You had heard it many times in your own apartment while listening to the radio to distract yourself from your own thoughts. Since Korean wasn’t your strongest language, you recognized and could sing along to a few of the lyrics, but not the whole song. You listened to him play the intro as a smile crept onto your face, appreciating his talent.
You were immediately impressed that he was the one to write this song that had played on the radio dozens of times. You were just starting to sway a little bit to the music but stopped as soon as Yoongi opened his mouth. The smile that came across your face immediately vanished, and chills came over your entire body as the light hairs on your arms stood up. You felt a little dizzy, but knew the wine wasn’t to blame.
He wasn’t the one to only write the song that was so popularly played on radio stations across Seoul, you would recognize that voice anywhere. He fucking sang it.
Yoongi’s long fingers continued to grace the ebony and ivory keys of the expensive piano he sat at as you tried to collect your thoughts while standing behind him. It was hard to breathe, your legs felt shaky, and there was a faint ringing in your ears as your started to piece together all the subtle clues about who this man really was from the first time you met him.
The barista’s giggles at the café, renting out the entire park for your morning hike, the underground parking and elevator key code, hell, even this building was extravagant, and you’ve only seen one unit.
Yoongi finished playing the song at the end of the second verse and turned around, sensing you were standing behind him, not trying to be distracting or overwhelming. Immediately he saw your face, eyes wide and pale skin, as your hands shook and played with the bandage he had placed on your hand earlier in the evening. His face dropped.
“Are you ok? What’s wrong? Do you feel ill?” Yoongi asked, jumping up from the piano bench, making a screeching sound on the marble floor, and walking towards you. “Is it your hand? Do you need to go to hospital?” He rapidly fired questions at you, genuinely concerned and trying to meet your eyes. The faint ringing was still in your ears, his voice sounded muffled, and you didn’t quite register what he was saying to you.
“Y/N? You’re worrying me, sit down.” He guided you towards one of the plain leather couches and walked briskly to the fridge to grab you cold water. “Here, drink this” he said as he cracked the lid off of the water bottle and forced it into your shaky hands. You slowly took a sip, focusing on the cold liquid hitting the back of your throat, bringing you back to reality. Suddenly the ringing in your ears started to fade.
“I didn’t… you said you wrote… who are you?” you stammered, trying to screw the lid back on the water bottle but fumbling with the cap. Yoongi grabbed it from your hands to place the lid back on securely before you spilled the whole bottle on yourself.
“I wasn’t sure if you knew… I thought there was a chance you could be faking it, but after spending the morning together I realized you didn’t know who I was exactly…” Yoongi said calmly, hesitating briefly as he placed the water bottle back in your hands. A bit envious of the water bottle, he wanted to reach for your hand to calm you but decided against it.
“You said you wrote songs… I just thought maybe it was for indie artists, or commercials…” you spat out. He tried to catch your gaze, but you avoided looking him directly in the eyes, your face still flush. You felt like an idiot, shaking and stumbling your words in front of this man. This man, who would have more money in a year than you would in a lifetime. He had no privacy, travelled the world, had millions of fans. Immediately your confidence started to shrink, and you stood up to grab your jacket and leave. Who am I compared to him? What am I doing here? You thought as you stood, your feet failing you as your heels caught on the threads of the area rug placed in front of the couches.
“Wait” Yoongi said as he caught you by your arms, just above the elbow, as you started to falter. He stood in front of you like a wall, his shoulders thrown back as he continued to try to meet your eyes. You finally summoned the courage to look up at his face. “Please just sit back down, I don’t want you to leave” he said softly.
You sat back down on the couch slowly, his hands never leaving your arms. “I was a little afraid all of this would scare you away, I understand it’s all a bit overwhelming…” he confessed, still remaining calm and soft spoken. He slid his hands down your arms to grasp your hands instead, being mindful of your bandage.
“I didn’t know, honestly” you stammered sincerely. The last thing you wanted to be viewed at was a gold digger.
It struck a nerve in you, as you recalled conversations with your ex about money. He was always jealous that your salary was more than his, but you never viewed it as a problem. “What are people going to think when you’re always picking up the tab?” He had spat at you. “It emasculates me, Y/N. It’s embarrassing. What would you do if I made more money than you?” “I’d let you pay, it wouldn’t matter to me. I don’t care how much money you make” you had argued back, exhausted from another spat. “I bet you’d like that, go find someone else with a fatter paycheque then” his words had slapped you in the face. He had stormed out of your shared apartment that evening for a few hours, but sulked back, smelling of whisky and second-hand smoke in the early morning hours. “I’m sorry baby” he had mumbled as he crawled into bed behind you, peppering kisses across your neck, your stomach turning. After all the arguments about money, and when he had paid for dinners and dates, he just made you feel guilty for it. You weren’t used to dating someone with enough emotionally maturity to not view women with higher salaries as emasculating.
Now you felt like the tables had turned, as your meekly realized Yoongi’s wealth. It made you uncomfortable.
“I don’t want you to think that I was faking anything, I promise, I don’t care about your money… I didn’t know…” you repeated yourself, shaking your head and starting to pull your hands out of his grasp.
Yoongi only held onto them tighter, “Ya ya ya, I wasn’t accusing you” he said in a slightly louder tone, cutting you off.
You took a deep breath, closed your eyes momentarily, and opened them to meet his coffee-coloured irises. You finally noticed just how dark and serious his gaze was, as both of you paused before continuing the conversation.
Yoongi broke the silence, “I invited you here tonight because I wanted to spend more time with you. After this morning, I didn’t want our time together to end” as he spoke, he rubbed his thumbs over the backs of your hands soothingly. “I also needed someone to cut the peppers…” he added, attempting to add humour back into the conversation tonight.
You let out a soft laugh, “I bet your recipe didn’t call for a finger though.” Yoongi smiled and also chuckled, showing his teeth momentarily. The tension in the room was immediately released, and Yoongi shifted on the couch to sit more comfortably next to you. He let go of your left hand, as he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face a few times.
He reached for your hand again, “Let’s open another bottle of wine. We might need it…”
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You had excused yourself to the bathroom and locked the door behind you as Yoongi located another bottle of wine, no doubt just as expensive, your mind nagged at you. The guest bathroom was the size of your bedroom, with a large clawfoot tub that sat at the far side of the room against a wall length window. You tried to push your self-conscious voice to the back of your mind as you turned on the cold-water tap. You stood in front of the counter, looking in the mirror at your flushed face. You looked a little shell-shocked and a bit drunk. After opening a few cabinets, you located a crisp white face towel and ran it under the cold water. You folded it up and pressed it to your cheeks and forehead, then under your arms. Ringing it out, you placed it over the counter to dry, and fanned your face with your hands to dry any moisture left on your face. After inspecting your makeup, running your fingers through your curls, and adjusting your dress, you psyched yourself back up to leave the bathroom and head back into the kitchen. He’s not your ex, you repeated to yourself as you walked out of the bathroom, around the corner and back into the open kitchen.
Yoongi had opened another bottle and filled your glass with a few more ounces than usual of wine. The bottle sat on a different counter, the label facing away. He handed you the glass, “feeling a little better?” he asked with a slight teasing tone. You noticed he had undone another button on his shirt as you took a sip of wine.
“Yes, thank you… I borrowed a face towel from your cupboard, I hope you don’t mind…” you started to ramble again.
“Of course not, please make yourself comfortable.”
You both stood across the kitchen island from each other, noticing how your tone of conversation was suddenly back to feeling more formal.
“Here, come sit…” Yoongi motioned his head towards the couches as he walked back into the living room, taking a seat back on the same couch. You followed him and sat a comfortable distance away, taking another sip of wine before placing it on the side table beside the couch.
It was Yoongi’s turn to take a big breath before talking. “So, I work for Hybe Corporation. Their business is located in the same building, just a few floors below us. I’ve worked for them for close to 10 years as an idol and a producer. I’m in the group…”
“Bangtan Sonyeondan…” you cut off Yoongi unintentionally. “I only realized it when you started to sing the opening to your song at the piano.”
He nodded as he continued to explain, “when I saw you at the café this past week, I didn’t recognize you as a regular. When I leave my apartment it’s one of the few places I feel comfortable visiting without being bombarded with paparazzi. The baristas are discreet, and the other customers are usually too busy to notice me. When I saw you sitting by the windows, I was waiting for you to look up. When you didn’t, I realized you might not recognize me.”
“I’m not that familiar with BTS…” you started to say, as you caught Yoongi smirking before taking another sip of wine. “Oh, no, I mean I know your group is very popular and successful and…”
“It’s ok, I don’t take offence” he smiled softly at you.
“When you first introduced yourself to me your name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I thought you could be a client at the firm, but I dismissed the thought. I really didn’t know who you were…” you couldn’t stress it enough.
Yoongi held up a hand dismissively, “I know, it’s ok, really. It’s actually a bit humbling to not be recognized” he laughed softly again, this time teasing himself.
“When you sat down at my table, I was just taken aback that someone had struck a conversation with me that was so honest and open.” Yoongi nodded in agreement. “I instantly felt comfortable around you…” you mumbled and added embarrassingly.
“I felt the same way” he added, shifting towards you on the couch again, “I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t.”
You reached for your wine glass and took a larger sip, the alcohol making you feel warm and tingly. Both of you sat more comfortably on the couch this time, but the tension was back in the air again. Yoongi finished his glass of wine rather quickly and set it on the side table. He reached for your half full glass still in your hands and set it down beside his. He ran his hands through his hair once more before wrapping his warm hands around yours, clasping them together.
“I don’t want this to change anything between us” he confessed, sighing deeply, worried about your response. “I understand if this makes you feel uncomfortable…”
It was your turn to cut him off. “No, really Yoongi, it’s ok. I don’t want this to change anything either…”
Yoongi flashed a closed mouth smile, the corners of his lips upturned so that his eyes crinkled.
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After finishing the second bottle of wine there was no way you could drive back home. Yoongi had already sensed this and sent a message to his driver asking him to have the car ready to take you back home. You walked to the entrance and reached for your coat, but Yoongi was already a step ahead of you.
“Here…” he murmured, as you turned around to face away from him. He opened your coat and slid it back on over your shoulders. You turned around to face him, as he slowly did up the buttons from the bottom to the top, his hands resting on your collar bones. He paused, looking briefly at your lips before meeting your eyes. “I’ll come with you” he said, his hands letting go of your lapels as he quickly reached for his own felt coat.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that…”
“I want to” he spoke softly, doing up his own buttons on his coat. “Why don’t you leave your car keys here, I’ll have someone deliver it in the morning.”
You knew better than to argue with his offer, and you didn’t want to offend him after tonight as well. He has understood your point about not wanting to seem like you were only after his idol status, both socially and financially. You reached into your purse to place the keys into his hand.
“Let’s go” Yoongi said as you both stepped out of his apartment door, him locking the door while you pressed the elevator button.
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After a comfortably silent ride back to your apartment in the back seat of Yoongi’s town car, you arrived in front of your apartment building.
“I didn’t know you lived so close to the café” Yoongi mentioned, as he opened his door to step out onto the concrete. You unclicked your own seatbelt and went to reach for the car door, but Yoongi had rushed around to open it for you. He offered his hand to you as you took it and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Thank you for the ride home” you spoke softly, avoiding eye contact. “I’d invite you up, but, uh…”
“Maybe another time” Yoongi finished the thought for you. You smiled briefly as your stared into his dark eyes, his skin gleaming under the yellow streetlight. You paused, wondering how to end the conversation this evening. To be honest, part of you didn’t want it to end.
“I’ll call you” Yoongi said as your heart dropped. You knew exactly what that saying meant, and you prepared yourself to say a cordial goodbye to Yoongi for good. This was the end of your brief fling, and you understood why. During this entire evening he was just being polite. Someone of Yoongi’s status would never date down to someone like you, especially considering the fact you only had half a year left in this country. You sighed and nodded staring at the damp concrete below your feet.
You began to politely thank him again, lifting your head to look at him once more, when suddenly his lips crashed into yours. Yoongi’s left hand reached around to grasp you at the small of your back, while his right hand brushed the hair on the side of your face away from your temple and behind your ear. You let out a small airy moan as your hands reached behind his back, holding him close. He parted his mouth gently, waiting to see if you’d mirror his lips. Your tongues brushed softly, tasting the wine you had earlier on his breath. After what felt like hours but only seconds at the same time, you pulled away regretfully from the kiss. Knowing that if you didn’t end it right then, Yoongi would be upstairs in your bed for the rest of the evening. As tempting as that sounded, you didn’t want this to move too quickly. After all, the last person you slept with was your ex. You didn’t want Yoongi just to be a bedroom palate cleanser though. How serious could this actually get anyways? I move home in six more months, you briefly wonder, quickly pushing the daunting thought from your mind.
Yoongi rested his forehead on yours for a few moments, taking a deep breath before pulling away and moving his hands to your waist. “I’ll call you” he whispered again, as he placed one last kiss on your cheek, and this time you knew he meant it.
You’ve been stressed out from your job and finally have your first day off in over a week. Loneliness has been your constant emotion as you try to enjoy the time you have left working in Seoul. On your day off, you decide to spend the morning sitting in a quiet café, when you run into a stranger who you can’t keep your eyes off of…
Warnings: N/A
Word count: 2,345
Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Alright, I’ve been dreaming about this scenario for the past week so I thought I would fill in the details and finally make a fanfic. It’s my first one, so please be kind! I’m open to all sorts of constructive criticisms. I’ve always enjoyed the thought of aloof Yoongi finding a romantic interest who doesn’t know just how famous he is. Who better than a foreigner?
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Light peaked through your bedroom curtains on a calm and sunny Wednesday morning. From your 12th story apartment, the world seemed quiet. You laid in bed for a few minutes before rolling over and reaching for your phone on your nightstand. You unlocked the screen and promptly turned off your e-mail notifications for the day. It was your first day off in 10 days. The consulting firm you work for had you putting in double time to finish closing a deal with a high priority client. You had moved to Seoul almost 6 months ago, and in that time, you had climbed the corporate ladder and found your place within the company. Your boss was impressed by your work ethic, but it was only because you didn’t have much of a social life as a foreigner in a new city. You had taken Korean language classes at the local library in your hometown for 6 months before accepting a new work contract, but you still felt hesitant about your new language skills. There were a few other people who worked at your office who had moved from other English-speaking countries, but you didn’t seem to have much in common with them anyways.
You rolled out of bed and grabbed the satin robe that laid on the armchair in the corner of your bedroom. After slipping it on, you opened the curtains to let the full sunlight in. Today will be a good day, you sighed to yourself as your walked to your kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Even though you should be excited to have the day to yourself with no distractions, something still felt like it was missing. You knew you were happy with your decision to move across the world to a new country, but you didn’t expect this kind of loneliness. After your coffee finishes brewing, you sit at your kitchen counter to sip it while checking social media on your phone. Photos of your friends from back home immediately flood your screen. They were sad to see you leave but understood why you felt the need to get away for a bit and start fresh. After all, the work contract was only for 1 year. ‘I’ll be back before you can even miss me’, you told them at your going-away party.
After finishing your coffee, you walk back to your bedroom and open your closet doors. Since you didn’t need to be work clothes for the day, you took your time picking out an outfit that suited your true personality. You grabbed your favourite pair of jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, a belt, and your best high heeled boots. You looked at yourself in the mirror hanging on the wall as you tucked the sweater into your jeans and decided simple was the best thing to wear for the day. You grabbed a pair of silver hoop earrings from the top of your dresser and finished your hair and makeup in the bathroom. Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that coffee was not enough for breakfast, so you decided the first mission of your day was to find a café to eat breakfast at. Grabbing your book bag, coat, and a scarf, you left your apartment. As you walked outside, the brisk spring air hit your face. You inhaled deeply, thankful that you could take a break from your stuffy office. Your stomach grumbled once more, reminding you of your hunger, so you started to walk down the sidewalk in search of breakfast.
After walking for 15 minutes, you found a small café located on the corner of an alleyway. You paused, hesitant since it looked closed, but sure enough the neon sign in the window assured you otherwise. A bell dinged as you opened the door, announcing your entrance. Out of the 10 small tables available, only 2 were taken by people tapping away at their laptop keyboards with their headphones in. Faint classical music played in the background, and you could hear small chatter from the workers behind the counter, discussing their plans for the upcoming weekend.
“Hwangyong hamnida” you hear from one of the baristas behind the counter. You nod your head and reply “Annyeonghaseyo” and approach the counter. After scanning the menu, you quickly order a Korean style breakfast sandwich and another cup of coffee. You turn to scan the café and see a small table for two in the corner by tall floor to ceiling windows. People watching is one of your hobbies. You rest your book bag on the ground against a table leg, unwrap the scarf from your neck, and place your jacket on the back of the chair as you sit facing the entrance door. Sunlight and shadows lay across the surface of the tiny table, reminding you to take advantage of the quiet space while you enjoy your meal. After finishing, you return the small plate to the counter, walk back to your table, and pull out your journal and a pen.
Taking another sip of your coffee, you stare at the black leather cover. It had been so long since you’ve put your thoughts to paper. Truthfully, it felt like you had nothing to say about the contents of your current life. Your thoughts start to drift as the faint classical music becomes more noticeable. You stare out the window and you don’t register the bell attached to the café door dinging again, welcoming its newest customer. Your mind registers a calm male voice at the counter ordering an Americano, but you don’t dare turn around to see who the voice belongs to. Staring at the black journal cover again, you flip open to your most recent entry. February 14, 2022, it reads, as your cynicism is plastered in black ink on two pages. You cringe, recalling just how lonely you felt on Valentine’s Day. It was stupid really; you knew it was a commercial holiday full of corny advertisements and insincere bouquets of flowers. You shook your head as you turned to the next blank page and wrote down the current date, April 6, 2022. You tapped your pen, thinking of where to begin and what could be important enough to write down.
You sigh as you glance up from your table and lock eyes with a man sitting on the other side of the small café. You find it hard to break eye contact. There’s something about his gaze and dark eyes that prevents you from pulling your own away. You feel flush and give him a small fleeting smile as you return to your empty journal entry. Embarrassment rushes over you as you realized you stared at him for far too long. Taking a deep breath, you force the picture of this stranger out of your mind and start to pour your thoughts onto paper.
You find yourself quickly complaining about your busy work schedule, boredom, and loneliness again. This is so counterproductive, you think, I’m supposed to be enjoying my day off and instead I have nothing to write but complaints. You cross out the few sentences you wrote with the black pen, leaving streaks of pressed lines on the paper. You pause to gather your thoughts and try again. Underneath the black lines, you start to make a list of the things you want to do in Korea before ending your work contract in 6 months and returning home:
- Hike the Bukhansan National Park
- Spend a day at Jeju Island
- Take the train to Busan
- Cycle along the Han River and stop for a picnic
- Spend the day at a beach *note to self, look up beaches*
- Visit a themed café
- Learn how to cook one staple Korean meal
Satisfied with your ongoing list, you pause to look out the window again, but your thoughts are interrupted.
“Hello” says the calm voice who ordered his coffee only a few minutes ago. You hold your breath as you look up to meet the dark, familiar eyes of the stranger approaching your table.
“Hello” you reply, feeling as if your voice is caught in your throat. His face is hard to read since black hair touches his brows and he wears a black paper face covering over his nose and mouth.
“I couldn’t help but notice the constant scratching of your pen” he says with a hint of humour in his voice. You imagine a sly smile under his mask.
“Sometimes I’m not sure if my pen can keep up with my thoughts” you say, as warmth spreads to your cheeks and down to your chest. You slowly close the cover of your journal, returning the cap on your pen.
“Do you mind if I sit?” he motions to the other chair at your table.
“No, not at all, please” you say as he pulls the wooden chair back to sit across from you, crossing his legs. Suddenly you’re aware of just how small the table is, as both of your coffee cups and the journal take up almost the entire surface. He removes his face covering, revealing a small smile as he sticks the mask in his jacket pocket. He reaches for his coffee cup and takes a sip before continuing the conversation.
“I’ve been finding my thoughts difficult to write down as well” he says. It surprises you that you both have shared such personal thoughts with each other so soon.
“What do you write about?” you cautiously ask, taking a sip from your coffee cup. You wonder if you’ve crossed an invisible boundary. How could there be any boundaries, you think, he’s sitting just a couple feet away from you.
“A little bit of everything” he shares. “Lyrics, poems, fears, dreams…” he lists off casually. “What were you writing about?”
“Oh”, you pause, wondering if sharing your vulnerability will be as easy as it seems for him. “Well, I started to write down all of my complaints”. He holds your eye contact, waiting for you to continue. There doesn’t seem to be any judgement in his expression. “After realizing that complaining wasn’t what I wanted to write about, I crossed it all out and started to make a list instead.”
“And what’s on your list?” he inquires, waiting for you to keep sharing details of your morning.
“Things I want to do while living in Korea” you answer. He shares a warm, closed mouth smile. You take an opportunity to break his gaze and take another sip of your coffee, collecting yourself. Why would I ever share this information with a stranger? You question, but quickly dismiss the fear of being vulnerable. Afterall, it was innocent conversation.
He leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s the first thing on your list?”
“Hiking the Bukhansan National Park.”
“Ah, do you like being in nature?”
“I do, I find it calming” your hand rests on the cover of your black leather journal. “What was the last thing you wrote?”
“Mmm, I’ve been trying to finish a verse of a song I’m working on” he says plainly, waiting for your response.
“Oh, so you write songs?” you ask genuinely. He expression changes as he smirks, uncrossing his arms and resting his forearms on the table as he listens, leaning even closer to you. “Is that your hobby?”
“I suppose you could say that” he nods, breaking eye contact to glance behind your shoulder at the barista who took his order. You could hear her small giggles and whispers from behind the counter, but you paid no attention. You hear a notification sound come from his jacket pocket while he mutters “Excuse me” as he pulls out his phone. He stops to read the message that’s appeared on his screen, quickly sends a reply, and places his phone back into the pocket.
“I’m afraid my ride is here to pick me up” he says. Disappointment rushes over you as your conversation is cut short. You glance over his shoulder to see a black town car with black tinted windows pull up in front just outside of the café’s glass entrance door. He pulls his mask out of the opposite jacket pocket and pauses before placing the loops back over his ears. “I hope you’re able to visit Bukhasan Park soon” he says, catching your gaze across the small table. “It was nice speaking with you” he nods.
“Oh, thank you. It was nice speaking with you too” you nod back, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. Your conversation had been the most interesting thing that had happened to you in months that didn’t revolve around financial reports. He placed the mask strings over his ears and his face became hidden again. Except for those eyes, you thought. He pressed his hands into the table as he stood up and started to leave the café. Just as you thought he was about to open the door to leave, he turned around and walked back to your table.
“Can I have your phone number?” he asked, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket once again.
Caught off guard, your heart hammered in your chest. He handed his phone to you, your fingertips lightly touching each other. Neither of you seemed to mind the faint contact of your skin.
“I – yes.” All other thoughts seemed to leave your mind as you typed your foreign full name in English, added your number, and pressed ‘save’.
“Y/N First name, Y/N Last name” he repeated as he glanced at his new saved contact. He looked up from his phone and his eyes smiled.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Min Yoongi.”
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Ahhhh thank you for reading this! Is this part 1? Maybe? Who knows... Writing this gave me such motivation and reminded me when I was a young kid and used to make up stories. I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed writing just for fun.
