Note: I wasn't even planning to put this out, but I think yall need a fluff after what @limemrys puts out. Also very special thanks to @prael since this was part of the Mega Mystery Mix-up prompts wayy back then <3
(1.3k words)
You two are horrendously bad at relationships.
Like, it’s almost a running joke at this point. You with your naïve, aloof nature—so clueless that you once got asked out and only realized it wasn’t a “study session” two weeks later when the other person stopped talking to you. And Jinsol, who’s just as bad but for entirely different reasons. Where you were oblivious, she was merciless. The moment she broke up with someone, it was like they were on trial and she was both the judge AND the executioner.
“He really thought writing poetry about his car made him interesting,” she once scoffed, sprawled out on your couch, chewing through a bag of chips.
“And?” you asked, not really getting it.
“And that’s fucking pathetic,” she said, eyes sharp like she just witnessed a crime scene.
“...Maybe he just really loved his car. There's nothing wrong with that.”
She stared at you like you were hopeless. “And that’s why you’re single.”
"I'm just empathetic, JIn-sol."
Conversations like that were your bread and butter. Somewhere between insulting each other’s non-existent dating lives and silently agreeing you both were doomed, the years just piled on. From awkward high school classrooms to almost nodding asleep during university lectures, you and Jinsol became this weird constant, like a pair of introverts who couldn’t be bothered to replace each other.
And the out-of-nowhere dumb pact? That was born out of one of those long, aimless summer afternoons when you were on summer break.
You remember it clearly. You were both around fifteen, sitting on the curb outside the corner store with popsicles melting faster than you could eat them. The heat shimmered on the asphalt, cicadas buzzing like they had a personal vendetta against your eardrums.
“What if nobody ever likes me?” you asked suddenly, licking a streak of orange off your wrist.
Jinsol turned to look at you, eyes squinted under the sunlight, and snorted. “What do you mean, what if? No one likes you now.”
“Hey!” you shoved her shoulder, nearly making her drop her grape popsicle.
She caught it and shot you a glare. “Don’t start something you can’t win, dumbass.”
Still, after a moment, she frowned and stared at the sticky pavement. “But… yeah. What if nobody ever likes me either?”
There was a pause. The kind that stretched out uncomfortably, filled only by the sound of cicadas and your slurping. Then, in your infinite fifteen-year-old wisdom, you shrugged. “Then… we can just, I dunno… date each other.”
Her head snapped toward you, disbelief painted across her face. “Excuse me?”
You nodded solemnly, as if you’d just solved world hunger. “Yeah. Like, if we’re both still single at… thirty or something, we’ll just date each other. Problem solved.”
Jinsol let out a laugh so sharp it nearly made you drop your own popsicle. “Are you high? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Who would actually want that?”
“You,” you shot back instantly. “Obviously.”
For a second, her mouth opened like she was ready to destroy you with another insult. But then she just huffed, rolled her eyes, and muttered, “Fine. Whatever. If we’re both single, or still single at thirty, we’ll date. Happy? Dumbass prick.”
“Very,” you grinned, leaning back on your hands like you’d just made the most bulletproof plan in history.
And that was that. It was stupid, childish, completely unserious… and yet it stuck. Even as the years rolled on, even as crushes came and went, even as Jin-sol rattled off her breakup postmortems and you fumbled your way through misunderstanding people’s signals — you both kept that promise tucked away. Half joke, half safety net.
Not because you were in love. Not then, anyway. But because, in a world where neither of you seemed to quite fit the puzzle, it was nice knowing there was one piece that would always, somehow, click.
Years passed, the pact aged like a dumb inside joke you never threw away. It popped up every now and then—sometimes when Jinsol was ranting about a failed date, sometimes when you were both three drinks in and too tired to censor yourselves. But it was always brushed off with an eye-roll, a laugh, or a “don’t remind me.”
Until one very normal, very soul-crushing Tuesday at the office.
The two of you ended up working at the same company, which was either fate or punishment, you weren’t sure (let's go with punishment, just so that she won't beat you anymore). The open-plan office was a battlefield of keyboards clacking, phones ringing, and people pretending they were busier than they actually were. You sat across from Jinsol, which meant that at least once every hour, you’d look up and find her staring deadpan at her monitor like it had personally offended her.
By the third hour of the day, boredom got the better of you. Leaning over your desk, you whispered, “Hey, Jin-sol. Remember our deal?”
Jinsoul didn’t even glance up from her screen. “What deal?”
“You know,” you said, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “if we’re still single at thirty…”
She groaned, head tilting back against her chair. “Don’t tell me you’re actually bringing that up here. In the middle of the fucking work hour.”
“I’m just saying,” you grinned, tapping your pen against the desk, “we’ve got a few years left, but maybe I should start booking the wedding hall early.”
You expected the usual. You know, her rolling her eyes, maybe muttering “idiot” under her breath before going back to whatever paperwork she was torturing. But instead, she lifted her head up slowly, eyes narrowing on you with this sharp seriousness that knocked the wind out of your chest.
“Why wait until thirty?” she said flatly. “We can just date now.”
Silence. Absolute silence. Even the humming lights seemed to stop for a second.
You blinked at her, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for the smirk, the sarcastic jab, the “just kidding, you moron.” But it never came. She just stood up, grabbed her empty coffee mug, and brushed past your desk.
Huh? Did she say that right?
“Wait—wait, hold up.” You scrambled out of your chair and hurried after her, nearly tripping over the wheel of your chair in your excitement. “Did you just—are you serious right now?”
“I don't know, am I?” she shot back instantly, walking faster.
“That’s not a no!” you grinned, following her down the aisle between cubicles. “That’s a denial-but-that’s-actually-a-yes. I know that tone.”
“Bug off,” she muttered, not even turning around.
“See? You didn’t say no again!” You jogged to catch up, practically bouncing with energy. “Do you realize what you’ve done now? You can’t just casually say, ‘let’s date now,’ and expect me to function normally. My entire system’s fried. I need to take the PTO this instant.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll finally stop being so fucking loud,” she said, but her pace had slowed just slightly, betraying her.
“I’m telling you right now, if you don’t clarify, I’m going to assume we’re dating. Like, immediately. Boyfriend status. Lock screen photo. Couple discounts at cafés. All of it.”
She stopped abruptly at the coffee machine, finally turning just enough to glare at you. “You’re stupid.”
“And yet…” you leaned against the counter, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face, “…you’re not telling me I’m wrong.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing, and you knew she was about to deliver one of her signature cutting remarks. But instead, she suddenly grabbed your collar, yanked you down, and pressed her lips against yours. It wasn’t long. It wasn’t soft either. Just sharp, deliberate, like she was shutting you up in the most efficient way possible.
By the time she pulled away, your brain had completely blue-screened. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out, your grin wiped clean off your face and replaced with wide-eyed shock.
“Finally,” she muttered, brushing past you with her coffee mug. “Some peace and fucking quiet.”
You just stood there, starstruck, heart pounding in your ears like a drumline. It took a solid three seconds before your body remembered how to move. Then you snapped out of it, stumbling after her like an idiot, still reeling.
Because there was no way—no fucking way—you were letting her just walk away after that.
A/N: This piece is heavily inspired by @limemrys’s Near to Heart, and can be read as a continuation of sorts. I was deeply moved by his work, as well as Jinsoul’s cover of 옆, which helped shape the emotional tone of this story. If you’d like to fully immerse yourself in the atmosphere I envisioned, consider playing the music video while reading.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The apartment is warm. Too warm.
You know why. You know exactly why. The thermostat is still set three degrees higher than you'd ever choose because Jinsoul ran cold and you ran warm and at some point you'd stopped fighting over it. She won that debacle. She won most of them, actually, except the ones she let you have so you could feel like you had a say.
You haven't touched the dial. Can't.
Five days since the funeral. Or four. You've stopped counting because counting means the number gets bigger and bigger numbers mean more distance between now and the last time she was breathing in the bed next to you and you're not ready for distance. Not from her. Not yet.
People came. People spoke. You remember almost none of it. Someone gripped your arm hard enough to bruise and you didn't notice until that night, standing under water you couldn't feel, staring at the purple crescent on your bicep like it was written in a language you used to speak.
You sit up.
The bed is enormous. Which is funny, because six months ago you couldn't fit in it. Not properly. Jinsoul slept like she was trying to absorb you. One leg thrown over yours, arm slung across your chest, her breath pooling in the dip below your collarbone. Every night. Without fail. Like if she loosened her grip even slightly you'd float off somewhere she couldn't follow.
You'd complained about it once. Just once.
"You sleep like a koala. You know that, right?"
She hadn't even opened her eyes. "Mm. Be a better tree then."
You'd laughed. That useless three-in-the-morning laugh that barely qualifies as sound. Pulled her tighter anyway.
Now the mattress stretches beside you like something left behind after a flood. You put your feet on the floor and the hardwood bites cold, which doesn't track with the thermostat cranked the way it is, but nothing about your body tracks anymore. Too warm under covers. Too cold outside of them. Starving but the thought of chewing makes your jaw lock up.
The kitchen is worse.
Her mug. Drying rack. Chipped handle, cartoon whale that looks more like a deformed potato. Second date. Street vendor in Hongdae who clearly thought it was a masterpiece.
She'd laughed so hard at the register the guy looked personally wounded.
"It's perfect," she'd wheezed, wiping her eyes. "It looks exactly like you before coffee."
"It looks like a potato."
"I know what I said."
You fill the kettle. Two cups of water. Muscle memory, your hands moving through a routine they haven't been told is over.
You stare at the waterline. Pour half out.
Stare again. Pour the rest.
Then you leave the kettle empty on the counter and slide down to the kitchen floor with your back against the cabinet because your legs have made an executive decision without consulting you.
That's where it starts. The first one.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Seven months ago.
You'd come home late. Not the end-of-the-world kind of late, but late enough that dinner had gone room temperature and the candle she'd lit was a pathetic nub of wax barely clinging to the holder.
"Hey." She didn't look up from her book.
"Hey. I'm sorry, the meeting ran—"
"Eat first."
You'd stood there in the doorway, briefcase still in hand, jaw working around an excuse she'd already decided she didn't need to hear. Jinsoul turned a page.
"Microwave. Thirty seconds. Don't kill the rice."
So you'd eaten. She'd read. When you finally dropped onto the couch beside her she closed the book without marking the page, which meant she either didn't care where she left off or she'd been reading the same paragraph for the last hour waiting for you.
She leaned into you. Not dramatically. Not with any preamble or production. Just shifted her weight until she was tucked under your arm, fitting into the gap between your ribs and your elbow like the space had been carved for her specifically.
"Bad one?"
"Yeah."
"Wanna talk?"
"Not really."
"Okay."
That was it. The entire negotiation. No interrogation. No guilt trip about the cold food or the wasted candle or the thirty minutes she'd spent pretending she wasn't watching the door. Just her weight against your side. Warm. Steady. Her fingers finding yours, tracing slow circles on your knuckles, the kind of idle touch that didn't mean anything except everything.
You'd cried. Not from that day specifically but from the pile of days behind it, all the weight you'd been packing into your pockets and pretending wasn't dragging you under. The tears came quiet. No production. Just a leak you couldn't stop.
She didn't speak. Shifted, pressed your head against her shoulder, worked her fingers into your hair. Held you like that in the lamplight and the hush of the apartment while your breathing did whatever it needed to do.
"You're too good for days like this," she'd murmured. So quiet you almost missed it. "You know that, right?"
You hadn't answered. Her saying it was the answer.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now.
Kitchen floor. Cabinet digging into your spine. Empty kettle catching light on the counter.
You pull your knees up. Press your forehead against them. The tears come and there's nothing underneath. No shoulder. No fingers. No voice.
Just the thermostat humming at a temperature meant for someone who isn't here.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You don't remember deciding to go back to work on Tuesday. Your body just does it. Alarm at six. Shower where you stand under the water for eleven minutes without washing anything, watching the steam curl toward the ceiling like it has somewhere better to be. The suit you grab is wrinkled because ironing requires a version of you that currently doesn't exist. You notice a small stain on the cuff. Soy sauce, probably. From the last dinner you cooked together. You wear it anyway.
The commute is strange. The train is the same train. Same route, same stops, same automated voice announcing stations in that cheerful cadence that has no business being that awake at 7 AM. But the seat next to you is empty and you keep glancing at your phone like there should be a message waiting. There always was. Some mornings it was just a single character. A heart. A sun emoji. Once, inexplicably, a picture of a pigeon she'd seen on the balcony with the caption this is you running late.
Nothing today. Nothing tomorrow. Nothing ever again from that number.
The office is wrong in a way you can't name until you're at your desk and it clicks. It's the normalcy. That's what's wrong. Keyboards clacking. Someone's lunch in the microwave already at 9 AM, which is a crime against decency but nobody's ever had that conversation. Choi from accounting cackling at something on his phone. A printer jamming in the corner. The world spinning at its regular speed while yours has been lodged in amber since Sunday morning.
Your supervisor comes by around ten. Puts a hand on your shoulder. Squeezes once. "Take more time if you need it. Seriously."
"I'm fine."
He stands there a beat too long. Nods. Walks away. He doesn't believe you. You don't believe you either. But going home means sitting in her warmth, breathing air that still carries traces of her shampoo and the laundry detergent she insisted on because it smelled like "clean rain, not polluted rain, there's a difference," and you are not built for that right now. Not during daylight. At least here the air smells like burnt coffee and recycled paper and nothing that makes your hands shake.
The morning passes. You answer emails. Attend a meeting where words happen near you. Someone asks your opinion on a timeline and you give one that sounds reasonable enough that nobody follows up. The whole performance is mechanical, a puppet show where you're both the puppet and the hand, and the audience is too polite to mention the strings are showing.
Lunchtime.
You stare at the bento place across the street from your office window. The line snaking out the door. Salarymen loosening their ties. A woman in a yellow coat laughing with her friend about something that makes her double over.
The second memory hits without warning.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Five months ago.
Jinsoul had started packing your lunches. Not because you asked. Not because you even hinted. She'd just noticed you were skipping meals during crunch weeks and decided, unilaterally, that this was no longer an option.
The first time you'd opened your bag to find a container of kimbap and a post-it note that said if this comes back uneaten I'm coming to your office and I'm not wearing pants, you'd laughed hard enough that Park from development had asked if you were choking.
It became a thing. The lunches and the notes. She never repeated one.
Eat this or I'll tell your mother you skipped lunch.
I put extra sesame oil because you look like you need it. Don't ask me how sesame oil helps. It just does.
Remember that you married someone who wakes up at 6am to make you food. Act accordingly.
Some of them weren't jokes.
I'm proud of you. Eat your rice.
That one you'd kept. Folded it into your wallet behind your ID card where it still sits, the ink smudged from months of body heat, the paper softened to fabric.
You'd called her that day. Middle of a meeting prep, didn't care.
"The note," you'd said, your voice doing something embarrassing.
"Which one?"
"The proud one."
A pause. Then a sound that might have been a laugh or a sniffle or both. "Oh. That one. Yeah. I meant it."
"I know you did. That's why I'm calling."
"Eat your lunch."
"I'm eating it right now."
"With the phone in one hand and chopsticks in the other? That's not eating. That's multitasking. I want full commitment."
"Yes ma'am."
"And honey?"
"Yeah?"
Her voice had dropped to that register she only used when it was just the two of you, even over the phone. Soft. Conspiratorial. Like the words were only rated for your ears.
"Come home on time tonight. I have plans for you."
"What kind of plans?"
"The kind where you don't need pants either."
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now.
You're still staring at the bento place. The lunch rush is thinning. Your stomach is a fist.
You open your bag out of habit. There's no container inside. No post-it. Just your laptop and a charger and a protein bar you bought three days ago that you can't bring yourself to unwrap.
You close the bag.
Go back to your desk.
Don't eat.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Wednesday passes like something being dragged through wet cement. You eat half a convenience store sandwich at your desk because your body sends distress signals you can't ignore anymore. It tastes like cardboard and obligation. You throw the other half away and feel guilty about it because somewhere in your head there's a voice, her voice, saying that's not eating, that's going through the motions.
Thursday you almost call her.
Your thumb hovers over her name in your contacts. Jinsoul 🐳, with the little whale emoji she'd added herself because you never would have thought to. The screen glows. You count to five. Then ten. Then you put the phone face-down on the table because you know exactly how this goes. You'll hear her voicemail greeting. That clipped, slightly too-fast "It's Jinsoul, leave a message!" she'd recorded while distracted by something off-camera. Probably the TV. Probably mid-bite of something she wasn't supposed to be eating before dinner.
You'll hear it and you'll crater. No floor. No bottom. Just a voice that sounds alive talking to you from the other side of something permanent.
So you don't call. Not yet.
You're rationing her. That's what you've been doing, you realize, and the realization itself is its own kind of gutting. You're treating the remnants of your wife like emergency supplies. The voicemail. The mug. The thermostat. The post-it in your wallet. Each one a charge, a hit, a few seconds of her that you can access when the silence gets too structural. And you know, the way you know your own name, that once you start using them too often they'll lose their voltage. The way a song you overplay stops reaching the part of you it used to reach.
You're not ready to lose that too.
Thursday night you sit on the couch with every light off. The city does its thing outside the window. Sirens. A motorbike. Someone arguing two floors down, their voices muffled through layers of concrete into shapeless anger. Sounds that used to be background noise but now feel like they're happening behind glass in a world you used to belong to.
The couch still has her dent.
You can see it in the streetlight bleeding through the curtain. Her side. Slightly deeper than yours because she sat with her legs tucked under herself, always tilted toward you, always leaning. You used to joke that she had a gravitational field. That she bent space toward herself without trying. She'd roll her eyes and lean harder, proving your point.
You reach over. Touch the dent. The fabric is room temperature.
Which is wrong. It should be warm. She ran warm when she sat still. Something about her circulation, she'd said once, gesturing vaguely at herself like her own biology was an inconvenience she was barely tolerating. Her side of the couch always held heat for minutes after she left. You'd put your hand there sometimes, after she got up to refill water or grab a snack, just to feel the ghost of her in the upholstery.
Now there's no ghost. Just fabric.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Three months ago.
A fight. Not a big one, not a screamer. The worst kind. The quiet kind where you both said things in normal voices that landed like something thrown.
It was about money. Or time. Or the way you'd been pulling away without realizing it, working later, talking less, turning into a silhouette of the person she married. Honestly you can't even remember who started it. What you remember is the end.
You'd been standing at the kitchen counter, both of you on opposite sides like it was a negotiating table. She'd said something and you'd said something back and then there was this silence that felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
And then Jinsoul had walked around the counter. Slowly. Not angry anymore, not performing calm either. Just moving toward you with that look on her face, the one where her eyes go soft and her jaw unclenches and you can see her making the decision in real time to choose you over being right.
She'd stopped in front of you. Put both hands on your chest. Looked up.
"I don't want to win this."
"Win what?"
"This. Whatever this is turning into. I don't want to win it. I just want to be next to you."
Your throat had locked. She'd felt it, felt the way your chest seized under her palms, and she'd stepped closer.
"You're so hard on yourself. You know that? About everything. Work, life, us. You carry it like if you put it down for one second the whole thing collapses." Her thumbs moved in small strokes over your sternum. "But I'm standing right here. I'm not going anywhere. So put some of it on me."
"I don't want to burden—"
"That's not how this works." Sharper now. Not angry but firm, the way she got when she needed you to hear something you kept dodging. "You're not a burden. You're my husband. There's a difference and I need you to learn it."
You'd exhaled. Long. Shaky. The fight drained out of you like someone pulled a plug.
"I'm sorry."
"I know." She'd pressed her forehead against your chest. "I know you are. Just stop running from me, okay? I'm fast but I shouldn't have to chase you."
"You're not that fast."
A muffled laugh against your shirt. "I will end you."
You'd wrapped your arms around her. Stood like that for a long time. The counter no longer between you. The argument, gone, dissolved into whatever atmosphere absorbs the fights that don't matter in the end. Just her heartbeat against yours, stubborn and steady, doing what it always did despite thirty years of being told it might not.
Her damn stubborn heart. You'd loved it. Trusted it. Built a whole life on its rhythm.
That was your mistake. Not the trusting. The assuming it would keep going.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now.
The couch. The dark. The dent beside you shaped like someone but holding nothing.
You lean into her side of the cushion. It gives. Nothing gives back.
You stay there until your neck aches and the streetlight shifts and the arguing downstairs burns itself out. Then you get up, drink water from a glass instead of the bottle because she hated when you drank from the bottle, and go to bed.
Her pillow still smells like her. You press your face into it once, fast, like ripping off a bandage. The scent hits your limbic system like a flashbang. Lavender. Something warmer underneath. Something that was just her, that no product or perfume could replicate, that existed nowhere else in the world and now exists only in the fading chemistry of cotton fibers.
You pull away. Turn over. Stare at the ceiling until your eyes give up.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Friday you find the surgery brochure.
It's in the second drawer of the bedside table, under a phone charger and a sleep mask. You'd printed it weeks ago. The hospital abroad, the discounted program, the numbers you'd crunched a dozen times on the back of a napkin before transferring them to a proper spreadsheet. All of it neat. All of it organized. All of it completely, spectacularly useless now.
You hold the brochure and something inside you finally cracks along a fault line you didn't know was there. Not the crying kind of crack. Something structural. Something load-bearing.
You'd had a plan. She'd agreed to it. You were going to fix this. You were going to take her abroad and sit in a waiting room for six hours and pace and bite your nails and then a doctor was going to come out and say it went well and you were going to cry in a hospital hallway and she was going to call you dramatic and you were going to spend the rest of your lives arguing about the thermostat and fighting over whose turn it was to get water and falling asleep tangled together in a bed that was too small for two people who refused to let go of each other.
That was the plan.
You fold the brochure in half. Then in half again. Then again until it's a thick, useless square that fits in your palm.
You put it in the drawer and close it.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
A year ago.
Before the ring. Before the vows. Before any of it was official.
You'd been sick. Really sick. The kind of flu that turns you into a pile of blankets with a voice, useless and pitiful and convinced on some primal level that you were dying even though it was just a fever and a cough.
Jinsoul had shown up at your apartment uninvited. You'd opened the door looking like a war crime and she'd walked right past you with two bags of groceries, a thermometer, and an expression that suggested arguing was not on the menu.
"Go to bed."
"I'm fine. I just need to—"
"Bed."
"Jinsoul, I can take care of my—"
She'd put her hand on your forehead. Held it there for three seconds. Looked at you the way a mechanic looks at an engine that's making a sound it shouldn't.
"Your head is on fire. You smell like a pharmacy. Go to bed or I'll carry you there and I'm small but I'm motivated."
You'd gone to bed.
She'd made soup. Not from a packet. From scratch. You could hear her in the kitchen, banging around your cabinets, muttering about your lack of proper cookware, occasionally yelling things like "Why do you own four spatulas and zero ladles?" and "Is this ginger or is this just old?"
When she brought the bowl in, you were half-conscious, fever doing strange things to the edges of the room. She'd sat on the bed beside you, legs crossed, and spooned soup into you with the patience of someone feeding a child.
"You don't have to do this," you'd croaked.
"I know."
"Then why are you?"
She'd paused. Spoon hovering. A strand of hair falling across her face that she didn't bother fixing. "Because you'd do it for me and you wouldn't even think about it. And I want to be the kind of person who does the same. Not because I have to. Because your soup is getting cold and you look pathetic and I think I might be falling in love with you."
That last part. Thrown in at the end like an afterthought. Like it was the same category as cold soup and pity. You'd stared at her. She'd stared back. Then she'd shoved the spoon at your mouth.
"Eat. Process your feelings later. Soup first."
You'd eaten. And somewhere between the third and fourth spoonful, with a fever of 39 and a nose that couldn't smell anything and a woman sitting cross-legged on your bed who'd just detonated a confession between complaints about your kitchenware, you'd known.
Not thought. Not suspected. Known.
"I think I might be falling in love with you too," you'd said.
"You have a 39-degree fever. You're not a reliable source right now."
"Ask me again when it breaks."
"Deal."
She'd asked you three days later, standing in your kitchen with a ladle she'd bought you. You'd given her the same answer. She'd kissed you holding the ladle and you'd both tasted like ginger and garlic and it was the least romantic, most perfect kiss of your life.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now.
Saturday morning. A week and a day. Or a week. You've stopped correcting the math.
The apartment is still warm. You still haven't touched the dial. You're starting to think you never will. It'll just be this way forever. Her last setting. Her last preference. One final argument she won without being here to gloat about it.
You're washing dishes. Her plate from the drying rack. The mug you've been avoiding. Your hands move through warm water and soap and you're fine, you're managing, you're keeping it together until your thumb traces the chip on the mug handle and your chest does that thing again. That cracking. That structural failure in the architecture of you that she used to shore up just by being in the room.
You set the mug down carefully. Both hands on the edge of the sink. Breathe.
Your phone buzzes on the counter. A notification you ignore. Then another. Then nothing.
Then, for no reason you can name, you pick it up. Open her contact. Your thumb finds the voicemail you've been rationing. The one you've been saving like the last match in a dark room.
You press play.
But it's not the voicemail.
It's a voice memo. One you've never heard. Dated three weeks ago, filed under a cloud backup that synced automatically from her phone to yours. She must have recorded it late at night and never sent it, or meant to and forgot, or just needed to say something out loud to someone even if that someone was a microphone in a dark room. It's been sitting in your files this whole time. Waiting.
Your heart does something arrhythmic. You almost laugh. Her heart was the defective one and here yours is, skipping beats at the sound of a file notification.
You press play.
Jinsoul's voice fills the kitchen. Close, like she was holding the phone against her mouth. A little rough. Either just woken up or about to sleep, that liminal register where her voice dropped half an octave and went slightly raspy.
"Okay, I don't even know if I'm gonna send this or if I'm just talking to myself at—" A pause. A small laugh. The sound of her checking the time. "—2 AM apparently. Cool. Very normal behavior, Jinsoul."
You can hear sheets rustling. The faint creak of the bed. She was lying next to you when she recorded this. You were asleep. She was watching you.
"I was watching you sleep just now. Which sounds creepy when I say it out loud but I'm your wife so I think I get a pass." Another pause. Longer this time. When she speaks again the joke is gone from her voice. "You finally looked... peaceful? For the first time in like a week. And I just. I don't know. I wanted to say it out loud because I don't think you hear it enough and you definitely don't say it to yourself, so someone has to, and I guess tonight that someone is me and my phone at 2 AM like a crazy person."
Your grip tightens on the phone. Your knuckles drain white.
"You're a good person. Like, genuinely. You're so good it's kind of annoying sometimes because you don't even see it. You just go and go and go and you beat yourself up for every stumble like the stumble cancels out the entire run and it doesn't. It doesn't, honey. The reason it's so hard right now is because you've been running so hard. For us. For me. And I see that even when you think I don't."
Her voice wavers. Not much. Just a hairline fracture in the steadiness, the kind only you would catch because you've spent years learning the micro-expressions of her voice the way other people learn instruments.
"And I know you can't trick anyone. Can't bullshit your way through stuff. You're too honest for that. Too kind. You're the kind of person who's so good they can't even hide it and I—" A breath. Shaky. She's crying, you realize. She was lying next to you in the dark, crying quietly into her phone, and you were asleep. You were right there and you were asleep. "—I know that better than anyone alive."
A sniffle. Then the sound of her breathing, deliberate and slow, steadying herself the way she always did. In through the nose, out through the mouth, the technique some doctor taught her years ago for when her heart rate climbed too high.
"So. Yeah. I just wanted to tell you. In case I forget to say it tomorrow or the day after or however long it takes for you to stop being so weird about the work thing." A wet laugh. "I'm right here. I'm always gonna be right here. Beside you. I'll always stay beside you. No matter what dumb thing you did at work or how many lunches you skipped or how many times you try to carry everything by yourself like it's a one-man job when it's not. It's a two-person job. That's literally what the rings mean."
A long silence. You can hear her breathing. The clock on the wall. The distant hum of the city through the window.
"I love you, honey. Go to sleep. And eat your damn breakfast tomorrow."
The recording ends.
The kitchen is silent. The kind of silent that has weight, that presses against your eardrums, that fills the space where her voice was with nothing.
You stand with the phone pressed to your ear long after the audio dies. Listening to the static hiss. The ghost frequency. The nothing that sounds like nothing and everything.
You play it again.
And again.
And one more time because her voice is warm and close and alive in a way that contradicts everything you know to be true and for two minutes and thirty-seven seconds you can pretend. You can stand in this kitchen and let her talk to you from three weeks ago like she's still in the next room. Like she's just around the corner. Like she's about to walk in and catch you being dramatic and flick your ear and tell you to put the phone down and eat something.
Then the recording ends. Again. And the kitchen is silent. Again. And she's gone. Still.
You put the phone on the counter.
You look at the mug with the chipped handle and the whale that looks like a potato. You look at the thermostat set three degrees higher than you'd choose. You look at the chair where she sat a week ago with love in her eyes and fury in her fists, demanding you stop hiding from the one person who never wanted you to perform.
She was right about everything. The running. The carrying. The stubborn, lonely machinery of trying to do it alone.
But she was wrong about one thing.
She'd promised. Right here, beside you, always. And she meant it. God, she meant it more than anyone has ever meant anything. She was right there. In the bed, breathing, heart beating its stubborn rhythm, warm against your side.
Shoutout to @a-casual-kpopfan for making me a Jinsoul simp.
Note: This is a work of fiction. Don't drunk drive. Call a cab.
Alcohol in an old plastic cup wasn’t the best, it didn’t taste good, and you would have surely preferred a fruit juice, but nobody at this party drank it for the taste anyway. You kept on drinking, tilting your head back to get the last drops out of your red cup. You tried not to drink too much and be responsible but looking around, you couldn’t see any water at all so you swallowed the rest of your beer-flavored saliva.
You leaned against the wall and scanned the room for the 10th time this night. You didn’t know whose house this was. You only knew it was a house. You weren’t the type of person to come to parties but when Jinsoul begged you to go with those puppy eyes, you couldn’t resist and left without asking many questions. You didn’t even change your clothes after your part-time and just hopped in your car with your very excited best friend and drove off.
The music was too loud in your ears, the drums hit in your chest and the bass vibrated throughout all your body. The lights were low so you couldn’t avoid stepping on every kind of litter on the floor, sometimes even people. Everyone kept bumping into you while they were dancing, pushing you left and right.
You kept walking straight through the herd of dancers until a girl bumped you harder than anyone else and looked you in the eyes. To your surprise, it was Jinsoul, with shaky legs and a half-filled cup.
“Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you,” she mumbled. Jinsould held onto one of your hands and with a yelp started moving wildly around you, taking you around the room. She reeked of alcohol, and so you did, but you knew for a fact she drank almost five times as much.
“You’re making me dizzy, stop it,” you complained, holding onto her shoulder to not fall into some stranger.
“Man, you gotta relax a little, you’re too stiff,” she laughed and started jumping around as if the music seeped into her veins, her hair bouncing into your face and arms at every movement. Blinded and deafened, you were at the mercy of Jinsoul.
“No, you’re too loose… Stop it, please.”
You didn’t know for how long you stayed in the house, there wasn’t a clock but it had gotten dark. It was starting to feel way too cramped in that place, a lot more guests arrived and you desperately needed fresh air.
When Jinsoul’s energy ended, she slumped on you. Your best friend’s body was like a bag of potatoes, she couldn’t stand straight anymore and was all over you. “Where have you been?” Jinsoul murmured into your shoulder.
“I was telling Chuu not to jump into the pool.”
“Huh? Oh, why did you have to keep,” she hiccups, “Chuu from jumping into the pool?”
“Because we're on the second floor.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. Chuu must be really drunk.”
“Just as much as you are,” you sighed.
“What, me? No, I'm not drunk. You know me. I don't drink. I always have one glass of wine for New Year's and Christmas and stuff. And sometimes I have a beer when people tell me that we should all have a beer like soccer and barbecue, you know, beer-drinking activities. But aside from that, I do not drink. And that's why I am not drunk.”
“What about all the cups you had before? I saw you,” you said and her eyes shot quickly to you, she rolled her lips in a displeased frown and shrugged her shoulders, “Oh yeah that.”
Jinsoul leaned back onto the wall, her eyes nothing but black orbs in that dark room as she looked around up and down. “Oh yeah, I had a couple of drinks. These guys here keep pushing drinks on me,” she started and you couldn’t help but feel a weird feeling creeping up your neck.
“They were trying to get you drunk, huh? What a bunch of creeps.”
“What? No no no no no no. Those people are really nice. They keep handing me drinks. I think they really like me,” Jinsoul gushed in an incoherent ball of words. “We're friends now. I want to follow them on Twitter but I can't unlock my phone because my phone is on the password doesn't work.”
“Did you forget your password?” you asked. When Jinsoul gets drunk, she becomes a mess. She doesn’t stop talking and can’t even tell numbers apart. Being her best friend for so long, you have already seen this scenario multiple times.
“What? No. I never forget my password. My password is your name and your birthday and I wouldn't forget your birthday no matter how drunk you are or if I am or both. I would remember your birthday because I bought you that game that you keep gushing about that isn't out yet. I wasn't quite sure whether I should buy it for you because I was worried you might spend more time on it than hanging out with me but you seem like you really wanted it so I bought it for you. And well I didn't want to tell you that. There was some really important reason not to tell you but I can't really remember it right now…”
You raised an eyebrow. You didn’t know if you should have been surprised or confused, because you didn’t really believe what she was saying. Anyhow, it was clear how wasted Jinsoul was, and being her ride, you understood it was the time to get her out of here, now that she could still walk or try to.
“Well never mind I'm sure it will come back to me eventually…” she kept speaking as you pulled her arm. “Hey where are we going?” she whined, trying to pull the other way.
“To my car, Jinsoul.”
“Why? Why do you want to drive me home?”
“Yeah, that’s why.”
“Do you want to come to my apartment so you can like be alone with me?” Jinsoul smirked.
“Let’s say it’s like that,” you said. You didn’t want to talk any further as her head was completely empty now. Who knew where she was getting with that, her imagination was always wild.
“I knew it!” she screamed. Fortunately noobody seemed to notice her in the midst of the loud music so you were spared from the embarrassment you have to usually endure when you were out with her. “knew that, I totally knew that,” she said again then dramatically waved in the air, spinning around, “Bye everybody!”
“I'm going to go home with my best friend. He's my um... D-dissed... disem... demated... demated driver and isn't he so cute?”
“It’s designated driver,” you corrected her. “Let’s go now.”
“Hey! Not so hasty. I didn't even finish my drink.”
“Come on, do it quickly.”
“Okay fine. Just let me finish it okay? Mmm... yeah.” She chugged all her drink down, groaning in satisfaction, then some quick steps followed before she fell again. You quickly raised your arm to catch her and step back to stand upright. Jinsoul’s body was drooping all over you.
“Oh I feel dizzy,” she tried to say. “If you want some advice, don't mix rum with tequila. We put something in that rum that doesn't go with tequila like at all. Hmm... Why are you hugging me?”
“I’m not hugging you, I’m preventing you from breaking your damn head.”
“I mean I'm not complaining,” she muttered under her breath as if she didn’t hear anything of what you said. “I always love it when you hug me but…”
She tried to stand up and move away from you. You kept telling her she wasn’t okay but she didn’t want to hear you. Jinsoul stood up, putting her arms out to show you that she was just fine, then her legs wobbled and she fell onto you once again.
“Okay okay okay okay okay seriously obviously I can't. Maybe you should hug me again. Thank you.”
You were feeling weird from being this close to her. Maybe because you liked her. No maybe, that was why. You looked at her eyes, totally relaxed and sleepy. Jinsoul smiled, like the dork she was, and got closer to you, almost bumping your noses.
“Did I ever tell you that your eyes are like really pretty this close up?” she whispered. Her voice was warm and sultry—her charms were starting to have an effect on you. Those were the times when you must not listen to your head at all, telling you to kiss her. But that wouldn’t be right and you knew it.
Jinsoul closed her eyes for a brief moment so she could take a breath and raise her chin even closer to you. You shivered. “Are you falling asleep?” you said.
“Huh? What? No! Who is falling asleep? I closed my eyes because it was romantic. I was leaning in for a kiss but you missed your cue when you just left me hanging here with my eyes closed. So this is totally your fault,” she blurted out all at once.
“What did just you say?”
“Yeah, for a kiss. We are at a party. We are hugging and I'm looking into your eyes. Therefore, kiss.”
“You’re saying dumb stuff, shut up, let’s go home,” you said and tried to move but Jinsoul clinched your arm. You were really holding back here. Jinsoul was making this way too hard for you, you might kiss her for real if she kept that up.
“No, I don't want to go home,” she insisted. “We haven't kissed yet. Here, let's try it again,” Jinsoul said and closed her eyes, pecking her lips. You didn’t do anything. “Hey, you missed your cue again. Seriously, honey, I am drunk and I know how kissing works. You must need a refresher course or something.”
“As if you know how to kiss.”
“Huh? Yeah, I kiss. You never kiss me even though I want you to.”
“W-what did you just say? Did—how am I supposed to know?!”
“Okay. Well, maybe that's because I never tell you that I want you to because... Well, there was a reason. I'm pretty sure of that but... What was it again? I didn't want you to know that I always think about kissing you that... But why didn't I want you to know that? Anyway, can you kiss me now? Come on.”
“No.”
“Hey, why not?” You could feel her shuffling closer to you, even more than she already was, and the warmth of the blossoming feeling in your heart that was burning more than any alcohol you have drunk that night. Jinsoul traced her fingers, against your chest, ignoring the crowded room and you fell into the wall.
She didn’t push you, your legs just got weak.
“You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re doing,” you stuttered. “You can’t give consent in this state.”
“No, I totally am able to give contempt.”
“No, Jinsoul, you’re drunk, you aren’t thinking straight.”
“I am totally able to say I want this. I am. You're just not kissing me because I'm drunk. You're drunkphobic,” Jinsoul started speaking. She was rambling in the most silly of ways but, in the midst of the crowd, you could only look at her eyes glistening with the rotating colorful lights. “You are totally discriminating against me. And that's against the constant, oh, it's against my rights.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t.”
“All right. Okay. Will you at least kiss me when I'm sober again?”
“Only if you brush your teeth first. You smell of alcohol.”
“Well, of course, okay, yeah. Um, so that's a yes then. Yay. I love you. Hey, do you know something that will sober me up faster?”
“Stop drinking.”
“Oh, so we're like a doctor now, are we? Come on, can I at least have a hug? Yeah, so wet I grabbed your butt. I always wanted to. Whenever I see it, and I haven't yet because there really isn't a good reason to just do it. But the heck, I can't remember it right now, like why I wouldn't. So, I believe it was probably the same reason why I never tell you that I want to kiss you or that I'm in love with you.”
“You’re in love with… me?”
“Hmm? Yeah, I'm in love with you silly. Why did it take you this long to figure that out? I mean, what was I supposed to do?”
“Tell me?”
“Silly, I couldn't tell you. Because if I had told you then you would have known and that... Actually, now that I think about it, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Sorry, sober me is kind of stupid, apparently. Can I have another iced tea? Hey, what are you staring at? Keep your hands off, he's mine.”
“They aren’t staring at you, but at me. Chill.”
“What? She was staring at you? You're mine. People are always staring at you and talking to you and flirting with you and you always... Oh my god, it always... it always gets me super angry and I can't say anything because I have to keep it a secret for some reason, but like I can't really remember which one right now, so…”
“Come on,” Jinsoul puckered her lips again. “Give me a kiss so they can see that you're taken.”
“No,” you snatched back at her, ignoring how her words tugged at your heartstrings. It was insane how she made your heart pound even while she was this blubbering drunk mess.
“Dang. What was I talking about? Oh yeah. You wanted to drive me home, right? Your home or my home? Because I'm fine with either.”
“Your home,” you said a bit harsher.
“Okay, my home… I don't think I have anything to drink at home.”
“That’s good news.”
“You know, like just water and stuff, but I do have snacks. Ooh, can we cuddle when we get there? Or do you just want to like put me to bed?”
You think carefully. It was just cuddling, right? Nothing bad. It wasn’t like you would have taken advantage of your best friend, if anything you were there to take care of her and help her fall asleep faster. The offer sounded very appealing, but no. “I just want to bring you home so you can sleep.”
“Oh, you do. Oh, now we're coming on strong. Not too shabby for someone who didn't know how to kiss a minute ago. I like it,” Jinsoul exclaimed, pointing a finger at you as if she shot you with Cupid’s arrow and winked.
You sighed happily. “No, you have to sleep, Jinsoul.”
“What? No, I don't need to sleep. Hey, you can take it slow if you want like cuddle. Don't you like me?” Jinsoul moved her head down, seemingly pouting at you. The alcohol amplified her feelings by 1000% and suddenly she got emotional and teary-eyed. She spoke softly and looked at you even softer. You felt her pulling you a bit and noticed her hand on your sleeve.
“I went to this stupid party because I wanted you to have fun and I'm always super nice to you and I always look you in your eyes and play with your hair and bite my lip because just because that would make you fall in love with me and now you tell me that it didn't work?”
Her words bounced off of you at first and you didn’t notice what she was saying, assuming she was just rambling mindlessly. But then you stopped walking and thought about what she said for a moment. It was on purpose? So you weren’t just going crazy, it was her! So many days, you spent going insane over her—one day she’d be your usual dorky friend, and the next, she’d look insanely hot and irresistible. Yes, she did have a very funny personality but she was a lady and her hips didn’t lie.
With your heart almost beating out of your chest, you leaned down and looked at Jinsoul in the eyes. She was still grumpy and wrinkled her nose to look angry. But she was cute.
“No, I think it worked,” you managed to say. Then you let out a breathy chuckle, squishing her cheeks with both your hands and forcing her eyes not to look anywhere else. “Jinsoul, of course, it worked, you’re such a pretty and funny girl, there’s no way I wouldn’t have fallen for you.”
“Huh? Wait. So, do you like me?” Jinsoul let her teeth brush her bottom lip as her mouth slowly opened on its own and she stared at you with wide eyes, her hair falling down to her shoulders, enchantingly so.
“Yeah.” You told her, with the softness of someone that knew had to say it at least 100 more times. You nodded your head and Jinsoul smiled.
“Yay, I knew it,” she cheered. “Come here,” she blurted and grabbed your face, brushing her nose with yours. Your mind started to run wild—you didn’t have anywhere to go, your hands were on her face and so were hers on yours. But then she stopped. “Oh, oh wait, wait, um, sorry. I have to wait till I'm sober again, right?”
She let go of your face and you let out a sigh of relief. “So that means like we could kiss tomorrow morning, right?” Those small words were filled with hope and desperation.
“No, you’ll be hangover.”
“No, what? I'm not gonna hang over. I never have.”
“You always do.”
“Oh. Well, will you be there to protect me?” She sulked.
“Yeah, fine,” you laugh. Of course, you’d be there for her, like you always had.
“Yay. I don't mind if I get a hangover as long as you're there to snuggle me. And did you have snacks at home? It's gonna be awesome. You know what, we don't need this stupid party. Come on. Let's get going.”
You pulled Jinsoul from the kitchen to the hallway, trying your best not to let her fall into anyone. On her way out, she would wave at anyone she met before and scream about how happy she was. When you got to the door, you noticed the little step and didn’t stumble on it—you were sober enough—but Jinsoul didn’t and she tripped into you.
You caught her full weight and stumbled back. Jinsoul leaned in close, her breath slightly sweet with the lingering scent of alcohol, and her eyes glistening with mischief.
"Darling, look at you, you’re so eager to hold me already,” she said playfully. “Why didn't you tell me you were such a handsome devil?"
You sighed and pushed her back upright.
"Thanks, Jinsoul. Now let's get you home before you start flirting with everyone."
“What are you saying?! I’m only doing this with you!”
“Whatever you say.” You try to get Jinsoul back on track but she stumbles again, holding you by the neck, her face dangerously close to yours. She hiccups and shakes her head in pain. A moment of thought and you realize she wasn’t putting up a show but was really unable to walk. You have no other option but to drag her to the car yourself.
You walked arm in arm, Jinsoul's head occasionally resting on your shoulder as she giggled and flirted with you along the way. Jinsoul looked like she was dreaming, continuously spewing nonsense. It was a long walk to the car, doing your best not to look tired because Jinsoul would get offended if you gave her any hint of her being heavy.
Once you reached your car, you put Jinsoul down inside the back door and she climbed into the backseat. With a loud sigh, you finally get at the driving wheel and take your breath. With your hands on the wheel, you tap your fingers, trying to gain back all your sanity to not crash your car.
"You're the best, you know that?" Jinsoul whines while slumping down.
“I'm just doing what any good friend would do."
"No, really, you're my hero tonight. My knight in shining armor!" she screamed. “Also, you said you’d be my boyfriend… we confessed to each other!”
“Alright, alright,” you ignored her words and started driving.
Arriving at her apartment complex, you helped her out of the car and walked up to her unit together. Jinsoul clung to your arm, you could feel the warmth of her body and how soft it was. Your cheeks heated up and your heart was racing. She knew perfectly what she was doing and was nowhere near stopping.
"You know, you could stay the night with me. We could have so much fun!" Jinsoul said with a wide grin.
"Jinsoul, you need to rest. I'll stay until you fall asleep, but that's it."
Once inside, you managed to convince her to sit down on the couch while you fetched a glass of water from the kitchen. Jinsoul finally calmed down, she was too tired at this point, and she continued to watch you from afar. You handed her the glass of water, and she took a few sips. You stayed with her, chatting about random topics to keep her mind occupied.
After some time, Jinsoul's eyelids grew heavy, and her flirtatious energy began to wane. She yawned and snuggled up on the couch, looking more and more adorable. She slipped on your lap and her arms fell to the floor. You let out a chuckle but didn’t move, instead, you caressed her hair, looking at her beautiful face. You took some time to properly observe her beauty because, after all, you deserved it.
“Honey, I’m so tired…” Jinsoul whined.
“I know, I know, you have to sleep now.”
“You know I really need something—someone—to hug…” she said while eyeing you, “It’s not going to be anything bad I swear. I just need some comfortable hugging partner so I can fall asleep better, what do you say?”
“Uhhh…”
“Will you refuse?”
“I…”
-The next day-
You wake up on your own, your head is still pounding lightly and your body is extremely tired. You look at the ceiling: it’s of an unfamiliar color. You try to get up but something is holding you down. Your first instinct is to look down and you see a leg, then you move your eyes closer and see an arm. You turn around and see the culprit, Jinsoul.
There, beside you lies a sleeping Jinsoul, wearing a cute pajama, and a cute headband. She shuffles lightly and snuggles closers, stroking her face to your shoulder, letting out incomprehensible noises.
“Five more minutes, honey, you’re so warm,” she says with a sultry voice.
Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of illegal activities consistent with Mafia AUs.
Word Count: 2.1k
Genre: Fluff
Premise: Years had been shared between the two of you, long before she ran The Akira Slide, she was your car thief best friend. Long before the legend of Strider echoed through Tiger Clan halls, you were her awkward best friend.
Even on the roughest days, you'd be there for her.
It’s not often you find yourself dragged into the orbit of Jinsoul, at least not like this. Her gaze lingers over you with a drunken haziness. There’s the briefest glimmer of a smile, a joy so bright it competes with the blinding casino lights.
You slump into the chair opposite her with a tired yawn. Was this how she felt being at your beck and call at every hour of the day or night.
“Does Lippie know you’re here?”
The question almost feels like an afterthought to her, responsibilities were nothing but a foreign concept to her alcohol addled brain.
She twists slightly under your gaze, “hm? I told her I had clan business to take care of.”
Her gaze lingers over the casino, the other patrons knew better than to sneak more than cursory glances at the two of you.
“Aren’t you gonna drink?”
You scoff, “and who would drive you home?”
Her jaw hangs open for the slightest moment, surprise etched into knotted eyebrows. A giggle trembles across her soft lips, a pointed thumb to the back rooms. "Rebel said I could crash here."
You roll your eyes, "what about your car?"
"It'll be fine, plus I can always start a new project…" Her eyes twist over you, like a shade of colour in a monochrome world.
It's a brief soft moment, wordless and drifting. You don't usually feel vulnerable or out of place but underneath the heat of her gaze it's impossible.
Her eyes whisper like gentle fingers over each bump, each scratch and bruise.
You were fine… You were always fine. Still, your suit was off kilter, messy and unprofessional.
Unbecoming.
You'd lost your tie in the midst of a struggle, an improvised weapon for a messy time.
Better than the time you had to use a shoelace… or a straw for that matter.
"What about your car?"
Suddenly everything feels normal again and there's a stone wall between the two of you. A smile bristles across your teeth. "At home, where else?"
Her brow weighs heavy, lost in the touch of your words, "so you walked from?"
"Construction site down on southside… One thing lead to another and I'm here."
That was a simple way to put it, she didn't need to hear about you playing magical cars.
Or being implicated in a kidnapping attempt.
Or having to settle a debt with the Han Mafia.
Or having to fight Black Family.
There is something slightly off kilter about her gaze, worn away by the abrasiveness of recent days. Still there's an almost ephemeral, haunting edge that lingers on the tip of your tongue.
You can't quite place what it means, but it's almost a misplaced worry.
There's a hesitance that bounces in her fingertips, as they dance ever close to your face.
So close, yet so far out of reach.
A gloved hand grips at her wrist, your gloved hand. You tug her tender reach away with a reaffirming squeeze, mustering the best smile you can.
Bruised and bloodied.
"I'm fine, really I am."
Only now do you feel the weary edge in your bones, heavy with the weight of sin. Still you hold her on your back, despite every complaint your muscles make and the rain that drips down your face, creeping into every fiber of your dress shirt.
Your blazer a haphazard attempt at shielding her from the worst of it.
Despite the chilling cool breeze of the night air and the encroaching dampness that pervades your clothes, there's a blazing unabating heat that sparks every nerve in your body.
Your skin bristles as she nuzzles deeper into you, her soft lips whisper across the bare skin of your neck like the honey soaked kisses of a lover.
Her hands snake into your dress shirt, dancing just shy of your collarbone in a desperate plea for warmth or grip.
Regardless, your heart chokes and sputters under her electrifying touch, your mind dances coyly with thoughts un-had; better left un-had.
You fight through every fibre of your aching tired flesh, slowly hauling the two of you up your stairs. The garage is almost an afterthought as her lips whisper over your neck again.
A drunken hazy murmur.
"When did you get so strong Stride?"
A smirk-lined huff parts your lips, "probably, after the second body I had to clean up?"
She nuzzles once again, the conversation makes it easier to focus, to ignore the sparks that fly at every caress.
Still, you can't help but feel a frown pressed against your skin, an imprint of her lips.
You pause in your strides, your muscles ache less than the worry that weighs against you.
"Sorry."
"It's alright… I just realised you've changed a lot."
You haul her through your front door, dancing across wooden floorboards with a practised ease; avoiding every creaky board. Still your keys bang lightly against each other, as you do your best to shift them back into your pocket.
A delicate dance to avoid waking the living embodiment of chaos that was your dog; Doki the ever loveable rascal was an added weight of responsibility you didn’t need in this delicate moment.
Still, you pause as she slips ever so slightly, an aching groan of your biceps pulls her back into place.
"For the better I hope?"
"Mm, yeah yeah of course," Despite her positive words, there's a disheartened weight to her words, melancholic and dry.
You slowly shift her weight off your back, placing her on your couch, a dull singular lamp light barely fights against the dark.
There's an anxious pace to her eyes, as a frown paints its way across her lips. Only now, do you feel the void of air against your neck.
You crouch down next to her, holding her gaze at eye level.
"What's up?"
"I-..." Her lips purse. "I miss how we used to be… Before all the mess."
"You mean before having to deal with Weaver and his lot?"
The experience had affected you both differently, unsavory methods were your bread and butter after all.
"Before Doki,” her features twitch, like each syllable is painful, “that's when you started changing."
Your features twitch and knit together begging for an elaboration.
There's a decadence to behold in her hesitation. Unspoken words whisper at the edge of her lips just out of reach. Her eyes linger against yours twisting with turmoil.
She releases a held breath.
"Do you remember the nickname JK gave us when we first started?"
You fail to see the relevance, yet you can see the waxing nostalgia that practically oozes from her lips.
"You were Carrot and I was Stick," you stretch your neck to the side. "Why?"
It was lame, yet paradoxically cool.
"We used to get paired up a lot huh?" there's a lingering reminiscent fog to her tongue, there’s a strange beauty to her caught in the basking flare of light.
It was rare for her to not say what she thought.
"Well, yeah." It's as obvious as day to you. "Social situations aren't my strong suit, even Rose knows that."
"Aggressive negotiations are far from mine," there’s the slight quirk of a frown that tugs at the edge of her lips. "How is Rosie anyway?"
A smirk lines your lips even as your eyes roll.
"Annoying as ever, she keeps inviting me to social events to help me meet people."
You can't help but notice the way her grip tightens against a cushion, with an almost desperate strength to fight against escaping sand.
A weird phenomena for sure, like an imposter that had taken the place of your best friend.
She melts slightly under your narrowing gaze, perhaps she had more to drink than you thought?
“You have gotten more sociable lately.”
Her words almost feel wrong and unnatural, a foreign biting edge. You tilt your head to the side, trying to piece together what the hell was up with her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
A deepening frown burns across her lips, a gust of wind in the form of a sigh, stressed and tensed like years of weight finally made apparent, it rattles against your bones.
“You used to need me.”
You’d been through a lot in your years together in the clan, clashing blades, howling explosions and echoing bullets.
3am joyrides in a stolen car, laughter on the edge of her lips even as some bangs against the boot.
Nothing cuts or bites as deep as the twisted scorn and pain in her words. Your gloved hands grip at her calloused hands. A heart palpitating tension chokes at your core.
“Soul, you’re my best friend… I always need you.”
Even as the frown remains painted on her lips, you catch the slightest bloom of relief. Still, you realise you don’t hangout like you used to.
You adjust yourself, pulling yourself close to her even as she takes up all the couch. Your legs breathe a sigh of relief as you stretch, you lay your arm on her side brushing her bicep with a reassuring thumb.
She bristles slightly at your touch, even if the silence hangs in the air for what feels like centuries… It's comfortable.
“So… meet anyone lately?”
Her eyes roll with an annoyed smile, “who are you Rosie?”
Your hand clutches at your chest with an exaggerated grimace, "Hey now, I remember distinctly consoling someone whenever they had problems with their love life."
Tubs of ice cream and liquor had dotted your shared youth, lingering into the eves of young adulthood.
She bites back a smile, another roll of her eyes. "I somehow remember scoring a date for my absolute loser of a friend with a certain wonderful lawyer."
And she's been a wonderful asset ever since, even if a prickly thorn of curiosity when it comes to your love life.
Someone would think you and Rose had never been lovers before.
A laugh parts through your lips, a twisting jubilance gnashes at your teeth. “Your friend sounds like a catch.”
There’s the tiniest wiggle of her finger, tutting and taunting “I’m a catch.”
It’s almost habitual the way your hand interlocks against hers, a refusal. A cocky smirk lines your teeth, dances across your lips as you roll your eyes.
“Yeah, sure you are chief.”
She pulls you closer with an annoyed grimace, a tight knit dance you’re unable to avoid, your muscles ache as you try to fight back. You catch the glimmer of her competitive edge glistening in her eyes, as you roll through a slow back and forth.
A smile tugs at your lips as your fingers crest her side, eliciting a barely hidden giggle as you tickle deep into her side.
A swift kick to your shoulder is your just reward as you crumple and roll, pulling your would-be assailant with you. Air echoes and sails from your chest as she lands on you with a thud.
Laughter bounces from her lips as a groan escapes yours. Her alcohol stained breath tickles your nose with ribbed jubilance, her hand still clutched, intertwined with yours.
Her eyes linger against yours, a flash of surprise or perhaps even realisation as she inches closer, like she’s counting every individual eyelash, you can almost count each individual fleck of stardust lost in her eyes.
You hear the slightest creak of the floorboards, your senses honed to a razor-sharp edge. Yet they fade into nothingness as you hang on to every word.
There’s a hesitation, an anxiety that quivers on the edge of her lips as her lips purse.
“I know this might be dumb considering we’ve been friends for longer than I can remember…” her eyes narrow against yours, each beautiful individual fleck bounces with trepidation, gone was the hardened criminal, reduced to nothing but a hushed whisper.
The air is electric under her touch, as you hang on her silence, curiosity clawing at your chest and into your heart.
“How come we never gave it a shot?”
You pop a smirk like you’d cock a gun or sharpen a knife, razor-sharp and witty. You lean dangerously close, a whisper away from her own features.
You fight desperately against a nervous dry gulp.
“Simple, you never asked.”
She devours you the moment the words leave your lips, leaving no moments for hesitation as her lips meld against yours. Your hands rake through her hair as you pull, tugging her closer with a hungry edge.
It burns deep like a ravenous forest fire as her teeth bite against your bottom, searing her smile into every inch. The taste of honeyed sweet alcohol lingers on every inch of her lips, even if you could somehow get drunk off of her taste.
The remnants of a two-hour rain was enveloping your whole entire body. You loved it, yes, but it was taking a toll on you as well.
Damnit, why am I so sensitive to the fucking cold?
A thick blue blanket and a body pillow was your best friend, giving you a sense of warmth. This was unfortunately useless as you were still shivering under your blanket.
What time is it? I’m too lazy to get up…
Move your limbs around. Still cold. Curl up into a ball with your knees close to your chest. Nope, didn’t work. Cover your head with some pillows. Nothing.
All you wanted was a good sleep. Two long classes and a half day work shift have really worn you out. When you got back home, the sun was already on the other side of the world. Your drowsiness continues as you make yourself comfortable, even in the shower. Thank the heavens that you still had the energy to drag yourself into bed rather than sleeping on the wet tile floor.
Until mother nature decided to fuck with you and forced you to stay awake because of your weakness to the cold.
Guess I’ll just stay here and wait for my eyes to magically close.
Empty thoughts run through your head as time goes by. Because of the silence of your room, you feel like you could listen to everything perfectly—your breathing, your heartbeat and a faint sound of footsteps.
Wait, footsteps?
Before you knew it, the door to your bedroom was opened by someone. Your head pops out of the blanket, instantly remembering who was the only person who can get into your apartment so easily.
Jung Jinsol.
"Jinsol? W-Why are you here?" you asked as Jinsol closed the door behind her.
She looks at you with a confused face. “Why can't I? I got a few free days."
Almost immediately, she jumps onto your bed and joins you under the blanket. Still hugging onto your body pillow tightly, you move closer and face her on your left. Jinsol softly smiles at your actions.
"Someone's cold."
"W-Well, it can't be h-helped. Brr. Aren't y-you cold?"
"A bit. Went on a date with Yerim before practice, so I was breaking some sweat."
"Oh…"
"Long day?"
"Yeah, h-had two classes and w-work today. Brr."
It then went quiet for a while. You hug your body pillow tighter, face buried in it while Jinsol admires you secretly. Letting out a sigh, she suddenly gets closer to your body and takes away the pillow that you're hugging.
"Hey—"
Jinsol brought you into a tight hug, wrapping her arms on your neck and resting her head on your shoulder. Your eyes widened at the sudden act but eventually, you eased in by putting your hands on her waist.
"Still cold?"
"Yeah. Even more now." you teased, earning a gentle punch on your back. "Ow! Okay sorry sorry!"
"Meanie."
"Joking. It feels better now."
Satisfied at your answer, Jinsol deepens the hug, both of your chests were closer than ever. One of her legs then moves over to rest on your hips, locking herself to your body. Usually all of this would make your loins burn with a lustful desire. But it seems that you had no horny thoughts at all, given by how warm and comfortable your girlfriend feels in your arms.
"Babe." She called.
"Hm?"
"Look at me."
Both of you move your head back at the same time to face each other. Her eager gaze instantly tells you everything she wanted—a kiss. She didn't give you enough time to prepare yourself as she initiated the kiss with no hesitation.
Soft yet passionate, sweet yet strong, soothing yet vehement. That is how you would describe Jinsol's kiss. There was no feeling of lust and no tongue flicking action. It was just pure love for one another.
A few minutes passes by until Jinsol finally ends the kiss. She then lays her head on your chest, turning it into her pillow. You watch her intently.
"Please, stay with me."
You smile. The hug tightens.
"Always."
In this world full of zero, I have found warmth, that is you.
===========================================
a/n; was feeling fluffy today, so i wrote this in an hour before class. also a mechanism for me to stop the horny thoughts because of no nut november lol. but yeah, hope you enjoyed this one, even though it is heavily unedited. thanks for reading and i always appreciate all the support. <3
7. we always used to have sleepovers as children, why would it be weird now? [with jinsoul]
➢ word count: 2.1k
➢ 💌; fluff
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。• ..・。.・゜✭・. ° • .
complaining on the phone about your shitty partner with your best friend, you were stomping over to her house right at that moment. "i can't believe they treated me like that" you yelled in disbelief, still not quite processing that they would act like an asshole to you. you! their s/o! earning a few confused glances by poor random people trying to enjoy their day as you were screaming like a maniac, therefore preventing them from doing so, you bowed to some of them apologetically and tried to relax.
"thank you for letting me stay at your place" you said after taking breath to calm down, "are you sure it's not a bother?"
"absolutely not, never say something like that again" jinsoul hurried to reply on the other side of the phone call, and you wished you could have seen the way her eyes widened at your nonsense and the way she grabbed her phone with both hands to put it even closer to her mouth to make it clear that she would do anything for you. you just had to ask.
"alright alright" you giggled at her little "mpfh" and kept walking, her house finally coming into view and your legs automatically started moving faster towards your destination. "i'm basically here, open the door" you announced before hanging up the call.
showing up at the front door, you hugged your dark haired friend and thanked her once again for allowing you to spend some time at her place, not in the right mindset to confront your partner just yet after the big fight you had.
"sooo... any snacks?" jinsoul suggested after setting your coat on the hanger by the front door and walking into the kitchen. "i have your favorites~" she then added, excited and tempting expression on her face, throwing the little bag of chips she had just got from one of the many cabinets in your direction -as you couldn't pass on the offer-, sighing contently while opening said bag.
"were you doing anything in particular before i called you?" you questioned her, resting your elbows on the kitchen counter, upper body leaning slightly forward. she joined you at your spot, lower back pressed against the counter and one hand making its way to your own, grabbing a chip from you and throwing it into her mouth, her hands slapping against each other to get rid of the salt residue on her fingers.
"not really" she replied while munching, "i'm glad you called me, i was getting bored" she admitted, winking down at you as your eyes were focusing looking upwards at her. you blinked at the interaction and straightened up, your gaze following her, now moving into the living room.
"movie?" she suggested, raising her voice just a tad higher to ensure you could hear her. "i don't really feel like watching a movie" you whined like a child, leaning against the door frame, still chomping on the last few chips. earning a low chuckle from jinsoul, you watched as her expression changed into one of concentration, most likely wondering about what you could do to pass time.
looking into the tiny snack bag, you pouted at it being empty and moved back into the kitchen to throw it into the trash.
"we could... play some card games?". her suggestion caused you to bring your attention back to her, peeking your head into the living room and making eye contact with her. "cards? really?" you asked with an amused expression on your face, raising one eyebrow.
she semi yelled out of frustration, "then you suggest something!" she let out, walking past you to probably head towards her room. "no no" you stopped her by grabbing her arm, suppressing a giggle "cards are fine".
she scoffed and still kept walking towards her room "i have them upstairs, follow me" she instructed you, leading the way.
“love your room” you commented as soon as you walked inside, her signature smell filling the air in the most delicate way possible. “you’ve been here before already” she replied whilst rolling her eyes, which you couldn’t see because she was keeling down with her back facing you, but you were 100% sure she did it. and you weren’t wrong.
“i was sure they were here...” she mumbled to herself, sighing over and over, as she was elbows deep in every single one of her drawers, opening one after the other, before exhaling loudly, following it with an annoyed groan. you were watching the whole scene unfold while leaning against the door frame, amused at the way she was staring at a particular spot with a blank expression on her face, most likely trying to remember where she had last seen the lost item.
she stood up from the floor with a huff, her hands dusting away any dirt from her knees, "did i lend them to you?" she wondered, looking up at you, defeated.
"i would have told you by now" you replied as if it was an obvious statement, before letting yourself plop down on the edge of her bed. "probably gave them to jungeun then..." she said mostly to herself, thinking out loud, but you managed to catch that anyway and chuckled at the thought of your mutual friend getting interested in card games, "jungeun?" you asked for confirmation, laughing out loud without waiting for an answer.
she snickered along with you and sat on the bed as well, the mattress slightly sinking because of her weight, which caused you to reopen your eyes and focus your attention on jinsoul. there was mainly silence between you two, but it wasn't uncomfortable or anything, she was dangling her feet off the edge of the bed while looking down at them, a faint smile present on her lips, and you were simply glancing around, smirking at the mess she made on the floor while looking for the cards. comfortable silence, that's how you could explain it. you've spent so much of your lifetime together doing all sort of things, that even being in silence seemed entertaining, as long as it was with her.
"so what do you want to do, then?" her soft voice broke the peace and quiet, and caused you to slowly turn around to face her. you shrugged in response, your eyes dropping low to the red sweatshirt she was wearing. she didn't seem to mind your gaze at all, and she was ready to say something else, but you anticipated her, "red looks good on you". she gave you a confused look before glancing down at her garments. "uhm... thanks?" she responded, grasping the bright colored fabric with her hands.
"what could we do..." you then started mumbling, repeating the same sentence over and over again while walking back and forth in her room; all under the attentive gaze of the black haired girl.
just then your eyes locked with the bed you were just sitting on. "how about a sleepover?" you excitedly suggested, already reminiscing the old days you two had spent talking all night long about any sort of thing, and then sleeping until 2pm because you had barely gotten any rest during the night hours. jinsoul visibly and audibly choked on her own spit, coughing a bit and looking up at you with an unsure expression. "why? is that weird?" you innocently asked as if reading her mind, tilting your head to the side and making eye contact with her, who much to your surprise looked away in a hurry.
"i- it wouldn't be weird" she began stuttering ever so slightly, "it's just..." she continued, her words getting lower and less and less understandable, "i just loaded the washing machine!" she blurted out suddenly as if she had just found the perfect excuse. "the sheets aren't gonna dry in time so i can't prepare the guests' bed for you, i’m sorry" she explained, her hands locking with each other apologetically, looking at you through her eyelashes, hoping you'd let go of the idea.
"well even better!" you exclaimed after thinking about it for a good while, "we can sleep in the same bed, seems big enough" you finished, patting the mattress underneath you and giving her flirty eyes as you mouthed "come here". she gagged at your behavior, making you laugh.
"won't your partner get upset? weren't you supposed to sleep at their place?" jinsoul interrogated you, looking at you with a semi worried expression. "after the way they treated me, no i'm not!" you hurried to reply, your eyes pointed down at your lap, fingers coming down to play with some loose threads on your pants. after a few moments of silence, you heard jinsoul hum, as if she was about to speak but couldn't quite make up her mind about what exactly to say. "it's okay soulie, don't bother trying to make me feel better" you chuckled with clear pain in your eyes, smiling at your friend, who pouted at you, probably pitying you.
"you deserve better" she mumbled, and before you could respond, she grabbed your hands in hers "alright! let's do this damn sleepover, c'mon".
a genuine smile finally appeared on your lips and jinsoul couldn't be prouder. "thought you found the idea weird" you reminded her in a teasing manner as you watched with an amused expression how she was lifting the covers to slid under them. "whatever, i'll get over it. i'll try not to hug you in my sleep" she said back, one hand clutching her chest, eyes closed, sighing dramatically.
she then gestured you to join her.
"jinsoul, it's 6pm" you snickered, but walking towards the other side of the bed nevertheless.
"just a nap then" she shrugged, pulling the covers all the way up to her chin, her dark eyes following your every movement until you had finally joined her in the warmth of her bed, facing her and locking eyes with hers. you kept exchanging looks for a while, your gaze getting lost in jinsoul’s sharp features; you had always thought she was one of the prettiest girl you’d ever met, and couldn’t help but chuckle nervously whenever she was the one complimenting you, because in your eyes little to no people could compare to her. you involuntarily raised one eyebrow, surprising yourself with your own thoughts.
it’s not weird to think she’s pretty.
“you okay?” she softly spoke, probably caught off guard by your puzzled expression all of the sudden, “it looked like you were deep in thoughts” she observed, giggling at the very end, “what were you thinking about?”.
you paused for a good second before replying, once again taking in every single detail of her face, “how pretty you are”.
she bursted out laughing right in your face, struggling to speak while wiping down your cheeks from the little spit droplets that shot out of her mouth. “i’m so sorry” she yelled still in between laughs, trying to catch her breath and hiding her face behind the covers. you were still speechless, but couldn’t suppress a faint smile from blooming on your lips.
a few minutes had passed, and you could feel yourself getting sleepier by the second, still laying on your side facing jinsoul, but this time your eyes were fluttering closed until they were completely shut, while she was now resting on her back, eyes pointed upwards toward the ceiling, still taking quick glances at you every now and then. not that you could notice it anyways. she smiled fondly at your sleeping form, which she could tell by the way your lips gently parted and silent snoring sounds were coming out of it. trying to be as silent as possible, after contemplating her decision for a few seconds, she shifted in her bed to turn around so that she could be face to face with you, her eyes fixated on you the whole time to spot any kind of movement or sign of waking up. once she was situated right the way she wanted, she softly sighed, her breath ever so slightly fanning your face.
“so cute...” she mumbled, her shaky fingers hesitantly brushing some of your bangs away from your eyes. jinsoul frowned at the thought of you being treated like garbage by the same person you called your lover, and it was pissing her off because she knew just how much you deserved the whole world. having known you for most of her life, she was positive she was the one who could treat you like royalty, and no one else. pouting at the possibility of never being able to call you hers, she decided to simply focus and enjoy this moment while it lasted.
daughter of poseidon! jinsoul promising you that she’ll make sure your journey isn’t too bad the night before you have to get your boat.
shushing you as you wait at the ferry terminal and hugging you if you were still nervous.
watching as your eyes widened when you saw the waves breaking as you walked across the top deck, only to feel the boat’s swaying gently settle as soon as she stepped out after you.
guiding your head to rest on her shoulder as the rocking of the boat on the now calm sea lulled you to sleep.
pairing: ravenclaw quidditch player jinsoul x non-ravenclaw quidditch player reader
warnings: some curse words
picture credits: @j3ongguk
you made your way to your girlfriend, jinsoul, who was eating in the great hall of hogwarts, reading the daily news in the process.
as you slide in next to her, despite you not being in the same house, you leave a gently kiss to the side of her cheek, before stealing some food off her plate, which catches her attention.
“hey! go sit at your own table if you‘re going to steal my food.” jinsoul jokes, nudging you on the shoulder, smirking when she sees her ravenclaw quidditch sweater on you.
“that sweater looks good on you, although i think you got the house colors wrong.” jinsoul teased, smiling when you avoided her gaze in embarrassment.
you stole one of her sweaters a few nights before, without her knowing, but you couldn’t help yourself. her sweaters were always so warm and fuzzy, they made you feel safe, they reminded you of home.
“your going to so wish you were a ravenclaw this weekend, because we are going to beat your ass in this match.” jinsoul chuckled, causing you to roll your eyes.
“yeah yeah whatever you say, there’s no way my house isn’t going to take home a win, our couch has been riding our ass day and night. plus, we got some newbies on our team, and their really good.” you boasted, it was true, your house casted some new players, and they were really good. you were excited to finally play with them, and finally play against your lovely girlfriend.
and no matter how soft her sweaters were, you were going to make sure your team won.
