#mimi fics

[sungularly-unwritten]

★ 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑦-𝑢𝑛𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛★

𝙷𝚊𝚒!! 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛 ^^

(𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒, 𝑛𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑡. 𝑃𝑙𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑙 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.)

✦ 𝒩𝒶𝓂ℯ: 𝑀𝑖𝑚𝑖/𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

✦ 𝒫𝓇ℴ𝓃ℴ𝓊𝓃𝓈: 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦/𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑚

✦ 𝒮ℯ𝓍𝓊𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎: 𝐵𝑖

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎:

✦ 𝑃𝑜𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑦

✦ 𝐹𝑖𝑐𝑠

✦ 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛s

✦ 𝑅𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑙𝑖𝑙 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑠

─── ☆ ℒ𝒾𝓀ℯ𝓈

𝐴𝑟𝑡 • 𝑆𝑘𝑧 • 𝑀𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑐 • 𝑇𝑣 𝑆ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑠 • 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 • 𝐼𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑒 • 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔

─── ☆ 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ𝓈

𝑃𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 • 𝐻𝑜𝑡 𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟

─── ☆ 𝒟𝓃𝒾

𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑠

𝐴𝑛𝑡𝑖-𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑠

𝑁𝑒𝑜-𝑁𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑠

𝐻𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑐 𝑜𝑟 𝐵𝑖𝑔𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑝𝑙

-𝐵𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔 𝑖𝑠𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢-

─── ☆ 𝒫ℴ𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓰 𝒮𝒸ℯ𝒹𝓊𝓁ℯ

𝙸𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎 1𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 28 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚖. 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚕 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜

𝙸𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚗, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚔!

𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎:

✦ 𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝

✦ 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚢

✦ 𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝙳𝙽𝙸

─── ☆ ℱℯ𝓌 𝓂ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓰𝓈

✦ 𝑇𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑠

✦ 𝐵𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑝𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔

✦ 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑜𝑘𝑎𝑦! 𝐵𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑

✦ 𝑅𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑!!

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐! ♡

─── ☆ 𝒯𝒶𝓰𝓈

[welovekpopscenarios]

Friction Pt. 3 (Fallout!AU Woozi X Reader)

Admin: Mimi

The truth is revealed.

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Woozi x Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence/death

Word Count: 5152

A/N: gUESS WHOSE LAPTOP FINALLY GOT FIXED AND COULD FINALLY FINISH THE LAST PART OF THIS STORY AFTER NEARLY A YEAR?? THIS GIRL OMG I’m so sorry for the wait and this probably isn’t even that good but taKE IT PLS

 - PART 1 -  - PART 2 -

It was funny how visiting Woozi everyday after work despite your apparent distaste for the mechanic became such a vital part of your day and one you refused to miss.

Well, Jeonghan, Scoups, Hoshi, Jackson (especially Jackson) and virtually everyone else who was privy to the ongoing bitter quarrels between yourself and Woozi found it downright hilarious, which of course meant the entire city obviously knew. And you could honestly say, you weren’t really amused.

Traversing through the clustered city to get to his workshop was full of knowing faces and smirks, the occasional holler from a close friend of his (particularly Hoshi and Seungkwan), and it left you with a face as hot as the torches on the walls and in a slight sour mood once you sat down next Woozi at his workbench and watched him idly tinker away at your rifle.

Not that Woozi noticed much of a shift in your behaviour – quite frankly he was used to your scowls and tight-lipped words. And despite his cheek and quick witted words that caused annoyance to wash over you, he never actually made any real attempt at getting you out of the workshop and away from him anymore.

There was something comforting in watching his slim fingers work their magic – repairing and taking apart, pulling and pushing, it was oddly mesmerising, and you spent more time watching with lidded eyes, resting your head on your arms and stuck in a daze of just Woozi. The man in question simply carried on with his work, his dark eyes occasionally flickering in your direction, lingering a bit too long when he thinks you aren’t looking, and replying when he needs to. He doesn’t ask about why the rifle is so important to you. You don’t tell him either.

And so, your days consist of idle conversation and comfortable silence with the mechanic, and once the strange peace of the workshop has to end and you return to your job at the Dugout Inn, it turns to dodging Jackson’s questions of when you’ll marry Woozi and helping Shownu throw out the occasional rowdy drunk waving his pistol around, all the while ignoring Jeonghan’s sly smirk at your flustered state when someone mentions how Woozi favours you more than half the people in this city.

You elect to ignore the disappointed feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach while you lie down on your squeaky bed when you think about how conversation with Woozi doesn’t really go anywhere. You lie to yourself that that’s a good thing. But the frown on your face says otherwise when you pop another saved cap into your stash, reminding yourself that this is only a business deal, and that once your rifle is finished you’ll be on your merry way fighting for your life in the wasteland and away from everyone in this city.

It’s roughly four and half weeks since you first came to Diamond City when Woozi decides to ask the dreaded question you’ve kept buried under the sand. You had the day off, awarded to you by Jeonghan and Scoups after taking a fist to the face by some old crone when you served her drink and she decided she didn’t like the look of you. With a smile of guilt, you were allowed to spend the day as you liked for your hassle, and it seemed like you would be spending the day in your ratty bed nursing a bruise on your face, muscles pulled taut with the scowl on your face and making the pain even worse. The hag was stronger than she looked.

Instead of subjecting yourself to lying miserably on your mattress, staring at the peeling wallpaper and faded wood, and listening to Jackson pull jokes every two seconds about your face, you grabbed your jacket and headed out to the one place you were guaranteed peace and quiet.

The day was dull – overcast and grey, and there were whispers around the people of a possible incoming radiation storm which had you sighing in annoyance. You’ll be cooped up inside for hours with a mask beside you until it clears.

Without even saying hello once you reached his workshop, you pulled up the familiar box you’ve labelled your ‘chair’ and took your usual place, rolling an empty shotgun shell found on his workbench between your fingers and eyeing your rifle, in two halves but looking considerably better than it was.

“Hello to you too,” Woozi mumbled, not straying his attention away from the barrel of your gun. You replied quietly, the shotgun shell clinking against the metal of the workbench as you fiddled with it. After a moment of silence, Woozi looked up in curiosity. “You’re unusually quie- wait, what happened to your face?” His brows furrowed, and he moved closer for inspection, wincing in sympathy at the markings on your cheek.

“I didn’t think I was that ugly, but thanks Woozi. Ever the charmer,” you said sarcastically, and he gave a light tap to your leg. You huffed out a laugh. “Some woman punched me last night. I was given the day off to ‘recover my health’.”

A noise of understanding slipped out of his mouth. He raised his hands slowly towards your face, but stopped himself short of touching you, instead looking at you at the last second when he remembered what he was doing, a question written on his face and his ears tinged pink. With your breath caught in the confines of your chest, you gave the smallest nod, and Woozi continued.

His fingers, the pads rough and calloused from years of work, travelled the lightest and gentlest of paths along your cheeks, turning your head to the side to get a better view of your injury. His touch was so hesitant you almost didn’t feel it, wouldn’t believe he was actually touching you had your eyes been closed, but there he was, mapping out the lines of your face with such care all you could do was stare and wonder if this was the same Woozi who would knock you flat on your ass for moving something in his shop.

With slight reluctance he removed his hands and moved quickly back into his previous position, hunched over your gun and imagining the last 20 seconds didn’t happen. He cleared his throat, and it was enough to knock you out of the trance he had locked you in, that the rapid beating of your hear had seized your muscles in shock.

“Doesn’t seem as bad as you think. It’ll be fine in a few days. Just put some of Seokjin’s cream he makes on it and you should be good.” His voice was stiff, as was his body, and it left a strange bitter taste on the tip of your tongue. You swallowed.

“Yeah, that’s what Hoshi said too,” you nodded, more interested in picking at your nails than looking at Woozi. You laughed lightly, attempting to lighten the dense atmosphere that blanketed over you at the strange intimacy that occurred. “He even offered to buy me some, seeing as I’m trying to save my caps to pay you for fixing my rifle. Says every little helps, or something like that. He’s a little fool, he shouldn’t be spending caps on me.” Your heart warmed at Hoshi’s bright smile and kind eyes. And his incessant need to bring up how great Woozi was in every conversation you’ve had.

Woozi fell quiet and didn’t answer you immediately, instead focusing on a particularly finicky screw in the gun, and had his tongue poking out of his pink lips in a comical display of concentration, and you looked on in mild interest at the bead of sweat rolling down his temple. As always, his face was lined with oil and dirt, and yet it became a staple look for him. To see him without the grease would seem strange, unusual. He really was dedicated to his work.

When ten minutes of silence passed, and you expected him to say nothing for the rest of your visit, he opened his mouth to speak, tilting his head slightly in your direction but not quite focusing his black eyes on you. He set the stock of your gun down carefully.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” you joked, but he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even roll his eyes.

“Why is this rifle so important to you?”

You heart walloped into the pit of your stomach, and you became so cold despite the lingering heat hiding in the air. The drop of your expression probably would have been funny to watch, but neither of you were laughing at anything. Woozi didn’t want to meet your eyes but he did, and his eyes implored you to tell the truth.

You suppose you should have seen this coming, your desperation for having such a basic rifle mended had most people in Diamond City questioning it’s worth - some speculated it belonged to a wealthy ghoul, others joked and said you won it in a fist fight against a super mutant and that you longed to keep the trophy. Both were wrong, but you never bothered to answer, too busy swallowing down the bile rising up your throat and focusing on keeping your hands steady when handing over drinks to the patrons of the bar. 

That still doesn’t prepare you for the one person you deem most worthy of hearing your horrible tale, doesn’t prepare you at all for his aloofness about the entire affair to dissipate and drag up that elephant’s proverbial carcass into his tiny workshop, making things seem so cramped and leaving you with a shortage of air in your chest. You stalled, coughed, did just about everything else, and left the room in silence as your mind raced. 

“Look, I normally wouldn’t push you, because that’s dickish and it clearly bothers you,” he murmured, head down turned, but every so often his eyes would flit upwards to meet yours. “But, I have to know- to understand - why you’re so hell bent on fixing this gun of yours. I’d rather we both be straight forward with each other.” He hesitated. “A-And Wonho said we should always get these things off our chest.“

It was clear that Woozi was looking for an answer, be it today or another day, and you honestly don’t blame him. You’ve eluded him about the topic for long enough, and were rather rude to him in any of his attempts at delving deeper beneath the surface, quick to push and throw him off the cliff of your problems. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of it. Even Hoshi (not quite) subtly warned that your incessant defensive remarks were really rubbing Woozi the wrong way (in a much less playful way than they were), and that the man in question only wanted to know you for, well, you. And no one ever wanted to before.

It scared you.

It scared you to let people in close, when you’ve lived a life of pushing them away and caring only about the skin on your back and when your next meal would be. So for someone, especially someone like Woozi, to show even the slightest interest in knowing more about you, both dark and bright parts of you, it frightened you to the point where your fight or flight senses activated and waged war on your body instead of giving him a clear answer.

He tinkered away with your weapon, the rust and grime from years of use stained his gloves, and his face remained carefully blank. All you could hear was the tinkling of metal, the bustle of the main square, and the pounding of your heart in your fragile chest. But after moments of seemingly deafening silence apart from the echo of the moving world, your lips parted, mouth as dry as the barren trees in the wasteland.

“It was my dad’s.”

Slowly, his fingers stopped their movements, and he simply sat there. You watched with idle interest the way his chest moved as he breathed, even and steady, sturdy despite his small frame, anything to distract you and keep you rooted to the spot. Your feet itched to sprint from the scene and never return. You almost made good on that feeling.

He never lifted his head from your weapon, and anyone passing by could have mistaken him for one of those statues you remember seeing in some fancy pre-war household that was much too luxurious for your blood. He said not a word, made no judgement, but you felt the need to elaborate regardless, nerves eating away at your skin.

“He, uhm, he was- we were…I mean, there was these bandits, and they…well I, uhm, he-”

“Take a deep breath. You don’t have to rush.” His words rushed over you like a smooth wave, his baritone voices sending your anxiety away bit by bit, much like a stream on a spring afternoon - not forceful but firm, strong. His words sounded much like an exit, a metaphorical ‘Come Back Tomorrow!” sign flashing in your head, warning you that this was your chance to run, but once you started you couldn’t (wouldn’t) stop. So, you followed his instructions.

“It was always just my dad and I,” you began, shaking fingers twiddling with the frayed ends of your sleeves. It irked you slightly that Woozi still had not looked in your direction. “My mom died when I was little, so I don’t really remember her. But my dad raised me, and we’ve been on the move all my life. We went from DC to the Commonwealth, all over the area. We had each others back.

“But one night, a year or two ago, the office building we were hold up in filled up with bandits while we were sleeping. My dad woke me and told me we needed to get out of there fast. I was trying to gather up my stuff as fast as possible, but I wasn’t fast enough. Dad-” your throat closed up at the memory, but you forced yourself to keep going. 

“Dad just promised he’d be right behind me, and told me to sneak out of the windows as quickly as I could. I waited in a nearby building for hours until I saw all the bandits clear out, and waited a few more for the dad to come out and tell me everything was alright. He…never came. I went back into the office building to look for him but he was already…I grabbed his rifle and his bag and I never went back.”

It was strange, how recalling a story that made you cry for months on end at just a single thought of it to someone who is virtually a stranger, someone who loves to antagonise you just for a laugh, could make that dead weight hiding in the pit of your gut ease up, even in just the slightest, for a moment, and you relished in the feeling of breathing without restriction. 

There was a pregnant silence in the wake of this revelation, and you took the time to reign in your emotions and recollect your thoughts. You awaited judgement. You waited for a snide remark on how you acted like a stupid child, how you should have done things differently. Woozi broke the silence.

“When I was 15 my mom died trying to save me from a bunch of ghouls, and I’ve been blaming myself ever since.”

You really did not expect this to ever leave his lips, a similar tale of heartbreak to your own that made you realise you were more kindred spirits than you were initially willing to admit. Before you could kickstart your brain and say something, he continued. 

“We were in one of those underground tunnels looking for a place to stay away from the raiders and super mutants and whatever else kind of shit is out there. We were used to moving from place to place, so we figured we could handle the tunnels despite everyone telling us how dumb that idea was when the underground is infested with those freaks. And it worked, but I was the one to fuck up everything.”

His voice broke towards the end, and with it so did your heart. The lines on his face seemed more weary, more tragic than you thought they ever could, and your heart clenched at the familiarity of this kind of situation. You knew what was coming next.

“I was bored and started snooping around the tunnels like the idiot I am, knowing that there were ghouls everywhere. I knocked over a box in one of the booths and then suddenly they all came swarming towards us because of the sound. My mom- she grabbed my hand and we ran but…there was too many.” He grimaced bitterly. “She tried taking them all on her own. She told me to run and not look back. So I did. I ran, and ran, and ran, until I wound up here. And I’ve never gone back since.”

He looked up, then, and looked steadfast into your eyes. Beneath the sorrow swimming in his dark eyes, even further beneath the self-loathing, there was acceptance. There was strength.

“I know you might blame yourself for what happened to your dad. Trust me, I do. But what I’ve come to learn is that, parents, they’d do anything to keep their kids safe. So while everything that happened is awful, and you feel like shit, your dad wanted you to keep living for a reason,” his jaw clenched, and your eyes began to burn. “So don’t get lost in the past, like I was. Keep your head up, and keep walking forward.”

You stared on in awe, stomach churning and heart heavy. But at the back of your mind, you knew there was some truth to his words. He blames himself for the loss of his mother so badly, but he’s still carrying on, living life as it comes. And for that, you think he might be one of the bravest people you’ve ever met.

Your hand - shaking like a leaf in the wind - moved itself over his own resting atop the workbench, and squeezed. His eyes followed the movement, wide with wonder, and the lightest of blushes dusting his cheeks as his eyebrows slowly inched their way to his hairline. 

You smiled - small and fragile, barely there but a smile nonetheless. “I’m sorry for everything, Woozi,” you whispered. His dark eyes flickered back to yours. “But, thank you. So much. I didn’t realise I needed to hear that until it was said. You are…you’re very brave, and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit for that.”

He shrugged awkwardly, coughed it off, up-righted himself and refocused on your father’s weapon, but still never moved his hand from beneath yours. The fingers twitched every few seconds, as if itching to hold yours but choosing to stay back. In the end, you made the decision for him on a whim, hoping he would not object, and maneuvered your hands so that you both held onto each other tightly. He made no objection.

“Again, thank you Woozi-”

“It’s Jihoon.”

You almost missed what he had said, the words uttered so silently that they would have floated away with the breeze to be long forgotten, but the rising blush heating his face told you otherwise. You smiled wider, more genuine this time, and when Wo-Jihoon, returned your gaze, his own special sort of smile crept onto his dirtied face, and his eyes crinkled in such away that made your stomach somersault faster than when you fell down a ravine in your younger years.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, testing the name on your tongue with heated cheeks. Jihoon looked shy, but pleased. 

“I like that name.”

If anyone noticed the slight (more like drastic) change in attitudes both Woozi and yourself now had towards each other in the weeks following your conversation, no one, thankfully and surprisingly, decided to comment on it, even if you could see Hoshi itching to say whatever was on the tip of his tongue when he saw the both of you acting amicably with each other. 

Even Jeonghan, who tried to subtly worm information out of you about Woozi’s sudden behaviour change and was met with elusive answers, backed off rather quickly after observing the mechanic and yourself quite extensively, making up some sort of resolution in his mind. What that was, you weren’t sure, and if that ever familiar, all-knowing smile on his face meant anything in particular, you really didn’t want to find out.

Conversation flowed more easily with Woozi now, yet you were still hesitant to say his name out loud, feeling that simple 6 letter name too intimate to whisper in a dingy workshop. But your daily trips no longer consisted of just check ups on your rifle and comfortable silence. Sure, the comfortable silence was nice after dealing with lunatics in the Dugout, at least 50% of them trying to kill you, the usual stuff, but now it became questions about what he likes, your opinions on a project he’s working on, reminiscing on old memories, talks of future ones, and it was...well it was better than you hoped. 

You couldn’t pinpoint the moment when his bitter comments stopped feeling exactly what they were - bitter. Instead, they were even funny, a ploy to get a rise out of you and you enjoyed giving it right back to him, a sense of satisfaction spreading through all of your bones at his small smile, suppressing a grin you know would light his face up brighter than the sun, and it became your personal mission to get it to bloom on his oil stained face.

“You ok there?”

You turned your head to the left, attention diverted from drying the glass in your hand. Jackson sat on the counter, counting the caps earned from last night in the deposit box. He smiled when your eyes met his own, fingers twirling a Nuka-Cola cap idly between his slender fingers. It reminded you, oddly, of how Woozi would fidget with the random bolts on his counter top out of frustration. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you countered. Jackson laughed and pointed to the glass in your hands.

“Well, you’ve been twisting your hand around in that glass with the cloth for about 5 minutes straight, staring at literally nothing and smiling weirdly. So excuse me if I assume you’ve been bitten by a bloatfly.”

Your face heats up, rushing to put the glass on the shelf and start drying a new one. He laughs some more, returning to the caps in his hands. 

“Is it because of him?” he asks, and you play dumb.

“Because of who?” you reply airily, hearing Jackson tut quietly.

“Mr Mechanic, of course.” You scoff in response, and he rolls his eyes. “What else could that smile mean?”

“I was...farting,” you reply lamely, and it sends Jackson into a fit of laughter, your own joining his after a moment of reflection on how stupid that answer was. 

“Charming,” he giggles, and would’ve said more had the door not burst open, waking a sleeping Shownu who rested in a chair next to it. 

“Where’s my favourite person in the world?” a voice called, and it brought that smile back to your face. Hoshi appeared in your line of sight, a grand entrance to an otherwise empty lounge.

“I’m right here, darling,” Jackson sang, and Hoshi visibly cringed while Jackson chuckled.

“I meant my second favourite person, of course,” he sheepishly said.

“I believe that would be me, what can I help you with?” you smiled. He grinned in response, his beautiful eyes disappearing with his happy expression. 

“I am delighted to announce that your rifle is all patched up and ready to go!”

The glass nearly slipped from your grasp, shock etched into your expression as you stared at him. It was finished? So you wouldn’t have to see Woozi anymore? The thought left an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“It’s done? B-but...I don’t have the 500 yet, I still have a bit to go.”

Hoshi shook his head, reaching forward to direct you around the bar and towards the door.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry! I promise you, it will work out.” You should have been more suspicious of the shit-eating grin plastered on his bubbly face, but with how distracted you were with the strange disappointment of not having a reason to see Woozi anymore, you failed to notice that Hoshi seemed to have some plan in motion. 

“But I have to help at the bar-”

“Don’t worry about it, kid! I’m sure Hoshi will be happy to help me clean the Inn, isn’t that right?” Jackson beamed. Hoshi chuckled halfheartedly, still ushering you out of the pub.

“Yeah, I sure will Jackson,” he murmured, and with one final shove, he forced you out of the door, Shownu closing it with a light smile and a faint cry of ‘good luck!’ from Hoshi muffled by the steel. 

You stared dumbfounded at the red door, but with no other option (seeing as you had just been temporarily barred from the place you live), you headed to Woozi’s workshop, the inevitable meeting, running through each possible outcome in your head as you walked through the city.

That same old sign came into view as you rounded the corner of Jin’s Office, and subconsciously your steps slowed as dread filled your system. It wasn’t like before, when you and Woozi would share childish insults that left you irked at even hearing his name. It wasn’t like that. It was similar to the dread of having to give up something precious to you, something you weren’t yet ready to let go. And that thought scared you, because when had Jihoon become that something special? That precious thing you wanted to latch onto, like you did with your rifle?

“Ah, there you are.”

You hadn’t even noticed you had reached the entrance to his shop, staring numbly back at him as he gazed at you with something akin to nervousness, though it left you wondering what for exactly. 

“You called?”

He nodded, stood and turned, picking up something wrapped up in a ragged cloth and presenting it to you so carefully. Unfolding the cloth led you to your rifle, looking as perfect as the day you had it before it was destroyed, before it was torn to pieces to be put back together again, and it took your breath away. 

You really shouldn’t have doubted him as you had in the beginning. You should have believed everyone when they said Woozi could make the unimaginable happen, because he truly, truly did. In more ways than you could admit. Your chest tightened with emotion the longer you looked at it, but it wasn’t until Woozi cleared his throat awkwardly were you knocked out of your reverie with eyes watery and shaking hands. 

His gaze was fleeting, much too hesitant to linger on the strong emotion on your face but not harsh to completely disregard your state, so he simply grabbed one of your hands, so gently, and rested the rifle in your grip, curling your fingers around the neck with his own. It almost felt foreign, out of your hands for so long that the weight of it was almost unrecognisable, but it slotted into your palms so easily it couldn’t be anything but your father’s rifle.

“I-I...Woozi, I...I just..” you were at a loss for words, and he looked like he didn’t expect you to say any, settling for a small smile that made your heart clench and your stomach twist pleasantly. With a deep breath, you placed your weapon gently on the table, nodded your head lightly, and faced Woozi. 

Before he could question your behaviour, you reached out and hugged him, holding his small frame close to yours, hugging so tightly you could hear him struggling to get a word out, yet you hugged him with everything you could, hoping to convey your gratitude as best you could.

“Thank you. So, so much, Jihoon. I just...thank you so much,” you whispered into the crook of his neck, and idly wondered if that was Woozi shivering or if your body was trying its best to keep the sobs at bay. Hesitantly, and with a touch as light as a feather, his arms wrapped around your body, and the warmth that came with it surprised you. It was unexpected, how comforting it was in this position with a man you would’ve spat at a mere few weeks ago, and yet here you are, finding more safety in his touch than with anything in your life since your father died. 

With great reluctance, you pulled back, wiped embarrassingly at the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes while Woozi stood in a slightly shocked silence, fiddling with the edges of his shirt. It was then that you remembered your payment.

“Oh, uhm, I don’t have the 500 caps yet. I’m really sorry, I’m saving as much as I can, but I still have a bit until I reach the full lot, so I’ll understand if you want to hang onto the gun until I have your money-”

“Just pay me 200.”

Your rambling stopped, staring wide eyed at Woozi, who stood with cheeks dusted a rosy hue and a shy, minuscule smile on his visage. He looked like he was working up the courage to say something, chest heaving with each breath and lips parting only to close a second later, the odd sound leaving them in mumbles and frustrated tuts. He closed his eyes momentarily, inhaled, exhaled, opened his eyes, and spoke.

“You don’t owe me 500. With the work I’ve done on it, just 200 will do. You don’t have to save for anything anymore,” he explained. He paused, tongue peeking out to wet his lips, and with a darker blush spreading across his cheeks, he continued. “If you want to pay me more, you...you could go for a drink with me at the Inn, if you want.”

Your brows inched their way up your forehead, and yet, happiness and glee replaced the dread in the pit of your gut. You could feel your lips spreading into a large, bashful smile, and you didn’t care. The look on Woozi’s face was sending you to cloud nine faster than a blow from a Deathclaw ever could, timid but with hope swimming in his dark eyes. 

“A drink at the Inn?” you repeated. You smiled, nodded, and Woozi deflated with relief, not quite suppressing the grin growing on his hardened face. 

“That sounds great, Jihoon.”

[sungularly-unwritten]

𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑯𝒂𝒏 𝑱𝒊-𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 '𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐢𝐬𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭?'

('ⁱ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ' ⁱⁿ ʲᵃᵖᵃⁿᵉˢᵉ)

HAN JISUNG:

You and Han are walking out of the jyp building after practice, the air cool and quiet. It was just after sunset, and you guys were going down to the convenience store to grab a drink. The streetlights are soft, and the moon is hanging low in the sky.

“Hannie... the moon is so.. beautiful, right?”

He glances up at the sky almost automatically. “Yeah, it is.” he says with a small smile, stars in his eyes.

You hesitate before trying again, realising you weren't obvious enough.

“In Japanese… you say it like ‘tsuki ga kirei', right?”

Han stops walking. Your heart slows as you think maybe, he understood.

Instead, he tilts his head with a puzzled look on his face as if he's trying to remember something.

“Ah- I think” he pauses, looking at you “It’s ‘tsuki ga kirei desu ne.’”

He smiles like he’s proud he remembered. “You were close though.” he adds with a soft smile.

You blink, you find his obliviousness cute. “Han..” you start, as soft as the night air.

“Yeah?” he still seemed oblivious.

You stare at him for a second, nervously hoping he realises.

It's as if a light flicked on in his brain as you stood there with him, basking in the moonlight.

His eyes widen. “Oh!” A pause. “Oh..”

His ears turn pink almost immediately as he runs a hand through his hair. He looks up at the moon again, looking at it like he's gained a new perspective. Then back at you.

His smile this time is softer, a little shy.

“You know you could've just said it instead of making me look like an idiot by correcting your Japanese." he trails off at the end, seemingly more nervous than you now.

You giggle. “You probably wouldnt have noticed either way.”

“Hey, I did! Eventually.” he protests, shoving his hands in his pocket.

He glances up at the moon one more time as if to hide himself from the embarrassing he put on himself. “…It really is beautiful tonight.”

─── ☆ 𝒯𝒶𝓰𝓈

[welovekpopscenarios]

5 Times Winwin Tried to Kiss You and One Time He Did (50s!AU Winwin x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Or, the story of how Winwin pined for years over his best friend who he just could never kiss.

Fandom: NCT 127/U

Genre: Fluff, bit of angst

Pairing: Winwin x Reader

Warnings: Very brief mentions of alcohol and smoking, otherwise none!

Word Count: 6k+

A/N: Back at it again with another fic lmao I wanted to write for someone other than SVT (I can’t help it they’re my bias group !!) and I thought up this kind of story a while back (I always liked the 5 times kind of fics) and decided Winwin needs more love because i rarely see fics for him. Also this was supposed to be Preppy!Winwin but there wasn’t really much preppy, unless you squint. Happy reading, feedback is loved and helps a lot!

The lively atmosphere of the playground; the laughing children climbing wildly around the monkey bars or soaring high above the world on the swing sets, the waiting parents lost in deep conversation with each other about the changing world, even the chime of the ice cream truck that had crowds gathering to get a taste of the frozen treat, all fell deaf to little Sicheng’s ears as he stared at you sitting peacefully in the sand box and building your own bizarre creations. He did not know it at the time, being much too young to understand anything about the world around him, about himself, about feelings, but years later he would realise that this overwhelming feeling of happiness and warmth and all things good while he watched you was what the romance novels liked to call ‘love at first sight’.

While he didn’t have the best grasp at social cues and manners, there were some things he picked up from his parents. Like, saying please and thank you, offering your seat to the elderly woman on the bus, and how to treat someone you like nicely. And he reasoned, since his mother and father liked each other so much, that whenever they pecked each other’s lips sweetly every so often, that it was just something that people do when they liked each other.

And he liked you very much.

So, when Sicheng introduced himself to you (albeit very nervously, sweaty hands wiping on the rough fabric of his shorts or fiddling with his suspenders), and you smiled at him, inviting him to build sandcastles with you, he thought it the perfect opportunity to show you just how much he liked his new friend.

And so, he leaned his face towards yours, puckered his lips, and prepared to try something new with someone who made him inexplicably happy and excited-

-only to receive a mouth full of sand and a very shocked expression on your face.

He doesn’t remember much after that, it was all a rush of spitting and wiping sand from his lips and you screaming in his ear about how you should “ask a gal first before you kiss ‘em! It’s what my sister told me!”. He went home that day with a pout and teasing from his parents. But meeting you was something he would never forget.

How could he, when you remind him of that disastrous moment nearly every chance you could?

He doesn’t associate it with malice, however.

He indeed gained a friend that day, one for life, and one that would unintentionally cause him more grief with affairs of the heart than he anticipated.

That awkward phase between being a child and growing into the terrors of being a teenager are full of new discoveries. New things you learn in Sunday school, things about your body that you most certainly would not learn in Sunday school, or any school to be honest, and listening to the radio to hear about all the new things scientists have found or inventors have created. Something new, every day, whether it was in Sicheng’s life or the lives around him.

The one Sicheng remembers the most (and probably loathes the most for the nerves it brought him), was the discovery of love and relationships.

Taking an interest romantically in someone was becoming more and more frequent for him and all his friends. He sees it everywhere; from his own parents, from that older kid in his neighbourhood -Taeil – walking hand in hand with some upper-class girl, shy smiles on both their faces, saw it in all the romance movies they played in the movie theatres his mother would take him to see on Saturdays if he behaved well that week. And while at first, he had not thought much of it, preferring to continue playing football with his friends and living his youth up while he has it, he seemingly can’t ignore it much when you gush on and on about getting “a total dreamboat who will sweep you off your feet and marry you.”

And he can’t explain why he gets so annoyed when this non-existent “dreamboat” of yours is mentioned.

Hanging at the bridge’s underpass by the river where all the ‘cool’ kids go with his friends, he’s introduced to the game ‘Truth or Dare’ for the first time. He always heard about it from the older crowd, figured it sounded like a fun game he’d love to try.

But he was not expecting Yuta to point at Sicheng with a grin and dare him to kiss you on the cheek after Sicheng made the mistake of choosing to do a dare.

Sicheng had felt his stomach plunge to the gravel and dirt beneath him, felt his face go as hot as a fire, he was sure he’d have steam coming out his ears, and felt the nerves eat at him so bad he was close to puking.

But he had to do this. He couldn’t be a chicken like the boys were calling him, despite his nerves, despite the sweat practically pouring out of him, despite the strange skip of his heart as he looked at your small, pretty smile as you sat across from him in your yellow sundress with a pure white bow on your head.

And just when he began to make his way over to your form to finally kiss you, much like he had all those years ago in that dingy sandbox, you shook your head no, and caused all the embarrassed heat in his body to leave his body so fast he was surprised he didn’t faint.

You acted much like a saint in that moment; you hushed the others’ whines, explained that good friends wouldn’t pressure someone they care about to do something that clearly causes them great distress, and that this game would be much more interesting if it was kept to doing silly dares and answering weird questions.

The boys grumbled, but agreed, and quickly enough the attention was averted from Sicheng to poor, tiny Mark, who was asked to dip his new hat in the river which would effectively end in him getting an earful from his mother about ruining his Sunday best. Sicheng was left in the clear. Free to not worry about the dare or about girls and relationships for another while.

It doesn’t explain why he was left so bitterly disappointed for the rest of the day, even as he walked his bike back home just in time for his supper.

It was roughly when Sicheng was 15 that he realised he loved to dance.

And it was roughly when Sicheng was 15 that he realised he was completely and utterly in love with you.

He wonders why he never came to this conclusion earlier, on both things – it was so obvious, even his parents could see it. With every dance move they watched him perfect, they also saw the inquiring look directed towards your form, awaiting approval and showers of praise (which you always gave, without fail). He was something akin to a puppy following after its owner – and wherever you went, he definitely followed, like the lovestruck fool he was.

He tried focusing on his dancing, and it worked for some time. The guys around him would make fun of him, call it girly and dumb. And he did not understand why for some time – just because he chose to use his brain and his feet to dance to his heart’s content rather than stick on a leather jacket and have his hair slicked back while he worked in a garage and smoked all day, does not mean he should be judged for the life he chose.

He was worried his parents thought much of the same, but he should not have doubted them. His mother, with her calm aura and sweet smile, praised his abilities and encouraged him to pursue dancing more. And his father, a man stern and set in his ways, had nothing more to say other than aim for a good college when he finishes school and that he was proud of him.

And that was all Sicheng needed to decide he wanted to go to one of the top colleges in the country to make something of himself.

He tried getting involved in as many things possible regarding dance – after school lessons, competitions, anything that was available where he could hone his skills and master the art of dance.

So, when his school decided to host a musical, and he heard you were going to join as the Princess, he was overjoyed.

Unfortunately, however, he did not land the lead role of the Prince. Instead he played the understudy.

He tried to remain positive about it; he could still dance and perform when asked to, he just might not get the chance to show everyone unless the lead actor – a guy nicknamed ‘Ten’ – was unavailable to perform the role.

Still, it did nothing to squash the churning of his stomach when he heard that the Prince was to kiss the Princess at the closing of the play.

But his golden opportunity came towards the final weeks of preparing for the play, when Ten was out sick during rehearsal of the final scene, and so Sicheng was called to fill the position and help you rehearse.

The final scene.

The one with the kiss.

Those nerves from years ago came rushing back in an instant in the form of red cheeks and a swarm of butterflies in his tummy, but to say Sicheng was overjoyed to finally have this opportunity to kiss you was an understatement.

He knew all his lines and cues, having practiced the diligently every night before bed without fail, that even the teacher was impressed, and Sicheng couldn’t stop the swell of pride in his chest even if he wanted to.

You were flawless in your role, as expected, you always did everything so well, and he was in awe at your acting abilities, comparing your skills to those big actresses like Grace Kelly, Marylin Monroe, and Jayne Mansfield. So in awe, that Sicheng almost forgot about the upcoming kiss at the end of the Princess’ speech.

Almost.

He waited with baited breath as the Princess in front of him declared her love with wide eyes and a loving smile, and then it was time for him to reach up with his hands, grasp your face with his trembling fingers, and lean in.

He could feel your breath against his lips as he got closer, could feel the heat radiating off your cheeks, could see your eyes flutter shut that had his heart racing. He was so close, the tip of his nose brushed against yours-

-when the school bell suddenly rang to signify the end of the day, and jolted both himself and yourself away from each other in surprise.

Noise erupted throughout the auditorium in the form of the rustling of bags, the shuffling of feet and the farewells of everyone on set, the teacher shouting that he will see everyone at the same time on Monday.

Sicheng stood there, dumbfounded, stuck in a daze as he watched you gather your things and put away your props. He was brought back to the present once you waved a hand in front of his face, his eyes blinking rapidly as they focused on your beautiful eyes that were glimmering with faint amusement.

“Come on, you goof, or you’ll be locked up in here for the weekend and miss out on seeing that new film that you wanted to catch. What was it…’Singing in the Rain’?”

Truthfully, he had forgotten about that. He was only really thinking about how he might break that damned school bell without getting caught or how he might convince the principle it was one of those greasers if he did. He sighed, a long winded and weary thing that carried more weight than one might imagine. Sensing the dip in his mood, you put on your best smile (but he thinks they all look stellar), and linked your arm in his, your poodle skirt brushing against his pants and your opposite hand squeezing his bicep.

“Come on, let’s ice the blues away with a milkshake from the old diner, huh? You can tell me all about this film and convince me to see it.”

Of course he went with you, to the classic hangout since when you were both 12, and of course he sat across from you and admired the way the lights lit up your face, or the shape of your mouth as you told him all about the book you read recently.

The sweetness of the chocolate shake in his grip failed to make today’s predicament any bit better, and the chocolate turned to ash in his mouth as he though about how Ten would be the one to kiss those soft lips of yours that he longed after for so long.

(The play was a success, but Sicheng did little celebrating after the peck Ten placed upon your lips that had you grinning from ear to ear and giggling like a true princess in love.)

By attending one of the most prestigious colleges in the country and living his dream of dance, Sicheng did not think he would be dragged into the lifestyle of drinking, smoking and overall delinquency that was growing in popularity with the youth of today, yet here he was donning his silver mask as his disguise, being jostled around by overzealous young adults jiving to Elvis Presley’s latest hits and wanting nothing more than to return to his books in the safety of his dorm than standing in the large, bright and noisy dance hall.

He has to admit, the spins and lifts of the crazy couples on the dancefloor were intriguing, certainly different from the elegant and poised moves that Sicheng grew up perfecting, and yet the fast paced and insane dances moves were interesting all the same.

Still, did not change his opinion on preferring the warmth of his bed sheets over pretending to be drunk and having a great time and dodging every cigarette that was offered his way. He doesn’t care about seeming ‘preppy’, as people are so bent on calling his ‘kind’, he’d much rather be comfortable and not standing awkwardly in the wicked heat of this masquerade party.

And yet, as he adjusted the sleeves of his neatly pressed suit jacket and corrected his dicky bow, he reminded himself of the reason he was even here to begin with, and Yuta’s dastardly plan.

To finally kiss you after all these years, using his mask to fake his confidence and give him the courage to, at last, press his lips to yours.

A stupid plan, really, and Yuta had been near sleep deprived after the dance hall he had attended when he thought of this plan, but Sicheng saw the logic in it.

Sort of.

He watched as you twirled around in the pretty red frilly dress Yuta said you would be wearing, the gold sequins of your lavish mask glittering in the dim lights of the hall, grooving to the band playing on stage and giggling with the friends around you. The rouge of your lipstick matched your dress perfectly, he thought absentmindedly, wondering if it was as silky as his handkerchief as he imagined. He was shoved rudely out of his daydreaming by Doyoung (who was also a part of this foolish scheme by sneaking his way into a passing conversation he overheard between a blushing Sicheng and an erratic Yuta who would not lower his voice!)

“They’re going to play a slow song next,” Doyoung informed him, and when Sicheng simply stared at him blankly in return, he sighed and rolled his eyes with impatience. “A dance for couples. A slow dance.” Silence. “Christ, Sicheng, you aren’t too drunk, are you? This is your chance, nincompoop! Dance with her! Kiss her!”

Doyoung gave Sicheng a push, nearly flattening the poor boy in front of all the people, but with a thumbs up and a wide grin from the pusher himself, Sicheng composed himself and made his way over to where you stood.

He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, and his hands shook more than the floor boards beneath his feet, breathing laboured as he gathered his courage and stopped before you. The music was beginning to take a slower turn, and everyone in the room quickly found a partner, bodies moving in gentle waves and turns, heads laying on shoulders and hands holding on tightly.

You looked up at Sicheng in what he could only guess was surprise, given the obstacle that was the mask covering most emotions on everyone’s faces. He sucked in a breath, released it a moment later. This was it.

“Would you like to dance with me?” he asked, subconsciously deepening his voice in fear of you recognising him too early and rejecting his offer. You looked at him in silence, your eyes squinting and scrutinising his form, attempting to decipher if you knew him or not while Sicheng stood stock still with nerves. It was like you were looking through him, at his heart that was beating faster than a drum and picking him from the inside out. Finally, you spoke.

“Will you tell me your name?” your voice carried a tone of amusement to it, and it melted Sicheng’s body into a more relaxed stance.

“Dance with me and maybe you’ll find out,” he replied, extending his hand to you, which you took bashfully and with a twinkling giggle.

Smooth one, Sicheng. Yuta will definitely not let him live that down once he hears about it.

Leading you to the centre with as confident a grip he could give, he turned to face you, placing gentle hands on your waist, gulping when you wrapped yours around his neck, and began swaying the both of you smoothly to the blues of the music.

You stared at him with curiosity swimming in your eyes, a light upturn of your lips displaying your amusement. Sicheng smiled shyly, feeling his cheeks flare with heat at the close proximity he had rarely experienced with you before. (He’s a man, damn it, he was taught to respect boundaries.)

“So, will you tell me your name now?” you asked, voice as soft as cotton so as not to ruin the atmosphere of the hall around you.

He almost forgot to answer you, too awestruck at the beauty of the moment, of you; a soft smile playing at your rose painted lips, the lights set up around the room glittering like stars upon your skin, he almost forgot to breathe. The band played its blues gently in the background, the tones washing over the both of you so sweetly it could send Sicheng to Cloud 9 right now if he wasn’t so hell bent on staying on the ground and getting a kiss from you.

“Ruins the purpose of the masks, doesn’t it?” he settled for, hands squeezing minutely around your waist. “Much more exciting this way.”

You huffed out a breath – stubborn as always – and those rouge lips of yours pouted up at him.

“I’d like to know who I’m spending my time with, stranger.”

“You’ll find out eventually,” he chuckled, and he delighted in the bashfulness overtaking your features. “For now, I’d just like to dance with the most beautiful girl in the world.

Even above the blissfully slow love song, he could hear your intake of breath, and he waited in tense silence to find out if he had overstepped his boundaries and pushed you away completely. He could see it in your eyes, could see the war you were waging with yourself on whether to give into the excitement of dancing with a tall, dark and handsome stranger who would willingly give you compliments until his voice grew hoarse, or to back away and return to being the responsible and mature person you were who never strayed too far from the lines of safety.

The former won the battle.

“This is just like those romance novels,” you giggled, teeth nipping at your bottom lip to contain the gorgeously dopey smile you get when you’re flustered threatening to break out. God, he loved you so much.

“Really?” he asked, clearing his throat against the cracking of his voice. You laugh good naturedly, endeared at the now sudden goofiness of your knight in shining armour. Nodding, your hands fidgeted slightly behind his neck, skin brushing against his, goosebumps erupting and hairs raising. He shivered in excitement.

He hummed, his feign of nonchalance allowing him to revel in this newfound confidence and spur his actions. He stepped closer to you after a moment of consideration, chest pressed to chest, and he was terrified that the thumping of his heart was enough to alert you that this knight was not as brave as he seemed.

“What happens in these romance novels? What happens to the couples?” he whispered, breath fanning across your heated cheeks as you stared in dumbstruck awe. Your arms tightened around his neck, buzzing with an emotion you couldn’t explain, yet you were ready to dive into the unknown, he always knew you were looking for something more than you could get. And you deserved whatever it was you were after.

“They…they kiss. A kiss so good, the gal’ lifts her leg and gets so lost in the moment she forgets her name,” was your breathy reply, and Sicheng could feel his stomach tighten with a nervous giddiness he’s felt twice in his life, both with you beside him. The band were finishing up the song, if the lengthy notes and drawn out vocals were any indication, and Sicheng knew, this was his moment.

“How?” he asked, giving you an out should you have wanted to take it, but you refused, staring deeply into his eyes and ignoring everything around you, giving Sicheng an undivided attention he was unused to experiencing. You leaned ever closer to him and he mimicked your actions, inclining his head towards yours and gazing upon your lips, blood red petals he longed for, for so many years, finally within his grasp.

“Like…thi-“

“Oh, there you are.”

You flinched away from Sicheng as if you had been burnt, and simultaneously he took a step backwards in shock of such a rapid action, staring dumbly as none other than Johnny Seo waltzed right up beside you in his leather jacket, wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you tight against his body like nobody’s business. You could not form a sentence properly, only stumbling your way through a greeting as Johnny grinned down at you and ignored Sicheng like he wasn’t even there to begin with. Sicheng remained silent, stuck in a haze and shoulders slouched like the heaviest weight was just thrown on his back.

“Been looking for you everywhere, Dollface,” he laughed, pinched your side, earning a yelp for his action. “Look, I know I’m late and I didn’t show up to bring you here, but what’ya say we get outta here? This place blows,” he suggested-but-not-really-suggested, seeing as he was already tugging you out of the room towards the double doors and to the fresh air. Of course, Sicheng was left standing there, in the centre of the dancefloor while a jive started up around him and dancers gave him odd looks for staying still, but he couldn’t find it in him to move – the shock rendered him useless and the jealousy burning in his heart simmered throughout his body while his brain fought to keep him from following after Johnny and doing something stupid.

Out of the corner of his eye, he vaguely saw Doyoung and Yuta standing side-by-side, facepalming and cursing Johnny’s existence for ruining this ‘perfect plan’.

Sicheng would mimic their actions if he had the energy to.

Sicheng reckons he should just give up at this point, despite Yuta’s and Doyoung’s insistence that he keeps ‘fighting for your love’.

As if. You weren’t interested in him in anyway.

You’d asked him that Monday after the dance if he had gone and what he thought of it. He replied he had, lied that he hadn’t stayed long and asked if you enjoyed it. You said you did, but that nothing major happened. And that was that. No mention of any ‘mysterious man’.

Sicheng was left extremely disappointed after that conversation.

But, now he had Christmas to look forward to, and seeing his parents once again in a happy and festive setting and one so full of the love he’s been deprived of and-

God, he needs to stop listening to Doyoung’s rambles.

So preoccupied was he with packing his suitcase for the trip and hopping into his dad’s navy Chevrolet and pushing you completely from his mind in hopes that he’d be over you by the time he returns to college, he forgot just how close both his and your parents were with each other.

And that they decided to have a Christmas party together in your house.

Just lovely, he thinks from his position in the armchair by the window, watching the snow fall in delicate flakes to join the mountains of it on the ground while the party is well underway around him. He couldn’t care less about socialising right now, despite it being what his parents would expect him to do as a golden child.

Regardless of his neat sweater and crisp shirt, he felt unkempt and restless just being in your vicinity; his skin itched for him to stay away from you, his brain screamed to ignore you, yet his heart wept to have you close by his side like you always were.

“Sicheng, darling,” his mother called, drawing his attention away from the flurries outside as he turned to her with a questioning stare. “Can you refill my glass for me? The drink is in the kitchen,” she asked, hand extended to pass her glass to her son. Sicheng sighed quietly through his nose but did as he was told, grabbing the glass and rising from his spot, walking away from the conversations airing around the living area and towards the kitchen.

Only the be stopped by you walking out from the kitchen once he reached the doorway.

You smiled at him, stumbled awkwardly as you tried to side step him only to have him do the same, and giggled at his endearingly flushed face.

He gulped, kept his gaze on the floor, and nodded in your direction, intending for that to be the extent of the interaction so he could return to moping by the window in peace as soon as possible, until your father, ever the rambunctious man, hollered: “look, love is in the air for these kids! Look at what they’re standing under, honey!”

It was with dread that Sicheng lifted his head simultaneously as you raised yours, to find that stupid and embarrassing little weed looking plant hung high on the doorframe above both of your excruciatingly close forms, too close for Sicheng’s heart to beat at a semi normal pace.

You lowered your gaze to his, heat rushing to your cheeks and a lopsided smile plastered on your face, and yet you remained where you were, perhaps waiting for Sicheng to make a move so you could reject him kindly once again, he thinks. He bit at the skin of his lower lip, watched as your glittering eyes flickered between his own dark pair and his mouth, and that familiar nervousness came crawling back to him. You both ignored the catcalls and teasing comments of your parents, not taking your attention off each other for one second. His throat constricted, he swallowed dryly, you leaned forward just a smidge, and-

“I won’t kiss you if you don’t want me to.”

He was surprised that this strange, lowly, meek and quiet voice was his own, rejecting something that he sought after the second he realised he couldn’t see himself living with someone that wasn’t you. You looked stunned, your lips parting and your eyes wide, but you composed yourself quickly, your expression morphing into something so blank Sicheng had great difficulty deciphering what was going through your mind.

The parents all groaned and expressed their displeasure at Sicheng’s unwillingness to give you a peck on the lips (not that he didn’t want to, he desperately did, with every fibre of his being, he just valued your comfort more than his wishes). His mother, the angel that she was, was quick to dissuade the negativity in the room. “He’s a gentleman,” she complimented, “he knows better than to just kiss a girl because of some silly plant.”

The parents laughed, returned to their conversations, and Sicheng was virtually alone with you, that same hollow look upon your face staring at him while the pair of you stood in relative silence. His hand flexed around his mother’s glass, knuckles turning white from the grip, and trained his sight on his brown shoes, the toes skimming the tops of your saddle shoes.

“If you’re such a gentleman” you began, voice quiet and laced with a hesitancy Sicheng was not familiar with hearing. “You shouldn’t leave a girl hanging like that and ask her on a date if you aren’t gonna kiss her now.”

His heart nearly leapt out of his throat, and he was sure his eyes were nearly as wide as dinner plates right about now. Blood rushed to his cheeks like a tsunami, and was sure if he opened his mouth, nothing but a distressed wailing sound would leave his body. You looked as nervous as he felt, afraid that you had put your foot in your mouth and ruined your beloved friendship with the only person you ever cared about in your life.

“How about you take me to the pictures this Saturday? Pick me up at 7?” you offered, taking control of the situation and Sicheng had never been more grateful for your ability to take charge of a situation, because he was damn sure he just lost all ability to speak in this moment, too busy dancing away in his head and committing this moment to memory for it to be played over and over and over again at night when he will lie awake with butterflies in his stomach and a grin on his face.

So, he nodded, smiled like an idiot, nearly cried with happiness when you laughed shyly and ran back into the living area, and sauntered into the kitchen to finally refill his mothers drink.

It was funny, really. How after all this time, after the pain of being so close yet so far, that the fact he now has a date with you was actually so easy to achieve because of a stupid holiday tradition.

He took a sip from his mother’s drink, the burning liquid trickling down his throat and added to the dizziness he felt after his encounter with you.

What an idiot he was.

Truth be told, Sicheng wasn’t paying any attention to the film rolling in front of his eyes, much too busy overthinking the way you leaned closer to him and brushed your shoulder against his when you reached for the popcorn.

He couldn’t even remember the name of the movie to begin with. Whatever you had suggested, he had said yes immediately to in hopes of making you happy (which, he did).

You really had him wrapped around your finger, didn’t you?

(He doesn’t care, he thinks happily, as you meet his gaze and smile at him. He doesn’t care at all.)

His mind was racing about what he should do once the movie was finished – walk you home? Take you to your favourite diner? Go for a walk in that park? He honestly couldn’t choose, didn’t know what to choose exactly, and in the blink of an inattentive eye for Sicheng, everyone started filing out of the doors of the cinema, a lively buzz in the atmosphere of people their thoughts on the movie and where to go from here.

Sicheng wants to ask them to be privy to that bit of info himself. Where does he go from here?

“Sicheng?” he heard, and turned his head towards the voice. You looked at him with a stunning smile, the bright lights of the theatre’s signs not glowing nearly as bright as you were to him in this moment, with yourself all dolled up for little old him, and he did not feel one bit worthy to stand here with you.

“Yes?” he answered quietly, his trembling fingers pulling at the sides of his trousers, flitting in and outs of his pockets, a nervous tick, and one you caught onto immediately. Your hand slotted perfectly into his when you grasped it, and he prays to anyone that’ll listen that you won’t get repulsed by the sweatiness of his palms or the shakiness of his fingers.

“I had a really fun time tonight,” you confessed, offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance. His heart skipped a beat (a regular occurrence with you, it seems), and he was positive his cheeks were pinker than a strawberry macaron. “I…I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner,” you mused with a light laugh. Sicheng nearly choked on his spit.

“Wait, what? You would have done this sooner?” he grimaced at the incredulous crack of his voice, and appreciated your attempts at stifling your laughter.

“Well I’ve…I’ve liked you since I was 15, but I was just too chicken to say anything, didn’t wanna ruin our friendship,” you admitted, scratching at your cheek and avoiding his stare as you focused your attention on the ground. Once this newfound information processed in his mind, Sicheng laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

You stared in bewilderment as Sicheng seemingly lost his mind, bending over in a full blown cackle, face red and short of breath, and attracting the stares of many passer-by’s. You bent over to become level with his face.

“Sicheng, are you ok? Everyone’s staring at us, wacko,” you giggled at his form, still very confused at what was so funny.

Catching his breath, Sicheng stood upright and sighed airily, a dopey grin plastered on his visage.

“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, this is so bogus,” he laughed. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for as long too,” Sicheng added, still a bit out of it from his laughing fit, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. You bit at your lip, a furrow in your brow telling him you were thinking hard about something.

“So do it, hot stuff.”

“Do what?” Sicheng asked dumbly, and you rolled your eyes playfully. Really, he laughed all sense out of him. So, you took charge.

Slipping your hand out of his, you lifted both to gently take hold of his dumbstruck face, leaned in, and placed your lips upon his.

Finally.

Sicheng almost couldn’t breathe but refused to move away, leaning his forehead against yours, hands fumbling to take hold of your waist and hold you close against his chest. It was the kind of kiss like he had always seen in the movies – passionate, full of love, and made all sorts of things happen with his heart and body. Fireworks, butterflies, chills, tingles, none were an accurate description to how unbelievably happy he felt in this moment, how comforting the motion of your thumbs stroking his face felt, how perfectly soft your lips felt against his, everything was just so, so…

Long overdue, if he was being brutally honest.

Air eventually became a necessity, and so it was with great regret (that the moment couldn’t last forever) you pulled apart, gasping for air and refusing to look anywhere other than at each other. Sicheng smiled sweetly, reaching up to stroke at the apple of your cheek.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude not to ask someone to kiss them before you do?” he teased, recalling a misfortunate memory of a shabby sandbox and the beginning of a long history.

You grinned, pinched playfully at his cheek. “Maybe. But I’ll apologise later. Now give me another kiss, we have years to make up for.”

Sicheng, for all his poise and grace, would gladly run like a madman to obey that request.

[welovekpopscenarios]

16 “You’re getting crumbs all over my bed.” + Wonwoo

Mimi’s Drabble Challenge #16: “You’re getting crumbs all over my bed.” + Wonwoo Word Count: 644 Warnings/Genre: Humour, fluff, mentions of drink/alcohol Requested by @hoshihoe-pop

Wonwoo’s eyes flickered to his phone once more as he sat in bed playing his Playstation, a worry settling into the pit of his stomach as he checked the time on the alarm clock – 2:03am. He shouldn’t be up this late, he normally wouldn’t be, but he can’t help but let his anxiety keep him awake when you said you’d be home at around 12am when you went out for drinks with your friends.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you – of course he did. In fact, you were probably who he trusted most in his life, and for that he loves you. You were more than invaluable to him. He just can’t stop the little flickers of worry and doubt creep into his mind and heart as he watches the clock tick ever more, getting deeper into the night.

Not even a night of reading or video games is enough to truly distract him. Where reading failed, he took to his console, lying in your shared bed and all too aware of the missing presence beside him. The video games worked for a short time, getting too involved in Overwatch matches to care about anything else, but of course he’d notice your absence eventually.

The digital clock struck 2:24am when he finally heard the tell-tale jingle of the keys in the door, followed by high heeled footsteps, accompanied with a bang and a fit of giggles, meaning you most likely just hit your head against the door frame.

He knew the process like the back of his hand – the clatter against the wall meant you had thrown your shoes off of your feet because they were far too uncomfortable at this point in the night, your jacket and keys were flung onto the kitchen countertop to be dealt with in the morning, and sluggish footsteps would make their way down the hallway and to the half-closed door until-

“Wonuuuuuu!”

You fell into the doorway, stumbling your way over to the bed in your haste to reach Wonwoo and smother him in drunken kissed. You were mindful of the food in your hand, as you always were, treating it like your own child and cherishing it more than Wonwoo could say you’ve done with anything. The can of soda was plonked onto the bedside table, and you flopped down beside Wonwoo on the bed with your kebab in hand.

You reached over to plant a round of sloppy kissed against his cheeks, to which he protested mildly, his heart happy that you were finally home, and began chowing into your food, eating loudly and unabashedly with such fervour that Wonwoo was once more reminded why this was his least favourite part about you coming home drunk.

“Ah, you’re playing games,” you sighed happily, shifting around to find a more comfortable position. “I hope you’re winning, my love.”

“You’re getting crumbs all over my bed,” he said, eyeing the mess forming on your half of the mattress with disdain. You laughed loudly, and Wonwoo winced at the volume, winced even more when you slapped his chest in mirth. You, thankfully, placed your food on the table beside you, and lean over to catch his lips in a quick peck.

A ghost of a smile on his lips caused a full on grin on yours, and it made his heart flutter much like all those years ago when he first met you.

“Thank you so much for waiting up for me, daaarling,” you giggled. He rolled his eyes, subtly tucked you closer to his side, and returned his attention to the TV.

“I didn’t wait up for you. As you can see, I was playing games. Now hurry up and finish your food, it’s stinking up the room.”

You laughed, a light sound, and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Sure thing, husband. Want some food?”

[welovekpopscenarios]

54 scoups

Mimi’s Drabble Challenge #54:“They’re not your kids, back the f*ck off.” + S.Coups Word Count: 796Warnings/Genre: Humour, slight language. Happy Easter/April Fool’s everyone! (If you celebrate it, of course)

The boys surrounded you in the living room as you stood inthe centre, jingling your keys impatiently and tapping your foot against thecarpeted floor. The boys were quick in their movements; rushing to put onjackets and masks alike, procrastinating by deciding which was the mostfashionable, or which was the most comfortable. You lost your patience, scowlingat them all.

“Come on people! You don’t have to dress to impress anyone! Wehave to leave quickly before Seungcheol gets out of the shower. Now hurry upand let’s leave!” you snapped, and the boys were quick to heed your advice. It wasalmost comical how they formed a single line on instinct, and followed you muchlike ducklings would after their mother once you entered the hallway.

You made a beeline for the doorway, steps determined andquick, and desperate to get the boys out of the dorm before Seungcheol couldcatch them. But, as it seems, that bitch Lady Luck was never on your side. Whata pain in the ass.

“What’s going on? Where are you going?” a deep voice asked,and simultaneously, thirteen pairs of heads turn right in the direction of thevoice. Seungcheol stood in the doorway of the bathroom, skin wet andglistening, and a soft burgundy towel hanging low on his hips. You would havedied if you weren’t so hell bent on this secret mission of yours.

He frowned, thick brows furrowing on his forehead and adownturn to his lips that displayed his confusion at the scene before him. Alltwelve boys remained silent, scared and stock still, eyes flitting towards eachother and you but not at Seungcheol. You could have sworn you saw Seungkwan slinkbehind Mingyu and Jun, eager to disappear into the shadows.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. Missions failed. “We’regoing out to eat.”

“Without me?” The offence was apparent on his face as hepeered at the younger members for an answer, hoping that his glare would forcethem into submission and explain what was going on. You stood your ground,hands placed firmly on your hips.

“Yes. Without you. We’re going somewhere nice to eat.”

“I thought we had plans already, like we do every year,” hegrowled, and distantly you heard Minghao swear in Chinese. Yikes.

“Yes, but they don’t want to go to…that place ever again. I’m saving them. They’re coming with me,”you answered, chin held high even when Seungcheol stalked forwards in an act ofintimidation. He scoffed haughtily.

“They’re not your kids, back the fuck off,” he warned, butyou rolled your eyes. You knew him too well, he was a threatening as a kitten.

“They’re not yours either, idiot. And we’re going out. You caneither join or stay here.” There. The ultimatum was set. Now all he had to dowas choose which card to play. Unfortunately, he decided to throw the entire deckaway.

“No, they’re not going with you. As I said, we had plans. And we’re going throughwith them, like we do every year, so everyone better wait for me to get ready. Ifyou don’t, I’m making all of you clean my shoes. Every. Single. Pair.” Heaccentuated each word with a point of his long finger aimed at several of theboys, a move that had them shuffling closer together like a pack of frightenedanimals.

A dark horse, Chan, spoke up against his elder in defiance,chest puffed out in fake confidence. “No, we don’t want to go there again! We wantedto try that new Italian restaurant that opened up a few weeks ago, and Y/npromised she’d take us!”

“So you were brain washed too, Chan?” Seungcheol shook hishead in disappointment. “You used to love the old place. All of you did, it’s afun place! What happened?”

“No, I didn’t! None of us did! It’s creepy!” he exclaimed,and the hallway erupted in murmurs of agreement. “We’re not going!” With greatsuspicion on your part, Seungcheol smirked.

“If none of you go with me, I’m upping the practice hoursuntil the end of summer. No if’s, and’s or but’s.”

The dorm fell silent, the boys in deep contemplation. Some wantedto argue, to fight for their freedom, and others were hesitant, weary of thethreat and knowing Seungcheol would stay true to his word. In the end, the boysrelented with a sigh, discontent leaving their lips and shoulders slouched. Disappointmentfilled your heart. You failed them. Next time, you’ll take them out somewherenice, and far away from Seungcheol’s evil reign. He shook his head, bemused atthe atmosphere and frowns on the boys’ faces.

“Oh, shut up. We’re going to Chuck E Cheese, and that’sfinal.”

[welovekpopscenarios]

26 “The diamond in your engagement ring is fake.” + Dino

Mimi’s Drabble Challenge #26: “The diamond in your engagement ring is fake.” + Dino Word Count: 543 Warnings/Genre: Humour, fluff, hospitals, implications of hospital drugs Requested by @hoshihoe-pop

“The diamond in your engagement ring is fake.”

It was comical how the barrage of insults just seemed to flow out of his mouth like water from a tap the second he was admitted to the hospital after an unfortunate accident while practicing. The effect of the drugs prescribed by the doctors were working their magic for the past 3 hours, and you’ve sat next to Chan through every comment he deemed necessary to say aloud at nearly everyone.

It wasn’t so bad at first – the members could take the insults, were used to Chan and his hidden cheekiness at this point, and given the unwarranted looseness of his lips, they could let it slide. Well, Seungkwan and Jeonghan had a few choice words ready when Chan had commented that his left butt cheek was more worthy of awards than the two of them combined, and Seungkwan had to be restrained from hitting the younger man in his droopy condition. You had to convince him at least three times that Chan obviously did not mean anything he said at all, until Seungkwan eventually relented with a huff and announced he was leaving to get a yoghurt.

Truthfully, you had wondered how you remained unscathed from the blunt end of his remarks up until now. ‘True love’, Joshua had laughed, and while the sentiment warms your heart to no end, you knew better than that. What you valued about Chan, above just about everything else that was perfect about him, was his honesty with you. He preferred being straightforward than beating around the bush, and while some people may see that trait as harsh at times, you considered it a wonderful thing. Even when he honestly tells you that that neon yellow hair band really just wasn’t working for you.

You smiled softly at him, as he shifted uncomfortably in his hospital bed and picked at the sleeves of his hoodie. He was sluggish in his movements, eyes flitting around the room in curiosity and most likely wondering where in the hell he was. Your fingers twirled the ring in question, heart squeezing fondly when you recalled the night Chan had popped the question amidst the chaos of a festival of lights.

“I would hope not, even though there isn’t anything wrong with that,” you replied, left hand moving to hold his when he held out his palm. He brought it to eye level, blinked his eyes twice before squinting, scrutinising the piece of jewellery he apparently spent months deciding on, if Soonyoung was to be believed. The blush on Chan’s face when Soonyoung had told you that little fact told you yes, he was to be believed.

He hummed, a long drawn out sound that would make it seem as if he was a scholar debating over his theories, yet in the end he clucked his tongue, lowered both your hands into his lap, holding onto your hand tight, and scoffed.

“That ring might as well be a ring pop. Your fiancé seems like a bum, but I hope he makes you happy,” he dismissed, shutting his eyes and falling quickly to sleep. You laughed quietly, and moved your chair closer to his bed.

“Yes, he does. And I love him very much.”

[welovekpopscenarios]

#91 w/ Namjoon (bts lol) ❤️❤️

Mimi’s Drabble Challenge #91:“Tell me you need me.” + Namjoon Word Count: 737Warnings/Genre: Angst with a happy ending, implications of a history with bad relationships, this is the very last drabble, hope you enjoy! Thanks for waiting!

You hated it, oh how you hated it, this constant fearburrowed deep into your heart, that would rear its ugly head once someone gottoo close, like some sort of alarm that would warn you of dangers where therewas none.

How you hated the way it turned your yes’ into no’s, yoursmiles into frowns, your life into misery. With a vice grip, it held you back,too afraid of getting hurt once again, too unwilling to trust, preferring thisback and forth game of dating one person after the other and running before youwere in too deep.

It was a joke, but you found it far from hilarious. Yourecounted too many nights staring at the ceiling of your apartment, late atnight when the wind howled and the bed was much too cold, where you would justwish you could let someone inside your heart to hold on to.

And then, he showedup.

It was almost as if he appeared out of thin air, tagging alongwhen one of your college friends invited nearly everyone from their friend listout for drinks to celebrate barely passing her exams. The perfect excuse to getwasted and forget about life, as she had put it. With a group that large, younormally wouldn’t have noticed anyone in particular other than those you knew,those who were familiar.

But the stranger with the dark eyes, the one whose gazenever strayed from yours for far too long underneath his glasses? He definitelyintrigued you, and that little gremlin in your heart stayed quiet for themoment.

Namjoon, you later learned, was seemingly too perfect to beeven real. An intellect, with just the right amount of goofy, and all aroundthe sweetest thing, was just about a god send to any person looking to findtheir other half. How he ever took interest in you, you’ll never know. He spentan entire night, beneath your blankets and lips trailing heated paths acrossyour body, proving to you just what he loved about you, though.

Loved.

Of course, that dark and hateful part of you just couldn’tbear it, couldn’t bear the thought of being happy, and began pushing him away. You didn’t need him, you told yourself.You fed him lies – “it’s not working out”, “I just want to focus on my work”,“we can still be friends” – all the while swallowing down the bile rising inyour throat at the utterly heartbroken expression on his face. You could nottell if that distant shattering noise was your heart or his own. But with agrim expression, you left him sitting alone in that quaint coffee shop in thecity, rain drops pouring down the glass of the windows and down the lines ofyour face.

Keeping him away worked for some time, bitterly. Forgettinghim was much harder. It was so hard not to feel a great gaping hole in yourchest whenever traces of his scent filled your senses from your pillow, or tofeel a sick sort of jealousy course through your veins when you witnessedcouples in ignorant bliss, laughing in a carefree and loving sort of way thatyou longed for, that you craved.

After days of silence, the knocking on your door wasunexpected, and had you worried for any kind of encounter with an assaulter ofsome sort. Your heart skipped a beat at the familiar and beautiful face infront you when you cautiously opened the door, in a state of disarray and outof breath as if he had ran all the way here. He looked exhausted, sad, darkbags under equally dark eyes, and yet it was with such reverence that he tookyour face carefully in his hands, like a man who had just been awakened to thegreat wonders of the world.

You felt like crying, and the familiar blurring of yourvision informed you that you were very close to it, but you’d be damned if youlooked anywhere other than Namjoon for even a second, because for once, youfelt like you breathe again, everything felt like it once was, while stillfeeling like everything was fresh.

“Tell me you need me,” he whispered against your lips, andyour eyes fluttered shut when his thumbs rubbed softly on the apples of yourcheeks.

You didn’t lie to him this time.