orenda (iroquoian, n.) - a mystical force present in all people that empowers them to affect the world, or to effect change in their own lives
Genre: in keeping with my most frequently recurring genre as of late, this piece is very emotional (and I advise reader discretion), but it is comforting. lately, I have been writing to comfort myself, and I share works like this in the hope of sharing comfort with others.
Word Count: 500
Note: This drabble was requested by shinee loving anon using this list. please feel free to make a request using this list!
Onew's favorite fan letter is one he received while on vacation.
"I don't' have to wear a mask," he thought on his walk to the park closet to his hotel. "Nobody will recognize me when I am so far from home."
It was rejuvenating— breathing deeply, feeling the early autumn wind breathing on his face, living among the goldening trees in this beautiful moment of clinging to life before the death of winter. Winter, the time when the sun hides and twinkling Christmas lights sometimes— often— always fail to replicate warmth despite their beauty. Winter, the time when all reflect on the past and all at once, for better or for worse, all feel it in their bones: just how much has changed.
Onew closed his eyes as he eased himself onto the park bench below the line of pine trees, welcoming the rising flood of memories. There was nothing to fear; he would not drown. When his eyes opened, they did not fill with tears despite the needle piercing through his heart and tapping to the tempo of ever-fleeting time. Peace found him once somewhere in a dream; peace wouldn't leave; peace was hard to forget when living for a moment among the trees and the sunlight.
Then she appeared, wearing a bashful smile, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, trying to hide the words "SHINee World" written on her sweater. Holding out a page likely torn from the blue notebook clutched in her hand, she said in his language, in a distinctly American accent: "I love you."
Maybe that was the only phrase she could say in Korean.
All Onew could think as he accepted the papers and scrambled to return her kindness with the quick bow of his head was that this girl leaped over language barriers to speak to him on a day that he hadn't expected— he hadn't dreamed of being recognized.
After he thanked her, grinning down at the page in his hand, marked with English words he could not read, the girl bowed and turned to continue on the hiking trail lined by pine trees. The name on the back of her sweater— not his name but His name— took his breath away and reminded his eyes how to tear.
Onew stayed awake well into the night to type the girl's night into a translating app. He though the effort paid off when he read:
I'm sorry I can't write in a language you understand, and I'm sorry that my handwriting is so terrible. I am trying to write this quickly as I try to gather the courage to share this note with you before you disappear. Please know that your voice— your literal voice and your solo album— is among the most beautiful in the world. Please know that your voice is such a comfort, such an inspiration, one of the brightest lights in the darkness. Thank you, Onew.
"You're welcome," Onew will tell the girl if their paths cross again, "And thank you."
I’m procrastinating writing my novella by posting this. whatever. Maybe i wanted to read some slightly angsty, slightly fluffy, slightly ambiguous jinki fic. Here u go
You feel stupid; like the world’s biggest idiot, the laughing stock of god himself as you walk home in the rain, hoping to whatever force that spit on your existence that you would get frostbite and die.
You don’t know why everything always ended like this. You didn’t know why everyone was always so jealous of him, why they always felt so insecure, so upset, so emotional that they would need to-
You let out a hiccuping, shivering sob and wipe your cheeks with your soaked sleeve. It doesn’t matter; your face is already streaked with rain, rivulets of frigid water pouring from the strands of hair plastered to your face. But it’s pride that makes you rub your eyes raw. Fuck her. Fuck her and fuck everyone in the world who cheated. Why was it your fault? Why did she have to yell, and throw things, and cry- you could never handle it when she cried and she knew it. She cheated and made you feel guilty for it.
Your socks are soaked through and you can’t feel your fingers, your cheeks, your ears, or the way your teeth are chattering, but you manage to unlock the front door anyway. His car is pulled in, but you don’t want to see him.
“I wouldn’t have needed to if you weren’t so close to him”
He’s your best friend.
“How do you think I felt? When I saw you hung all over him?”
It was a hug. Jinki was your best friend. Why would she cheat on you over a hug?
“I was scared. You know what I’ve been through.”
Why did she blame you? Why was her trauma your fault?
You put your palm over your mouth and sob again, squeezing your eyes shut as the warm tears run down your cold-bitten cheeks. The light is on in the living room; Jinki’s home, he’ll give you those worried eyes at the state of your clothes and ask you why you didn’t call him to pick you up.
“If I had known you were in love with him, I never would have tried so hard”
You hated her right now.
It feels like your lungs are bleeding, twinges of pain in your ribs when you breathe in too hard, and you only realize he hears you crying when you hear hurried footsteps across the carpet.
“What happened? Are you okay?” His voice travels down the hallway; you can hear the furrow in his brow, the downwards quirk of his lips.
You snivel, hiccup, “No.”
His breath catches when he sees you, and you’re sure you’re a puffy eyed, red faced mess, but he still rushes forward to press his warm hands to your cold cheeks.
“Why didn’t you call me?” there it is, “I would have picked you up- you could get hypothermia!”
You sniff again and nod. The feeling in your chest gets worse, like your corseted and someone keeps pulling the strings tighter and tighter. You just wish the seams would rip already.
When he realizes you’re not saying more than that, his eyes soften, and you curse him internally.
“You can tell me about it later, okay? Let’s just get you warm.”
And he takes you softly by your trembling hands, pulling you to the restroom to throw some towels over your head, instructing you to take a warm shower, that he would have some hot chocolate ready for you when you get out. And after you finish, standing in there long enough to hope that he got tired and went to bed already, he’s still on the couch, two mugs of steaming hot cocoa with whipped cream on the coffee table and your favorite documentary playing. Your eyes well up again at the sight, and you sniffle quietly over sips of your drink as he dries your hair, hands soft and comforting and familiar.
And then, when he stops fretting that you’ll catch a cold, you lean into his side and throw your legs over his lap, like you always do. There’s a colony of penguins on the tv, honking and collecting small pebbles as the narrator pauses for effect; Jinki coos at them, and you crack a small, sad smile.
“She cheated on me.” You say, softly, voice rough from cold and tears. His hand, the one that had migrated to your shoulders, tightens on your shirt. Looking up through your lashes, you see his jaw clench.
“Was it the bisexual thing again?” He asks. He only ever sounds this annoyed when someone leaves you. It makes you feel warm.
“Kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“Mhm.”
You just want to leave it at that, for now. Just until you’re finished with your hot chocolate and the Arctic episode switches to the desert. You want to stay in this bubble and forget that this is exactly what she meant; the comfortable way you were so touchy with Jinki when it took two months for you to initiate skinship with her, the way you shared and apartment with him and didn’t want to move in with her. The way you were close with Jinki that you couldn’t be with her.
You set the mug down, the remains of undissolved cocoa swimming in the bottom of the cup in a chocolatey sludge. The rain patters against the window, and your hands have finally stopped itching after the shock of numbness to warmth.
“You’re in love with him”
You hated her because you loved him. Because she was right. Not right for cheating, not right for saying it was your fault, wrong for letting it bother her instead of talking to you, but right because you were so, so in love with Jinki.
“It wasn’t all because of the bisexual thing.” You whisper, staring at your fingers at they pick at the frayed hem of your pajama shorts. It’s scary, but you’re done pretending.
“Why, then?”
Your skin is buzzing where his hand is over your shoulder, warm and spreading through your skin like static. His steady breathing is against your cheek, and you’re warm, at home.
Note: This ties in with my other SHINee drabbles, most notably Anniversary (Minho). So maybe check that out after you read this :)
You had fallen out of the habit of dating, electing to instead focus on advancing your career. Once you earned that long-awaited promotion— just another thing marked off your list of goals— you wondered what harm could be in just one date.
So you casually asked your most trusted friends if they knew anybody worth meeting. And almost immediately, over a cup of coffee in a local cafe, your friend gushed, “I know the perfect person.” Then, perhaps sensing your anxiety, she hummed comfortingly, “Don’t worry— it’s one of Minho’s friends!”
“Oh no!” You groaned somewhat jokingly at the mention of her boyfriend, who you had known for far too long. “Now I’m really worried!”
She swatted at you playfully, unable to restrain her giggle. “Yeah, I admit Minho can be a piece of work sometimes.” When you eyed her challengingly, she admitted with a sigh, “Okay, he’s a handful most of the time. But Jinki isn’t like that. He’s really, really nice.”
“A double really?” You inquired. Your friend always called someone ‘really, really nice’ when she was concealing some kind of flaw.
“Yeah,” she said confidently. But as she scrolled through her phone for a picture of him, she admitted, “I mean, he’s a little accident prone. . .” She trailed off as she held her phone out to you.
Of all flaws, being clumsy wasn’t the worst. So as you accepted the phone, you defended the man you hadn’t even met yet. “He can’t be that bad.” And as you looked through the pictures, you acknowledged, “He’s cute—”
“And nice,” your friend reminded once more. You returned her phone, and she said, “Look, Y/N, nice people are hard to find. Anyway, I’ll tell Minho to give Jinki your number, alright?”
“Sure,” you consented with a shrug. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
You spent the next week texting Jinki at every opportunity. What started as a bored venture into dating somehow evolved into a heart fluttering adventure. It was as if you were holding your breath between every interaction, so when Jinki asked to take you on an official date, you may have reacted with an overly enthusiastic yes, contrary to the popular tactic of playing hard to get.
He met you at your apartment with a broad smile and offered his arm as he escorted you toward the setting sun. “I’ve heard so many things about this place,” he said when you asked where you were going.
“I’m sure it will be lovely,” you assured. But you hadn’t expected to be led to a five star restaurant.
And when you glanced at Jinki’s wide eyed, slack jawed expression, you reasoned that he must have been surprised too. He only reluctantly approached the hostess’ podium when you nudged him forward, and you could have sworn that when asked for a name, Jinki whispered, “Choi Minho.”
But you were too overwhelmed to question what you heard. You and Jinki both, although well dressed, clearly did not meet the standard of this restaurant. You knew it— but so did everyone else, staff and fellow patrons alike, judging by their unbroken stares as you followed the hostess to the table.
Thankfully, this didn’t distract Jinki from acting like a perfect gentleman. So as you slipped into a conversation, you easily forgot about the critical stares of strangers. Until the first incident, that is.
Apparently the waister tipped over Jinki’s foot, and he unceremoniously toppled over, spilling drinks all over the table and your white blouse. The ensuing chaos turned heads, of course, but you only cared about Jinki’s thousand apologies.
“Hey— It’s okay.” You laughed as you assessed the damage to your shirt; thankfully, you had worn an undershirt. “It’s just water.”
But that didn’t prevent him from racing over to your side of the table to offer his jacket to conceal your stained shirt. On his way, he stepped clumsily over the waiter, who had crouched onto the floor to pick up the cups. The waiter glared at Jinki as if his life had been threatened, and you had to stifle your laughter.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jinki repeated as he draped the jacket around your shoulders.
“My apologies.” The waiter stood and spoke through gritted teeth. “Let me sit you at a different table.” And once you finished the walk of shame to a corner where, you’re sure the waiter hoped, you would attract less glares, he promised to return with new drinks.
You tried to interest Jinki in a new conversation, but the blush seemed to have permanently settled on his cheeks.
As you finished your meal, Jinki repeated, “I’m sorry I turned this into such a disaster.” And before you could argue that you were actually enjoying his company, he continued, “Let me just get the check—” and he raised his hand to call for the waiter.
But in the process, he hit the waiter in the face full force. The loud SMACK once again led stares to your table; the waiter appeared to be holding his breath and Jinki, now a brilliant crimson, couldn’t even will himself to look at the waiter.
And you knew you shouldn’t laugh. The cutting silence that overcame the entire restaurant made that evident, but you couldn’t help it. Suddenly, you were overcome by a laughter that seized your entire body. Before you could hide your face against the table cloth, you were sure you saw Jinki smile shyly at your reaction.
“Please,” the waiter begged as he pressed the bill on the table, “never come back, Mr. Choi.”
And the realization that Jinki had stolen Minho’s reservation made you laugh even harder, but you would be sure to apologize to your friend later.
@comeonyu i’m in a permanent state of being emotional about our leader 😭 thank you for reading & i’m sorry it took me so long to respond to your feedback!
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