i liked one, ONE batman associated post and now my whole feed is just batman and dick and some guy who dies but then isn’t dead and like raises from the grave. IVE ONLY SEEN ONE BATMAN MOVIE AND IT HAD EDWARD CULLEN IN IT. PLEASE STOP
I don't know if it's hormones or what, but it makes me sad that Bang Chan will never know how much he means to me.
Like, I genuinely love him so much. He deserves the world for being such an amazing person. He cares about everybody so much: the members, STAY, staff. He believes in us, supports us, brings us up when we're down. But he doesn't see the good in himself and it breaks my heart.
I know I'm not the only one. There's so many STAY that he's helped. A lot of people found a home with him and the rest of Stray Kids. And I'm sure they know how much STAY truly care about them, but I would still want to tell them how much they mean to me personally and how much they've helped me.
I haven't been a teenager in over a decade. Mind has yet to change on the subject.
At 14, I told my guidance counselor that I didn't want kids. He chuckled, patted me on the back, and informed me that when I got a little older, and I was with a guy, I would change my mind.
At 16, my grandmother nearly had a heart attack because of her three granddaughters, myself and the youngest agreed we didn't want to uave babies. Ever.
At 17, my father asked about my life plan. I told him: graduate high school, get my college degree, do some traveling and writing, go for this particular job I wanted, retired around X age, take month-long vacations to places I wanted to spend time in, etc. He asked, "What about a husband? Children? Normal things a girl is supposed to think about?" My response- a husband if a man came along that could share an adventure with me, kids were a No Go. He assured me I would 'grow up' qnd change my mind.
At 19, I shocked my former babysitter who had known me since I was a toddler, when I confirmed the rumour she'd heard that I didn't want kids. She patted my mom's arm and reassured her in a sweet voice that, "Don't worry, girls say a lot of silly things before they meet the right fella, and wise up. She'll give you grand babies"
At 22, I was talking to a college professor who chuckled at my making a comment about how, "thank goodness I'm never going to have to worry about juggling child rearing eith marriage, work, and life", then she realized I was serious. She asked if I was alright, thinking I could-not (not didn't-want) kids. I told her the truth, could have but didn't want to. She was aghast, then told me that I'd change my mind when my husband wanted some kids.
Well, I'm over 30, still have absolutely no desire to give birth, adopt, raise, or have much of anything to do with children. I don't hate children, I don't think people who have them are crazy (more power to you, to create and/or care for another person), and I don't think it's impossible to have a life AND have children. I recognized at an early age that I don't have that biological imperative to procreate, I don't have the patience to deal with children (something that has shown very little improvement as I've gotten older, in fact it might be getting worse), and I don't feel my life is incomplete without creating another life- I am good with living my own and doing my best to enrich the lives of those I care about (I try my best to be a good friend, to be a good sister, good daughter, good pet-owner, and a good person in general).
So please, please stop telling girls (or really kids at all, but especially girls) that they will change their minds. Please don't tell them that meeting 'the right guy' will make them suddenly feel broody, that their potential future husband's desire to have children will make her reconsider and see things his way. For one, a couple should have had that conversation and decided if it was a deal breaker, LONG before they got hitched. For another, it's her body that gets to grow and birth another human being- her husband's desire to be a father doesn't supercede her autonomy.
Please, let girls make their own choices? Girls are forced to mature too fast as it is and are bombarded from all sides with SHOULD (you SHOULD be a size 2, you SHOULD wear this dress, you SHOULD have a boyfriend to be a normal teen, you SHOULD always smile), they don't need another judgement from someone who hasn't walked a mile in their particular shoes. Respect teenage girls and their ability to look at the world, themselves, their situation, and their future, and make an important choice.
*gets off soap box, slides it back under the sofa, lets out a sigh*
When my 15 year-old neighbor said that her biggest dream is to be a mom, no one of the adults said anything.
When I said, at age 15, that I don't want to have kids ever, I was told that I can't possibly know that for sure at such a young age and my mind will change. Not that it can change but it will.
I've yet to encounter a situation where a child or a teenager telling that they want to have kids is told "You're too young to know that, you can't possibly know it for sure".
I'm now 41 and still childfree by choice. This neighbor's girl from my childhood is a mother of 4. We both got what we wanted but only my decision was protested by outsiders. I have not faced too much nay-sayers but enough anyway.
I'm currently having some uterus related health problems which have been bothering me for years (we've tried different treatment methods, none worked so far). A dead sure solution would be a hysterectomy. It would solve all my issues. However, getting one seems very unsure because TECHNICALLY can I STILL change my mind and have kids.
Mind you that the age for infertile issues in national health care is 40, because otherwise you're too old to have children anymore. If you're over 40 and suffer of infertility, you need to go to a private clinic and pay for the treatments for yourself. Yet, I'm - by the views of the same medical field - a way too young to know if I want to have kids so they must do everything they can to keep me fertile.
The right for this non-existing kids is far greater than my right for a proper health without being chronically ill. Just because I'm a woman and at age 41 might still change my mind when I meet the right man. Because apparently all women are mindless dolls.
And even if you're right, and they later do change their mind, that doesn't invalidate their stance in the present moment! By pointing out they may change their mind, you are causing them to make an emotional decision on if they want kids: something that should never be an emotional decision!
Chan didn't care about anything at the moment, except you that is. The way you fit perfectly in his arms, the mold of you curving perfectly where he held you, like you were the missing puzzle piece.
He hadn't even noticed when he had started crying, but he came to when he felt you move to cup his cheeks.
"What's wrong, baby?" You pout slightly, your brow furrowed, and God, your voice.
"Can I keep you?" He sniffs, chuckling at how pathetic he sounded.
"Hm?" You smile, running your fingers through his hair.
"Like forever, you can't leave." You exhale through your nose and shrug.
"Sounds good to me." He smiles and pulls your head back to lay on his shoulder, his arms tightening around your waist. His hands dip under your shirt, rubbing leisure circles on your hips with his thumbs.
An hour passes by before either of you talk again.
"..I'm gonna marry you." Chan says, making you hum, blissfully.
"I can't wait." He smiles, pressing a kiss to your hair. You close your eyes again, relaxing into his calming presence. You're confused when you feel his hands pushing something onto your finger, lifting your head up to see a ring on your ring finger. You blink a few times before looking at Chan.
summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.
a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!
winter falls masterlist.
i.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
“Shh, daddy smile.”
Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation.
A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.
“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand.
“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you.
“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure.
“Your dad?”
“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth.
“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head.
“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh.
She isn't shy because she feels protected.
You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.
He’s beautiful.
Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.
“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.
“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips.
“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice.
“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.
“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly.
“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support.
“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”
“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.”
“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display.
“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.
“Yn. And you?”
“Chris.”
“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within.
Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.”
Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you.
“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants.
Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being.
“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”
“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back.
“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers.
“Touché.”
A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed.
“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you.
“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”
“You don’t know how to make them?”
“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you.
“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.”
“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you.
“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move.
Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.
“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”
“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”
“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around.
An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen.
One hour later
You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight.
“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back.
“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind.
“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.
“You made them?”
“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief.
“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears.
“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before.
“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth.
“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head.
“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two.
“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both.
“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.”
“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.
“I…. I'll get going.”
“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”
“I'll see you around.”
“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it.
ii.
“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you.
You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.
You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention.
“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago.
“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours.
“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.”
“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.”
The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.
“I can text you the address?” you propose.
“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.
“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly.
“She insists on trying her makeup on me.”
“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek.
“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.
“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying.
“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”
“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her.
“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten.
“She can be very scary for such a little girl.”
“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror.
“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door.
“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch?
“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.”
“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend.
“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.”
And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.
“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well.
“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.”
☃︎⋆꙳•❅
“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements.
“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair.
“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth.
“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”
“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”
You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.
“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours.
Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest.
Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?
“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.
“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows.
“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.”
“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”
“Will you watch a movie later with me?”
“Of course, baby.”
“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue.
“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”
“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him.
“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it?
Your facade cracks. His voice wins.
“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.”
iii.
You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.
“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years.
“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him.
“Just with salt?”
“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly.
Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.
It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris.
“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.
“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture.
“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp.
“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours.
He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?”
“We? You were behind my back all the time.”
“I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”
“I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”
“You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”
“I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”
“Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him.
And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night.
“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly.
“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.
“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”
“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.
It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.
“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter.
“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head.
“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.”
“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not.
“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly.
“The company.”
“I do find Sowon entertaining.”
“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back.
“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”
“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”
“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.”
“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near.
“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly.
He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near.
Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay.
One week later.
You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat.
“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.
“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm.
“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.
“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.
“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”
“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair.
“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”
“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.
“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.
“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.
“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.
“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”
“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing.
“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.
“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.
“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.
Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.
“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.
“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face.
“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess.
“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm.
The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems.
“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling.
You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.
“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter.
“Will she be okay?”
“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?”
“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks.
"She looks just like you," you softly smile.
"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.
“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up.
“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode.
You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.
A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.
You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.
The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.
Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak.
"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on.
“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.
“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze.
“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”
“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”
“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps, despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.”
“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears.
“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.”
“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away.
“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”
You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.
“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.
“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.”
Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.
“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before.
Five days later.
chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?
yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years
chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs
chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ
chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired
yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help?
chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring
You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock.
“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide.
“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”
“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.”
“Can I read what you wrote?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”
May these words be the first to find your ears
The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here
I'll give you everything I have
I'll teach you everything I know
I promise I'll do better
I will soften every edge
I'll hold the world to its best
And I'll do better
Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart.
“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago.
Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?”
“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.”
His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.
“Talk to me?”
“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.”
Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes.
“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.”
Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away?
“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own.
“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”
You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch.
“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.”
He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin.
“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”
“Is that what she told you that movie night?”
“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close.
“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.
You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.
“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?”
“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.”
“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.
“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.
“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.
connected.mp3 starts playing.
Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you.
You wished to be the only one Chris liked.
“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out.
So, you put on your best taunting smirk.
“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”
He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.
“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.
“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair.
“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”
"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.
“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.
“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.
“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold.
“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper.
“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.
To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it.
You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could.
You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.”
Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date.
iv.
You’re avoiding him.
Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks.
Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh.
He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory.
He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.
He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you.
He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.
How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?
“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.
“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.
“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.
“I don't know, baby.”
“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question.
“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”
“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.
“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!”
“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?”
“Okay!”
In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.
So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner.
“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.
“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.
“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.
“Look at me, hm?” he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. “Yn, please, I want to look at you.”
Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him.
And then you speak.
“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”
“Of course, always.”
“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“
“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.
He’s as scared as you are.
“Chris…”
“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”
“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm.
“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”
He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I'm staying.”
“You are?”
“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile.
“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.
“Thank you for asking me to stay.”
“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”
“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly.
“What happened to connected Chris?”
“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”
Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place.
“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”
“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”
“Good night, yn.”
You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again.
you win.
“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck.
Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”
He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.
bonus (one year later).
“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face.
“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.
“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly.
“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”
“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.
“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both.
It's her first time calling you mom.
You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"
“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”
“What happened to being a stylist?”
“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently.
“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.
In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.
hello tumblr moots. it’s been awhile. let me tell you updates on my life.
i graduated college (that was wild)
i turned 25 (i feel so old saying that, but i also know that that is still younger than some of my biases)
i opened up a k-pop store. like a in person, permanent store that is the only one within a 75 mile radius. which is cool. and stressful. and i love and hate at the same time.
i am a manager of an escape room. there are 7 employees total. usually on a saturday 6 of us work. this weekend we had 3 schedule the day off due to travel or birthdays, so only 4 scheduled to work. whatever, we’ve done it before. BUT on monday, one of my employees texts me saying that they have covid and another says they are sick. Saturday comes around, and those two are still sick, the 3rd that was scheduled to work has an eye infection and me, being the last available person to work is also sick. I call my boss and tell him that we can’t work today and just got shutdown. I had to call the two that were sick and tell them they had to come in, even though none of us should have been working. what kind of place have we gone to that you would rather work your employees to the bone than the close for one fucking day
order 034, @a-drawingpanda : large honey milk tea with red bean for verivery's Yeonho
warnings: some angst and reader is called some names :c but fluff otherwise and Yeonho to the rescue! ft. verivery as a band
summary: Yeonho plays guitar for a local band that performs at a café you frequent, and he ends up falling for the red roses that you leave for him.
word count: 1k+
barista 🥛's 💌: wowee a moodboard that actually really matches for once! look how pretty! also, the concept of verivery as a band,, i really like it omg. Gyehyeon guitarist,, Yongseung bassist,, Minchan drummer ! imagining it while writing made me :D
you swing open the door of café rouge, a place you frequent. the red walls and bitter, coffee scent make you feel at home as you walk to the counter.
"just the regular?" the barista, Minchan, asks.
you nod and slide the cash towards him on the counter, telling him to keep the change. he throws a wink at you as he takes it, and you smile.
"why're you up here and not setting up with your band?" you ask Minchan. he's also a drummer for the band that'll be performing soon.
"the normal baristas asked me to fill in for a second. they'll be back soon."
"they better, 'cause i'm here for your perfofmance!" you say.
once you have your drink, you head to the back, where the stage is.
"always on time for our performances, i see," Dongheon, the guitarist of verivery says as he watches you take a front-row seat.
"i wouldn't miss it for the world," you say, leaning back in your seat.
your eyes move from Dongheon to an unfamiliar back, and you watch as this person slings his guitar over his shoulder and tunes the strings while leaning against the stage. his hair falls into his eyes and he blows the strands away.
you smile, standing up while clutching a hairclip.
"hey... if you'll let me?" you ask the mysterious guitarist, motioning to his hair with your hand that holds a hairclip.
he nods and watches as you carefully clip his hair up and away from his eyes.
"thanks," he says, with a toothy smile.
his teeth are cute, you think to yourself, and you stagger backwards slightly as your heart races.
Dongheon watches the interaction, amused.
"who's that?" you ask him, looking back at the guitarist.
"a new guitarist. Gyehyeon will still be playing, but we needed another one. his name's Yeonho."
you look back at Yeonho as he sits on the stage, content with his tuned guitar. something about him has caught your eye, and you're excited to see him perform.
once verivery finally begin their performance, you can't take your eyes off Yeonho. his expression shows he's clearly lost in his own guitar riffs, and the way his fingers glide along and stroke the strings makes your heart soar. he's also still wearing your hair clip in his hair. some of his hair has started falling around his face, and you note the way some people in the crowd are calling Yeonho cute for his hair.
Dongheon, the lead singer of the group, has his eyes on you even while he performs. he notices the way you watch Yeonho intently, and he smiles to himself. i hope y/n won't distract Yeonho too much, he thinks, but he knows it will be far from that.
you always have a habit of leaving roses for verivery after their performances. Yeonho doesn't know this, though. so when verivery are done for the night and you leave after secretly leaving a rose for each member by their respective spots, Yeonho grasps the rose and presses it to his chest.
"look, someone left a rose for me!" Yeonho says, showing Dongheon, who smiles and ruffles the younger boy's hair.
"we all have one, too," Dongheon says, showing Yeonho his own rose.
"but... mine is red and yours are all white," Yeonho points out with a pout.
"oh! you're right."
Dongheon looks at all his members' roses to find they're all white, and the only one with any colour is Yeonho's red one. y/n clearly picks favourites, Dongheon thinks with a smile.
-
every week from then on at verivery's performances, you leave a rose for Yeonho in a new colour. he treasures them all and keeps them in a clear vase in his room at home, yet he still doesn't know who they're from. he isn't able to connect the roses to the sweet y/n who brings water and snacks for his band before they perform, who ties his hair out of his eyes for him and gives him feedback on his guitar playing before he has a guitar solo.
Dongheon pulls you aside one day and asks you when you'll tell Yeonho that the roses he receives are from you.
"why should i tell him? it isn't something to brag about," you say.
Dongheon shakes his head.
"no, you idiot! you like him, don't you? you purposely leave coloured roses for him," Dongheon says.
you look down and avoid Dongheon's eyes. yet that night, you decide to leave a note for Yeonho with his rose. it's only been a few weeks now, yet you're realizing your crush for him grows with each time he performs.
as you sit in your seat, tightly clutching verivery's roses while they perform, you happen to overhear a conversation behind you.
"their new guitarist is so cute. i've been coming to their performances just to see him," the first person says.
"his name is Yeonho, right?" the second person says.
they go on and talk about how they've noticed someone is leaving roses for Yeonho and how he gets so excited each time he sees them.
"i bet the person who leaves them is downright ugly, that's why they have to hide behind the roses."
you clutch your roses tighter, accidentally crumpling your letter for Yeonho in the process.
once the performance is over, you let the roses and letter gently fall to the ground amidst the crowd as you grab your bag and leave, not praising the verivery boys like you normally do. your heart is currently broken and it isn't on your mind to follow your usual habits.
the members are all worried about your whereabouts. you don't answer their calls, but they know you were at the show.
Yeonho innocently misses the presence of a coloured rose at his feet. he sadly looks down at the empty seats, wondering where his mystery admirer could be and why they didn't leave a rose... until he finds it. white rose petals scattered on the ground, detached from their stems. a few red ones remain, too.
when Yeonho walks towards them, he notices a crumpled paper. picking it up, he carefully reads your heartfelt words.
dear Yeonho,
the one who's been leaving you flowers all this time is me: y/n. truthfully, i've been too scared to tell you my sincere feelings, so i have used flowers instead. now, with this last red rose that i leave for you, i want to say that i like you! hopefully my confession won't ruin anything?
Yeonho clutches the note to his chest and rushes to Dongheon, asking if anyone knows where you might be. they all tell him that they don't know, and you're not answering any calls either.
"well, what if they're just home?" Yeonho says.
Dongheon thinks for a bit before saying that Yeonho might be right.
"give me their address. i'm going to find them."
-
ding dong.
the loud ring of your bell takes you out of your sob session. you quickly wipe your face with your sleeves and rush to open the door.
"who is-"
Yeonho stands at your doorstep, holding your crumpled note to his chest.
"y/n... is everything okay?" he asks, sweetly.
"i- uh- well... come in," you stutter, shocked to see him there.
Yeonho takes a seat on a couch in your living room, motioning for you to sit beside him. you're a complete mess with your hair in every direction and your red eyes, but Yeonho doesn't care. he wraps his arms around you as soon as you sit down, and you tense up as he sighs in relief.
"y/n.. so it's been you all this time? why did i have to find out through a letter that you tried to throw out?" Yeonho says.
"no, i didn't try to throw it out, i just.."
you think back to the mean people at verivery's show who had agreed that the person behind the roses must be ugly.
"you know that i like you too, right? has it not been obvious? and to find out that you're the one who's been leaving me roses too... well, i'm even more in love," Yeonho says, dreamily.
you have your head down, unable to feel happy. Yeonho places a finger under your chin, gently urging you to look at him
"what's wroooong," he sings with a pout.
you decide to be honest with him and tell him everything that happened. as you speak, his eyebrows furrow with anger and concern and he tightly holds your hands.
"did you a get a good look at the people who said that? who are they? i need to go find them right now--" Yeonho says, standing up.
you stop him with a laugh and he sits back down, happy to see you smiling.
"y/n.. what those people said about you is horrible, but you have no reason to believe them. you're far from ugly; you're the most beautiful, precious human alive. they were just jealous that they weren't smart enough to do anything like leaving roses," Yeonho says, patting your head.
"Yeonho, i don't want to be a burden for you. if there's better people--"
"no, y/n. no one is better and i don't want anyone else. i promise."
the look on Yeonho's face is genuine, and you feel grateful that he found you here right now. you carefully rest your head on his chest and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close. his heartbeat is soothing to listen to, and it blocks all your thoughts out.
"do you think, then... today is our first day together?" you quietly ask.
"if you're okay with that, then yes," Yeonho softly replies, stroking the top of your head.
you nod into his chest and Yeonho grins, both at how it tickles him and how cute you are.
"should we go out and grab a bite to eat together?" Yeonho asks.
you lift yourself off him and nod.
suddenly, Yeonho's phone starts to ring. he takes it out of his pocket and places it on his ear.
"Yeonho! we had to clean up after you. if you haven't found y/n then you better head back and help!" Dongheon voice booms through the phone.
Yeonho flashes a toothy smile at you before telling Dongheon that he's found you and he won't be heading back to help them.
"well... do you want to freshen up so we can go?" Yeonho asks, holding out a hand to you with a smile.
"sure," you say, taking his hand as he helps you stand up.
you're grateful he didn't make such a scene about your disappearance and teary-eyed state, but that he came to you with open arms and a smile, instead.
Managed to catch Channie’s room today and happened to see Chan read the comment “ew I hate you” his reply was “I hate me too we have something in common” and it just broke my heart. If he could see himself the way I see him, the way the rest of us see him. I really hope that Stray Kids have access to a good therapist because these comments are only going to increase as they get bigger and bigger. I don’t want to force Chan to tell us he loves himself if he doesn’t but I just hope that little by little he can reach a point where he can truly love himself more and more. He deserves all the love in the world.
Chan, you’ve worked hard, you did a good job today, you are my prize. You deserve love.
I am...Trash @talkingwithstraykids - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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