└ wavy

The small wing on my wingbone When will it grow bigger When my own wind blows Is that when I’ll be able to extend these wings When I close my eyes, when I breathe If I don’t deceive myself I won’t be lost or sad When I take one step closer The flower path grows thorns Then you reach out to save me

[wyyanbo]

wykyungcheol‌:

Their friendship is on cultivated. It’s a privilege to see Bo like this, Kyung-cheol is certainly that what he’s seeing is similar to seeing a shooting star. Bo is something rare like that, and the thought that his best friend had been working himself to the bone makes Cheol’s chest ache.

It’s just incredibly sad that it takes exhaustion and stress like this for Bo to relax into his touch, motions that are meant to calm. He never means to try forcing in skinship in a way that would make his friend uncomfortable. He doesn’t think he before he touches. His natural instinct is to reach out, so he hasn’t ever hesitated, even if it got him a kick in the ass.

The lips land against his jaw and Cheol hums softly, nuzzling his cheek against forehead and the bridge of a nose. “How can I leave when you’re like this? Isn’t this like heaven?” He jokes but it’s only half of a joke.

He’s still and silent for an entire minute, no movement to disrupt them and he wonders if maybe he could manage to fall back asleep despite being a morning person and an early bird. Experimenting by grazing his fingers over bicep in a soft, light pattern, he almost doesn’t want to speak in case he wakes Bo back in in the even that the other had fallen to sleep.

“Yan-bo,” he whispers the name without an honorific or weight because he likes the thrill of danger, “please start taking better care of yourself.” his words are such a serious tone, a barely there sound, muffled into skin, just in case

bo finds that he likes letting himself wake up slowly like this. there’s no rush, no alarm clock blaring. nothing keeping him from falling back under except for his own will. his bed is comfortable, and the heat trapped between the sheets and the comforter has only gotten cozier now that two bodies inhabit it. 

he doesn’t want to stay in bed all day, but it’s too nice to leave right now. he knows getting up means entertaining kyung-cheol and trying to reassure those caring, worried eyes that he’s okay. it just sounds exhausting, whereas the mood is so calm and comfortable with no words being spoken and just arms wrapped around each other. 

“your heaven sounds boring,” he grumbles. but a small part of him wants to agree that this is one of the most pleasant things he thinks he’ll ever experience. not this single moment, but the feeling that encompasses him. something he wouldn’t mind doing forever. 

the fingers on his arm are almost enough to distract him from cheol’s words. but he hears them regardless, soft and pleading and sincere. it makes guilt tug at his gut, because bo often forgets he now has people that care about his wellbeing like this. it’s not just him that’s hurt if he spirals into a workaholic stupor and neglects his needs for a week at a time. but he also feels defensive, because this is just who bo is. he often disconnects from reality, losing himself in his head. he can’t imagine what he’d be like walking the earth every waking moment. what would he really have to offer? 

“i’m fine.” he reaches a hand up and tugs at cheol’s ear, then idly plays with the fleshy part between his fingers. “you worry too much. i’ve been taking care of myself since i was born and i’ve made it this far. that means i have at least another twenty-one years in me.” 

[wyyanbo]

wyhyuk‌:

( ——— @wyyanbo​ )

— Sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs, ᴊᴜsᴛ ғᴏʀ ғᴜɴ, Hʏᴜᴋ ʜᴀᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴄᴀʟ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇs, ʟᴏᴄᴀʟ ᴅᴏʀᴍs, ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜᴄʜ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ғᴜɴ, sᴇᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛs ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜᴇʀs ᴀɴᴅ sᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛs ʜɪᴅ. Esᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇs, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʜɪs ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴏɴᴇs ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴄᴋ. Oᴄᴄᴀsɪᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀᴄʀᴏss sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀs ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴜᴛᴇʀ sᴍᴀʀᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ'ᴅ sᴘᴇɴᴅ ᴀɴ ʜᴏᴜʀ ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ‘ᴠɪʀᴜsᴇs’ - ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴘᴛᴏᴘ, ɪᴛ'ᴅ sᴇɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴀᴄʀᴏss ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴘᴛᴏᴘ sᴄʀᴇᴇɴ.

— Tᴏᴅᴀʏ ʜɪs ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ ᴡᴀs sᴏᴍᴇ sᴄɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴋɪᴅ, ɪғ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʟᴇs ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏ ɪɴᴅɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. A ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴅᴀᴍɴ sᴍᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ. Hʏᴜᴋ ᴛᴀᴋᴇs ɴᴏᴛᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɢɪɴs ᴛᴏ ᴅɪɢ, sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ “Yᴀɴ Bᴏ” ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴇɴsᴜs ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ʜᴏᴜsɪɴɢ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴇᴀsʏ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛᴇ ʜɪᴍ ɪɴ Aᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ 215, Sᴏɴɢᴄʜᴇᴏɴ Aᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛs. Aɴᴅ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ? Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴇᴀsʏ ᴀs ᴄᴀᴋᴇ ғᴏʀ Hʏᴜᴋ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜɪs IP ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɢɪɴ ᴅɪɢɢɪɴɢ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪs 'Yᴀɴ Bᴏ’ ᴡᴀs ᴀs ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ɢᴇɴɪᴜs ᴀs Hʏᴜᴋ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ɪɴ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴀʀᴇᴀs. Aɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴜsɪɴɢ ʜɪs ʙʀᴀɪɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀs Hʏᴜᴋ ᴡᴀs sɪᴍᴘʟʏ ғᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ.

— Aғᴛᴇʀ ᴅɪɢɢɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪs ᴛʜɪɴɢs- ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴇss ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴏғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ᴛʜɪs ɢᴜʏ ᴡᴀsɴ'ᴛ ʜɪs ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ-, Hʏᴜᴋ ᴘᴜʟʟᴇᴅ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴀɴ ᴇᴍᴏᴛʏ 'Wᴏʀᴅ’ ᴘᴀɢᴇ, ᴛʏᴘɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɪᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ.

                                   'ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵃⁿᵗᶦ ᵛᶦʳᵘˢ ˢᵘᶜᵏˢ. ᴵ ᵃᵐᵖᵉᵈ ᶦᵗ ᵘᵖ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ.                                                  ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ʷᵉˡᶜᵒᵐᵉ~’

he’s working from home today, an obnoxious head cold making the thought of venturing all the way out to his campus unbearable. so, bo sits at his desk, a bowl of ramen at his side and a blanket around his shoulders. his head is throbbing and his sinuses feel swollen, making his whole face pulse in thick pain. he’s got his glasses shoved haphazardly on his face, and his fingers are sluggish as he types. he’s got a few assignments to grade for the class he’s the ta for, and he’s too tired to snort at the poor grammar and clunky language. he’s only known korean for a year and he can still write circles around these kids.

it takes him a second to notice that something’s going on with his computer. he’s bleary-eyed, not really focusing on his task, and he might have drifted off in his chair for a second while he works. but when he blinks groggy eyes open and sees words he definitely did not type on his computer his heart starts pounding. all of his doctoral work, every research paper and draft he has is all on this computer. “shit, shit, shit.” furious hands type rapidly on the same document, hoping whoever’s broken into his computer on the other side is still looking. 

“what the fuck are you doing on my shit? i swear to god if you steal any of my work i’ll go full rambo”

[wyyanbo]

wyzitao‌:

▪ ▪ ▪ A snort and he crouches down, a flashlight being produced from his pocket to take a better look around the engine. ❝Shouldn’t exist indeed…. I’m not even sure I’ll have all the parts.❞ A sigh and he stands, fingers pushing through his hair. ❝Alright, you can sit in the main area. There’s vending machines and stuff… I’ll see what I can do about this beast here. Try to get it back to you.❞ He scratches his temple. ❝Do you have a drivers license? If yeah, I’ll lend you my car for the next few hours after you fill out the customer forms up front.❞

he shrugs, unapologetic for his bike. he bought it from a guy off of the side of the road, it’s already exceeded his expectations. he’s glad it’s gotten him this far at least. “does it need parts replaced?” he asks. “i was worried it might be the oil. if this thing uses oil. i’ve never checked.” bo purses his lips and shakes his head. “no, i don’t have a driver’s license. thanks for the offer though. i’m okay with sitting in the front, i brought some stuff to work on anyway.” his backpack is loaded with papers he needs to go over. 

[wyyanbo]

wyhimchan·:

There’s a reason people walk out of your life, Chan firmly believes that. Separation should be permanent, with the exception of family, if you leave him, you had better stay gone. If he leaves you? Don’t even think of showing up in front of him. No exceptions.

Messy, irritating, drama doesn’t belong in his life, even if he has to bleach it out he’ll remove the stains so that the only thing left is his goal. He has too much on his plate this year. Finally made it back onto the Olympic team, finally made team captain. Can you imagine the pressure? Olympic mens team captain (even if he only got the job because Ha-neul made it easy for him, it’s still his).

He nearly slips blocking his teammate, someone throwing a hard shoulder into his in a way that would result in a personal foul for the man, his third one tonight by Him-chan’s count. They’ve been at this for hours, he was riding the team harder than even their Coach during extra practices like these. Slapped together team practices from his members who came to him expressing interest in extra help. He was only here with five other players tonight, running sloppy drills but this was too much. He shoves them off, snaps and points across the gym. “Get out of here and take a shower,” he sighs the words, not angry just tired. The foul was due to exhaustion, Chan realizes this. “all of you. Take a damn break this weekend, don’t do anything, rest before next practice.”

He’s the last one left, meandering with too much on his mind as he towels the sweat on the way to the locker room. And, the obstacle he runs into shouldn’t be standing in front of him. What is he, a damn hurdler? 

Eyes burn as he glares at Yanbo, he drops the edge of his towel until the rest around his neck and shakes out his hair, wet bangs splaying across sticky skin. “I think you’re lost.” Is all he says and keeps walking, right past the man without a glance, leaves a wide birth between them so as they don’t touch.

bo doesn’t know why it bothers him so much, learning that yeong-chan is in wonyang. the city’s so big, and they’re not in each other’s lives anymore. he could’ve just lived normally, continuing to ignore the other man’s existence like he’s done in the past, especially since leaving seoul. 

but it’s like an itch he’s scratched over and over until it’s raw and bleeding. a fear, nigging in the back of his mind that maybe he’ll see his ex lover’s face out in the street and not know what to say. he doesn’t want to be caught off guard, doesn’t want his mind to go blank with surprise and anger. so maybe that’s why he’s here, starting a confrontation he can control. even if yeong-chan doesn’t want to see him, he has to make his presence known. he’ll have to suffer just as much as bo is. 

the cold and focused look on the other’s face as he practices is familiar. he’s sure he’ll be wearing something similar when bo reveals himself. he almost hopes the other gets angry at his sight. it’s better than passivity. bo knows it’s not healthy, but he wants to be able to hurl his anger at yeong-chan and have it reflected back. so he knows he’s not the only one still in pain, still suffering over what they did to each other. he wants this distracting frustration to be valid, returned. he wants to let it all explode now so he can go back to living his life as if the two had never met. 

bo grits his teeth and stands his ground as yeong-chan finally notices him. his feet are firmly planted on the rubber gym floor, there and present and not someone yeong-chan can ignore. maybe there’s an insecure part of him that just wants to be noticed by the other. but it’s not why he’s here. or not just that, anyway. 

“you don’t get to say that to me,” he hisses. then, the other is gone, brushing right past him. dread settles in his gut, and a flush of embarrassment rises to his cheeks. he turns sharply on his heel and follows after him. “i came here to be a better person. to get away from all that shit in seoul. how am i supposed to do that knowing you’re here? why the fuck did you have to come to wonyang?” there’s no way the other could’ve possibly known bo had moved here, but it still feels like a personal slight. like a demon from his past, reminding bo that he’ll never be good enough to live up to the dreams he’s set for himself. that he’s just a selfish, lost kid, too wrapped up in the world of theories to ever understand what matters in the real world. 

[wyyanbo]

wytaeyong‌:

♛ — Relaxation dripped from Taeyong like rain from leaves after a storm. Control was something he needed, especially after how he’d grown up. Most would point out he had control ona normal basis- he ran a company after all. But the BDSM scene had been a part of his life for a decade now, and he wasn’t going to just give it up. It was a part of Taeyong, just as much as his hand was. 

♛ — Stepping outside of the club, the cool air of autumn sweeping around him as he shrugged on his coat. Domination was in his nature, and he loved these weekends he took just for himself. The control he exerted over the submissives that needed to submit as much as he needed to control. A give-give relationship, though he had hoped to have a submissive just to call his own by this point in his life. It hadn’t happened yet- he hadn’t found someone who matched his needs fully- but he knew it would.  

♛ — He’s drawing in a deep breath when he hears a voice, head turning to see the other male. They were new-ish to the Wonyang scene, but had been around long enough for Taeyong to feel comfortable speaking to him freely. ❝I’m quite exhilarated, actually.❞ He responds, wandering over towards the other. ❝Are you tired? Do you need a ride home?❞ There were few cars in the lot, one being his, another belonging to the owner of the club. And the other few were ones he knew belonged to a couple of the Doms who had lingered inside. Which caused him to wonder how the other would get home.

bo likes the people who frequent these sort of events in wonyang. they’re all respectful, treating him like a person before a submissive, even in this context. back in seoul coming across a dom like this, alone in a parking lot, would’ve made him wary. he’d have no idea what motives they’d have for trying to help him, or it they would just be trying to gain his favor to get him to come home with them. but not here, here he can trust the other enough to stay relaxed as he leans against the brick outside to the the bar. 

“exhilarated,” bo repeats, a small smile quirking on his lips. “i’m glad you seem to be having a good night. guess it’s a shame it’s coming to a close.” he wouldn’t use such a strong work to describe the night himself, but he’d been content during the evening. he wasn’t looking for anything particularly stimulating anyway, just an escape where he can relax and socialize without feeling judged. 

“oh, that’s too much to ask,” he counters quickly, looking out at the row of cars. “i live pretty far away, i’m sure it’s in the opposite direction of where you’re heading.” he rolls his cigarette between his fingers nervously, watching the ash drop off the tip and dangerously close to his nice leather shoes. “i’ll just order a cab or something. thank you for the offer.” there’s a part of him that wants to counter his words, let himself impose on the other to save himself from being stranded. but he truly doesn’t want to be a bother.

[wyyanbo]

@wyhimchan

bo hates feeling so unsettled. it’s like his bones are too big for his skin, and his organs are set loose and turbulent in his gut. feelings, what a trivial and average thing to be bothered by. but bo just doesn’t connect with people. not easily, and not well. so when he had in the past, it had been terrifying. he’d never felt so unsettles, so insecure before. because bo doesn’t know himself well enough to show himself to other people. how can he open himself up when he doesn’t know what’s lying behind his walls? he knows its why his first ever relationship (or whatever they were) didn’t work out. 

but now chan’s here, in wonyang, after bo thought he’d escaped. and his mind is reeling too hard for him to even begin to piece together how he feels about that fact. does he miss him? miss how small and hopeful the other made him? does he hate him, for how hurt they left each other in the end? does he even want to see him? bo can’t concentrate, not on his school and not on his work. because his mind is so filled with the past, so involved in questions he’ll never have the answer to.

so maybe it’s insanity from obsessively pouring over their whatever it was that leads bo to breaking into a closed practice of his basketball team and watching from the gym doors as they practice. he tries to gather his thoughts in the pounding of rubber against rubber, but the rhythmic dribble doesn’t help. it only increases the pace of his heart. his fingers work nervously around the metal in his ear as he watches the practice come to an end. he slips into the gym and skirts along the end until he finds yeong-chan on his own. 

“i’d ask what you’re doing here, but i don’t think that’d be fair given the circumstances,” bo begins after clearing his throat. “we’re a long way from seoul, hyung. i didn’t expect i’d have to deal with you all the way out here.”

[wyyanbo]

@wytaeyong

even now, when he’s not slipping into any form of head space, bo feels comfortable. it’s like the rubbery tightness to his skin as relaxed, and he can breathe for once, getting to live as just himself. wonyang is different from seoul. it’s smaller, for one, more intimate. but bo can’t find it in himself to mind. the bdsm scene in seoul was dangerous. full of bright, caring people sure, but there wasn’t as intricate of a filtering system. the weirdos, the monsters, it was easier to let them slip amongst their ranks when there were so many of them. but in wonyang, everyone in the scene knew everyone. when he’d first arrived, he’d been carefully vetted before he was let into any of the events. 

so, bo lets himself let loose. it’s a rare weekend that he has off, and his thesis has the the tension winding up inside of him. he needed a break, a moment to let his self-constructed walls down and feel like he didn’t need to be in control of every little aspect of his life. he’s dressed up pretty- a flowing white button down, his favorite leather harness, his tightest jeans and his softest makeup. he likes the duality of it, the innocence and the filthiness. he likes letting doms buy him drinks and letting them tug at the collar at his neck, all while speaking casual words for him. it lets the fuzz of submissiveness edge on his mind without sinking into it.

he lets himself stay out too late, though, and finds himself outside the club with a hand-rolled cigarette hanging between his lips and anxiousness twitching in his fingers. he could call a car service, but its always iffy this time of night with the location and his attire. he’s just as likely to be abandoned as he is to be whisked off home. he’s fretting, chewing nervously on his thumb with his cigarette burning in between his fingers before he spots a familiar figure exiting the club. 

“hyung,” he calls gently, to alert his presence. “are you tired too?” they’ve spoken a few times, comfortable around each other’s presence. it’d be nice to have some company as he decided how he’s going to get back to his apartment tonight.

[wyyanbo]

wykyungcheol‌:

“Just sleeping.” He agrees with the concept, a nod that bumps against Bo’s head.

Warmth and comfort, Kyung-cheol sinks into it, entwining himself closer until they’re tangled. The hook of his arm around shoulders, fingers inching up until they grip the base of a column of throat. A firmer grasp while Bo forms against his side. He tilts in bed until he’s at an angle that they can be even closer, slings his remaining arm over Bo’s head, suffocatingly close. Cool fingers sneak across the surface of his stomach beneath shirt and he flinches until they settle so he can settle after. It tickles but he doesn’t show signs in fear that it would disturb the other.

“You sleep,” he clarifies, dislocates one arm so that he can put himself to work lightly massaging head, nails gently grazing scalp. “Sleep.” He grumbles, a command, eyes closing not to open again.

Time was kind to his friendship with Yanbo. There was a time he wouldn’t have been able to crawl in this bed without getting promptly kicked right back out, verbal and potentially with a foot if he were annoying enough. Curses and banter without the softness in between.

But Cheol was intent, his friendship wasn’t the kind you can just lock out behind a door. If people try to keep him out he just makes himself more clear. He won’t go anywhere, it’s his goal to stay as close as possible to the people he loves, make no mistake.

“Hyung won’t bug you anymore,” there’s a lazy grin on his voice, “not until you wake up. Think you can sleep like this?” Cheol asks, incrimination to his voice as his fingers tighten around throat and fingers play with hair.

“mhm,” he sighs. “i promise i’ll tell you if i die. you’ll be the first person i haunt.” 

bo tries not to let his face scrunch in displeasure as kyung-cheol gets comfortable. he follows like a duet, his body shifting and rolling until they’ve both found the most comfortable position. they’re so tangled that bo can’t tell what hot skin is pressing against him. a forearm? a bicep? he doesn’t care, he just relaxes into the touch. it’s been too long since he’s been held like this, since he’s let his walls down enough to let another person embrace him. he lets himself enjoy it, in the liminal space between sleep and awake. kyung-cheol promises security and warmth, the void where judgement would be the perfect place for bo to pour his vulnerability into. 

“okay,” he sighs, and lets a pleased purr thrum in his chest when kyung-cheol’s fingers dig into his hair. it doesn’t help him fall asleep, but his body buzzes pleasantly at the touch. he keeps his eyeslids lax and shut, but his consciousness doesn’t slip as he enjoys the rare presence of someone in his bed. 

it’s something he still has to get used to. usually, having someone pressed against him like this was a promise of something sinful- his body was something to be controlled, and used, for the pleasure of both parties involved. but this, this wasn’t meant to lead anywhere. this was kyung-cheol checking up on him because he cared, curling against him with no ulterior motives. it’s something bo will have to get used to with their friendship. something he’s been working on. 

because he finds, for once, he likes this. likes being close to another person. it’s strange, but it’s something he thinks only kyung-cheol could bring to him. with his overflowing brightness and overwhelming charisma, how could bo not let him slip under his covers and hold him like he was something deserving? 

“i’m okay like this,” he assures. he can’t promise sleep, because he wants to cling to every second of this he can. if he was fully awake he knew he’d push away, so he’s content to hover in this limbo. “you’re not bothering me hyung,” he promises. his limbs tighten minutely around kyung-cheol’s waist, and he tilts his head up to press a chaste kiss against his jaw. “we can just stay here. i don’t want you to leave.” 

[wyyanbo]

wyzitao‌:

▪ ▪ ▪ Ignoring the apology- Zitao wasn’t great with emotions-, he went to go peer at the scooter. More importantly, at the ‘engine’ that ran it. A dinky thing that looked like something Frankenstein had put together. ❝This thing is a mess….❞ He mumbles the words, rounding to the other side of it to look. A snort was given. ❝Black magic couldn’t run this thing, no matter how powerful- Magic rarely works on modern day steel.❞ It came out casually, mindlessly. Zitao was too busy poking around the engine.

▪ ▪ ▪ ❝We’re in the middle of korea, not a whole lot of people speak mandarin. but i cursed all the time back in China, so it doesnt bug me either way. However most people who come in here don’t speak it so it’s harmless.❞ He stands up, wiping greade from his hands. ❝How soon do you need this back?❞

bo eyes his only source of transportation along with the mechanic. usually he’s so distracted when he hops on it and zips to and from school. he never notices the oil stains, the hint of rust at the joints, and the dents that cover it. he’s lucky it’s not something really worth protecting, or he’s sure the judgement on the state of his vehicle would be much harsher. “yeah, but what can you do. beasts like this aren’t supposed to exist in the first place,” he shrugs. “huh. didn’t know that.” it’s not his place to question about magic, or whatever beliefs the mechanic seems to hold. the science he studies seems as much of fiction as magic anyway. 

“c’mon, plenty of people speak mandarin in korea. obviously not the majority, but it’s not too strange.” it’s strange enough though, that bo’s still clinging to every word spilling out of the other man’s lips like it will transport him directly home. “um, as soon as possible?” he hesitates. “today’s my only free day off in.... well months... so by the end of the day? i could just sit in the front until it’s ready.”

[wyyanbo]

wycheonsa‌:

          His hues flicker beneath the lighting of the room, eyes narrowing as the boy’s face reveals from behind the door. eyes widen as the other spoke, already annoyed from the sudden realisation that he wasn’t the only one here, ❝ what do you mean, what am i doing here? what are you doing here, ya brat? ❞ he leans in, squinting at the other, before returning to his usual posture, looking around the room. a scoff leaving him upon realising that the kid before him was perhaps a student, a nerd rather. his eyes rolls in their sockets before he could even regain his own mental stability words leak from his lips, ❝ are you trying to steal school supplies? ❞ his gaze falls to the other, ❝ a rich looking brat like yourself wouldn’t stoop that low would you? ❞ a slight hum leaving him before a chuckles pursues, ❝ just kidding. ❞ or was he? he’d take any opportunity to bash a kid of this academy as if it were his job to. he hates privileged, golden born people who had everything raised to their damn mouths, who had all functioning limbs that would never let them down. 

his head tilts to the side, ❝ are you done? ❞ a sigh leaving him, arms come to cross in front of his chest. ❝ hanging around after hours isn’t safe, i hear there’s actual people who come to steal school supplies. ❞ raising his dysfunctional hand in front of him, curling his fingers before releasing them, as they return to their normal state.

bo immediately bristles at the accusation in the other man’s voice. clearly they’re both coming in hot due to the fact that they’re both startled. but bo despises being talked down to. he’s been underestimated and looked down on his entire life, since he’s always been almost a decade younger than his peers. “i’m working, obviously,” he shoots back. “if i was here to steal equipment i don’t think i’d leave all the lights on and make it super obvious someone was in the room.” he looks down at the flask in his hand and quickly sets it down on the lab table near him. he’s got twenty of them at home, give or take, he doesn’t need any more. “rich brats are usually the type to stoop so low. but i’m not that kind of rich brat.” he eyes the other man again, still trying to discern just why he’s there. “i answered your question, now it’s your turn.”

“clearly.” he shrugs his shoulder, emphasizing his bag slung across his back. “if it means i can get my thesis submitted on time, i’ll move a sleeping cot into the lab. i don’t care about idiots trying to steal shit. why do you care so much about this? you don’t look like a security guard.” 

[wyyanbo]

wyzitao‌:

▪ ▪ ▪ He’s contemplating kicking the car- he wouldn’t actually- when a voice startled him. What startled him more was the fact they spoke his mother tongue, A hand lifts, wiping oil from his neck. ❝I would if she wasn’t dead.❞ He responds in chinese, a wash cloth pulled from his pocket to clean himself up. ❝Do you have an engine for me to fix, or are you just here to bother me?❞ Zitao was in a shit mood thanks to the aching wrist and oil covered clothes.

▪ ▪ ▪ His gaze slid past the other, landing on the poor excuse for a scooter. ❝Does that even have a motor?❞ Zitao walked over to the scooter, a foot nudging against it. How was this thing holding itself together. ❝If they speak chinese, they deserve to hear my foul mouth.❞

bo grimaces at his own social incompetence. right, parents aren’t always a great joking point. “ah.” bo rubs a hand along the back of his neck awkwardly. “my condolences.” his voice is flat, but he hopes the sentiment comes across enough to not seem like the biggest asshole on the planet. “i do have an engine for you. kind of.” he rolls his bike forward and kicks out the stand, letting it lean next to the car the man had been working on. 

“i think so? if not, it’s been running on pure determination and black magic. as a scientist that would be pretty concerning.” bo snorts. “so you’d curse at over a billion people? that’s actually a pretty noble goal. i prefer cursing when they don’t speak chinese. much more satisfying.” 

[wyyanbo]

wykyungcheol‌:

@wyyanbo​ ━━ /

He doesn’t bother to knock on the door, just lets himself in like he belongs there. Beagle Cheol at it again, sniffing around the living-room and kitchen to find no Bo in sight, he sighs. Bo had been absent recently, characteristically quiet but never to this degree. Kyung-cheol hadn’t said it because he didn’t want to make a scene (not until he was ready to) but Bo had been worrying him lately.

With his shoes off he throws his jacket onto the couch and pulls off his sweater until only his sweat pants and pingu shirt remain, creeping into the bedroom where morning light is emits a mild, ivory glow over the room. He can spot Bo’s downy hair over the pillow and edge of blanket. 

“Bo-bo?” He doesn’t tip-toe, instead dropping himself onto the bed so that the springs cry out beneath his weight and he crushes himself against the blanket. Buries his nose into the warmth of Bo’s hair and cheek, lips pressing gently against the shell of his ear. “Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s 6am. Did you die? Don’t worry sir, your rescuer is here.” He pecks a kiss on his friends temple.

“Wake-y wake-y, bac-y,” he sighs, moves enough to peel back blankets and slide into the toasty spot beneath the blanket’s as the other’s side. He hooks an arm around torso and rubs his cheek on any and every surface of Bo’s head he can reach. “I thought you were dead so I made time out of my busy schedule to retrieve your remains only to find you’re not dead just asleep. A mystery this doesn’t make.” He sighs, aligns lips with forehead and speaks so that his lips bump warm skin and words are muffled. “You’ve just been working too hard, haven’t you?” His words are quietly sincere.

bo has been drowning in books. his kitchen table, his counters, his coffee table, the floor of his living room. there are papers and articles and encyclopedias and journals scattered all around his apartment. there’s just so much research he has to do before he can even begin. he has to make himself an expert in his field, know every study ever published so he can make his own research feel like its adding to the scientific world’s knowledge. 

he loses himself in it. he only eats when the pangs of hunger in his stomach hurt enough to draw him out of his work. he sleeps on his papers, his eyes involuntarily falling shut and giving him a few hours of reprieve before he dives right back in. it’s not healthy, he knows it, but it’s how he’s accomplished so much in his short twenty-one years of life. 

after a week, he finally draws himself out of his studious haze. the clock read three o’clock in the morning when he finally climbs between his sheets. they’re cold, unfamiliar after being abandoned for so long. but their comfort is welcoming enough that he falls asleep instantly. but it only feels like minutes since he let himself slip into unconsciousness when a body is flinging itself on top of him. bo groans in protest, his face scrunching up in displeasure but his body too loose-limbed to do anything about it. 

“hyung,” he whimpers. his hand wriggles free of the sheets to find cheol’s waist. he’s so tired, he can feel it aching in his joints and throbbing behind his eyes. he can barely focus on the sweet words leaving his friend’s lips. “‘m not dead, jus’ sleeping,” he sighs, turning his body into kyung-cheol’s. he forces his way against cheol’s side, molding as much of his body against the other’s warmth as he can. he props his head on cheol’s shoulder, humming contently at the soft press of lips on his forehead. “i’m done working now,” he promises. a hand sneaks under cheol’s shirt, greedily seeking out the warmth of his heated skin. “can we just sleep now cheol-hyung? just for a little bit.” 

[wyyanbo]

“You have to tell me why were committing a felony before we do it. Not that that’s going to stop us, but at least I’ll have all the facts.”

“you should just trust me hyung, i know what i’m doing.” to be fair, there really shouldn’t be enough trust in the world in anyone to blindly break the law for them. but laws are stupid obstacles that bo really never has time for. he’s got a sensible moral compass and a healthy aversion to being told what to do. plus, who makes a place restricted? if he wants to explore a federally protected beach, he will. he just needs help hopping the fence. “look, i just need to take some samples and then we can leave. in and out, super easy. we’ll only be breaking the law for ten minutes.”

@wyzvyr

[wyyanbo]

wycheonsa‌:

          The lights began to turn off, one by one the hallways became dimly lit. cans of trash emptied and the floors of the rooms, swept clean. a mop laying vertically across his shoulders, arms hanging off from the sides as a lollipop he had stolen from the canteen earlier edging on the side of his corners. he stands in the middle of the hallway, staring at the perfectly mopped and clean flooring, an accomplished smile peering on his features before disappearing as fast as it had appeared. his left hand seizing up, before vigorously shaking it, the mop falling back by his side as his other hand moves to hit against the door on his left. ❝ agh… fuck. ❞ he grumbles under his breath.

he hasn’t been here for long, but he has been here long enough to know that he hated being here. the academy was filled with snobby rich kids that had gold laced around their very necks, spoons that catered to their every cry and fingers, fingers… fingers so bratty that clung to everything they touched, never ceasing to give up nor admit to failure. a scoff leaving him, perhaps he was just envious… rather jealous as the viridescent monstrosity of covetous limbs that refuse to forgive, they refuse! and here he stood, frozen in a time that he could not move forward in. and he gives up. both hands raised, and they raise to hit against the same door. 

his reverie is broken as the realisation that the pain in his hand would not heal at the angry smashing of his fists, and he stops. his hand moving to grasp onto the door as the realisation that the lights were still lit inside, opening it and before he could react the door hits something, or was it someone? 

❝ the hell… ❞ he pulls the door back one more time, slamming it back as if hoping whatever it was would suddenly dissipate due to his brute strength. ( @wyyanbo )

for the first time in a long time, bo loves what he does. before, it had just been a skill. his brain is built to understand the intricate workings of the natural world. science, math, he just gets it. but it’s not something he’s passionate about. it’s something he’s created his identity around, how other people see him. that one weird kid who’s too smart for his own good. but now, he’s taking all that knowledge and doing something with it. he’s got all of this theoretical knowledge in his head that can change the world. or at least, that’s what he wants to do. he sees the scars that humans have left on the planet, sees the patterns of weather and temperature and disasters getting worse and worse. its something tangible bo can focus on. 

now that he has a purpose, he’s like a man possessed. the second he came to the university, he locked himself away in the lab. there’s just so much he needs to do, so much he needs to learn for his thesis. the lab is thankfully state of the art, and he spends more time learning how to use the equipment than he does on his project. right now he’s testing the industrial-sized centrifuge, using different samples he’s taken from wonyang’s harbor. mostly it’s just to see what speed is optimal, but it’s fun to compare the different sand compositions at various parts of the harbor’s seafloor. now that he’s got the samples ready and put away in the fridge, he finally feels accomplished enough to go home. 

with his backpack slung over his shoulder, bo heads towards the door. just as he’s about to reach for it, the door shoves open, knocking into his arm. he stumbles back, startled, and watches it slammed close. his heart races, panicked, and he grabs the closest thing he can reach to use as a weapon. 

“who’s here?” he calls, voice high-pitched with nerves. his fingers curl around the object in his hand- a fucking erlenmeyer flask, like that’s going to protect him- and yanks to door open. at the sight of the other man on the other side, bo nearly shrieks. “it’s late, what are you doing here?” he knows all of the phd candidates, they’re the only ones who should have access to the lab. his eyes narrow suspiciously. 

[wyyanbo]

wyzitao‌:

CLOSED STARTER: @wyyanbo                   ➢ ℭ𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔯

▪ ▪ ▪ The car was being stubborn. He’d been working the bolt loose for welt felt like an hour and his hand was cramping. But it had to come off, otherwise there was no way Zitao was going to be able to get to the part he needed in able to fix it.  ❝Come on you piece of shit…❞ He grumbled the words in mandarin, often reverting to his mother tongue. That way he wasn’t ‘offending’ anyone who might walk in. Plus it felt nice to have the language roll off his tongue. Felt right, unlike the korean that he used every day. It didn’t feel wrong- it just wasn’t what he was used to and it felt funny in his mouth.

▪ ▪ ▪ The wrench twist, his wrist aching with the effort, and finally the bolt came loose. The part creaked and before he could blink, oil spilled out and onto him, splattering on his chin neck and chest. ❝FUCK!❞ He spat the acrid taste from his mouth, glaring at the underside of the car.

it’s not the flashiest ride ever, but bo’s little motorized scooter gets him around wonyang well enough to suit his needs. he never bothered with his driver’s license, and peddling takes far too long. but with a little twist of the throttle bo is usually comfortably moving along the street. but the thing about his frankenstein little machine, is how easily it decides to rebel against him. all morning he tried in vain to get the engine running, but it just makes a pathetic wheezing noise before going quiet and cold. reluctantly, bo finds himself going to the first mechanic he can find on his phone. the place seems empty as he wheels his motorized bike through, until a string of cursing in his native tongue draws his attention. he sees the mechanic, finally, younger than he expected and sending a fierce glare at the car he’s working on.

“do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” he jokes, the chinese words falling easily and familiarly from his tongue. god, how long has it been since he’s gotten to speak chinese? four months, it must be, because that was when his mother last called him. “you never know who can be listening, ge.” 

[wyyanbo]

By what standards does your muse judge themselves? [ +Welcome to Wonyang. ]

bo holds himself to very high standards, and he is incredibly strict with himself. if it wasn’t for his drive, he wouldn’t be where he is today. but it wasn’t without suffering, and he’s much too critical with himself. no matter what he accomplishes, he could do better. and any shortfall is something he agonizes over.

[wyyanbo]

What is your character’s weaknesses? explain why you think this is // welcome !!

bo’s greatest weakness? his inability to connect with others. he’s always lived on his own little plane, his mind constantly wandering off to the world of theories and numbers. the boy’s a genius, but when it comes to people, there’s no helping him. there are so many people in his life that hate him, just because he doesn’t know the right thing to say, too blunt and sharp-tongued for his own good. people like his parents, his brother, his classmates. hell, sometimes he feels like a stranger to himself.