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4dtk · 3 years

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i love your work!!!! could write one (imagine/oneshot) where s/o it's part of a royal family and nct are about to meet her in a event and they feel in love with her person and get amazed..... (not in a medieval scenario, more like a princess diana....)

p.s: if you could also emphasize s/o with a curly dark hair..... <3

nine princes, one successful courting (127)

im sorry SDHFHFH i didn’t see the ‘event’ part and thought you wanted nct as princes too SORRY AAHHA but i tried to follow ur modern request of a royal family!! rather than a period drama kinda thing. i hope you dont mind i did this only for 127 TT (thank u for the kind words <3)

also rip this is so different from what i usually do i hope this is ok yikes

pairing: royal au!127 x princess!reader

word count: 1.6k

“(y/n)! why are you taking so long?” you roll your eyes, although you were to fully take the blame, having spent so much time talking to your handmaidens in the bathroom. whilst tucking in the curls of your dark hair, the handmaidens adjust your dress and your accessories, excited just as you are for the big day. with the last pendant drawn across your neck, you stare longingly at your reflection in the mirror while the servants admire their work.

“thank you, girls,” you were aching to clutch their hands, shaking from nervousness that they both offered you a squeeze. “c’mon, let’s go meet my family.”

being the only child of the royal family was hard. you were meant to learn everything if it meant that you had no siblings, from proper manners to self defence. sure, you could rely on the guards, but you knew your mother rested better at night when you were equipped with those skills. being the only child also meant having to marry someone at the age of twenty, when you were mature enough to make your decisions about a man that you would devote your life to.

with each offer from other countries came, your parents rejected them all, wanting you to choose your suitor for yourself in person where you could decide whether their personality was for you. in a way, it worked both ways. you had the freedom, but that meant sitting through every lunch and dinner to make small talk. you visibly cringe at the aspect. although thrilled earlier at the thought of meeting new people, the exhausting burden or having to get to know the other person was… tiring.

“do you remember the briefing we went over, dear?”

you have an arm hooked onto your mother’s, “yes, mum. the boys who’re coming, they’re from an alliance from different countries and families, aren’t they?”

“and how many of them are there?”

you swallow uncomfortably, “there’s… nine of them, mother.” watching their cars come in was enough to make you run back into the palace, but you try your best to stand your ground. the gold gates shine under the scorching sun as they pile in one by one, with the impatient paparazzi ready to catch a glimpse and snap of any of the princes arriving here on this late morning.

Nakamoto Yuta, heir to the throne of the Nakamoto family in Japan. the one with possibly the longest journey of them all, ridden with jet lag and cultural differences, he was still determined to impress your family.

his slicked red hair catches you off guard, wondering how free he was able to dye his hair while in such a strict setting. as he steps out of the vehicle, it’s just as the lesson yesterday went, save for the colour of his hair. from top to bottom, he was dressed in the finest silks of the Kadoma region and his features are distinct, taking your breath away even from such a far distance. his eyes are alluring, carrying such mystery that looks fierce on his neutral expression. with a gentle smile, he bows, but not before taking your hand into his for a kiss.

Seo Youngho, older brother to Seo Minhyung, who belonged to the royal family of the States, where their Korean mother had married a local there. they hoped the same would happen to you, although one would wonder how the other brother might process if they weren’t chosen.

the younger brother seemed to be fidgety, as if it was one of the first few events that he’s gone through. with a confident stride, the older takes the first step towards your family, not forgetting to thank the chauffeur with a pat to the back. youngho’s eyes are gentle, sleepy, almost as he greets you with a bow, minhyung slowly following the older with a surprised shriek. it makes you giggle, catching minhyung’s eye that makes his cheeks redden just a tiny bit. youngho nudges the other in your palace, taking the chance to shoot you a quick wink that has you tensing up unintentionally. it makes your heart race.

Lee Haechan, an alias to Lee Donghyuck, who was already prince to the Island of Jeju, travelling here far and wide to converse with you, and hopefully court you.

he steps out with a smirk, shaking hands with his butler before beckoning a younger sibling out of the car. your eyes skim over the different demeanour he’s assumed with his baby sister, who’s babbling playfully into his arms. “his two other younger brothers are busy with their own duties.” your mother leans over to whisper to you. in one hand, he juggles the sibling and in the other he places to his heart, bringing a knee down to the floor to greet you. haechan notices your distraught at such a grand greeting, but he only offers a charming smile, going right back to entertaining the young girl.

Kim Jungwoo of the family of the Gyeonggi-do region, and Kim Doyoung, a family friend that was adopted when his older brother, Gongmyung, could no longer take care of him. they took care of each other, right even up to now where, you, the heir to your city stood beautifully in front of them.

despite the latter being adopted, you realise he takes on the role of guiding jungwoo, with a hand on his lower back and whispered encouragement to the actual heir of the Kim family. jungwoo bows while doyoung follows the greeting of haechan, the prince from earlier. the difference in their salutation prompts a laugh out of the both of them that it elicits a chuckle from you as well, seemingly a pardon for their incoordination. “your hair is beautiful, by the way.” you’re not sure from who does the compliment come from, but you duck your head shyly, feeling around your neat hairdo of neat curls as they grin.

Lee Taeyong from the district of the Southern City of Gwanak-gu, who happened to meet up with Moon Taeil from Northern District of Dongdaemun-gu for a peace treaty between the two places. and now, they were to meet with you, called to their duty as the eldest in their family.

“taeyong’s family has an older sister, but they were more comfortable to send their son to bring a wife home.” your ah sounds a bit indifferent, eyeing how they strode up the stairs as if with purpose. their words clash with each other, matching the situation of their cities but soon manage to articulate their names which you answer with a curtsey. moon taeil is a little more resolute and bold with his actions, not bothering to wait for the other who jogs a bit in order to catch up to the elder. just one more. your legs were starting to feel like jelly, the nude tights you wore felt stickier and stickier and the heels you donned hurt like hell. as the last car pulls into the driveway, you heave a sigh of relief.

the ruler of Seoul, Jung Jaehyun, an only child just like you. you’re taken aback by much more the paparazzi is paying attention to this prince, and you can’t help but feel a little bad for the others. Jaehyun is no different, grimacing internally at the amount of flashes that distract him from greeting you.

jaehyun takes a knee in front of you, taking your hand from below to plant a kiss on it before offering up his arm. being the last had its perks, having the opportunity to welcome you into your own palace, your own dining room. with a hesitant goodbye, your parents take the front seat while you hang with jung jaehyun at the back, the last bits of light fading out from the doormen closing the door on the prying cameras and incoming sun rays. small talk…

you’re surprised when the journey to the dining room is quiet, the other’s head held high in fear of saying one wrong thing. you can tell he feels stuffy in that suit of his, all dolled up in a three-piece that you feel even a corset would be better. light pours in yet again as the familiar maroon doors open the space to the grand dining room, where there were thirteen spaces already set-up.

the princess was to sit at the head of the table, with her mother on her left, and her nine suitors on either side of the table. the end of the table is reserved for the king, and just like a normal day in the palace, everyone stands at attention when the four finally enter, bowing just slightly. some exchange looks, other give curious glances to the prince you have beside you.

“uh… can we sit now?”

there’s a whack coming from the older brother of the Seo household to his younger sibling. thankfully, your father doesn’t mind formality all that much, gesturing down to allow them to take their sits as the waiters come out one by one with appetiser that just happens to be your favourite. the never-ending flurry of plates and utensils only makes you disoriented, the intricate filigree design of gold never looking so harsh to your eyes before.

“i thank you for coming all the way here, boys. i speak on behalf on my family that i hope you have a pleasant stay here in the (l/n) palace. now, i wish you a delicious lunch before we get to know everyone. isn’t that right, (y/n)?”

oh god… this was going to be a long ride, isn’t it?

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jungwooisms · 2 years

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first blood | teaser

pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, horror, thriller, occasional humor and fluff warnings: mentions of violence, blood, alcohol, medical procedures, depression, major character death, minor character death characters: all of nct/wayv, red velvet, other miscellaneos idols word count: 7.5k (teaser) summary: the village of cheosang sits at the base of several large, looming mountains. it’s nothing of note, one of the small, agriculture focused towns that your eyes would skim over should you see it on a map. that is, until a mysterious sickness begins plaguing the community in the summer of 1995.

seeming to strike at random, those at the local clinic seem to be unable to find the root cause of the disease. while the villagers reel in the loss of their beloved friends and family members, why do some claim to see the spirits of their lost ones roaming the streets at night?

8:18 AM - Suh Family Clinic, Jejin The sun had risen behind a wall of gray clouds and fog that morning. As the sun pierced through the veil, the looming mystery of the dawn began to fade away into obscurity until the next sunrise would pull it from that intangible ambiguity. Youngho could almost see the mist lift from the river some distance away from his family’s clinic as he awoke. Not that he wanted to, yesterday had felt like some fever dream wrapped into a night terror.

His limbs feel heavy, weighed down by the loss of a life he’d thought would’ve pulled through in no time. He should’ve known not to take things lightly, though. Chenle had been fodder for the doctor’s lack of seriousness, and Youngho is still sobering himself with the reality of the loss.

Youngho’s sitting at his desk when Lee Taeyong knocks and then subsequently opens the door to his office without a word. Nakamoto Yuta trails in behind him, eyes looking tired and hair a little unkempt from yet another late shift at the Clinic. Their feet tread across the groaning floorboards as they move to his side, the doctor spots an envelope tucked away under Taeyong’s arm with a quizzical glance.

“Chenle’s bloodwork came in, I figured you might want to take a look,” Taeyong says as he extends the file to the doctor.

“Thanks,” he nods, gently taking the folder before opening it and beginning to scan over the pages.

“Was it anemia?” Yuta questions after a few moments of silence, trying to eye over the doctor’s shoulder to read the small numbers and letters that adorn the pages.

“Yeah,” his voice trails off as he continues to look over the report, his brow furrowing. “But I misdiagnosed it. This isn’t regular iron deficiency anemia,” he reaches for a calculator atop his desk as he continues to speak, “it’s not microcytic-hypochromic anemia at all.” His fingers dance along the calculator as he looks from the report to the small screen, a perturbed cantor to his voice when he vocalizes his concerns once more. “With this red blood cell count, hemoglobin numbers and hematocrit along with a heightened reticulocyte count, it’s more like normocytic-normochromic anemia.”

“Then anemia wasn’t the cause of death? Or… Was it?” There’s viable confusion both on Yuta’s face and in his voice as he asks.

Youngho sighs, the papers splaying across the desk like the ocean’s waves do a shore as he rolls back in his chair. His eyes meet Yuta’s perplexed gaze as his lips part, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Taeyong frowns, glancing at the discarded papers warily before looking back to Youngho.

“Normocytic-normochromic anemia is usually caused by bleeding, hemolysis, hypoplastic anemia or secondary anemia,” the doctor lists off, each causing him to hold up a finger as he speaks. “But Zhong Chenle didn’t have any of that. And yet he died so quickly there must’ve been an underlying, undiagnosed medical issue. I just don’t know what it is,” he looks back to the two nurses, an easily seen upset gracing his features. “An autopsy might’ve given us a better understanding—”

“Doctor,” the door to his office opens once more, another nurse, Bae Joohyun, enters hurriedly. “The family at the lumber yard just rang. They think that Na Sohwan may be dead.” Her voice is rushed, slightly out of breath, as she’d presumably rushed across the entire clinic to find him.

“Tell them I’m on my way,” Youngho nods as he looks at her, standing from his chair and reaching for his medical bag tucked away under his desk.

4:32 PM - Shoji Temple, Seongji ‘The ground underfoot is wrought with the iciness of a winter that has yet to come— barren of life and void of the meandering gaiety that flora and fauna brought with it. The trees had been felled a long time ago, the ground now too scorched to even sprout the idea of planting and harvesting.

The sky above hangs with dark oppression. No wind spurring the coarse dirt and sand to move or a shadow to waver.

These aspects of the earth divide it into two abject halves of a whole. The harsh reality of a world upturned, and the hopeful yearning of the flourish it once was.

A single man walks this earth with the spirits of the damned, a sentence doled out, and he had yet to learn its meaning. He was forsaken without reason. Even the damned souls that roam the abandoned land loathe his presence among them.

When the sun sets and another day steadily approaches, it is when that creature awakes from its slumber. Rising from the ground and from its own grave underneath the life it had once lived.

That creature is the friend the man had murdered long ago, and despite the corpse being buried under mounds of soil and rock, it would never hide his grief. That creature will rise from its grave tonight to haunt him once more. It is Ileona.’

The ink isn’t dry when Minhyung sets down his pen, glancing over the words with a glower almost sour enough to rival that caused by a bitter lemon. He isn’t sure if this piece is articulated enough, poignantly clear to the reader who hasn’t learned the full story yet. But that’s why he was an author, to aid those who deemed his writings of value enough to consume and digest with a mind ripe for guidance. Perhaps if he had finished his Lyceum, he’d have a better grasp on this all. But times change, he had changed and maybe not entirely for the better.

The cap of the pen snaps into place with an audible click while Minhyung’s mind wanders off into the depths of his subconscious for a moment. He’s not aware of how long he’d been staring off into space when he’s pulled back into reality by a voice summoning him from behind the wooden door to his small office.

“Junior Monk!” A knock on the door once more. A soft, gentle hand falls, and the whispering voice of Kim Jungwoo quiets as Minhyung stands and quickly strides towards the door. It opens with a short burst of air as he swings it towards him, finding the temple assistant standing there, a broom in hand.

“Yes?” Minhyung asks, tilting his head slightly.

“The village caretaker called and said that Na Sohwan died of illness earlier this morning,” the taller says, his grip tightening ever so slightly as the sound of another office door sounds out with a metal squeal.

“Another death?” Minhyung mutters as Jungwoo begins to sweep outside of the temple’s office.

“Something wrong?” An elder temple assistant, Kang Jongup, asks as he walks over to the pair, a hand wiping across his brow to rid it of the sweat that had accumulated due to the lack of AC at the facility.

“Jungwoo’s told me there’s been another death,” A brow raised at the elder, “It seems like yesterday we were holding a funeral.”

“This won’t be the last, I’m sure. Death has been hitting the village harder than usual this summer. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were from this damned heat.” Jongup sighs, rubbing the back of his hand on a handkerchief he procures from his pocket, only putting it away when he begins to speak again. “When the flood hit in the seventies, we lost a lot of people who lived close to the shore and to the illness that came with the lack of preparedness.”

“Really?” Jungwoo mutters, too young at the time to recall the dire situation fully.

“Regardless of that, Junior Monk, do you think you can begin funeral preparations for Mr. Na?”

“I’ll start right away.”

5:02 PM - Suh Family Clinic, Jejin “So Na died of acute kidney failure?” Taeyong asks, scribbling something away on a form as he sits at his desk, the small oscillating fan to his right, causing his paperwork to flutter every minute or so. As he finishes signing the document, he looks up from his desk and to Suh Youngho standing at the entrance of the nurse’s quarters.

“Seems like it. People his age normally have issues like that with their bodies.” The doctor agrees, “The heat is rough this year, so it might’ve caused his health to deteriorate faster.”

“It does seem like there’s a cold going around, doesn’t it?” Joohyun frowns as she opens one of the nearby file cabinets to place a patient’s folder away.

“Yeah,” Yuta sighs, “I heard that Kim Jongin and Park Jongsuk passed away from summer colds a few days ago.”

“Really?” Youngho sounds a bit shocked. He hadn’t seen the reports of their deaths, so they must not have come through the clinic.

“I think it was a week before the elderly woman in Seokhae, Otomonoi Mina, passed. She was telling me about it when she came to pick up one of her prescriptions.” He pauses to think about the conversation, “Neither of them had fevers, chills or aches. She said it was like they’d been in a daze. Otomonoi seemed fine then. I wonder if she caught a cold from them?”

Youngho opens his mouth to speak, but before he has a chance to, the phone in the corner of the room begins to ring around the now quieted space.

“I’ll get it,” Taeyong speaks up, rising from his chair and making his way over to the receiver, picking up the phone and placing it against his ear. “Hello, this is the Suh Family Clinic.”

Youngho can’t hear what’s being said over the line, but he can hear the panic coursing through the voice and see the surprise on Taeyong’s brow as he listens in. It causes the doctor’s stomach to drop as he realizes that the town was going to reel in the loss of another villager.

“Give me the phone,” he says as he walks to Taeyong, hand already outstretched to take the device from the other. “Hello?” Youngho tries his best to sound calm, knowing full well there’s significant concern in his voice, “This is Doctor Suh speaking.”

There’s an assortment of sniffling over the line before the voice begins to speak once more, “Park Sooyoung is dead.” It takes the doctor a moment to realize that it’s Shon Seungwon, a friend of the now deceased and a former classmate of his. “She’d been looking sick since Monday; I was worried and came to see her yesterday. Ever since her brother and fiancé passed, she’d been feeling awful, so I tried to keep her company. She was sleepy and looked like she was in a daze,” Seungwan’s voice is rushed, frantic as she speaks over the line, “I was wondering if it was a summer cold.”

“Tired…” Youngho mumbles out in an exhalation of air, the lines beginning to form between the dots of the cases.

“— But yesterday she was a lot worse than the last time I’d seen her. Her fever was over one hundred, so I said we should ask you to come.” The woman continues speaking into the phone, “But she told me not to call you. Even though she had seemed so out of it beforehand, she said that so clearly… I thought it was because she hated the doctor’s office so much.”

“Was she coughing or sneezing?”

“No.”

“Did she ever get up to go to the restroom?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Pains or breathing issues?”

“No, of course not— if she said something like that I would have dragged her to the clinic myself,” the rapidity of their conversation did nothing to sate either of their nerves.

Youngho sighs again, the heaviness from that morning beginning to amass and bear even more pressure atop him, “I’ll be over as soon as I can, Seungwan.”

5:32 PM - Main Street, Seokhae “Are you sure you want to have lessons right now?” Yangyang slaps at his arm, trying to rid himself of a mosquito that’d been feeding off him for at least the past half hour. He looks over to Park Jisung, who sits at his dining table with his nose stuffed into one of the German dictionaries he’d loaned him earlier that summer. “We can give your studies a break if you need it.”

“I’m fine,” Jisung’s gaze shifts from the tabulation of verbs, nouns, and adjectives and rests on his backpack, thinking of Chenle’s college acceptance letter tucked away in one of the pockets, “It keeps my mind off of things.”

“If you say so,” Yangyang shakes his head, sighing as he looks out of a nearby window to consolidate his thoughts. “Okay, then I guess, like, introduce yourself, wie heißt du?”

The younger one thinks, looking to the elder, “Ich heiße Jisung.”

“Gut, gut. Woher kommst du?” Yangyang’s speech is quick, almost too much for Jisung to pick up on, but he tries his best to follow along.

“Ich komme aus Korea.” The words are sloppy leaving him, heavy and foreign vowels that lay strangely on his tongue.

“Haben Sie Geschwister?” He asks, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair, the front two legs leaving the ground ever so slightly.

“Ja, ich habe einen Schwester.” Jisung ponders for a moment before speaking, considering his own word choice.

“Eine, it’s eine for sister.” Eyes closed, the elder corrects with a lazed tone.

“Why does German have genders,” Jisung frowns, looking down to the dictionary atop the table.

“I don’t know,” his shoulders shrug, “I just speak it, I’m not an expert on why or how it works. Anyway, I asked you to write that excerpt about someone you know, right? Why don’t you try reading it?” Yangyang sits up, opening his eyes to give Jisung an expectant glare.

Shifting for a moment, the younger nods, turning to the bag he had slung around the back of the chair. He unzips it slowly, the metallic clangor resounding for a moment before he begins shuffling around for the paper. Once found, he pulls out the crumpled sheet and clears his throat before reading. “Mein bester Kumpel heißt Chenle. Ich kenne ihn seit einem Jahr. Er lebt nur ein paar Blocks die Straße runter, und wir sehen uns jeden Tag— ”

A sigh, as the chair falls forward, its legs hitting the ground almost deafeningly, “Go home, Jisung. It doesn’t look like you’ve slept in a week.” Yangyang feels bad for the kid, knowing that he was probably going through an immense amount of pain.

The sentiment wasn’t wholly incorrect. Some vile plague runs through Jisung’s veins throughout the night or whenever he’s alone ever since he’d heard the news yesterday— keeping him awake and miserable as he stares up at the ceiling of his room, unable to rid himself of the gloom that encompassed him. So Jisung complies, barely saying anything else as he packs his bag, slips on his shoes, and heads back to his home in the dusk of the evening.

8:21 PM - Suh Family Clinic, Jejin Youngho listens to the dial tone as he looks out of the window of his room and to the vast expanse of field aligning the roadway to the Clinic. It rings once, twice, three times before he hears the line pick up and a groggy, “Hello?” emit from the other end.

“Mr. Kim? This is Suh Youngho; I have a favor to ask of you.” There’s a seriousness in his voice that puts the other on edge, the tension almost palpable over the line.

“Of course, Doctor.” Kim Kibum, the health official of the village, nods as he speaks into the phone. A tinge of curiosity coating his words before the inquiry is posed as the doctor wasn’t typically one to call in favors.

“I’d like to know how many people died in the village this August.”

“Huh? Is there something wrong?” The taught feeling in the official’s chest tightening at the doctor’s request.

“I’ve just got a concern or two, thanks.” Before Kibum has the chance, Youngho hangs up the phone, the call ending with a click and the droning of the feed.

8:10 AM - Moon’s Grocer, Seokhae By the time he’s run from his home in western Seokhae to Moon Taeil’s grocery along the Main Street of the town, Jeno’s out of breath. The back of his shirt clings to his skin as the sweat trails down his neck, the sides of his face and almost every part of his body. It made him feel uncomfortable, the morning sun no less benign than the midday one.

“Taeil?” A hand rapping on the glass of the shop, the lights are off, and the sign still turned to say that they were closed. Tongue swiping along his lower lip, Jeno looks to the home adjacent to the shop, wondering if his boss was in some sort of mood again.

“Taeil?” He asks, this time now knocking on the wooden door of the Moon residence. The wood is rough under his knuckles as he knocks one more time. When there isn’t an answer, he moves to jiggle the doorknob, finding the home unlocked. Typically Lee Jeno wasn’t an invasive person, but this was his bosses house and he wouldn’t get too angry with him… Right?

So, he invites himself in, slipping his shoes off by the door and trying to listen for any sounds of movement running through the house. There’s a clatter from a nearby room, and it nearly scares the life out of Jeno; he jumps so hard he feels as if he’s pulled something in his leg.

“Taeil?” He calls out once more, finding the older in what he presumed to be his bedroom, trying to fit clothes into a suitcase. But he wasn’t succeeding; it was almost as if his boss hadn’t had any strength in his arms as he tried to lift a pile of folded shirts into the nearly empty bag. “Are we opening late today?”

“Oh, no, I must’ve forgotten, I’ve been busy packing.” Voice monotone as he continues to try and put the clothes away.

“Packing— Are you going somewhere?” Jeno asks, confused as to why this was the first he’d heard of this venture.

“I won’t be this young forever, you know,” He smiles weakly, tired bags under his eyes that looked everything but healthy. “I’m going to go on a small sabbatical; you, Jaemin, and the other part timers wouldn’t mind looking after the shop while I’m away, right?”

“Of course not…” Brow furrowing as Taeil fumbles to zip one of the suitcase’s sides, hands pale and trembling. “Are you sure that you’re okay to travel though? You don’t seem like you’re feeling too well.”

“I have to go,” A quick seriousness, biting sharpness that catches Jeno off guard before it returns to the sullen tenor that had been previously uttered, “The keys to the shop are by the door.”

“O- okay,” Jeno nods, trepidation running through his veins as he steps out of the room “I’ll go and start unloading today’s delivery then.”

9:30 AM - Chocolat, Hamyeong You let Jisung sleep in, not that you would’ve wanted to wake him from the deep slumber he found himself in. Ever since he found out about Chenle’s passing, he’d been almost totally inward with his thoughts and feelings. He hadn’t cried in front of you, but you’d heard the muffled sounds of mourning from his bedroom after thinking you’d gone to sleep. You want to be there for him, you try and let him know that you are. But he was reluctant to or just wasn’t sure how to express himself properly.

In lieu of Chenle’s passing, you find yourself juggling between looking after Jisung and looking after Doyoung. The latter being almost entirely devastated by his cousin’s death. You only knew a handful of people that had died in this village; they’d all been old and had been expected. Chenle’s almost felt too surreal as more days flitted by.

You quietly shut the cafe’s door behind you, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to disrupt your brother as he slept. Down the street and your first right, you can see Doyoung’s house in the distance. While the sun’s shining there’s an almost perceptible cloud hanging atop it.

A door of a home on your right opens as you pass, a familiar face greeting you as they’re seemingly stuffing scrubs into a backpack as they leave. You offer a smile as Yuta walks over to you.

“Is today the funeral?” He asks, zipping the back and taking a look at the black clothes you adorned yourself with.

“It is,” you nod, “Are you heading to work?”

“Yep,” he returns the nod, sighing a little bit, “It’s shocking, isn’t it? The kid seemed fine when I was in your shop last week.”

“I think it’s devastated anyone that knew him, Jisung’s not handling it well,” you murmur, “I’m on my way to help Doyoung with funeral arrangements.”

“That’s kind of you,” he offers a small smile, “I know Suh’s taken this case exceptionally hard.”

“Has he?” It was hard to contain the curiosity in your voice; the Doctor had almost been anything but lighthearted every time you’d come across him.

“Yeah, he’d diagnosed Chenle with a simple case of anemia, but he- y’know, just died. He wrote it off as acute heart failure.”

Brow furrowing, you shift on your feet as your fingers toy with the hem of your sleeves, “Acute heart failure?”

“I’m not a doctor, but I know a thing or two- when doctors can’t determine an accurate cause of death, they generally say it’s due to an acute failure or something pertaining to the issue so that the patient’s case closes.”

“I see,” you muse, looking off towards Doyoung’s house.

“Do you ever think about leaving Cheosang?” Yuta’s question is not directed just to you, but to himself as well. It’s not like nurses weren’t needed elsewhere in the country, and his family wasn’t tying him down like they had in years past anymore.

For you, it was a different matter. You have a store, have a family that anchors you to this small village. It’s all you’d known for the entirety of your life, sometimes the weight of the outside world felt too overbearing, and you could find solace in this town and its people you’d grown up with.

“Not really, no,” the wistful days when you were younger were swept away when the reality of the real world set in. “With everything I have here, I don’t really think about leaving too much anymore. Unless it’s a vacation,” laughing shortly at yourself, “besides, I’ve gotta look over everything before our parents get back.”

“When are they coming back, by the way? It’s been well over a year now since they left, hasn’t it?” Confusion flashing across his face as he ponders.

“I’m not sure,” you frown; whenever you spoke to your mother it seemed as if she kept avoiding an answer. “Soon, I hope.”

“I do miss her cakes,” he muses wistfully before letting a more concentrated visage consume his features, “I should let you go now. I’ll try to stop by the procession on my lunch break if I can.”

11:15 AM - Cheosang Funeral Home, Seokhae Doyoung sits in the back of the parlor, watching the stream of people walk in and out of the venue to pay their respects. He’s not sure if he’s watching, maybe staring off into the unknown in an attempt to forget about the choking dread that was slowly tightening its grasp around his throat. It was hard to breathe; it had been hard to breathe ever since Chenle hadn’t come home on time that night.

Maybe this was all of his fault. He’d dragged his cousin out of Seoul to this village. If Chenle had fallen ill in the city, perhaps a more specialized doctor could’ve seen him and diagnosed it earlier. Maybe if he hadn’t been so stupidly ambitious, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if he—

A hand on his shoulder, dredging him out of his spiraling thoughts. Your quiet voice as the crowd surrounding the two of you continues to shuffle along. “Do you want to step outside for a minute?”

Doyoung nods and allows you to take his hand into yours, leading him through the thick black of the mourners and into the harsh sunlight bearing down on the town. The weather was all too cheery for such an event.

“I thought you might’ve wanted some fresh air,” you state, looking down the road, seeing another mass of people making their way towards the funeral home. It’s hard to tell, but you think you can see a handful of Jisung’s friends in the mix.

“Thanks,” a mumble from Doyoung, his eyes trained on the asphalt of the street below. The crowd passes, he hears a few condolences as they cross the two of you and slip into the already cramped funeral home. It was somewhat comforting to see that so many people had come out to pay their respects to his cousin, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Minhyung said they’re going to start the procession to the gravesite at eleven-thirty if that’s alright.” You say quietly, your hand still intertwined with his. “We can wait a while longer if you need it.”

“No,” he sighs, finally looking up from the ground, his hand slipping away from yours as he stares into your eyes, “That’s alright.” A heavy silence weighing between the two of you only cut when he speaks up once more, “I think I’m going to move back to Seoul.”

“Really?”

“I just- I can barely stay in that house. I couldn’t even get in contact with his parents to tell them that he’d— If I hadn’t brought him out here, maybe he’d still be alive.”

“Hey,” your hand moving to hold gently onto his forearm, the muscle taught as he was clenching his fists. “This isn’t your fault, Doyoung. You know it isn’t.”

11:30 AM - Moon’s Grocer, Seokhae Jaemin thinks he must be hallucinating when he walks into the Moon’s. Seeing Jeno leaning against the register counter, some magazine in hand as he lackadaisically flips through the pages. The pair were never usually working together at the same time, Moon had cited ‘Too much rambunctiousness’ as being the cause. Maybe he’d read his shift schedule wrong again and come in at the wrong time?

“Why’re you here?” He asks as he walks inside, the door closing behind him with the small chiming out of bells.

“Taeil said we’ve gotta go almost full time now. He’s taking a sabbatical.” Jeno answers, still flipping through the brightly colored periodical.

“What do you mean he’s going on sabbatical?” Jaemin stops in his tracks, tossing the apron he’d been carrying in his arms atop the counter next to Jeno. “What is a sabbatical?”

“I think it’s some sort of vacation,” Finally Jeno looks to him, and then to the apron that the other had thrown down. “Apparently he’d been packing for it but he seemed almost too sick to even go down his stairs the other day.”

“Did he already leave?”

“Seems like it, his door was locked and there wasn’t an answer when I knocked.” Jeno returns to his magazine, nose buried deep into the print.

“Figures,” Jaemin sighs, reaching forward and punching the other on the arm, “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

“Ow—” the taller moves to rub his hand against his rapidly bruising arm, the magazine falling away from his grasp, “It slipped my mind, with Chenle’s funeral and all…”

The two grow silent, the air thick as their deceased friend is mentioned. Jeno shifts his weight from foot to foot, listening to the gentle hum of a nearby refrigerator before coughing into his hand, “Have you spoken to Jisung at all?”

“No,” Jaemin shakes his head, a thin frown on his lips as he feels his stomach doing somersaults, “He didn’t seem like he wanted to talk at the funeral. He was the closest to him out of all of us. Maybe he just needs more time to himself.”

“Maybe,” Jeno nods slowly, “Well, should we open up for the day?”

10:14 AM - Suh Family Clinic, Jejin When Lee Minhyung showed up at Suh Youngho’s clinic, the doctor could only hope that his friend had wanted to see him, but something deep within him knew that that wouldn’t be the case. A day prior, the local grocer had been found deceased in his bedroom, at the moment, the doctor couldn’t conclude what caused the death. A full autopsy couldn’t be performed either, as there wasn’t any suspected foul play in the death, it was just strange. The grocer, a man only a year older than himself, hadn’t ever complained of sickness and his medical records hadn’t shown any signs of issues or any precursory symptoms of genetic irregularities that could’ve caused this.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m pulling you away from your work.” Minhyung offers Youngho an apologetic smile as he takes a seat across from the doctor’s desk.

“It’s alright, Minhyung. What can I help you with?” Youngho returns the awkward smile as he looks away from his paperwork, staring at the younger with a quizzical expression as he uses his chair to roll a little bit away from the paper that had been distracting him so much as of late.

“There were three elderly deaths last summer,” Minhyung begins, leaning forward in his chair ever so slightly,

“Right?” Youngho retorts with a furrowed brow.

“This year it’s been Na, the three in Kusu, Otomonoi, Chenle, Sooyoung, Jongin, and Jongsuk and now Moon … More so, only four of them were what we’d consider to be elderly, and Chenle was just eighteen. Far too young to die.” Minhyung frowns, “What was the cause of Moon’s death?”

“Most likely, it was acute kidney failure.” The doctor nods.

“What about the precise cause, though?”

“Hm,” Youngho nods, realizing that his friend wasn’t just here to play catch-up. They’d done a minor invasive autopsy on the body per the family’s request, but there hadn’t been any conclusive answer he or his team could determine as the most definitive cause. “I don’t know.”

“And Kim Jongin?

“It was all of them, Choi Hyunjin, Kim Jonghoon and Jisoo, Zhong Chenle, Otomonoi Mina, Park Jongsuk and Sooyoung, Kim Jongin, Na Sohwan and now Moon Taeil; we don’t know why they died.”

“Is this an epidemic, then?”

Youngho leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling and letting out a huff of air from deep within his chest, he didn’t realize he was holding, “I hope not.”

8:30 PM - Cheosang Police Station, Seokhae “I’m just saying it’s a little weird.” Lee Donghyuck stands in front of Jeong Jaehyun’s desk, arms crossed with his foot tapping at an impatient pace atop the linoleum.

“It’s not weird, Donghyuck, old people die all the time.” Jaehyun sighs at him. This had been the third time in the past handful of days the detective had tried to raise issue with the reports coming out of the town.

“But the Park’s weren’t old, Jongin wasn’t old, and that Zhong kid definitely wasn’t old,” The younger notes, reaching into his pocket to pull out a list of names of those recently deceased.

“What do you want me to do? Arrest a summer cold?” Arms raised above his head as he lets out a tired yawn as he stretches, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Not everyone’s immune system is as strong as yours.”

“I’m just saying if you look at the coroner’s report—”

“But there is no coroner’s report,” a sigh, hands folded neatly atop his desk and voice calm as if he were trying to explain the concept to a kindergartner, “there weren’t any autopsies because they were colds.”

“Still smells fishy to me,” Donghyuck recrosses his arms defensively.

“You think the old people sitting outside of Moon’s is a drug front, sorry if I think you’re prone to imaginative thinking.” A scoff from the officer.

“Jeno did say he saw them swapping meds at one point,” The detective mutters.

“If you don’t stop bugging me, I’ll send you on night patrols again,” Huffing, hands removed from the desk as Jaehyun moves to stand.

Donghyuck’s brow scrunches as he watches the older move to grab a few papers from atop his desk, “You wouldn’t.”

“Want to test your luck?” Jaehyun smiles as he walks from behind his desk and brushes past Donghyuck to make his way into the hall.

“Fine,” Donghyuck grumbles as he spins on his heels, following after the other.

11:18 PM – Chocolat, Hamyeong That night, Park Jisung dreams of Chenle. Of the pallidness of his friend’s last moments, and what could’ve been the stillness of the air after he’d taken his last breath. It had been almost a week since he passed, but Jisung still feels the wracks of despair wash over him as he lies in his bed, curled into himself as he stares out of the lone window of his room. Towards the forest beyond the road that encapsulates him, that had encapsulated his friend, in this village. The window lies cracked open, but the air outside is stagnant, unmoving in the heat of the summer’s balmy night. Crickets and cicadas chirp in the brush, their voices shouting out for one another, Jisung wishes they’d stop.

Despite attempts from you to rouse him, to get him to move, to get him to eat, he doesn’t. He wallows in what he could never understand. Death was for the old, the sick. Chenle was never ill, never one to succumb to a summer cold like that. It just felt too surreal to comprehend. Jisung only knows that it was reality by recalling the funeral, the anguish that lay over Doyoung’s face as the pallbearers lowered his cousin into the ground. The rites that’d been given echo in his head, reverberating off one another and making him cover his ears to stop the noise.

Jisung finally sits up, the indentation of where he had laid slowly rising from the bed. His feet land on the floor quietly. He runs a hand through his hair as he moves to his window to shut it. Fingers pressing against the darkened frame, he hesitates before slamming it shut. The reflexive prickle of someone watching him races across his neck and down his arms, crawling its way down his spine like a spider does a web. His hair rises, his muscles tense as he furrows his brow and looks out into the edge of trees a floor below. And then he does close the window, thinking he can eye a faint silhouette of a figure staring up at him from the gloom of the forest, two rings of red staring up at him like an animal’s eyes in the midst of high beams.

Jisung has always been the jumpy, scared type. Even if he’d boast otherwise to his friends, but this had him running downstairs like a small child looking for a parent because they thought there was a monster in the closet. He finds you sitting at one of the cafe tables downstairs, writing down a recipe from a magazine you had occasionally delivered to the shop. “Was there someone outside?” As he asked, there’s an urgency in his voice, panicking and tinged with an anxiousness you couldn’t comprehend.

“You’re up,” You note, surprised to see this much movement from him. You hadn’t seen him move in days, and to see him act like this has you recalling the memory of when he’d watched a horror movie for the first time.

“Was there someone outside?” He again asks, impatience bleeding into his tone as his gaze glances at several windows around the shop.

“Not that I saw,” you shrug, returning to scribbling down the recipe for a red velvet cake, “did you see something?”

“I guess not,” he mumbles, feeling the rapidly beating heart in his chest slow with each breath that he takes. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Goodnight, Jisung.”

10:56 AM - Chocolat, Hamyeong Doyoung awakes with a loosely threaded blanket atop him, his back not yet aching from the small couch he’d slept on quite yet. It takes him a moment to gather his bearings. This wasn’t his home, or his apartment. By the fragrant smell of baked goods, he could surmise that he was back in your shop laden with the saccharine’s scents.

“Are you awake?” He hears you call out once his eyes close once more, “Do you want me to make you some coffee?”

“That’d be great, thank you.” And with that, he falls back asleep for what feels like seconds, until a gentle nudging awakens him to a brightened sky. “What time is it?” He asks as he rouses, sitting up and looking from you to the steaming mug that you hold in your hands.

“Around eleven, I tried to make sure no one bothered you as you slept, but we’ve been pretty empty today anyway,” you nod towards the nearly empty café. Jisung sat in the corner, looking over a few sheets of paper and a few other customers sit at tables adjacent.

“Thanks for letting me stay over again. I haven’t been able to sleep well for a while.”

“You and Jisung both,” you sigh, setting down the mug on the table next to Doyoung’s makeshift bed. “Have you had any luck trying to get in contact with his parents?”

“No,” A grimace as Doyoung reaches for the mug, the warmth emanating from it a small comfort as his hand wraps around the ceramic. “And I’m not sure that I ever will, they never seemed to care about him, even when he was a baby. I remember my mom worrying about it when I was younger. I thought him coming to live with us would’ve helped him out a little, you know?”

You reach for his free hand, unable to vocalize the sympathies that you hold for him. No one deserved this, it seemed unfair and outright cruel and you felt helpless about how you could comfort him. His fingers intertwine through yours, a moment of calm to reign in the dread of the day before you hear a voice call out.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything-” The voice asks, you turn, both your and Doyoung’s hands slipping away from one another. You hadn’t even heard the door open or seen someone walk up to it.

“Oh, it’s you,” head tilting inquisitively, it had been a few weeks since your last encounter with one of Cheosang’s newcomers.

As he strides over to you, a snap of his fingers and a tone of realization, he says, “Ah, you’re the owner of this cafe, right?”

“I am,” You nod.

“I’m still sorry about waking you up that night,” The blue-haired man apologizes, his hand running through his locks.

“Don’t sweat it,” A smile as you look from him to your companion, “Oh, this is Kim Doyoung, a friend of mine. Doyoung this is Qian… ”

“Qian Kun,” He extends his hand out to Doyoung, which the other briefly shakes before dropping his hand away. “Kim Doyoung, that name sounds familiar… Ah, your family was recently in the paper. I was so sorry to hear about your loss.”

Eyes widening at the abruptness of the statement, you try to deter it quickly, “Well, Mr. Qian, can I get you anything?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be able to make lattes, would you?” As suddenly as the topic had been brought up it had been dropped as such, “I haven’t had a day off in forever, and I’ve been itching for one.”

“Does the family really keep you that busy?” Doyoung piques up as you move to the café counter, beginning to prepare the brew.

“More or less,” Kun muses, “They’re very interesting people.”

“I’d like to meet them one day,” You note, reaching for a mug on an overhead shelf, “Don’t they ever come down to town?”

“Unfortunately, some of them suffer from a rare genetic condition which doesn’t allow them the luxury of walking the streets,” The newcomer sighs. “They’re very frail at times.”

“How awful,” you note, walking to a small refrigerator underneath one of the counters, “Maybe we should try to visit them instead?”

5:45 PM - Lee Minhyung’s Residence, Seongji “Good evening,” Lee Minhyung answers the door after Kim Kibum set about rapping upon it several times. An impatience to the knocks, a wanting to learn more behind every knuckle that slammed itself upon the rough wood. “Youngho’s right in here.”

“I’m sorry to ask you to come out, Mr. Kim.” The doctor frowns, sitting at Minhyung’s kitchen table, “Please, sit.”

“Please, Doctor, I’m sure if you called it must be something important.” Kibum nods, sliding off his suit jacket before sitting down at the kitchen table, eyeing the steaming kettle atop the stove.

“Well,” Youngho breaks his gaze away from Kibum, glancing at Minhyung before he begins sitting down at the table with a sigh. “Were you able to compose the list that I asked for?”

“It’s twelve,” The official states, hands placed atop the table as the doctor’s eyes widen.

“Huh? Twelve?” Youngho questions, brow furrowing as the steam begins to sing out from the rapidly boiling pot on the stove. Minhyung stands, hurriedly walking to the burner and switching it off before grabbing a dishtowel to remove the kettle from the heat.

“The three in Kusu, Park Jongsuk on August first, Kim Jongin on the third, Lee Minho on the fifth, Otomonoi Mina on the seventh, Cha Yongguk on the tenth, Zhong Chenle on the sixteenth, Na Sohwan on the seventeenth, Park Sooyoung also on the seventeenth, and then Moon Taeil on the twenty-first.” Kibum removes his hands from the table, reaching inside his jacket pocket for a folded piece of paper that was a tad damp from the rainstorm raging outside. He hands it to the doctor who scans it over for a moment before speaking.

“I didn’t know about all of these,” Youngho frowns, hearing the monk behind him fumble around the cabinets for an assortment of cups.

“They died in the government hospital in the town over,” Kibum notes, looking to the paper that the doctor now has in his grasp. “To have this number of deaths occur in such a short amount of time is slightly unusual. Do you have an explanation as to what’s going on?”

“There are several things that it could be. But as for now, we’re treating it as if it could be an epidemic.” Youngho says, lowering the paper from his gaze and looking towards the official.

“An epidemic?” It was now Kibum’s turn to look shocked, slightly startled as Minhyung sets down a steaming hot cup of tea in front of him.

“We’re only considering it as the worst-case scenario,” Minhyung finally speaks up, settling into his own seat after he’s given Youngho and himself a cup of tea.

“What kind of illness is it?” Kibum questions, his fingers now dancing atop the rim of the small teacup.

“We aren’t positive yet, but everyone’s symptoms are similar enough that we can consider them linked.” Youngho begins, “It starts off simply, in Chenle’s case it was anemia. And for others, it seemed that they were fatigued from heat stroke or a common cold. Minor symptoms that worsen drastically in a few days. Actually, Kim Mingyu, an officer at the station, came into the clinic yesterday. And since his symptoms seemed similar to Chenle’s I examined him, I haven’t gotten his test results back yet, so I can’t conclude it’s the same illness yet.”

“Does that mean he may have been infected while at work? Or patrolling one day?” Minhyung questions, recalling the last he’d seen the detective at the incident in Kusu. “If this is an epidemic, really.”

“This is shocking to say the least,” Kibum frowns, fingers still toying with his cup’s rim.

“We don’t have enough information to solidify the root cause of this,” Youngho states, a myriad of thoughts concealed behind his stony visage, “We need to gather information but don’t want to cause a panic in the meantime.”

“I’ll try my best to talk to the surviving family members about it,” Minhyung nods, thinking of his future courses of action, “We may be able to trace the infection from that.”

“I’ll make fliers to urge people with symptoms to get examined,” Kibum also nods, more fervently than the monk, “I’ll also let you know if any death certificates from the government hospital come through.”

“Thank you both,” Youngho sighs, “I’ll work until I’m able to identify the cause of disease. I don’t want any more unnecessary deaths in this village.”

#nct angst #doyoung x reader #nct horror #nct x reader #nct 127 angst #wayv angst #nct dream angst

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trashlord-007 · 3 years

Text

what were your hands meant to do? - a personality uquiz

Tagged by @1dsoul1 (thank youuu ♡) to take this quiz!

PSA! Right off the bat it asks for your Mars sign so if you don't know your astrology chart well, Cafeastrology is a great place to look it up!

Nourish

Maybe you should invest in flour. You work, work hard and sometimes you feel like that’s all you can do. That it'll never pay off. But there’s no greater feeling than to see the joy you bring to others, to see them succeed with the tools you gave them. You may not be a leader, but a leader’s spine, shoulders, ribs. You are the dawn before the sun. It’s sweet, too sweet, but it’s better than nothing. You are endless golden fields, salt of the earth, and the lives of all who devour it.

Lame 😅

Tagging Some Friends;;

@exogotmeoncrack @naturalogre @sinpiesinpie @gustingirl @hwa-luvs @vanillakylee @mel-loves-kdramas @myeoning-call @biaswreckingfics @kingleedo @deobis-moon @julyarchives @stealerz @dream-escaper @taemin-jaemin @frickyea-guacamole19 @exo-l-atina @3-racha-chan @sleep-is-4-da-week @yutahoes @bananapepper420 @cloudyhaos @youngho-core @erotikkook @theunluckylistenermusician @aurorasillusion @peachhyychenle @trippy-dejun @najatheangel @cosmiclatte28 @ashfire295 @cherryeoo @drunk-on-yuta @pink1mink1ming1 @jennexe @rai-scutum @minshookie29 @ka-nari @canadianwatermelon @zealouspartyheroangel @blckpinkmilk @lukai-m @224-12 @joontied @dimplehyunn @midnightflare @jiyonq-ah + anyone else who sees this! I'm at the limit for tagging so consider yourself tagged too! ♡

#tag game #harassing my moots 💕#uquiz

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sunshyni · 4 months

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bom, tive uma ideia aqui de um friends to lovers com o johnny: ele é o jogador de vôlei mais popular da faculdade e a principal é meio que uma "nerd" nada popular. eles são amigos, mas ela meio que quer esconder a amizade dos dois (por causa dessa questão de que populares não andam com pessoas como ela), aí acontece algo que passa todos os limites e o johnny que assumir que eles são amigos e acaba confessando que está apaixonado por ela

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ✉ amor de flashcard ➁

㋡ notes: continuação dessa aqui! Demorei um pouquinho pra trazer essa, mas cá estamos! Ficou um pouco maior do que eu imaginava, mas é isso aí KKKKKK Espero que vocês curtam tanto quanto eu curti ☺️

㋡ w.c: 2.3k (eu avisei KKKKK)

㋡ warnings: Johnny × Fem!reader, um sugestivo de lei (é mais forte do que eu 🤭), Johnny Suh is a golden retriever porque sim! E no mais é isso!

Boa leitura, docinhos! 💌

A casa de Johnny já estava entupida de universitários que bebiam em copos de plástico de cores vibrantes e conversavam alegremente uns com os outros quando você atravessou os portões, incerta sobre a escolha que havia tomado de participar de uma festa repleta de pessoas que você conversava apenas socialmente. Johnny tinha dito que apenas a galera da universidade seria convidada, mas se esqueceu de avisar sobre um ponto muito importante, o de qual porcentagem especificamente dos alunos matriculados compareceriam ao local, porque parecia que a universidade em peso estava alí, brincando uns com os outros e falando alto a plenos pulmões.

Você realmente ponderou sobre direcionar seus tênis all star para a direção contrária a entrada da casa, mas desistiu tão logo essa hipótese cruzou sua cabeça, afinal você tinha dado sua palavra e não daria esse gostinho para Johnny, que com certeza aproveitaria a deixa para te perturbar pelo resto da semana repetindo o quão ruim você era, se aproximando do seu ouvido em alguma aula no auditório apenas para sussurrar as palavras, uma a uma, baixinho, enquanto o professor de vocês pausava a explicação da matéria apenas para reproduzir um vídeo explicativo, e nos últimos tempos ser chamada de garota má pelo seu melhor amigo havia ganhado um significado a mais, um toque promíscuo que te fazia imaginar cenários involuntariamente, que certamente não deveriam ser inventados em sala de aula.

Johnny estava jogando vôlei de piscina com o time com o auxílio de uma rede improvisada quando seus pés alcançaram os fundos da casa, você aproveitou que ele ainda não tinha notado sua presença para admirá-lo em silêncio, observando as gotículas de água brilhando na sua pele exposta pelos seus gloriosos 1,80 m de altura, não que a piscina fosse estupidamente funda também. Ele sorria enquanto discutia fervorosamente sobre um saque da equipe adversária, do outro lado da rede e você sorria também, porque tudo nele tinha um efeito contagiante.

— Eu não sabia que você vinha — Você virou o rosto para um Hendery sorridente, mas o único sorriso que você queria dar atenção era o do cara alto que agora tentava empurrar os ombros do amigo Jaehyun para baixo, numa tentativa explícita de afogamento, embora o Jeong gargalhasse feliz, nada parecido com uma vítima de homicídio. Você olhou para Dery, que ainda fazia completamente o seu tipo, sem tirar nem pôr, mas que por algum motivo – que você tinha plena consciência – não conseguia provocar o alvoroço no seu estômago como costumava fazer meses atrás — Achei que não curtisse festas. Festas desse tipo, sabe? Bebida e pegação.

— Todas as festas universitárias não são assim? — Você devolveu a pergunta com um olhar gentil, alterando o foco entre Hendery e Johnny, alguns bons metros de distância de vocês, Dery refletiu por alguns segundos, sorrindo quando chegou a constatação de que você tinha razão, bebericando da sua bebida enquanto só tinha olhos para você, o que te fez pensar sobre o quão azarada você era, porque eis que do nada o cara que você era secretamente apaixonada aparentemente mostra interesse na sua pessoa e o que é que você faz? Aproveita o clima para lançar as suas melhores cantadas reunidas num site aleatório cujo tema da matéria era “Top 10 melhores cantadas para nerds”? Não, infelizmente não é isso que você faz porque agora você está secretamente apaixonada pelo seu amigo, que sempre fora atraente e você só percebera isso agora.

— É o nosso cérebro viciado em toda essa dopamina — Em circunstâncias normais, não demoraria muito para vocês entrarem num debate acalorado sobre neurotransmissores e demais estruturas cerebrais, no entanto Johnny tinha saído da piscina através de um impulso excelente que fez na beirada dela, colocando as veias dos braços para jogo e mesmo estando um tanto quanto distante da cena, seus olhos pareceram adquirir visão biônica de repente, perpassando por todo corpo do Suh, incluindo a bermuda de cor escura que pingava no gramado do jardim, ele correu os olhos pelo ambiente, claramente procurando por você, entretanto você desviou o olhar do dele feito uma tola assim que ele te encontrou no meio de todos aqueles jovens, um tanto quanto animados como consequência do álcool ingerido.

— A gente vive se trombando na faculdade, mas eu nunca tive a oportunidade de conversar com você — Hendery começou, ao mesmo tempo que do canto do olho, você foi capaz de ver Johnny colocar apenas uma toalha com estampa de mapa sobre os ombros e andar em direção a vocês. O Suh sempre soube da sua quedinha pelo veterano, talvez desde o dia que vocês se conheceram depois dele te pedir o elástico de cabelo emprestado, mas vocês nunca destrincharam o assunto. Na verdade, você nunca sequer conversou sobre um garoto com Johnny, e ele também nunca te contou sobre as garotas com quem ficava, ainda que se ele tivesse relacionamentos breves, escondia muito bem, considerando que você nunca soubera de nenhum burburinho envolvendo o amigo e uma outra pessoa no sentido romântico da coisa — 'Cê tá afim de beber alguma coisa enquanto a gente conversa?

Hendery não era o tipo de pessoa bom de bebida, tempos atrás, rolava um boato de que ele havia bebido alguns copos de energético com vodka em uma festa qualquer, jogou algumas partidas de ping beer de forma alucinada e depois foi encontrado dormindo serenamente em um sofá com uma música explícita estralando nas caixas de som, na verdade, nem se tratava mais de um boato, considerando que o vídeo desse evento havia circulado por todo o campus em menos de uma semana. Logo, você sabia e grande parte da universidade fazia consciência de que Hendery estava atualmente num relacionamento sério com kombucha nas confraternizações universitárias.

Foi recordando desse fato universal que você percebeu tarde demais que Dery estava se propondo a fazer um sacrifício apenas para conversar com você, enquanto a única coisa que passava pela sua cabeça era no quanto Johnny estava demorando para chegar até vocês. Realmente, o timing do universo é sinistro.

— É, seria legal — Você concordou sem pensar, no momento exato que Johnny se colocou ao seu lado, num conflito interno se te cumprimentava com um abraço lateral e te molhava um pouco, ou se apenas te perguntava se queria beber alguma coisa, ele optou pelas duas opções, se intrometendo entre você e Hendery e falando por cima de todas as outras vozes alí presentes.

— 'Cê quer beber o que? — Você se encolheu com o braço repousado confortavelmente nos seus ombros, te cobrindo com a toalha estampada, nem olhou nos olhos do Suh para responder, porque se o fizesse, se daria conta da proximidade e o seu coração já batia muito descompassado — Só não bebe muito. Da última vez eu tive que ouvir você tagarelar sobre coisas inteligentes demais e ainda concordar com todas elas, mesmo sem fazer ideia do que você 'tava falando.

— Vocês são amigos? — Hendery perguntou, apontando para vocês dois.

— Não — Você prontamente respondeu.

— Sim — Johnny assentiu sem pensar duas vezes.

O Suh te olhou e você finalmente virou o rosto na direção dele, sua boca formando um “O” certinho enquanto pensava em como prosseguir com a resposta, divagando um pouco com a vontade imensa de afastar a mecha de cabelo molhada que provavelmente ocupava uma parte do campo de visão de Johnny.

— É claro que não! Eu e o Johnny? — Você riu um pouco sem graça — A gente não tem nada em comum.

— Ah, então você me acha fútil? — Johnny questionou, tirando o braço dos seus ombros e levando todo o calor embora, te fazendo abraçar os próprios braços desolados, um sorriso de desespero tomou conta da sua expressão, e num momento de reflexão você avaliou toda a situação na qual havia se metido. O cara que você gostou e o cara que você atualmente estava afim, ambos te propunham uma bebida, e é claro que a sua pessoa estava arruinando tudo como de costume.

— Não, John... Eu jamais te chamaria de superficial. A gente já conversou sobre isso, eu... — Você perdeu as palavras que estava planejando usar porque essa desculpa já era muito esfarrapada, desde sempre você tinha o pensamento em mente de que ninguém poderia saber que vocês eram amigos, por causa de uma maldita hierarquia social universitária que colocava uma barreira entre populares e introvertidos, no entanto, agora isso não tinha mas nexo e seria hipócrita da sua parte falar a respeito de um fato que não estava mais dentro da sua proposta de mundo ideal.

— É, Dery, a gente é amigo — Johnny afirmou com firmeza, e de uma hora para a outra, parecia que todos tinham se transformado em estátuas para observar quando Johnny capturou a sua mão. Erguendo os seus dedos entrelaçados com os dígitos longos dele na direção de um Dery intrigado — Talvez mais do que isso. Então, pode ir tirando esse seu cavalinho da chuva.

Você nem teve tempo para dizer alguma coisa em sua defesa, já que tão logo liberou a sua frase de efeito – diga-se de passagem – muito ameaçadora, Johnny conduziu sua versão atônita até o segundo piso da casa, abrindo a porta do seu quarto sem dar a mínima para os casais na fila dos “7 minutos no paraíso”. As luzes do cômodo estavam apagadas quando vocês adentraram nele, mas o abajur projetor de estrelas estava ligado e as estrelas neon coladas no teto também contribuíam para tornar o ambiente mais claro, coincidentemente os dois itens foram adicionados no carrinho de compras de Johnny assim que descobriu que você tinha o sonho de criança de se tornar uma pesquisadora da Nasa no futuro.

— O que diabos você tá fazendo, John? — Johnny não te respondeu, mas abriu as portas do armário no qual ele guardava seus casacos e expulsou de lá um casal muito próximo de realizar o coito sexual, e te puxou para dentro do ropero espaçoso, fazendo vocês dois se sentarem de pernas cruzadas um na frente do outro, os joelhos se tocando eventualmente e enviando descargas elétricas para todo o seu corpo descuidado. Você ergueu os olhos, agradecendo pelos pontinhos de luz que entravam pelas portas e batiam diretamente no peito nu do amigo, desprovido pela toalha que no trajeto até o quarto, escorregou dos ombros largos e por pouco não te fez tropeçar.

— Acho que preciso te confessar uma coisa — Ele não ousou elevar os olhos na sua direção, prosseguiu olhando para o carpete bege até quando ficou de joelhos para alcançar o bolso de um casaco bem ao seu lado, te fazendo ficar alguns centímetros de distância apenas do abdômen em forma. Assim que encontrou o que estava procurando, entregou o pedaço de papel cartão para você meio hesitante e voltou a sua posição inicial — Te trouxe pra cá porque não sei se consigo te dizer isso olhando nos seus olhos. Então, só tenta ler, tá?

— Johnny, o que... — Você procurou o celular no bolso da calça jeans para ativar a lanterna e entender o que estava escrito naquele papel de flashcard, num dos versos Johnny tinha anotado as equações mais cabeludas das aulas de exatas que vocês tinham em comum, enquanto no outro podia-se ler um “eu gosto de você” mais o seu nome numa caligrafia um tanto quanto errante, como se ele estivesse despejando seu nervosismo e incerteza na forma como escrevia aquelas palavras simples. Você procurou os olhos dele, mas era como se vocês tivessem trocado de personalidade por alguns instantes e dessa vez quem estava de cabeça baixa e evitando a todo custo contato visual era o Suh e não você.

— Johnny — Você pousou a palma quente em uma das coxas dele, imediatamente chamando sua atenção e fazendo com que você afastasse com carinho aquela mecha insistente do rosto dele — Eu também gosto de você, mas quer saber? Eu quero te beijar pela primeira vez olhando nos seus olhos de preferência.

Johnny não demorou mais do que 2 segundos para atender o seu pedido, te fazendo se sentar na beira da cama para poder segurar seu rosto com doçura e admirar as suas íris de pertinho, suas mãos acariciavam os antebraços alheios, os lábios curvados para cima num exemplo evidente de sorriso bobo.

— E por que você vem me dizer isso só agora? — Ele te perguntou feito um cachorrinho pidão, mas os seus olhos propagavam chamas de um fogo perigoso que você não se importava de se lançar sobre. Johnny pressionou os lábios nos seus, por hora apenas conhecendo o sabor e a textura dos lábios que ele fantasiava desde que te viu morder uma tampa de caneta por puro tédio — Tô te querendo há tanto tempo que pensei que fosse enlouquecer antes mesmo de te falar isso.

Johnny te beijou, realmente te beijou, invadindo a sua boca com a língua e te fazendo pousar as mãos na cintura delgada quando ele te fez se inclinar para trás. Você empurrou o corpo com os calcanhares em direção aos travesseiros para que pudesse se deitar na cama e Johnny pudesse se acomodar bem em cima de você. Ele escorregou a mão atrevida e exploratória pela lateral do seu corpo, segurando sua coxa e fazendo-a envolver uma de suas pernas ao redor dele, friccionando seus íntimos de forma suave, mas aparente o suficiente para você arfar baixo na boca do Suh.

— Posso te fazer ver estrelas senhorita futura pesquisadora da Nasa? — Johnny questionou com um ar abobalhado assim que desuniu os lábios dos seus, o cabelo molhado bagunçado e um sorriso insolente adornando as linhas do seu rosto perfeito.

Você segurou o queixo dele enquanto a mão vazia permanecia na sua cintura, e proferiu, soando tão brincalhona quanto o homem despido do cós ao peitoral sobre você – que no momento adentrava sua camiseta com a palma grande e vertiginosa como se aquele fosse um caminho habitual.

— Você faz muitas perguntas pro meu gosto, Johnny Suh.

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