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army-author · 3 years

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namjoon scenario | the early hours

❝ chance encounters are what keep us going ❞ - Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

➝ summary: you love the city when it’s at its most quiet - in the early hours of the morning. you like it for its peaceful mystery. never did you expect that a stranger, spotted in your favourite 24-hour diner, would eventually invade your early morning solitude, and - most surprisingly - you wouldn’t even mind...

➝ pairing: namjoon x reader

➝ genre: fluff

➝ word count: 5.9k

➝ warnings: none

➝ author’s note: this whole fic is just me indulging in fluff! it was a lot of fun to write!

You prefer the night to the day. There’s something magical about the world after the hands of the clock pass the threshold into a new day. You are transported to a new experience – a new universe laid over the old – that will only be witnessed by a small handful of people, those who are still awake at ungodly hours. There’s a strange silence that stretches across the city after midnight. The occasional car sighs past, but the streets are empty. With the pavement bathed in blue moonlight and the sodium orange of streetlights, you could convince yourself that you’re viewing a parallel reality, shimming above the real world.

That’s why, despite your office job demanding that you get up at seven for the commute, you find it difficult to go to bed early. When you lie under the duvet at night, you have the odd feeling of missing out, aware of the city shifting beyond your closed blinds.

Most nights the city draws you out. The streets, that you often find yourself hating in the daylight – saturated with polluting traffic and bustling crowds, laying out a labyrinth of social interaction – are transformed at night, suddenly alluring in their quiet neon glamour. You love the lights. You love the moments of stillness, when the streets clear of taxis. You love the mystery.

That’s why you walk the streets at night. Sometimes you end up at your local convenience store, purchasing the discounted lunch snacks that didn’t sell that day. Other times you walk to a diner that remains open twenty-four seven – offering the best decaf coffee you’ve ever tasted. On occasion, you find yourself walking around the deserted shopping district, staring in the dark windows, haunted by the typical hubbub of the daytime.

This love of the city at night isn’t something you can properly communicate to anyone else. When you try to explain to your friends, they simply shake their heads and tell you that you should get some rest.

But how can you rest when the world is in its most pure, beautiful state? Sometimes, you think you prefer the company of the empty city to the company of people. You value the quiet – a respite from the drain of daily social interactions.

This is how, when the clock slips past midnight, you find yourself slipping out of your apartment. You fill your lungs with the cold air of the early morning, fresher without the fumes of traffic. It’s just stopped raining, and the onyx pavements glisten with dark puddles, reflecting back an alternate world where the street lights shine, distorted by ripples. It smells of wet tarmac. You zip up your coat and hitch your backpack up your back as you beat your feet along the familiar track towards your favourite diner.

As you walk, you pass stores, closed for the night, proffering clothes, make-up, and stationary that won’t be available again until nine in the morning. You pause in front of the bookstore to stare greedily at the hardbacks you can’t afford. You have a bookshelf at home filled with books you haven't yet finished. Still, the new releases stare back, tempting. They hypnotise you with the curve of their spines, their fresh paper, their smooth covers. Your wallet cries out in protest.

Rousing yourself from your thoughts, you push past the store, and walk down the street, turning at a pedestrian crossing. Ahead, you see the neon lights of the diner, pink and blue in the reflective pavement. You smile at the sight, like you would smile at an old friend.

Entering the diner, you find it empty. The sole waitress who works the nightshift glances up as you enter.

You take a seat at your favourite booth, next to the window. The waitress walks over to take your order, and you ask for a decaf coffee – as usual. Always the same order when it’s past midnight.

The waitress nods, and leaves the booth. You unzip your backpack and take out your sketchbook. It’s blue leather cover is soft in your hand. Past midnight is the best time to draw. When you’re enveloped in the cotton-soft murmur of the barely-stirring city, inspiration floats thick in the air around you – easy to pluck and put onto paper.

While you start sketching, the waitress silently sets your coffee and a pitcher of milk in front of you. You like the waitress because she never speaks more than necessary, silent for the vast majority of your interactions. It’s a welcoming, warm silence.

You take a sip of your coffee, black, the flavour washing over your tongue. Its a bitter and smoky taste, with a hint of chocolate. You breathe in the scent, invigorated, and set down the mug to continue drawing.

The door swings open, and despite yourself, you turn your head in the direction of the sound. It’s not often that someone else enters the diner at this hour. It’s too late for those who have clocked off from late shifts and too early for those who work early shifts.

Your gaze settles on the man who enters the diner. He’s tall, well-proportioned, in an umber jacket, with a bag slung over his shoulder. His hair has been dyed a light brown, but you can see black at the roots. He doesn't look like the typical patron at this diner. Then again, neither do you. Your eyes tack him curiously as he walks over to a seat in the corner. The waitress goes over to him, and he tells her his order in a deep, soft voice: “Decaf coffee, please.”

Despite knowing you should stop staring at this stranger, you cannot help but watch as the man takes a book from his bag, and removing a bookmark from the pages, resumes reading. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You smile. You like that book. A part of you wants to pipe up and tell him it’s a good read. But you never speak to strangers. You aren’t about to break a twenty-five year habit. You’ve got this far by allowing all your friends to do the introductions for you. Thank goodness for extroverts.

The waitress sets a mug of coffee beside the man, with her usual silence, and he murmurs his thanks.

You remain in your seat, sipping your coffee in silent thought, and adding to your sketch book. Before long, you’ve forgotten about the man sitting on the other side of the diner, focusing on the drawing you’re working on – a dragon slinking around the grey bricks of giant skyscrapers. The giant breaths golden fire.

For you, drawing is a way to organise your thoughts, spilling the contents of your head, giving them a concrete image you can identify. For that reason alone, you could never actually show anyone else your drawings. As you continue to sketch, the world slowly melts away into a pleasant white noise that hums around you.

It’s a shock when the quiet waitress walks up, asking if you would like a refill. You tell her you’re okay for now. Checking your phone, you realise it’s slipped past three in the morning, without you even realising. You need to get some sleep. Reluctantly, you stand up, slipping your sketchbook into the front pocket of your backpack. You leave a tip for the waitress, then make your way over to the door. Feeling eyes on you, your gaze falls to the man sitting in the corner. He’s observing you over the pages of The Hitchhiker’s Guide. Upon seeing you seeing him, his eyes quickly drop back to the book. Distracted, you bump against the edge of one of the diner’s tables, stumbling. You correct your footing, and with a blazing blush rampaging on your cheeks, you hurry out of the door.

✽ ✽ ✽

It isn’t until you get back to your apartment that you realise that your sketchbook is missing. You hunt around in your backpack, checking all the pockets, but it’s definitely not there. It must be in the diner. That’s the last place you had it.

You resist the urge to run back tonight. It’s past half three, and you have to work tomorrow. You can always go back to search for it later.

You lie awake in bed, worrying. In losing your sketchbook, you’ve left it open to the possibility of being read - your personal thoughts sketched out for a stranger to digest. It was your own carelessness that resulted in its loss, so you resign yourself to the possibility of never seeing it again, and slink, resisting, into sleep.

✽ ✽ ✽

The next evening after work, you return to the diner. You arrive earlier than you normally would. The sun is still visible – just setting beyond the crowns of tall apartment blocks. You arrive below the familiar neon blue and pink sign and open the door to the smell of chips and coffee. There are more people here than you are used to.

You check the table you normally sit at, which is mercifully empty. However, a quick search reveals no trace of your sketchbook. The quiet waitress who works the night shift isn’t there yet. Hesitant, you speak to the other waitress, explaining that you lost a sketchbook at the diner last night.

“Sorry, don’t know anything about it,” she says, wrinkling her brow.

Resigned, you thank her. You can always come back when the night shift starts and see if the other waitress knows anything about it.

Deciding to hang around the area, rather than return home, you grab some sushi at a nearby restaurant, then take a restless walk around the nearby park, watching pigeons pick at crumbs on the ground, and local college students smoke under the shade of trees. After you grow bored of the park’s trees, you wander around the streets, without direction, taking a long loop around the diner. The sky above darkens from blue to navy to black, and the streets slowly drain of life as people go home for the night. Still you stay outside, checking your phone every so often to keep a track of the time.

When it hits midnight, you return to the diner. The quiet waitress, who you are used to, is a welcome sight. She offers you the same small smile she always gives. You walk up to her. “Excuse me, I think I left a sketchbook here last night. Have you seen it?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says, “But if you think you left it here, feel free to have a look around.”

You frown. That wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You were so sure you had left it in the diner. Where else could it have gone? It was possible it had fallen out of your backpack on the walk home, but if that were the case, it could be anywhere.

Sighing, you tell the waitress not to worry, and order your usual decaf coffee. Sitting down at your favourite seat, with the comforting smoky scent of coffee beans wafting through the air, you wonder what to do next. You pick at the threading of your sweater, sip your coffee, and stare out the window. The sky is especially black tonight, clouds cover the stars and moon. Looking past your own ghostly reflection in the glass, a pool of darkness stares back, swirling with the stirring in your chest.

An hour could have passed, a minute could have passed, it’s unclear to you. Time seems to stand still in that diner, frozen on the brink of tomorrow, stuck between an old night and a new morning.

“Excuse me?”

You look up at the sound of the voice.

A man is standing by your booth – the man you spied in the diner yesterday, tall and slim.

Your gaze trails over his face – his cropped hair falls over his forehead, his crescent eyes capture the neon lights of the diner, soft dimples poke dents in the marble-statue structure of his cheeks.

“Hi,” you say, not sure why he’s speaking to you, but not wanting to be impolite either.

“Hi,” he says back. He searches in his bag, and pulls out a familiar blue sketchbook. “I think you dropped this yesterday.”

A wave of relief crashes over you. “Thank you so much,” you say, as he hands it back to you, “I had given up on ever seeing it again.” The worn leather cover feels comfortable in your hands.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” he points at the seat opposite you in the booth, “It’s my favourite spot.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you indicate for him to take a seat.

He sits down opposite you, and raises a hand at the waitress, who nods, and scurries off to fetch a coffee. “I figured the notebook must have been important to you, so I kept it safe,” he says, “It might have been a little presumptuous of me, but I had a feeling I’d see you again, and that I’d be able to return it.”

“Did you...” you trail off. The thought had crossed your mind that whoever found the sketchbook would end up looking through your personal drawings, and the worry had squeezed tight at your throat.

“Look inside the notebook?” The man asks, his waning-moon eyes scrutinising you.

You nod solemnly.

“No,” he says. “I didn’t.”

The second wave of relief hits you, warm like a tropical sea. “Good,” you stroke the soft cover of the sketchbook, “I really appreciate that.”

The man smiles, and his dimples deepen. “I must say, I’m a little curious what would bring someone to sit in a diner with a notebook in the early hours of the morning.”

A blush creeps hot under your skin. “I’m… drawing,” you admit.

The man nods.

You lick your lips which feel oddly dry. “But I suppose I could ask you the same - what would bring you here at these hours?” Curiosity cuts through your introversion.

The man shrugs.“I can’t sleep. I keep getting more and more frustrated, cooped up in my apartment, so I wander around at night, hoping I’ll get tired, and be ready to sleep when I go home. But something about the city at night is so exciting,” he stares out the window, at the darkness beyond, brimming with endless possibilities, “It doesn’t tie me out. It only excites me all the more.”

“I know what you mean,” you say, “I love the city at nighttime. It’s so alluring. I could wander around its abandoned streets for eternity, and never get bored.” Your blush only becomes all the more severe as you realise that you are spilling your heart to a complete stranger. Embarrassed, you shut your mouth, and swallow thickly.

The waitress arrives with a cup of coffee and pitcher or milk for the stranger. He thanks her softly, and without adding any milk, takes a sip of the dark liquid.

Unsure what to do with this stranger sitting across from you, you say, “If you were expecting any company from me, you might be disappointed. I’m not good at conversing with strangers.”

“Neither am I,” the man replies over his coffee cup, “Don’t worry. I was planning on reading anyway.”

Relieved, you take a mouthful of your own coffee.

The man pulls The Hitchhiker’s Guide from his bag, picking up where he had left off.

You scrutinise him for a moment, unsure what to make of this man. Something about his gentle manners, his kind smile, and his love for the city in the early morning resonates deeply with you – an unnameable vibration stirred at the very core of your being when you look at him. Despite your aversion to talking to people you don’t know, you find yourself wanting to make the effort to converse.

Instead, you open your sketchbook and begin drawing again.

Outside, the night flows by, a river of darkness punctuated by the occasional light from a car.

Time passes quickly without you realising. The man stands up to leave. “I should get going.”

“Oh yeah, I suppose it’s late,” you say, “Or is it early…?”

He packs his book back into his bag, and you take the courage to pipe up, “It’s a good read. Douglas Adams, I mean.”

“Oh yeah,” the man looks down at the novel in his hand, “It’s my third time reading it.”

You smile, “There’s this one line from the book that’s always stuck with me.” You pause, making sure you get it right, “‘Isn’t it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?’ I’ve always like that.”

The man grins, his crescent-moon eyes deepening, “I like that too…” He looks as if he is considering his next words carefully. “Listen, I’m sorry if it was strange that I chatted with you today. I just felt compelled to do so. I don’t know why. But it reminds me of a quote from Kafka on the Shore, which is another book I’ve read at least three times - ‘Chance encounters are what keep us going’. I don’t know, I just thought you might like that one.”

“I’ve always meant to read Kafka on the Shore,” you say, “I really like Murakami.”

“You should read it,” the mans says, “It’s fascinating.”

“I will.”

“I’m Namjoon, by the way,” he says, “I don’t believe I gave my name before.”

“Nice to meet you Namjoon,” you smile, giving your own name.

With that, Namjoon exits the diner, leaving you to your own clouded thoughts as the door swings shut behind him. Despite yourself, you hope you’ll see him again.

✽ ✽ ✽

When you get home, you search your bookshelf for your copy of Kafka on the Shore. You never read it, despite is sitting on your shelf for a long time. You snuggle into bed, and start on the first page.

✽ ✽ ✽

The next night, you find yourself wandering the streets again, allured by the glowing neon lights on the city.

It’s a Thursday, and the streets are empty. Your feet lead you towards the diner. A small portion of you is hoping that you’ll see Namjoon again. You taste an oddly bitter disappointment on your tongue when you step inside, only to find the diner empty, apart from the quiet waitress.

Disheartened, you sip your decaf coffee, and read Murakami, while the earth spins by outside.

When you reach the bottom of the coffee cup with no sign of Namjoon, you stand up, resolving to go for a walk, rather than waiting around.

The air outside is cool and refreshing. You breath it in deeply, enjoying the cold sensation in your lungs.

Walking through the city, you wind your way through streets, passing abandoned play parks, empty shops, and silent office blocks. You could almost convince yourself that the whole world has stopped, and that you’re the last remaining human on the planet. Despite this, the earth still rotates, still makes its orbit around the sun, and this thought is comforting. Sitting down on a bench at the edge of a green park, you take out your sketchbook, and begin drawing. You want to capture this feeling permanently.

✽ ✽ ✽

As Friday rolls into Saturday, you avoid going out into the city at night. The city erupts with noise on weekend nights. People flock to the bars and clubs, laughing, joyous and loud, as they swing themselves down the streets. You don’t often go into the city on busy nights.

Instead, you stay inside, making your own decaf coffee from your coffee machine. It’s not as good as the coffee you get from the diner, but it’s good enough in a pinch.

These are the nights when you should sleep early to make up for your lack of sleep during the working week. Yet, as you lie in bed, staring at the dark expanse of your ceiling, your thoughts constantly circle back to Namjoon, hoping you’ll see him again some day.

The thought of connected souls flashes through your sleepy mind as you drift towards dreams. The idea is childish and naive, but it makes you smile.

✽ ✽ ✽

On Monday night – or is it Tuesday morning yet? – you return to the diner. Spotting a familiar figure at your favourite booth, you suppress a smile.

You sit down opposite him. He flashes you a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back. With a signal to the waitress, she goes to make you a cup of decaf coffee with a smile. “It’s nice to see you again,” you say, surprised at your own honesty.

The dimples pop onto Namjoon’s cheeks, giving his grin a boyish charm. “It’s nice to see you as well.”

The waitress sets down the coffee on the table. It trails tendrils of aromatic steam. Its bitter taste is a good distraction for your mouth, empty of words. You take a sip, revelling in the chocolate sweet aftertaste.

“I love the decaf coffee they do here,” Namjoon says, as you set down your cup. “I never found a decaf coffee that tastes quite like it.”

You nod in agreement. “I don’t know how they manage it. All the other decaf coffees I’ve had feel like they lack as special… something that regular coffee has. By taking out the caffein, the taste often suffers as a result. But this-” You indicate to the coffee “- This is good.”

“Finally, somebody else gets it,” Namjoon grins, “Although, if we’re talking caffeinated coffee, nothing can beat a cafe down the road from here. it’s called Cloud 9. Have you heard of it?”

“Oh yeah, I pass that coffee shop on the way to work,” you nod, “Never had a chance to go in though.”

“You should,” Namjoon says, “If you like this coffee, you’ll like it there. The beans they use are really rich, like dark chocolate.”

“Sounds good,” you say, leaning back in your seat. You examine Namjoon, sitting across from you. It’s uncommon for you to be so comfortable with a stranger, yet here you are, conversing with him as if he were an old friend. You wonder what about him makes him so different for you. A cursory glance does not show anything out of the ordinary: tall frame, slim figure, the kind of handsome face that doesn’t stand out in a crowd, but gets more handsome the longer you look at it. A few leagues above you. And yet here he is, sitting with you, by his own choice no less.

“What?” Namjoon questions your inquisitive stare.

“Sorry,” you feel your cheeks turning pink with a warm flush, “I was just thinking… it’s not often I can speak so comfortably with someone I barely know.”

“Me neither,” Namjoon admits, “But I felt a certain spark with you, so I thought I’d follow it through, and see where it leads. I hope you don’t mind?”

A warm hand clutches your heart. “I don’t mind at all.”

✽ ✽ ✽

You sit quietly in the diner with Namjoon opposite. You read Kafka on the Shore – he smiles at your choice. He reads The Hitchhiker’s Guide. The world pauses on its axis. You feel a deep-rooted peace, engulfed in the silence of the still night.

When the coffee in your cup has gone, Namjoon closes his book. “Would you like to take a walk?”

You slip the receipt for your coffee into your book, marking the spot where you stopped. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

You exit the diner, and follow Namjoon out into the dark street. He leads you down new paths, paths you had not explored before. The night is full of eager possibility with him by your side.

As you walk, you talk about everything and nothing, the universe flowing from each other’s heads, spilling your minds to one another, and bearing your soles bare in the process.

By the time you pause your walking, realising that you’re standing by an old play park that you recognise from childhood, you feel as if you’ve known Namjoon for an eternity.

You walk to the swing that stands at the centre of the park. It’s the large basket kind of swing – the sort that you would lie down on as a child, and beg for your parents to push.

Now, years later, you lie down again, and Namjoon pushes you gently. The sky is unusually clear above you, starlight shining past the orange glare of the city. The heavens bow down to greet you as you swing upwards, then pull away as you hit the crest of the arc and fall back down to earth. Namjoon pushes you again and the cycle repeats.

At least, Namjoon gets tired of pushing and lies down in the basket beside you. There’s not much space on a swing made for children. Your arm is squished next to his. Namjoon’s warmth seeps through your jumper.

“I’ve enjoyed tonight a lot,” Namjoon says.

“Me too.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you. You pull your gaze from the starry sky to gaze back at him.

“Would it be okay if we do this again?” he asks.

A glowing fire sparks inside your chest. “Of course. I’d like that.”

Above you, the stars shine down, hazy through the city’s street-light sheen.

Namjoon moves his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders. The action fuels the fire in your chest. You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, and stare up at the vast sky.

✽ ✽ ✽

You spend your nights in this way, enjoying the secrets of the city with Namjoon by your side. You walk through empty parks, visit quiet pubs, wander around empty shopping centres, and as the nights pass, you find yourself enamoured with this stranger whom you can no longer call a stranger. You even find yourself sharing your sketches with him on the odd occasion, unafraid of his judgement.

Namjoon is on your mind, even when you’re apart – wondering if he would enjoy the book you’re currently reading, if he’d like a cafe you visited, if he’s thinking about you the way that you’re thinking about him.

On your lunch break at work, you decide to visit Cloud 9 with a friend from your office – because Namjoon recommended it of course.

“This place is really… quaint,” Taehyung says, twisting his neck to inspect every inch of the coffee shop. He’s right. House plants balance on shelves above wooden tables, and oil paintings hang behind brown leather armchairs, all combining to give the cafe a homey feel – like returning to your grandparents’ house. Your attention is dragged over to the bookshelf in the far corner of the cafe, loaded with lopsided piles of second-hand books. With you and Taehyung both in formal office clothes, you look a little out of place.

When you order your coffees, and sit down at a table by the window, you’re eager to taste the beverage that Namjoon had been praising. You ordered a black americano, because you don’t want the full taste of the coffee to be dulled by milk or syrup. The first taste explodes across your palate with the bitter tang of dark chocolate, that quickly mellows to a blackberry flavour, earthy and sweet.

Across from you, Taehyung gives a hum of approval as he sips his flat white, a moustache of foam forming on his lips, which he licks off.

You stare out of the window at the busy plaza outside. Families duck in and out of shops, office workers scramble to make it to their next meeting, and tourists snap pictures of the fountain in the middle of the square.

“Hey!” You realise that Taehyung’s talking to you. “Are you even listening?”

You focus your gaze on him, his blue office suit contrasting with the brown leather armchair he’s perched in. “Sorry, Taehyung, I’m listening.”

“You seem really spacey today,” he says, frowning, “I mean, normally you’ve got your head in the clouds, I know. But today is especially bad, even for you.”

“Sorry, you’re right.” You train your attention on your friend.

“You seem really tired,” Taehyung continues, “I know you’re a night owl, but I’m starting to worry a little.”

You consider his words. It’s true that you’ve been sleeping later and later each night, enjoying your time with Namjoon. Normally, you’d allow yourself a few nights to recover, and get a full eight hours of sleep, but you’ve been missing out, not wanting to loose any time with Namjoon. As Taehyung surveys you with concern in his eyes, you realise you should be taking better care of yourself.

“You’re right,” you say, “I have been missing more sleep than usual. I’ll sort out my sleep schedule. Don’t fret.”

“Finally, you acknowledge my sage advice,” Taehyung grins, taking another sip of coffee, “Seriously though. I’m rooting for you. Whoever it is that’s keeping you up later than usual, he must be a real catch!”

Heat rises below your skin, red and urgent. Taehyung’s smirk only amplifies as you blush harder.

“So I’m right,” he says, “This is about a guy!”

“It’s not!” Your denial comes too late.

“Nope. I don’t buy it,” Taehyung says, triumphant, “You’ve finally got yourself a boyfriend. After all these years a virgin! I’m so proud.”

“Shut up, Tae,” you laugh, kicking him softly under the table.

His mouth parts in a wide grin that you cannot stay angry at.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, “So maybe there’s a guy. But we’re not actually dating or anything. Not officially. We just enjoy spending time in each other’s company.”

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s what dates are,” Taehyung says.

You struggle to find a rebuttal to this. Your blush deepens.

“I’m really happy for you,” Taehyung leans across the table to give your hand a pat, “But if you could try to arrange some dates for the daytime, for the sake of your sleep, you’d make me even happier.”

“I can’t promise anything, Taehyung. You know what I’m like.”

“All too well.”

✽ ✽ ✽

The next night, you meet Namjoon at the diner as usual. You don’t have butterflies in your stomach. You have a whole flock of birds, flapping around nervously inside you.

Namjoon smiles his dimpled smile in greeting. “Would you like to take a walk tonight? There’s something I’d like you to see.”

“Of course,” you say.

You follow him through the city streets, along empty pedestrian crossings, past silent railway tracks, up a large hill where the pavement slopes, with apartment buildings sticking straight up, like a giant came along and stuck large white logo bricks into the slanting side of the hill. Up and up you climb, conversing with Namjoon all the while – about movies you’ve watched, plans for the holidays, favourite seasons, childhood pets.

When you reach the top of the hill, Namjoon stops. “Look,” he says, so you look.

The city stretches out in front of you, an ocean of winking lights. On the far side of the city, you can see a motorway, the red and white lights of cars whisking strangers to different points of the compass. Apartments and office buildings tower over smaller structures, a forest of artificial light. A faint mist hangs above the city, giving the whole vista an other-wordly quality – a city on a distant planet.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Namjoon turns to face you. You look up to his face. His beauty strikes you once more, strangely contrasted to the beauty of the city. The city is alien. His face is familiar – it’s home.

“Tell me, Namjoon,” you say, “What’s going on between us?”

“What do you mean?”

“These walks we take every night. Would you count them as dates?” You are surprised by your own honesty.

“I suppose they could be considered dates,” Namjoon tilts his head towards you, eyes reflecting the galaxy of city lights.

You swallow, hesitating. Where are you supposed to go from here? You’ve never been on a date before.

“You don’t have to think of them as dates if you don’t want to,” Namjoon responds to your silence. “Although… I like the idea of dating you.”

“I like that idea as well,” you admit quietly. Your voice is barely a whisper.

A smile spreads across Namjoon’s face. His expression catches you off guard, mirroring your own surprised smile – surprised that a man, who was a stranger only a few weeks ago, has enriched your life so much.

“Could I consider you my boyfriend?” you ask.

“I’d like that,” he says. In the dusk, his hands find yours. A halo of light from the city’s bright haze outlines your skin.

You take a step closer to Namjoon, led by his hands, fingers threaded through your own. Your heart vibrates in your chest.

Half of his face is lit up by the city lights below. Slowly, imperceptibly, you lean towards him, while he leans towards you. His eyes ask you a question. You answer back. Your chest rises, pushing out a nervous breath. You close the distance between the two of you.

Your lips connect to his, soft and warm. You slide into the safety of his kiss, a kiss that says: I’m here, I understand you, I want this to last forever too. You sigh against him, a thrill rising inside you. On parting, you find that your legs are unsteady, and your head is spinning from the impact of two mortal bodies colliding.

Standing in the glow of the city, framed by the lights of the other living souls on the streets, Namjoon is more beautiful than ever. There are no words. You can only smile. Namjoon smiles back. He understands.

✽ ✽ ✽

“Namjoon?” He looks at you, eyes gentle as you speak his name. You’re walking with him, down from the hill where you had both confessed, and shared your first kiss.

“Yes?”

“Would it be okay if we had some dates during the day as well?”

He chuckles, “You know, I was going to suggest the same. I love the city at night, but...”

“But my sleep has been suffering,” you finish for him.

He nods, huffing out a laugh. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

His hand finds yours, his fingers cold, but his palm warm against yours. You’re always on the same page with Namjoon – two souls connected. You had thought the idea of soulmates was juvenile. Now, with your life entangling with Namjoon’s, you begin to understand. Two souls, singing in harmony. That’s what you have. A special, chance connection. You won’t let it go.

You squeeze Namjoon’s hand, and he squeezes back, and your souls entangle a little more.

- THE END -

➝ author’s note: i just love writing about this kind of setting - a calm, sleepy city with beautiful lights :’) it’s a shame that most cities aren’t like this in real life. even in my city, which is relatively safe, I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around at night on my own, like y/n does! but hey, that’s what fics are for - wish fulfilment! i hope everyone is staying safe!

if you enjoyed this fic, feel free to let me know! <3

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prodtrouver · 3 years

Text

➾ Who Paints The Sky?

People say that it's the Gods or the Deities who paint the sky with different hues of colors. A fairy who never trusted humans, a fairy who never showed himself to townspeople. A fairy who could paint the sky any way he wants faces love and fear.

Pairing: Fairy!Renjun x Blacksmith fem!reader

Other characters: Prince!Jisung, Potionmaker!Jaemin, Elf!Yeonjun

Warnings/genre: fluff, slight angst, mentions of traps and death,

You put the sword in its sheath after reaching it out to the prince. The tall prince smiled and carefully took the light sword.

"Woah... I'm beginning to think you add magic to your swords, y/n. They feel so light yet so... What's the word?" He laughed as he thought of the right word.

"Sturdy?"

"Yes! Sturdy!" His face lit up while you laughed.

"Prince Jisung, I still wonder why you have your swords replenished and made in this shop. You have a better blacksmith in the castle who makes all the armors and weapons." You said as you began to fix your hammers.

You placed them on top of the anvil before you brought out more rusted iron for the future swords you will forged.

"There's just something about this blacksmith that forges swords so magical, it last for a life time. I heard my real father got his swords forged here," Jisung explained as he unsheathed the sword.

The way he could see his own reflection, the way light will reflect if he brought it out in the sun, the way it could slide through anything effortlessly: it was amazing for him.

"You surely are talented, y/n but you look like you are headed somewhere. Should I accompany you?" Jisung asked but you only shook your head as you put on your cloak and your bag.

"No need, prince- I could handle myself. Anyway, I won't be far in the woods anyway,"

You exited the cave, your bag full or iron ore that could help you. You looked at the sky: the once cloudy sky is now clear. The sun shone upon you as you tried to find your way back to town.

You kept your eyes open for anything that could benefit your sword forging. Suddenly, you begin to hear breathing, not from behind you but more from above.

The feeling you have wasn't nerve-racking nor scared but curiousity. You did what one person will obviously do, look up. There you see a boy sitting on a tree branch, his eyes wide and his mouth agape at the realization.

You found him, you caught him when he was being so quiet. You found him when he was being as light as a feather. Both of your eyes met, only for him to get up and get away from you.

"Wait!" You screamed, your hand reached out at the direction where he went. You tried to remember what the boy looked like.

His dirty blonde mullet and bangs that almost covered his eyes. His brown cotton pants that went well with his brown leather boots and his loose white blouse.

There was one thing about him that you will never forget and that is his wings. His almost transparent gray wings sparkled under the sun.

"Curious about who the fairy is?" You turned around, a small smile crept to your lips at the person you wanted to see for a long time. The blonde boy walked closer to you, his bag over his shoulder.

"Here for some iron ore?" He asked as he patted your head. You nodded your head, "That's nice, still very passionate about forging swords."

He removed the bag over his shoulder and opened it.

"I was about to go to town to see you, however, I felt you presence here. I want to give this..." He reached out two bottles of magical dust to you.

"It's dusts of unbreaking and strength. I figured your swords could use more magic on your forging. After all, our families have worked together for a long time. This also makes your swords stronger," you took the bottles from him.

You observed the bottles, suddenly confused about how to add them in the swords.

"Jaem, you've always known my family used potions-,"

"The potions will be wasted and it's not pure magic because I mix it with other non-magic ingredients. The dusts are purer and stronger," Jaemin said and you observed the bottles again.

"Just sprinkle it in the fire and it won't burn. It will stay there until the fire is out," Jaemin explained further and closed his bag.

"I got them from a dear friend, be careful on your way back." He said before he disappeared in a blink of an eye. You carefully put the bottles in your other bag and head back to your town.

Unbeknownst to you, the fairy stayed on your trail. His eyes glued on you as you head back to town on your own.

"Renjun, what are you doing?" The elf on the tree asked the fairy. Renjun slightly flinched from his sudden presence.

"Yeonjun, will you please stop acting like her by popping out from nowhere?" Renjun slightly groaned, his eyes still glued on your figure.

"Are you going to pull a sweetheart and fall in love with a human?" Yeonjun pouted, the 2 fairies he loved is thriving for love.

"When did you begin calling her a sweetheart? Also, no- I will not fall in love with her," Renjun said as he jumped to another tree to keep his eyes on you.

He was suspicious to why Jaemin suddenly asked for magic dust. Now, he understood why but he didn't understand why Jaemin would give it to a human.

"Will you go to town and follow that lady?" Yeonjun hopped onto his head, watching you leave with Renjun still following you.

"No, I hate humans-,"

"But you're literally following a human girl-,"

"I hate humans, shut up and go home, Yeonjun."

Renjun stared at the sky as he waved his hand. Clouds covered the sky of dawn as he increased the cold breeze in town. He stood tall on the cliff, his astonishing sight of the view in front of him.

Suddenly, he halted his steps: he heard footsteps from behind. He turned around, only to stay frozen on his ground as he stared into you.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" He asked, he furrowed his brows when he saw the sheathed sword on your shoulder. You reached out your hands, your shocked expression shown.

"I don't mean any harm- my name is y/n! I am a blacksmith from town!" You spat and felt the breeze blow on you. You looked at the direction of the wind as a few strands of your hair almost hit your eyes.

"But please, before I continue- will you please turn down your breeze or something because I get blind?" You shouted and he did what he was told.

You thanked him and fixed your hair. You were thankful you weren't wearing a skirt or else, you would've already beheaded the fairy.

"Why are you here?" Renjun spoke again, his heart feeling stuff as he stared at you longer.

You don't look very feminine, unlike other female humans he's seen before. You wore black cotton pants with brown leather boots. Your puffed sleeves but fitted on the wrist looked good on you.

Unlike the other day he saw you, your hair was down. You radiated a male's aura and he didn't mind that... In matter of fact, he found it quite attractive.

"I mean no harm to the environment, pretty boy. Besides, I've been in the woods before dawn, searching for Jaemin's home but got lost instead." You walked pass him, but his eyes were still glued on you.

You stopped walking and turned around to face him once more.

"Can you help me find Jaemin's house? I don't want to get lost any further," you said. Renjun hesitated but nodded his head eitherway. He walked on your side as he guided you.

"So pretty boy, you're a fairy... What do you do?" You asked and he pointed at the sky. You furrowed your brows, confused: the sky? The wind? The clouds?

"You have a mouth to talk-,"

"I control the weather and change the hues of the sky," he answered and you stopped walking. He turned around to face you, the shocked expression in your face was expected. After all, a lot of people expected it's the Gods or Deities who paints the sky.

"Then can you make it less cold here?" You asked and he raised his hand. You took a step back as he waved his hand to the right. Suddenly, the cold breeze disappeared and was replaced with a softer one.

"Let's go," he looked forward again. You looked at his back figure. The boy wasn't really that muscular nor tall but he is your average lean boy. His wings weren't there, so you figured he hid them.

Before you could even speak again, you both stood in front of a cabin made out of purpleheart wood.

"Here you are," Jaemin exits his cabin. A large smile on his face but gasped when he saw Renjun beside you. A smirk appear on Jaemin's lips: "since when did you start helping humans?"

"Shut it, Jaem..." Renjun said before he turned around and get ready to leave. Your eyes followed him, however, before your mind could comprehend, your mouth spoke.

"Hey, uhh- what's your name?" You asked him, he stopped his tracks.

"Renjun," Jaemin was shook. He never expected the fairy who hates humans to ever say his name. You smiled sweetly,

"Thank you for guiding me, Renjun!" You smiled which brought a smile on his lips. At the same time, the skies became clear. The sun has risen and shine upon the tall trees of the woods.

The soft breeze disappeared and was replaced with a warmer one. You brought warmth and sunlight to the woods. You made Renjun feel like that.

"Your welcome," Renjun said before he walked away.

Jaemin stood there and stared at the sky: never knew a human could make him feel like this.

You put the hammer aside and removed the new forged sword from your anvil. You put it in its sheathe after getting a request from Jisung. As if the timing was perfect, Jisung entered your blacksmith.

"I'll be going to the forest to see my older brother. Can you come with me? You can explain the details of the sword to him properly." He smiled and you nodded.

You went to your room to get changed. Your gray cotton pants, still paired with the same leather boots. You came back after tying your hair in a ponytail.

"You might as bring collect some resources there," he added. You grabbed your bag and the sword before you both headed out.

The trip was long but in the end, you were both greeted by a cabin. Little animals, fairies, and elves played around the cabin. You wowed at the sight,

"Prince Jisung is here!!" A couple of young fairies flew to Jisung. He laughed and you let out a chuckle. You walked to a tree and gave a nut to a squirrel.

"You adorable creature," you softly caresses its head before it sat on your head. You looked at the side and saw Renjun come out of the cabin.

His smile was replaced with a shocked one once he saw you.

"Mark!" Jisung ran up to his brother and you followed.

"Hey, Ji- oh, hello!" Mark smiled at you,

"Hello, prince."

"She's the one who forged your sword for the upcoming war." Jisung said and your eyes widened. War? There will be a war?

"War with who?" You and Renjun asked at the same time.

"War with the neighbor kingdom. They caused a ruckus and sent a spy. Apparently, it was their spy who tried to kill father," Jisung explained.

At the same moment, you begin to hear things. You turned to the side and saw a head sneak into the bushes. You immediately followed and surprised the three boys.

You ran after the person. She has a sword attached on her belt. She stopped and pulled out her sword.

"You weren't supposed to see me," she added.

"Why? Are you their spy or something?" You asked, you pulled your sword out and pointed it at her.

"Never speak about this place," you threatened but she only laughed. Her smile disappeared the second after and bolts towards you. You were ready to protect yourself, however, it wasn't you who got hurt.

Renjun stood in front of you, his shoulder cut by the sword. The girl gasped and jumped backwards.

"Renjun? Renjun!" You supported Renjun as he groaned and winced. You bit your lips and glared at the girl. Your other arm around Renjun but your free hand crept inside your bag.

You pulled out 3 small knives which were forged with the same material as Mark's. You placed them on the ground, two of your fingers pointed up.

Renjun used his remaining energy to look at you. Knives floating in mid-air as if you were controlling them. The girl begin to run away as she realized what will happen.

Immediately, you pointed your two fingers at her, and the knives rushed towards her. Renjun, with his left hand on his bleeding shoulder, was astonished.

"Renjun! Y/n!" Mark and Jisung rushed to you both. Jisung ran towards the girl, your small knives on her two legs, and shoulder.

"Help Renjun please!" You said and Mark helped him up. Renjun held your hand, "come with me please."

"Mark, take him to the cabin... I will follow," you kissed Renjun's cheek before running towards Jisung.

Questions ran through your head: why did Renjun protect you? Didn't Jaemin say he hates humans? He barely even knows you...

"Are you a spy or not?" You asked as you took the sword from her. You examined the sword, it was a normal sword.

"I'm not a spy-,"

"Lies- why were you eavesdropping then?" You asked as you put her sword in its sheathe and kept it close to you.

"She's with me," Jaemin appeared and used magic to levitate the girl in the air.

"Wha- put me down, Jaemin!" The girl shouted but Jaemin only shook his head. He glared at her which shut her up.

However, Jisung was confused. Who is this boy?

"I apologize, deeply... she isn't a spy but was brainwashed when she got captured a few months ago." Jaemin walked towards you and handed you a bag.

"This will heal Renjun, I apologize for this girl's behalf." He said before he begins to walk away.

As soon as you both returned to the cabin, Renjun wincing in pain. The water on his cut stung like crazy. He notices your presence and looked like he was about to cry.

"I'll take it from here, thank you," you said to Mark and his lover.

"Please, take care of him," Mark's lover said before she left the bedroom. You grabbed the towel from the side and carefully washed the remaining blood from his body.

"Why did you protect me?"

"How can you use magic?" He asked, a sigh left your lips.

"I learned magic-,"

"A human can't learn magic unless they have a magical creature's blood in them... Are you really human, y/n?" He asked and you cleaned the towel.

"I have an elf's blood in me. My father is half elf and I got some of his blood. Now, shut it, so I can clean your cut which I was the cause of." You And took the potions out of the bag.

"Jaemin gave me these potions. I assume they will hurt a bit but trust me, they will heal you in an instant." You spoke and poured some on your palm.

You then swiped it over his cut. He groaned and immediately, grabbed your wrist. You placed a hand on his other shoulder to hold him down.

"Ah- it hurts... It hurts, stop-," you didn't stop when you noticed a part already healed.

"Renjun, I swear to god- endure it a bit if you want this cut to heal." You said as you added more. He groaned and rest his head on your shoulder.

"It's too slow- just pour everything, please!" Renjun grabbed the bottle as if he's gonna pour it on his head.

"No! Pour it on your cut, not your head!" You told the bottle and immediately, poured it over his cut. He screamed in pain as he held onto you tightly.

"Whose fault is it to suddenly jumped in front of me, hm?" You asked as you watched his cut heal.

"Yours," he whispered. You let out a confused sound but he only laughed.

"How is this my fault, sir fairy?" You said and surprisingly, he pecked your lips.

"How can a person make me fall in love with them so quickly? I barely even know you yet I'm so afraid to lose you already," Renjun whispered.

You smiled and hugged him.

"Thank you for protecting me but do not ever do that again, EVER!" You said and he nodded. He hugged you before kissing your forehead.

You returned to the woods after the long war. Your arm tired from all the swords you have to forge. You assume Jaemin must be tired too from the potions he had to make for the 3 princes.

You sat on the leafy ground, your eyes on the sky. The sky was clear again, your heart beating fast as you thought of meeting Renjun again.

You haven't seen any of their kinds during the war. Fairies, elves, and other creatures went hiding.

"Hey," you look up at a tree and saw Renjun. You chuckled as he jumped down beside you. He leaned down to kiss your lips.

"How's your hand?" He sat across you and took your hand.

"Better now, thanks to Jaemin," you answered and he sighed in relief. A soft smile on his lips, glad his love returned after the worries of her disappearing from his life.

"I'm glad you're back," he said before he kissed you once more.

"I love you," he said after a long time. You chuckled and handed him a charm you made after the war. His eyes go wide but he noticed a gem in the center of the charm. He smiled once he realized it's a gem to tie two different beings together.

Mark's lover gave Mark this as well to tie the knot of their relationship.

"I love you as well, Injun."

#nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff #huang renjun #nct dream #nct dream ff #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct #nct dream renjun #nct dream renjun ff #renjun ff #renjun fluff #renjun imagines #huang renjun imagines #nct dream imagines #renjun angst #nct renjun #renjun

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bgn846 · 3 years

Text

You’ve Grown On Me

Summary:

Aranea stumbles upon Ignis late one night and invites him back to her drop ship. Copious amounts of fluff and hair brushing occur.

Work Text:

Aranea hardly recognized Ignis when he strode over, his light brown hair had grown so long. Unable to keep quiet she said the first thing that came to mind. “Just 'cause you can’t see yourself in the mirror doesn’t mean you get to stop styling your hair.”

Ignis paused a few steps shy of her and smirked, “I thought I heard your voice earlier. I’ve not noticed you in these parts for some time. What brings you out this way?”

“Nothing special wanted to check how things were going and get some parts for the dropship.”

The advisor hummed and tilted his head slightly, almost as if he was listening for something. Then he shook his head and smiled. “I don’t want to keep you; it was good to cross paths again.”

“Not so fast there, you got someplace to be? Why are you rushing off in such a hurry?”

“Old habits, I suppose. You’re never without a mission these days; I honestly didn’t want to disturb you.”

Sighing at how selfless Ignis was, more so since he’d lost his sight. It’d been nearly eight years since the king went away, and Ignis was still working tirelessly to keep the daemons at bay. “You’re not bothering me Ignis, come on let me buy you a drink.”

“You are too kind; however, I’ve just finished up supper and was heading back to the base to rest.”

“Even better, come with me back to the ship then, relax there and we can catch up.”

Ignis hesitated for a moment before he smiled again and nodding in agreement. “I’d like that, lead the way.”

As Aranea walked them back to the dropship all the old feelings she’d felt towards Ignis came flooding back. Trying to be romantic when the world was falling apart never made sense, life was already chaotic enough, no need to add more to the mix. Granted they’d had a few flings, but it was always temporary, duty kept pulling them apart. Maybe this time would be different. As Ignis kept step with her, it was hardly noticeable that he’d lost his sight. His cane was long gone and he carried himself confidently.

Finally, when they reached the ship on the outskirts of the town, she stopped and debated about how to navigate Ignis better. “So it’s just a single step up and then uh, well I’m not sure if you remember the layout or not.”

“It’s been quite a long time Aranea, if you don’t mind I can simply use you as a guide.”

Ignis’ hand came up and reached out to find her shoulder a moment later. His hand was warm and she smiled at the sensation. “Follow me then,” she offered. Once inside the ship, she led them towards her private quarters. The man was blind, who was he to care where they sat. When they made it to the top deck she moved Ignis’ hand and took it in her own. “I don’t want you to trip over my shit, hold on.”

After a few minutes, she’d navigated them to her bunk and gently spun Ignis around so she could push him down. Sighing heavily she plunked down next to him and stared. Ignis was still handsome, even with his scars. Unsure of how she felt about his hair, Aranea continued to drink in the sight of the man.

As if he knew, Ignis turned and very nearly looked her in the eyes, “I feel as if I’m being examined.”

“Can’t help it, I’ve not seen you in a long while and it’s just nice to look.”

“My unkempt hair doesn’t bother you?” Ignis asked with a cheeky grin.

“It’s not gross looking, I’m just not used to it so long!” Aranea huffed. “Don’t be putting words in my mouth young man.”

Ignis’ rich laughter filled her small room and sent a shiver down her spine. Astrals she wanted to kiss him so bad.

“I can’t say I care much these days about what my hair looks like, it’s finally long enough to tie up and out of my face, that’s all that matters right now.”

“Will you let me brush it at least?” Aranea tried.

“Only if you want, I do brush it myself. I hope it doesn’t look too terribly grungy,” Ignis pondered as a blush crept up his neck.

“Not grungy at all Ignis, just tussled from a day of hard work is all.”

Ignis hummed in acknowledgment and relaxed slightly. “Very well then, have at it.”

“Oh I will, but first you need to lose some layers. Remember you’re supposed to be relaxing not sitting around for an assignment.”

“And what would you have me do?” Ignis asked curiously.

“Ditch the coat, lose the shoes, and maybe if you’re feeling spunky, take off your visor.” Aranea couldn’t believe her luck when Ignis easily complied and even took off his shirt. She was definitely swooning now, Ignis Scientia was sitting on her bed in his hot ass leather cut-offs and a tank top. “May I?” she asked softly as she tapped his visor frames.

“Certainly, I trust you.”

“I know,” she replied while slipping the visor from his face. Afterward, she reached around to grab her brush, and slipped in behind Ignis, grabbing his hips. “Come on hot stuff, you gotta get closer.”

Once Ignis had resituated Aranea began to gently brush his hair. The fine brown locks were past his shoulders and soft as ever. Unable to stop from running her own hands through the strands she lost track of time as she brushed out Ignis’ tangles.

When Ignis jerked minimally, Aranea paused and waited to see if he’d say something. However, he remained silent and started to list to one side. “Ignis, you okay?”

“Hmmm, sorry, I think I almost fell asleep.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, don’t pass out yet, I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.” Without waiting for an answer she set the brush aside and began combing her fingers through Ignis‘ hair once more. It didn’t take too long and she was able to weave a fairly decent French braid into his hair. All the while Ignis kept moaning softly. “Feel good?” she questioned as she tied off the end with an elastic.

“You have no idea,” he rasped. “I fear you’ve ruined me, I may never be able to live without this kind of treatment ever again.”

“Hardly!” Aranea scoffed. “Come on, lay down and rest while I grab us some water.”

Ignis didn’t resist her efforts as she gently guided him down on the bed. It was clear he’d had a long day. Climbing over his legs, Aranea put the brush away and changed into shorts and a t-shirt before snatching a water bottle. Turning back to the bunk she couldn’t help but smile, Ignis was already passed out and snoring softly.

Stepping over his prone form she lay down and covered them with a blanket. They’d be safe in her dropship for the night.

Taking a breath, Ignis noted that he wasn’t at the base. The smell was different; hints of something sweet were in the air. Then he remembered, he’d run across Aranea last night. Without thinking he rolled over and began patting the space next to him in search of another body. Aranea’s surprised yelp clued him into her exact location. Surging forward he made his best attempt at giving her a kiss. The fact that she was still trying to form words helped him zero in on his target.

When their lips properly connected after the second try, she pulled him close and wrapped her legs around his. “I – I woulda tried – this last night – but you fell asleep,” she managed.

“It’s – your own fault,” Ignis huffed out against her lips. “Spoiling me like that.”

“Cheeky bastard, shut up and keep kissing me!” Aranea demanded as she rolled him over and straddled his waist.

Laughing at her antics Ignis obeyed and continued to lavish Aranea with kisses. Needless to say, he had a late start that morning. Though for the first time, he didn’t feel such an overwhelming need to jump back into work. Perhaps they could make whatever this was work after all.

#ffxv #highspecs #fanfic #aranea highwind #ignis

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