#slice of life!au

[dropsofletters]

people you know to people you don’t

summary: she’s a believer that love will be found in unknown fairytales, men who sweet talk and mysterious, unknown situationships. nonetheless, it’d a surprise for her if she was told that lee donghyuck, her best friend’s little cousin could be a possibility.

i mean...he is only her annoying friend, isn’t he? it couldn’t lead anywhere else. ever. 

title: people you know to people you don’t. pairing: lee donghyuck x reader (ft. nakamoto yuta x reader) type: childhood friends to idiots to lovers!au ; lovers to exes!au ; slowburn!au ; small town!au ; cousin’s best friend!au ; drummer!haechan ; twitch gamer!yuta ; law student!oc ; just lots and lots of backstory, deal with it. word count: 15k words, i’m sorry. genre: fluff ; slice of life ; angst ; drama ; humor ; suggestive content note: this was the result of a poll i did late february on this blog. keep your eyes open for more polls.

DONGHYUCK’S LAMEST SUMMER: SEVEN YEARS AGO.

She’d write it in a book if she could. Yangyang’s laughter was the perfect epitome of an onomatopoeia. Ha-Ha-Ha in its purest form, with tears rolling down his eyes and his head tossed back as Eunbyul catches him just in time before he falls down the blue plastic chair he dragged in front of the computer.

What they were supposed to be doing was writing a geography project about Japan, the place they picked to talk about, and its cultural richness. Yangyang said they could talk about anime, and she shrugged it off before they came across with the file. Actually, she’d capitalize it. The File. As in, The X Files. As in, Donghyuck’s societal death.

In all honesty, when Yangyang saw a file titled ‘For The Tube’, he could have ignored it. Could have, should have. But from what she knows about her two best friends is that Yangyang can’t stay still for once and Eunbyul follows after his every word. Blame it on the obvious relationship that they try to hide from her and her clammy hands whenever he does so much as smile to her girl best friend, but that’s a story for another time.

Using Eunbyul’s little cousin’s laptop was one thing. Eunbyul’s mother had filed for divorce against her father and they had stayed over at Donghyuck’s house for the past year, with the excuse of going away once things started looking up for Mrs. Lee. They don’t seem to be doing so any time soon, so they got to meet Eunbyul the latest school year. They quickly became close, and met Donghyuck along the way. That didn’t mean they had any right to look around his stuff.

Yangyang didn’t listen to her, and while she expected to see huge tits and piles of porn, this was much worse. Come on, he’s fifteen, it would have been better if he was just searching for boobs online.

It was Donghyuck’s music career in just one file, and she had heard him sing in the shower once. During February, when she had forgotten her purse in Eunbyul’s bathroom and she had flown back inside to pick it up before they went to the mall, only to apologize once she walked in as Donghyuck shrieked after being cut off from his singing. She apologized, but that redemption of Maroon 5’s ‘This Love’ was actually pretty darn good.

He’s a singer, perhaps a dancer though she hasn’t seen it. He’s not a rapper, by any means, considering that he’s standing in front of his phone’s camera, with a hoodie on top of a cap he has pulled back, his black bangs standing through the slit, with clothes too big while he is rapping to Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice, Ice Baby.’

Badly. Oh God, what was Donghyuck thinking exactly?

Then, he started popping and that’s when Yangyang actually lost it.

“Okay, I gotta tell him. I can’t die with this in my chest.” Yangyang stands up, consequently making Eunbyul trip onto her chair as she stares at him with wide eyes.

“Tell him what?” His two friends, or childhood best friend and girlfriend, say in unison while looking at him. For someone as lanky and quite possibly stupidly confident as him, Yangyang liked living his life with the thrill of being a bit of an asshole. A heartfelt asshole, with a good soul right at the center of his chest, but still one.

“That we have a new nickname for him.”

The worst part of being friends with Yangyang (he’s good, mostly, she has cried watching The Notebook with him, so she knows he’s soft at the core) is that they are included in whatever trouble he gets into. So, when he rushes out of Eunbyul’s room, they go after him. The house is not that big, so the white and black kitchen in which Donghyuck is in. He’s holding a bag of cheerios upside town trying to pour the last few bits that are more like dust into a milky plate when Yangyang says it.

“What’s up, Vanilla Ice?”

Donghyuck’s right eyebrows moves the slightest, like a tick of some sort. He looks up at Yangyang, trying to play it off as confusion while he lays most of his body on the counter. His small chest is pushed forward, dark bangs falling on his forehead. “Yangyang, we all know that you’ll eventually end up being a junkie somewhere downtown, but what kind of weed are you on?”

Straight-on, and Eunbyul is about to open her mouth to defend Yangyang (again, the whole dating-not-dating thing is quite obvious at this point), when the man himself makes it worse. “I don’t know, you tell me, is it a totally sober decision to record yourself rapping? Because if so, whew, even I make better decisions than you, Vanilla Ice.”

Never had she seen Donghyuck move so quickly, and that comes from the man that every PE teacher complains about because he never wants to do much other than gossip by the bleachers. Now, he’s face to face with his cousin. “You looked through my stuff!”

“Just say that Yangyang did.” She mumbles, but Eunbyul completely ignores her.

“We just clicked on it accidentally!”

“It could have been something private!”

“Oh, trust me,” Once again, she’s speaking softly, and maybe she should stop doing it because Donghyuck’s now frowning at her. “It would have been better if it was your stack of porn.”

“Get over it.” Eunbyul’s trying to play the tough girl card, probably to defend Yangyang, as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Vanilla Ice.”

Now, she’s not vanilla ice, but she’s cheerios with milk with how Donghyuck pours his whole bowl of breakfast on her head. Eunbyul does so much as scream before Donghyuck stomps away from the kitchen. In all honesty, she would have loved to go after him and tell him that it’s just another stupid nickname from good-old-dumb Yangyang.

But, in all honesty, all those years after which she got to further know Donghyuck, everyone in her friend-group called him Vanilla Ice, so some decisions are taken by life itself.

SUMMERS ARE EVEN WORSE WHEN YOU ARE IN COLLEGE. TWO YEARS AGO.

Alright, so twenty-one sucks. Her two best friends had just broken-up for the first time in what seems like forever and now she’s stuck in a beach party with Yangyang, smelling like greasy hot dogs with corn and wearing a tank top over a bikini top that truthfully looked better online than it did on her chest. Those boobs aren’t for that top, that’s for sure.

At twenty-one, she imagined she’d be a little adult just flickering her way through the pages of life. It’d be like a math problem that she had solved on her first day of school and never found much complexity in it. Only that life is much harder than she imagined, both socially, mentally and economically. Eunbyul and she had eaten hot-spicy ramen as cookies instead of boiling it because they didn’t have any water these days, and that’s enough on economy.

The crisp air bites at her shoulders, leaning the side of her body against Yangyang’s shoulder. One of his hands is up, the other clinging onto a beer bottle, while both of her hands are up. Seven fingers up, bathed in the glow of the bonfire in front of her, only putting the two fingers left on her second hand down when she grabs the third hot-dog of the night and bites into it. She sees her ex staring at her lips briefly, and soon after, he returns his gaze to the other people around them.

Felix was a good start for last October. She almost thought that he could be the one. Four dates and daily texts for four whole months and then, it was over just like how it started. Nothing more than a few kisses and lingering touches happened, if she’s not counting the promises he sputtered. However, the long strands of his blonde hair and his rosy lips still haunt her to this day, because there is some anger that lingers within her.

The loss of time, perhaps, or the fact that he dignified a lot of firsts for her. Her first midnight call which lasted more than five hours. Her first sneaking out experience. Her first make-out in an empty cinema. He felt like forever and would never, ever be the same in her head. Not when he admitted to a few of their mutual friends that he just wanted to test the waters with her and then, it got deeper than what they could both control. Hence, he cut it off.

Oh, and being an experiment is what drives her insane, because she has seven fingers up and he has only two left. He’s clearly more experienced than she is. Must have a laugh remembering the little they did.

Because Yangyang has put a finger down about skinny dipping, and more than half of the circle put another down when talking about weed, but each and every single nasty question is met with silence from her. Even her questions are stupid. Never have I ever hidden alcohol from my parents. Never had I ever had a crush on a neighbor. They all put it down, not her.

What does it for her is when Felix, in all his confident glory of being a guy…because that’s what guys at twenty-one are, just fucking dudes trying to play themselves off as gentlemen, is when with a smug grin he asks, leaning back on the log that is behind him, the flannel of his shirt extending around his slim waist.

“Never have I ever had sex at a party.”

She puts a finger down when his deep-brown eyes lay on her. Just to spite him, as if to tell him that there was someone else after him. He knows that she hasn’t done much with anybody; being him whom she got farther with and it was a hand down his pants before she said she wasn’t ready. He respected it and she respects all the shades of red that take over his face when he looks at her hand.

Because she’s pretending as if she’s not a virgin just to get back to her ex and that’s…magical.

After that round is over, two more questions erase Felix and another girl from the circle, but Yangyang leans to her side, whispering into her ear: “What was that whole stare-off with Felix?”

“He’s trying to get at me.”

“He’s just drunk and playing a game.”

“Well, it looks like a fucking dare. He keeps laughing with his friends that I have two hands up.”

Yangyang doesn’t roll his eyes, because he may be a douchebag to most people, but like she has always said, there is a reason why she is friends with Yangyang. Instead, he inspects her features and just then, she realizes the trembling of her hands, the pattering of her heart, the shame. Yes, shame, because that is what women are brought to when they are young. Feeling ashamed that they trusted a man that didn’t love them as they should have. The inept nature of them is blamed on who loves the hardest.

“Fuck him, but the best way to say fuck him is by showing him just how good you are on your own while also staying true to yourself.” Yangyang speaks the truth, and maybe if her bikini wasn’t so uncomfortable and if she didn’t still have sand up her shorts from the dive she had in the afternoon, she’d listen to him. Tonight, at eleven, is not the night that she’s going to finally hear to Yangyang’s rare wise words.

“The best way to taint a man’s ego is to make him feel like I’ve met someone whose dick is finally interesting enough for me to get farther than with other men.”

“No.”

“Yangyang, think about it. The thought of Eunbyul being with someone else, and hey, I’m not saying feelings are involved or not, that’s none of my business…” She trails her voice, elbowing his side and making a bit of his new beer bottle spill. “Makes you heat up a little bit, doesn’t it?”

“That’s different, we actually had a relationship.” Yangyang takes a gulp of his beer bottle. “You are always stuck in situationships.”

“No man ever wants to be serious with me.”

“Because you stay with them even when they give you a thousand red flags.”

“Name a man with no red flags.”

“Uh…me?”

“Yangyang, you’re a walking red flag.”

“I’m a nice magenta shade, mind you.” She stands up at that moment, because she has only had pineapple juice in exponential amounts and hot dogs, but it’s starting to get to her bladder. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she tells him she’ll be back in ten minutes and soon after, she ventures into the world of Aida’s household.

She doesn’t pay much attention to the bamboo walls or the pretty fountain in the middle. She’s off to the bathroom and finishing her business quickly, only to be stopped when she’s stepping out and wiping her hands on her tank top. Felix stands in front of her, with the same round eyes that last year had told her that she deserved nothing but the best, lips plumper thanks to the alcohol, voice as deep as she remembered it.

“...I didn’t know you had met someone else after me.” Felix utters, though he’s drunk and oozes alcohol, dozing off on his own thoughts. “You told me you had never slept with someone before. How…? Who…? Who changed that?”

There it is. The ego, the intrigue, just what she wanted. To have him thinking of her even a miniscule second, because she sure as hell spent nights crying about what they never were. Only that the simplest answer is, of course:

“None of your business, Felix.”

“I know, God, I know…” Voice growing decibels deeper, he leans back on the wall in front of the bathroom before huffing loudly. “I’m just…have you met someone else? Is it Yangyang? You always told me you and Yangyang were never a thing.”

“And we weren’t! We aren’t!”

“Then…?”

Timing is always wrong when it comes to these kinds of situations. Or a bit right, even. The hallway is empty enough for it not to seem like a coincidence when Donghyuck slips into it, looking down at his phone and drumming with his free hand on his jean-cladded thigh, but when both Felix and herself look at him, it’s like it clicks on her head.

“It’s Donghyuck.”

That’s an answer for Felix, but the confused cousin of her best friend can only answer. “...Yeah, it’s me? Hi. That is my name.”

Bingo.

Donghyuck had grown a bit in his twenties. His hair had gone through a few changes, but now he’s back to pitch black, slicked back, matching the hoodie he has under his jean jacket that reads ‘The Misfits’ in the background. Not that they go along with the khakis he brought to this party, but he makes it work. His cheeks were as round as ever, but paired with a sleek jaw and interestingly relaxed eyes. Being part of a band definitely did him good.

The band started over two years ago; she remembers his debut was during Donghyuck’s prom, which she had attended with him just because he didn’t want to pursue the whole ritual of inviting someone whom he was dating. They never talked, but she got to see him behind the drums. The Dry Flower included Donghyuck as the drummer and some of his friends. Renjun is the singer, though she hasn’t talked much to him. Niamh on the guitar and Jooyeon as the bassist.

They play a few gigs here and there, as far as she hears from Eunbyul, but after she moved out of his place, she only sees Donghyuck at very special events. Like parties, as this one.

“I, uh, you two know each other?” Felix asks and Donghyuck doesn’t look at him like he’s the most interesting person in this world. In fact, he looks a bit bored.

“Yes.” They reply in unison, though Donghyuck keeps walking towards one of the rooms, only to leave her there with Felix.

A few beads of silence pass by like the sweat pooling on her forehead, leaning back and forth on her boots before Felix clears his throat.

“You two are dating, I imagine.”

No. For the love of God, she wouldn’t date Vanilla Ice. Not because he’s not handsome, but there has never been that chemistry between the two. Like two logs staring at each other in the middle of a lake.

“Yes, so if you’ll excuse me…” What is she supposed to say here? I’m going to have sex with Donghyuck now, let me be?

She doesn’t say much more, turning around and trying her hardest not to run inside the room like a madwoman. She opens the door and closes it behind her with a soft thud, but the sigh that she lets out and the following gasp is enough of an answer for her that this lie won’t be easy to keep.

The hoodie that Donghyuck had been wearing is forgotten on the floor for a second before he’s pulling it up to his chest to cover his body. Glowing tanned skin is barely visible under the dim lights of the guest room that they are probably in, but just before Donghyuck can scream at her about what she’s doing there, she rushes to the top of the bed, splaying a hand on his mouth and speaking a little too close to his face.

“Vanilla Ice, I know you don’t necessarily like me and that we aren’t really friends, but if I asked you for one big favor including you not screaming after I pull my hand off, would you do it?”

Donghyuck doesn’t like cooperating, that’s for sure, and when he sticks his tongue out, she doesn’t relent. His eyes squint, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand off his mouth before speaking softly. “Explain in a sentence that doesn’t excuse yourself and I’ll think about this favor. You’re…suspicious.”

“What would you think if I accidentally linked you with me?”

“I asked for an explanation, not a question.”

She places her hands on her knees, ignoring the fact that it’s weird that she’s with Eunbyul’s cousin in an empty room, on her knees, standing in front of him as he’s shirtless. Nothing sexual about this, though.

“I may have lied to my ex…situationship.” She answers, looking to the side and inspecting Aida’s guest room, that might as well be empty and yet, still feel cramped and humid. She doesn’t like lying and the anxiety that comes with it. “Felix finds it glorious that I haven’t had much of a dating life after him. Or any dating life, whatsoever. So, while we were playing ‘Never Have I Ever’, I made it seem like I had sex after him. Hence, he was asking me whom I was sleeping with, you just popped inside the room and then…”

Donghyuck presses his lips together before sighing. “You…I was just trying to sleep after drinking and you got me in this kind of trouble?!” He whispers-yells before plopping himself next to her. He lets the hoodie pool on his lap, completely forgetting to cover himself and from her peripheral, Donghyuck is soft in all the perfect ways. “Felix is an asshole if he is pissed off about that, you know that, right? You slept with him, then with someone else. It’s called the cycle of life.”

She toys with the ripped edges of her shorts, playing with her bottom lip before dramatically throwing herself backwards on the bed. “That’s what you don’t get, Vanilla Ice.”

He doesn’t relent about the name like he did years before, instead asking: “I don’t get what isn’t explained to me. I’m a genius, but not like all the fucking time.”

Looking at the dark ceiling, all the bundled up emotions come into confusion for her. Because yes, she feels at ease with not doing anything more than just touching, but at the same time…she wouldn’t mind people believing otherwise so they would just get off her back and ignore the obvious heartbreak that came with her thing with Felix.

“I’m a virgin.” She confesses, rolling her eyes. “And you can laugh at me all you want. I just want people to believe I’m not; not because I’m ashamed, but because that’s the only way you can poke fun at assholes. Make them believe that there was someone much better than them that did get into your pants and they didn’t. It’s silly, immature, all of that, yes Donghyuck, I know-”

“Uh-huh, go on.”

“This is when you stop me.”

“No, I want you to think about what you’re doing.”

She turns around, only to see that he had laid down as well, staring at where she had been looking before. “I’m a stupid virgin that still has some resentment about the fact that her first love was someone who never really loved her to start with.”

Donghyuck stays silent for a few seconds, turning to look at her and quirking an eyebrow. That small tick that she always noticed on him. “Felix is an asshole. An asshole who will always win no matter what you do. He will get good money, a happy family, and also be the popular dad in the block. That’s who he is. You didn’t shape or change him, but him not being yours was of help for your future, even if it doesn’t look like it.”

“Yeah…” She mumbles. “I’m sorry for threading you in all of this.”

“Fuck yes, but here’s what we’re going to do.” Donghyuck puts his hoodie on, rubbing at his tired eyes and sighing deeply. “I’ll drunkenly step out to the party, because you’ve sobered me up with this whole plan, and I’ll say some stupid comment about-”

“No.”

“What?”

“You’re not making sexual comments about me.”

“I can say your ass is nice or something like that. I promise it won’t be like the worst shit.”

“How about this? We can go about this silently and keep your feminist reputation intact.” Donghyuck’s lips quiver up the slightest at that. That may be a smile, but when she stands up and states her plan to him, he loses that smile. “I give you my bikini bottom and you put in in your pocket. Ask one of the gossipers to take care of your jacket and boom, they find the pair of panties and-”

“Ew!”

“Donghyuck, they are used panties, but I’ll buy you another jacket, I promise. You won’t even have to touch them.”

“That’s…how do you even come up with these things?”

“Some guys keep memories of who they slept with.”

“I am not one of those guys.”

She picks up his jacket from the floor and then, struts towards the bathroom, hearing Donghyuck’s complaints and steps behind her.

The party ends up with Donghyuck leaving his jacket with Soohyun, the nursing student that no one tells their secrets to and yet, she’s aware of everything, before he’s off to sleep the drunkenness off. She’s with Yangyang, asking him for his jacket to wrap around her hips when she says:

“Donghyuck is a panties-collector! Who is wearing a yellow bikini in this place?” Soohyun’s voice lingers with mischief and when her sharp eyes settle on her body, she knows the dots have been connected.

Now, Donghyuck will be marked as the hook up that got her to forget about Lee Felix.

LIFE DOESN'T GET ANY EASIER, AND ADULTHOOD FEELS LIKE CLOSURE. THE PRESENT.

She would have never realized that what she just had was  a dream. The confession from Henry Cavill himself as he sputtered out his apologies for a fake love was quite frankly accompanied with a warmth that she would have loved to hold onto. Nonetheless, it seems like the moment with the actor is cut short when she feels a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist, belonging to the shaking shoulders that hug her from behind.

Eunbyul had moved in with her all those years before she had broken up with Yangyang and she had been quick to change places so it would only be the two of them as roomies. It felt rather odd, if she was honest. Eunbyul had always lived in a relationship, sharing houses with Yangyang from the moment they all graduated high school, but having her best friend by her side was always a good thing to wake up to.

Now, their friendship is not precisely any closer because of this. Law school involves a lot of hardships and while both her and Yangyang continued down this path, Eunbyul didn't. She married the idea of having her own bakery and now, she owns a little boutique bakery downtown, which has a few clients, if she does say so herself. They don't spend much time together, and she definitely doesn't slip into her covers like this.

"Byul…" She trails, sleepily patting a hand around until she finds Eunbyul's shoulder. She pulls her closer, resting her chin on the top of her friend's dyed light brown hair. "What's the matter?"

"Yangyang texted me." Her shoulders shake even more with every weep she lets out, and while she knows that Eunbyul's chubby body emanates warmth, her heart has been cold for plenty of years. "...I…He said he could only see himself with me. Why does he do this? It's like I can't ever get over him."

They are both her friends, and that makes it a little difficult to be opinionated. She knows both of them were faithful to their relationship. As a matter of fact, she thought they would be forever, one of those stories that one would hear in upbeat songs on the radio.

"...You two were great together, Byul, and I do believe in returning to a place if you recognize a little too late that it was your home."

"It's just…how does he know I am his home?" That question is whispered between them. "He has never had anything else. Anyone else. How will we know if…if he won't want to be with someone else later on or sleep with someone else or…?"

"All valid questions to be asked in a relationship." She prompts, sighing deeply and letting the tips of her fingers play with the curls of her friend's hair. "But those doubts will come with any man that decides to settle down with you. Regardless of him being Yangyang or not."

"I know."

"Then, if Yangyang has always felt like the one, why not try it with him whom you have a bunch of history with and apart from that, he actually really wants to be with you?"

"I broke up with him so he would be with other people and realize that he didn't just want me."

Okay, she should not have scoffed, but she did. Eunbyul is perhaps the biggest romance enthusiast she knows and then, she dares say shit like this. "Said no one ever."

"Hey!"

"Eunbyul, who the fuck wants the love of their life to sleep with someone else?"

"Me!"

"Cuck alert."

A smack lands on her chest and she hisses when Eunbyul accidentally hits her boob. "That's the main reason why you are single."

"Out of many others." She answers, only to have Eunbyul sigh.

"I love him." Those words would be nice to hear. At times, she wonders why she has never been loved. Is it her personality, her immense will and need to be successful? Is it the throbbing of her heart that falls a little too fast? She would never know.

But at this age, very close to being a lawyer, she would have imagined that she would have been loved.

"I know you do."

"It's been two years and I can't get rid of that."

"How do you un-fall in love with someone who did no wrong? That is just nonsense, you."

Eunbyul groans, pushing her body upwards before sighing. "Is 'How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?' on Netflix?"

"Doubt so."

"We are illegally downloading it and sighing over Matthew. Alright? Alright. Movie night."

That is how she spent the entirety of her midnight watching rom-coms with Eunbyul instead of sleeping before a grand presentation.

"Donghyuck," His mom mumbles from her spot at the counter, head hanging low and fat tears falling onto the marble surface. "My God, my son…I just want you to have a secure future and you continue with 'The Dry Flower'. You won't have anything to eat one of these days!"

It hurts him to see his mom like this. For all he knows, he wishes he could go back to when he was seven and his mom would clap for him, cheering him on for a dream that she’s entirely against as of now. It’s complicated, wanting a hug so badly but also having to defend his dream. Surely, he won’t be the most well-known drummer to date, but he will mean something.

“Mom, I promise it won’t get that bad. You know how I am, I…”

“That’s the thing! Life is not about how you are, or how you think you are, it’s about what you do so you don’t go through hardships. It’s about being smart!” She rubs at her face with pent-up frustration and Donghyuck sighs deeply, placing his hands on the edge of the counter to stop himself from hugging her.

“I know, but I can’t be smart and unhappy.”

“Happiness is fluctuant, Donghyuck. You can’t be happy all the time and on the long run, this won’t make you happy.”

“How do I know if I don’t try? I’m sorry, okay?! So fucking sorry that I didn’t go to college like all of my younger siblings. I wish I could have been a doctor or a lawyer or a teacher, but I can’t. For the life of me, I can’t simply not try.” Donghyuck answers, hating the raspiness of his voice and the knot that grows on his throat. He looks to the side to stop the tears from falling, but they burn at his bottom lashes. “I’m sorry. I…I promise I will find a place soon and if I eat or don’t won’t be any of your business.”

“It will always be my business!” His mom replies. “Donghyuck, you have a way of making things sound like you’re going to die tomorrow. You can do the whole drumming thing on the side and go back to school.”

“I’m not book-smart.”

“To get a degree, you have to have the wits, and you’ve got them, honey.”

“...I don’t want to, mom, okay? I don’t.” He responds, opening the fridge and picking up the bag of pastries he had bought for his girlfriend. He stands by her side, watching how older she had gotten, a few wrinkles appearing on her face, wearing bigger clothes and tighter feelings. His plump lips spread on her temple, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say that he loves her, but he does. Instead, he gets on his bicycle, hoping for a miracle.

Hoping to be somebody so all of this could change.

Youth was supposed to be easier, wasn’t it?

Mr. Montero will have her head, fry it and then kick her out of law school. Yes, she’s claiming it, and yes, she’s also one step from doing the same with Eunbyul after she left her car-less (because, for some reason, Eunbyul can’t make a decision for the life of her but she can surely grab her car at five in the morning to go meet up with Yangyang). That was four hours ago, she’s running forty-five minutes late and Eunbyul isn’t picking up her phone.

Not that she’s angry that her friend is getting laid, but still.

The thing about small towns is that it’s a little difficult to get a ride. Taxis and their high prices leave more than just a few college students grabbing the bus, who is also extremely late, and she’s tired of waiting. She tried walking there, but the heels she opted to use for her presentation (against her will, but Mr. Montero and his oh-so-wise-mind says that law students should look their best always) dig into her soles and leave her begging to rub cream on the blisters appearing on the skin. Hence, she’s crying a little bit and almost cries a little louder when she sees a familiar face from afar.

Lee Donghyuck had never made her feel so relieved to look at somebody. In fact, she rushes after that bicycle, screaming his name until he comes to a halt. Drenched in a beige hoodie that is probably too thick for today’s weather, he lets his foot step on the concrete before he looks over his shoulder. He doesn’t look as relaxed and uninterested in the world around him as he usually does, instead widening his eyes when he sees the tears that bathe her face.

“Is everything alright?”

She could have asked, but she stands in the back of the bicycle, hoisting herself up in a way that she’s half-sitting on his seat and holding onto the hood of his shirt before deciding to wrap her arms around his waist. “I have a huge presentation that is worth twenty percent of my grade and I’m not exactly passing this class, so if you drive me there, Donghyuck, I swear I will never bother you again.”

He blows a small fraction of air that moves his disheveled bangs away from his face before he makes up his mind. “It’s what you always say and you always come up with something new.”

But he starts moving with will, and she has to accommodate her body so her chest is not squished to his back. It’s not like she wants Donghyuck to feel her body pressing up against him. “Eunbyul decided that stealing my car was a good idea.”

“Eunbyul?” Donghyuck questions, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen Eunbyul do anything even remotely bad.”

“You don’t know her. Put Yangyang in the fraction and she’ll do just about anything, Vanilla Ice.”

“And here I was thinking that since you called me Donghyuck before, we’d be skipping the nickname.”

The air blows at the strands of hair that she had worked so hard on brushing, but it seems like this day is not at her mercy. She stares at the rays of sunshine that fall on Donghyuck’s chiseled cheekbones; he looks rather great today, but just when she’s about to reach for one of the pastries hanging from the bicycle’s handle, he clicks his tongue.

“Not for you.”

“I haven’t had any breakfast?”

“So?” He replies with the same condescending tone before sighing. “I’m…It’s my first month anniversary with my girlfriend, Yejin. Those are for her.”

She furrowed her eyebrows at that. Donghyuck had never been open about his relationships and she was certain that he had never lasted more than a week with somebody. Much like her, he lived off situationships.

“You have a girlfriend?”

“I can manage to have somebody, you know?”

“I’m sure you do, you’re not bad looking.” She answers, pressing her cheek to the top of his head and then sighing. “I’m sorry for the proximity, I’m just trying to keep my hair intact. The wind is insane today.”

“‘I have a girlfriend’, I say, before you inherently make me look like a cheater to half the town.”

“Everybody in this town knows we’ve been friends since high school, Vanilla-”

“We’re friends?” He asks, a bit surprised, and it takes her a moment of thinking. To everyone in this town, Donghyuck was the man that took her virginity in a set of parties that they attended to, perhaps a bit closer than friends at some point (though grandly wrong at that assumption, that is), but someone whom she is really close with. It’s not precisely wrong.

“Yes. I know more about you than most people and I think we care about each other enough.”

“That’s being acquaintances.”

“You know what, Vanilla Ice? Fuck you. We’re not friends at all if you don’t want to. Saving my friendship bracelet, or rather, I can give it to you so you can pull it up your ass.”

Donghyuck chuckles loudly. It’s been a while since she has heard that noise and it reminds her of the times he spent binge-watching YouTube videos on the sofa while her trio of friends were trying to do work. He makes a laugh sound so sincere that she’s almost in awe. Donghyuck blurs his words to make himself look less attached, but he’s also inherently transparent.

“We can be friends.”

“I don’t want to anymore.” She huffs, only to have him shaking his head.

“You’re friends with Yangyang. I’m sorry for second-guessing you a bit.”

“Don’t you dare talk shit about Yang.”

“I’d kick his ass if I could, but I sadly don’t care about him enough to do so.” He stops his bicycle in his tracks, looking at two roads. “Left or right?”

Right. This moment feels right.

With the sun bathing the two of them and their eyes connecting briefly, she replies: “Left.” Because that’s what they will always be. Opposite roads.

WORDS THAT CAN’T BE SAID SHOULDN’T BE WRITTEN.

Be damned the day she couldn’t say a thing. When it became easier to spend her time studying at the local swimming pool that the landlord had coincidentally decided to add to their apartment complex; that was the time everything went to hell and back. Because that’s when she met the nephew of one of the old ladies at the complex, and he was handsome.

Capital H.

He’s also extremely unapproachable in every way. Thomas, the little kid that sometimes glues his bubblegum to the elevator doors in hopes of keeping them together for longer so he can talk to somebody (as he says, his parents don’t get home until very late and he spends most of his time alone), had given her some background on Nakamoto Yuta. Twitch streamer for story games, who posted a bunch two years ago but also has disappeared a bit now, just when his career was starting to launch.

It’s not a surprise that he’s always drinking a certain brand of an energy drink or that he almost always is recording what he is eating or drinking a bit. Typical influencer nature. However, she can’t say she was not a bit distracted as she was getting ready for her exams. This last month has been hell as she watches him push his black hair back, give one of those smiles that squares his jaw and make him look the ever-more-thrilling, with his t-shirts almost always painting the outline of a nice pair of abdominals.

Dead.

She almost failed a test because she’s been spending her time being stupid.

Okay, this idea came from Yangyang sarcastically…but she had followed through with it. She rambled a lot of stupid shit when given the chance, so she wanted to put those words to paper and get over him by just emptying her heart. Sometimes, she wrote something sweet, then it was something a bit risky…

And as she’s inspecting the letters of the page she had been trying to read the last hour as he listens to his typical rock records at a medium volume that can be tolerated by most, she doesn’t expect to hear cackles nearing her. Full-on laughter that has her looking up, feeling droplets of Yuta’s hair falling on her face as his eyes become crescent moons.

He never talks to her. Or at least, never a conversation that is of much use.

However, tonight he sits on the chair next to hers, waving a piece of paper in the air that has her widening her eyes.

She never signed the papers, she’s certain.

“I came to the realization that my secret admirer wrote in purple and you use a purple pen today.” Yuta announces. She knows his name because Thomas is a grand fan. God, she wishes she had given up on those letters now that she feels her heart racing because she had called him a bunch of names. From cute to hot, to absolutely breathtaking. “And it makes sense, considering you look up too much from your book.”

“I…What? No. No way.” She shakes her head. Fuck, what had she written today? She always left the letters under his gym bag, always brought to him when visiting his aunt.

“Lie to me, but this?” He spares a look at her notebook, pointing at her handwriting. “Coincides with this.”

“Hey! Privacy!” She closes the notebook snugly, pointing at him. “I know laws. Don’t make me use them against you.”

Yuta quirks an eyebrow, leaning back on his hands before laughing softly. “Use whatever you want against me, baby.” The pit of her stomach shouldn’t dance at those words, much less when she remembers what she had written on today’s note for Yuta.

I wish I was the honey you pour on those cinnamon rolls your aunt always gifts you; that way, I would always stick to you mouth.

Never listen to Yangyang’s advice ever again. That’s the newsflash she’s receiving as of now.

“I’m Yuta.”

“And I’m gracefully out.” She tries to stand up, clinging her notebook and textbook to her chest, but Yuta wraps his fingers around her wrist, pulling her back every so delicately before fluttering his short eyelashes.

“Come on, don’t do that. I’ve kept all the letters you’ve given me, and now that I can give the person a face…I wouldn’t mind a date.”

The good decision is to avoid relationships.

She knows this. That’s always the good answer. However, it has been a while since she has felt the warmth of someone’s skin against hers, and it has as well been extremely long since she has had someone kiss her goodbye. It could be nice, and it could also be an opportunity with Yuta.

Damn her for saying yes.

The worst part of being with someone new is that she goes to places where she doesn’t belong.

Two months after she started seeing Yuta is when things started to feel different. Eunbyul had been nice enough to invite her to a cabin she’d be sharing with Yangyang and a few other friends, where Ritz cookies with whipped cream were promised—she preferred them with pepperoni, so she’d bring some herself—, and she’d have a few talks while passing the brief weeks in which she’d be free from her semester. She’d feel like more than her textbooks, but she had washed away the idea of that trip for something with Yuta.

Granted, she knows that Yuta has some kind of fame. Not enough to have paparazzi after him, but like one or two people want to take pictures with him as he’s seated on a plaid picnic cloth, rolling up a joint and bringing it to his lips. His hair is longer than any of her ex’s, he is also incredibly touchy whenever he wants to, with a hand on her waist and leaving a flutter at the pit of her stomach. He wears a floral shirt tucked into ripped jeans and he’s…a daydream.

The kind that kisses her velvet lipstick off, and the man that spent most of his days talking to her online. They rarely see each other often because of clashing timelapses and busy schedules, but now that she sees him…she wants him to be the rare good decision that she makes. She knows that he’ll either be the person that settles with her—finally, God fucking finally—or her biggest heartbreak.

She has learned from Yuta, as his thumb caresses the sliver of skin that is unraveled from the waist of her black and yellow sunflower sundress, that he is the total opposite of her. She is preparing herself to defend divorce cases; to figure out who is right and who is wrong and raise her voice for those who need sheltering in that situation. However, Yuta sees his life for what flows and doesn’t—he just got his engineering degree a year ago and he's making real money off Twitch streaming.

He doesn’t see far ahead, and all she can see is the light at the end of the tunnel. If it isn’t there, she’d inherently panic.

And this music festival that he wanted so desperately to go to with a few of his friends—Johnny and Yoonoh, whom she hasn’t seen now that they have found their respective dates—is not the kind of scene that she frequents. Yuta smells like the joint Johnny had given him, and his eyes are dazed when he turns to press a fleeting kiss to her lips.

He flows and flows and flows. She’s scared that one of those times, he’ll fly away from her fingertips.

“What’s with that face?” Yuta asks, pressing a kiss to her cheek and her heart does summersaults, because she rushed two weeks into knowing him to give him a kiss and now, two months into this…thing, she can’t wait for Yuta to figure himself out. To make this grand event for him an even more enormous moment for her.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to an event like this.” The farthest she had gone was that summer in which Yangyang spent almost every weekend partying and bringing her along. At some point, she had become his chauffeur and Yangyang had thrown up so badly into his own backpack that he had completely forgotten to wash it off. He promised not to party anymore when on the first day back to school he had brought the throw-up-filled backpack with him. “…I…You know, I’m happy because I’m with you, but at the same time I want to be alone with you.”

He chuckles a bit, putting down the joint and turning it off with a step on top of it. “We are alone.”

“No, like…” She could say it. Without music booming and his friends around and his mind elsewhere. “Just forget it.”

He tugs at her hand, softly, lips puckered up when he asks: “Come on, just…tell me. I want to know everything that is on your head.”

Would he want to know the anxiety? The recurring insecurities? Would he want to know that he has taken over every piece of her dreams and she’s not sure that she can get rid of the image of him anytime soon? Cupid had thrown an arrow directly at her heart and the worst part is that if she rips it apart anytime, she’s scared that it will rip it out of her chest.

“I wanted something quieter, maybe.”

Though, the moment that Yuta brings her closer and tells her that it’ll only be a few more minutes, she feels liquid pouring down on her. Yoonoh is not too far away, with dimples on his cheeks carved so deeply that it looks like there is no tissue or muscle there in his chiseled cheekbones. His flannel shirt is opened as he spritzes the recently opened bottle of champagne on the couple.

She closes her eyes. Fuck drunken Yoonoh, she thinks, hearing Yuta’s sweet laughter and trying to mask the same smile. Maybe, she just needs to loosen up.

“Yoonoh!” She screeches, standing up and plucking the dress away from her chest so it doesn’t contort a little too closely to her skin.

“You two were flushed. Needed to ease up from this heat.” Yoonoh brings the bottle to his mouth and pours a good chunk before she sighs deeply.

Love is a slave to patience.

Maybe, that’s all she’s lacked, patience.

And even those she’s annoyed, she brings her face down to steal a kiss from Yuta, who quirks an eyebrow and tells her: “I’ll kick his ass, don’t worry. I know Yoonoh can get annoying when he’s had a few drinks on him.”

Please, do, she wants to tell him. Instead, she shakes her head. “I’ll go to the restroom at the restaurant we went to, okay?” There’s a seafood place near this festival, considering that it’s by the beach, and while the stars have taken up the sky and she doesn’t want to go on her own, she also doesn’t want to bother Yuta.

He takes her phone from the picnic cloth before placing it in the little purse she has dangling from her shoulder. “Send me a text when you get there.” And with a kiss on her forehead, she tries to convince herself that Yuta’s heart beats as quickly as hers does.

It has to, right?

Long has it been since Donghyuck has felt that crippling need in the pit of his throat to weep and cry. He’s older, so he has tried to garnish more of a timelapse before he reaches that point, but…when a friend betrays you this way, it hurts deeply.

Renjun’s hair is shorter than how it was when they first met. It’s a deep blue with glimpses of black, sticking up at different places while he hits the stack of papers that include their lyrics against his hand. Past his empty eyes, Donghyuck believes he sees glimmers of who they used to be. Renjun was the guy in theater club that skipped his classes to go play with him when the real school band was over. He was the man that came up with the name ‘The Dry Flower’. His eyes were once red from crying with Donghyuck because they had booked their first gig.

“I don’t want you in the band anymore, Hyuck.”

They were about to play their biggest gig to date. A beach festival in which they were one of the first people to open, but as he is in his best leather jacket, with his hair sleeked back, his drumsticks ready to play for him, Renjun says this. As if it doesn’t weight him down. As if Donghyuck hadn’t heard him minutes ago.

“What the fuck?” He asks with a sarcastic smile on his face, pushing forward until he is face to face with Renjun. “I think you’ve forgotten I was the one that got us here, Renjun.”

“We didn’t want a front-man.” Renjun announces, frowning deeply. “That’s the problem. You think this is a one-man show—”

“No, I don’t, but you don’t know how much I’ve given up for this band. Or you do, but you’ve decided to forget just now.” Niamh and Renjun are just a foot away from graduating, and Jooyeon had her own music store. Niamh is engaged to Aida, now seated on her lap, their eyes elsewhere but on him. They had totally planned this.

“That was up to you to decide—”

“You don’t even have a drummer for the gig!” Now he’s desperate. He should have walked away twenty minutes ago when this argument had started, to keep his pride intact, but he wanted this band. For the longest time, this band had been his family.

“We have found someone.” Renjun aspires, whispering at first, and when Donghyuck asks him to repeat himself, he does with a straight face. His hands are shaking and meanwhile, Renjun is calm. Composed. As always.

He hates that Renjun has it all together and he doesn’t.

So, he thrashes all the memories he has held with one of his best friends. The nights they spent talking about how they aspired to be like The Strokes or Queen. The birthdays in which Renjun sent him voice messages saying he hates him to death but that they’ll celebrate that night. The hugs they shared when getting gigs, or the moments in which creating music felt cohesive. Because he was the Paul to his John, and now—

Now, Donghyuck is launching himself at Renjun, using his forearm to back him up into the wall backstage, speaking into his face as tears threaten to spill from the corner of his eyes.

“Fuck you!”

His vision blurs, forgetting that the face his punch lands into is none other than Renjun’s. He feels his own body being pushed backwards, Renjun’s slim body falling on top of his, and he swears he hears Jooyeon screaming for the two of them to get over this. Her short hair moves with each tug she gives to get Renjun off of him as he lands another punch, but it’s to no avail.

Friendship wasn’t supposed to end like this, with security separating them and Donghyuck staring at a group of people that stabbed him behind his back. Jooyeon and her widened eyes, that inspected him as if he had gone insane. Niamh, always the most sensitive, crying her eyes out and covering her face. Renjun’s cheekbone flourishes in a deep pink and he wonders if his tan skin mirrors the same wound.

The only thing that keeps them connected as of now.

Security drags him away, only letting go of him when they were in front of the restaurant a few feet away. Donghyuck spits in the floor, finally letting his hands cage his face and his shoulders shake with each weep that leaves his body.

He doesn’t have a band anymore.

Shit, does he have a dream anymore?

The world is weightier and it crumbles to the point he wants to hide himself. Rushing, he enters the restaurant, ignoring the waitress that tries to get him a table as he goes to the bathroom.

His best night just turned out to be his worst.

Someone enters the bathroom just as she’s washing her hands. In fact, she doesn’t react at first. Indeed, she prepares herself for a drunken talk with a girl who probably wears one of those pleated skirts that are trending right now, but when the door is shut with a bang and she hears incessant sniffling along with a smack against one of the stools, she knows whoever has entered means business.

And there could have been a hundred people that entered through that door, but she never expected it to be Donghyuck. Her heart hammers against her chest when she sees his black hair pooling on each side of his face, longer than the last time she saw him, clinging into the last bits of gel on his head. He is wearing a leather jacket, but the anatomy of him astounds her. His shoulders are shaking, back hunched, stomach contracting before he lets out a loud sob. As if whatever is bothering him rakes through his chest and leaves him void, open for the world to pluck at his heartstrings.

“Donghyuck…” Her voice must have alarmed him, considering he stops pressing his forehead to the stool’s door and he actually turns around. His eyes are so red that they could mimic that of an eclipse. Tears fall down like glitter on chiseled cheekbones and she takes that as a cue to grab his face in between her hands and pull him closer. Before asking him anything, she’s shushing him, because this is Eunbyul’s little cousin, the man that she had seen grow and had bothered for so long. “Shh, everything is going to be alright…”

His hands cling to her back, as if her dress was a second skin, as he hides his face on her neck. She feels the plumpness of his lips right at her pulse when he shakes his head and mutters: “It won’t. My life is over…”

The contraction of the muscle by her heart is enough to have her pulling away, feeling her own tears wield up in her vision out of panic. “Don’t say that, Donghyuck. Not even playing around. Your life is not over.” Rubbing at his eyes, she speaks softly, only for the two of them to hear. Meanwhile, his hands still rest on her waist, looking into her eyes. “Whatever happened, we can get through it together. I won’t leave your side the entire night if that means you…you figuring out that this is just another bad chapter of the book, but not the finale. It is not the end.”

Donghyuck’s lip quivers before he rubs at his eyes, looking up to try and stop the tears. He tries to pull away, but she keeps her hold on his cheeks. “Renjun fucking kicked me out of the band.” He seethes, shaking his head before sighing deeply. “After all I’ve given for them. After all I’ve done. They all continued with their lives because they didn’t care about the band as much, but I followed through with it because I believed that it would sail. Now that we’re halfway there, I’m no longer in the band and—”

“Why would Renjun do that?”

“Apparently, they are tired of me being the front-man and making decisions all the time.” Donghyuck whispers, pressing a hand to his eyes as if not to see her. “And it’s so embarrassing that I’m crying like this but…that band is my whole life. I can’t let my family see that it didn’t work out for me. All these years I’ve fought to let everyone know that I was going to make it. I thought I’d be the greatest drummer but—”

“Now you’re the greatest drummer but out of a band.” She completes for him, unraveling his vision before looking from one of his eyes to the other. He had grown so much, had become so responsible and yet so mortified. Where had his sarcastic smile gone? “You don’t believe me?”

Donghyuck shakes his head, not uttering a single word.

Silence had never fit Donghyuck.

But when his silence overtakes him and rids him of the will of continuing, she is there for him. She presses a fleeting kiss to his forehead, letting her lips linger there, wishing for the Donghyuck that she knew to awaken from inside his brain. Instead, she tries to get him out.

“You’re important.” She tells him. “You’re fun to be around. You’re resilient. You’re worth waiting for.” All that she thinks of Donghyuck is spat out in simple words, pulling away to look at him only to see that he closes his eyes tightly, long eyelashes bathed in tears. “You’re smart and willing. You’re…so many things, Donghyuck, but the greatest of it all is that you’re part of so many people’s lives and I reassure you…none of them want to lose you.”

Donghyuck opens his eyes, brown eyes glistening and he pretends to smile from the corner of his mouth, but she grins back at him.

“There you go, that’s the smile everyone likes.”

“Everyone?”

“I’m a peculiar fan of your happiness. It’s the only reason why I tease you with the whole Vanilla Ice thing.” She confesses, licking her bottom lip before biting on it. “You always roll your eyes but the corner of your mouth lifts up. As if you find it amusing that to this day I haven’t forgotten.”

“I doubt I give Yangyang the same response.”

“I happen to believe I am a little bit more special than Yangyang. You’ve always preferred me.” She answers, taking his hand and dragging him to the sink. “Now, let’s wash up those tears and grab something to eat, okay? You’ve lost weight and all that stress you’ve got bundled up isn’t doing you any good.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, tossing his head back. “I’m fine.”

“I know.” She replies. “But good is never good enough.”

And then, he finally laughs when he feels her splashing water onto his face.

CUPID’S ARROW IS A JOKE THAT NEVER LANDS. SEVEN WEEKS LATER.

Returning to her last semester before she turns a lawyer should feel somehow fulfilling. Her mind could have been focused on the textbook that glares back at her from the PDF blinking on her laptop, eager for a topic to be understood, but her digits gravitate towards her phone, unlocking it and checking Yuta’s chat to see if he had answered the text that she hand sent him three hours ago, that he had definitely seen.

Or the one four hours before that.

Or the ‘good morning, babe’ text that he didn’t respond.

In fact, love shouldn’t feel like this. Like an electricity shock that flickers like a broken light. She still turns it on even though it’s only dimly lighting the room up. She sighs deeply, pressing her forehead to the keyboard when searching for key words on their conversation. Nicknames that he had called her. Promises that he had made. Pictures of the two of them that they had exchanged in a conversation that now seems dead.

If they exchange four sentences in a day, it’s a lot.

It’s an emptying feeling. Gravitating her into a pit of feelings that she can’t comprehend. Throwing the phone into her phone as it lands on a pillow, she groans loudly, covering her eyes and digging the heels of her palms into them. Alright, it was her fault for falling for Yuta, or that she knows this is inherently wrong and yet, she still stays here.

It has crossed her mind to leave Yuta, but it’s impossible. Somehow, it feels like she’s the one at blame. She feels like the problem in each of her relationships. The one that fucks it up by putting interest, by not being like other women who make themselves be desired and lusted at even after months of being together. She stands up when she hears her phone buzz from the bedsheets, launching herself into the bed in the most ridiculous of ways and when she unlocks it, she lets a few tears drop.

Yuta hasn’t responded to her text yet. And she can’t even delete them anymore.

Instead, someone else had texted her. It was not Eunbyul, who was the complete opposite of her and is probably sharing dinner with Yangyang at this point, since long having moved in with him again. However, seeing Donghyuck’s name appear on the screen—next to an ice cube emoji, of course—is not as bad.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Is it bad that I eat the leftover buttercream from Eunbyul’s store? [Attached File]

The picture attached brings a smile to her features. Donghyuck has his eyebrows well raised, a spatula pressed in between his lips and a dot of buttercream on the tip of his nose. She turns around on the bed, letting her hair cascade on her sides before sighing.

To: Donghyuck 🧊

Wish I could do that. I should be studying, but I can’t fucking concentrate.

She puts her phone down. Feminism is put to shame because of her. Why is she standing a man’s doing? Just because she feels like she…she…might be slightly in love with him? That’s stupid, even for her. And scrolling through Instagram doesn’t help as she continues to see Reels about situation-ships.

Stop it, word.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Must be because you’re thinking of your stoner boyfriend. You know that you’re a lawyer?

To: Donghyuck 🧊

Future lawyer. Your point?

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Weed’s illegal. You’d have to put him to jail.

To: Donghyuck 🧊

I’m not like this ‘cause of Yuta.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

[Attached music file].

The room is filled with that popular song that Yangyang has been humming under his breath the last week. Boy’s a Liar or something of the like. A smile appears on her features, even when he’s not precisely wrong. What could Yuta be doing all these days, spending time at home, when there is nothing he enjoys more than going out?

To: Donghyuck 🧊

Men are snakes. Purr.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Slay girlie.

More laughter leaves her lips before Donghyuck writes once again.

From: Donghyuck 🧊

But for real, I’m going to the karaoke bar with a few friends and I’m sure you’re not going to do any more studying. Come with me? We’ll sing your song.

To: Donghyuck 🧊

My song?

From: Donghyuck 🧊

Just come. Please? I want you there.

It’s not a surprise when she accepts, putting on the biggest sweater she has in her closet—half because of the weather and the other half because she doesn’t feel like showing off with how bad she feels—, a pair of leggings and then she’s out the door. Prompting what happened these past few weeks for her to be vengeful, wishing for Yuta to react to her going out with someone else without telling him. Perhaps, she’s just clinging onto what they used to be—or what she thought they could have been—. The brisk bites at her hands as she waits for a taxi to pick her up.

Dating is the hardest thing she has done, but she tries to erase that thought out of her head as she imagines the good things to come. She’ll go to Eunbyul’s store, close with Donghyuck—since he found a job there after being kicked out of The Dry Flower—and just have a good time.

Donghyuck’s boozed. He’s the conceptualization of it.

Ask him what’s the meaning of the word conceptualization? He has no fucking clue, but as he stands on the only table there, with his boots disregarded and showing his stupid striped socks, he couldn’t care less.

She’s seated right across from him, with the same glass of water that she had ordered early on her hand, watching him with widened eyes and a bit of a smile on her face. He’ll be honest, he had never looked at her with intent or from up-close, but the last few weeks ever since their exchange in the bathroom, and the time that they had spent away, months maybe, he sees her with a different gaze.

Her hair is shorter than how it was when they were younger, eyelashes less coated in mascara and way less curled than they were before. She exchanged cheap red lipstick for a nude, darker shade that match the real tone of them. The sweater she wears probably leaves her skin damp, but the little glint of sweat around her nose makes her look adorable. Donghyuck wishes she just wasn’t so bad at picking men.

Because there he is, choosing a song as one of his friends—to be honest, he had just tagged along with Mark’s group because they were good fun, but he doesn’t consider them that close to him—asks him to. He turns around, making his dramatic entrance and singing while looking at her. When she realizes which song it is, she cackles immediately, tossing her head back and yet, not stopping looking at him.

Yes, he wishes that the only way he got her to look at him wasn’t by singing Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice, Ice, Baby’ but he knows that’s the only way he can get her to remember who he is.

He moves his hair around, parting his legs and reciting the songs like the palm of his hand. He gets off the table, extending his hand and taking hers in his even when she covers her face. Donghyuck feels a blush rise up his cheeks, could be the beers he has had or the fact that he is looking at the screen to remember the next verse because of his mind is a blur, his tongue is intertwining in words that he can’t let out at this moment.

When the song is over, the moment isn’t. Donghyuck splays himself next to her side, their knees touching and his eyes immediately going to her profile. He expects her to see her looking away, but her eyes are already on him, looking from one orb to the other and he might go insane—

God, since when was she this hot? This beautiful?

He remembers being annoyed at her, much more at Yangyang, but she was friends with Eunbyul for a reason. Then, he pretended to be her first time at a party because she was still into that asshole Felix. Now, she’s dating another asshole and he wishes nothing more than for her to open her eyes.

“You’re blushing?” She questions, splaying a hand on his cheek before pinching it softly. She’s in awe, but she can be even more surprised when he lets his fingers spread on top of her own, closing up her palm to his cheek so she cups it with more intent.

“Maybe.” Donghyuck slurs out, chuckling a bit before pushing his face forward the slightest. They are only breaths away, her mint mixing with his beer. “How does one get you to blush?”

She chuckles at that, shaking her head. “It’s been long since that’s happened.”

He can’t imagine not bathing her in reasons as to why look at the world in a romantic glare, and maybe he’s insane for it. Donghyuck pulls her hand down, trying to stop the beating of his heart and the stupidity that threatens to slip from his lips and ruin what possibly is some kind of…friendship? “I can make it happen, truthfully.”

“I don’t think Vanilla Ice has it in him.”

“Vanilla Ice doesn’t. I do.” Donghyuck replies, and maybe it’s the invitation in her eyes when she lets go of his hand and stands up, looking over her shoulder before walking away from the karaoke room that has him following after her.

Donghyuck doesn’t have a second to think when he catches her by the forearm before she walks away. Her chest collides against his own, taller than he was when they were younger, and definitely in a position that they never had been in before. His black t-shirt becomes his axis as she looks into his eyes, cutting the distance between the two and capturing his bottom lip in the softness of her own mouth. She kisses with gentleness, a bit of trembling to her body that he stops by pulling her closer, molding her hips with his own, back contorted to the dip of his stomach.

Donghyuck wishes it didn’t feel fitting for him; everything that she does, he means. From running her fingers through his hair, to the way her body shakes, heart racing against his ribcage. He pulls away to look at her closed eyelids before dipping in again. Her hand disappears under his shirt, touching the skin that he knows he’s insecure about, the places in which he hid his overthinking…

She touches him like this means forever, and he doesn’t even know what that means.

He pushes her to the wall, her back landing softly as his leg gets lost in between her own thighs. A small trembling breath leaves her mouth, opening her eyes and looking at him as his thumb traces her bottom lip.

She’s not his, and she proves it when closing her eyes tightly and saying: “God, what am I doing?”

He’ll be an interrogative, even an insecurity for her. A secret that she’ll broom under her memories to never get out. She had touched him as if she meant all those words she said at the bathroom. That he was kind and irreplaceable, and here he is, being a band-aid to a wounded heart.

“Excuse me?” Donghyuck asks, pulling away the slightest and laughing sarcastically at her words, though it doesn’t last long.

“Donghyuck, I—”

“You say it as if I’m fucking disgusting to kiss.” He compliments and she doesn’t say a word, looking over to the side and biting that lip that he wants nothing more than to kiss. “Look at me.”

“No. I…I can’t. I’m seeing someone, Donghyuck.”

“Someone like everyone else you’ve had. You don’t know how to see someone who truly respects you.”

Now she looks at him, glaring directly through his heart. “Donghyuck, you don’t know how this shit is.”

“Yes, I know how you are. You stay and feel guilty for acting with your heart once just because you believe tying someone who doesn’t want you to you is going to make them stay.”

“Don’t say stuff like that!”

“When have they ever stayed, huh?” He asks, only to have her pushing at his chest, pointing a finger at him.

“Well, I’m not sure you’d stay either! It always starts like this, with promises of being different and I always end up hurt!”

She shakes her head, giving a few steps backwards away and towards the entrance. He calls her name softly, clicking his tongue at not knowing precisely what to say.

He could start with what he feels. Hey, I’m not sure when these feelings blossomed, but I am not willing to kiss anyone else but you. Not willing to be of anyone, but yours.

“Thank you for reminding me.” She adds. “No one fucking wants me as more than a moment—”

“I could say the same about you.” Donghyuck replies, crossing his arms over his chest, hating how prideful he can be. “You called me so many beautiful things, even fucking kissed me back, and yet…I’m not enough to make you change your mind.”

He hates to see the tears that she tries to make disappear by blinking, or that she doesn’t have any words to say. Not even an excuse as she picks up her bag and turns around.

She leaves.

Don’t they always?

BLAME IS ALWAYS SHARED. THREE DAYS LATER.

The peak of her idiocy comes when she looks at her phone while in class.

She’s seated at the very back, jotting down notes on her laptop about what her classmate is explaining, but she gets distracted. In fact, all she has been able to think is the way Donghyuck’s lips spread on hers, how his body molded perfectly to hers and how bad it feels to cling to Yuta in hopes of making her feel the same. The same way even when he doesn’t text her as much anymore, or how he has been avoiding seeing her for the past few weeks.

But looking at her phone gets her to look at his social media, because that’s the hobby that she has partaken on to feel a little closer to him. His Twitch, most of the time unused, blinks with the appearance of a new stream. He’s playing one of his favorite videogames, as relaxed as ever, as if they weren’t going through a point in their…who is she kidding? This is also not a relationship, just like everyone else she has had. And there she is, withstanding shit from a man who doesn’t even want to call her a boyfriend.

Who, coincidentally, also hasn’t responded to her ‘good morning’ text again. Great.

She looks at that conversation, then clicks back into Yuta’s Twitch stream, careful not to have the volume up. His now red hair is tied behind his back, one of his legs propped over the desk as he has one earphone on and the other tossed on top of his knee. His eyes cast down on the screen, though she sees his phone from her peripheral, on a corner of his lit-up neon desk.

So, she writes the text, even with a pattering heart and fear of making a mistake. Yuta is not the only man in the world, and this anxiousness that follows after her has been enough to make her crazy. Even break her sly friendship with Donghyuck.

To: Yuta Nakamoto.

You know what? I’m not here to stay with a man who would much rather stream on his forgotten channel than answer my text. I hope you have a good one, Yuta. It’s over.

She would want to say that she was the better person and that she didn’t stay in the stream until she saw his phone screen light up and him stopping his game to look at the conversation. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, frowning his eyebrows before tossing a look at the camera and putting the screen face-down.

That’s an answer, right? He couldn’t give less of a shit and it could be easier to curse him out, call his phone and make a fool of him in the middle of the stream, but she puts her phone down as well. It feels liberating not to live through a screen, and she’s damn happy to do so.

One less worry, and more time for herself, finally listening to her class once again and writing in her computer. Heart weightier, but liberated from its confining chains. It’s easier to love oneself, she tells herself, or perhaps her career who will give her much more than a man.

Now, the problem is that her life is more than the complicated mess that Yuta made it out to be. In fact, she had messed it up a bit, too. Donghyuck roams her head when she gets out of her class, with zero messages from Yuta, but also nothing from him.

It feels worse not to have the possibility to text Donghyuck, because she knows the things they said and how hurtful they were. She knows she touched portions of his heart that he never let anyone see, much more after his break-up with that girl he had dated all those months ago.

Though, for the time being, she’ll concentrate on her exams and nothing more. That should do it. No men allowed in her head.

HOW DID THAT SONG GO AGAIN? WE DON’T TALK ANYMORE? A MONTH AFTER.

Eunbyul just had to make things difficult and offer free sweets for her best friends, didn’t she?

Donghyuck rubs at the same spot on the counter that he had been working on all those minutes ago after she had gotten here. Like every Thursday, when she wants to spend some time gossiping with her best friend and braid Eunbyul’s hair as she speaks her elbows off. He rarely looks at them, considering that Eunbyul is the one to serve her the all-time-favorite, Caramel Cupcakes, but Eunbyul is down with the flu and her best friend is still coming, nonetheless.

Today, she is wearing a suit. She has worn more of those nowadays, considering that she’s working on her thesis and also interning. Information that Donghyuck got to know about thanks to his cousin, and he pretended he didn’t care, but he would not lie to himself and say he is not a little bit proud. Even though he can’t bear to remember that night in which everything came crumbling down.

At the end of the day, according to Eunbyul, Yuta and her were over just a few days after that night at the karaoke bar. Not that she knows about the shared kiss, but she had spoken from the bottom of her heart saying how sorry she was that something like that happened. Donghyuck wasn’t surprised, but still.

Worst part is that she came to the bakery just as they were about to close, and she’s looking at the menu as if she isn’t going to pick the same thing as she always does. She doesn’t call him over, instead standing up and letting her heels ring in the silent golden bakery. The leftover pastries glisten behind the glass, waiting to be microwaved and enjoyed before the shop closes, but the only client is her.

And Donghyuck’s breath traps in his throat when she looks into his eyes. As always, concentrating on one eye and then the other. As if she can’t take all of him in just in one go.

“I want a croissant.”

Donghyuck shakes his head, stopping his motions on the counter and fixing the beige apron around his waist. “You never have a croissant. I saved you a Caramel Cupcake.”

Alright, that’s stupid. He can’t believe he said it out loud. Silence prolongs between the two, eyes staring at one another before she clicks her tongue.

“Why would you?”

“You always ask for the same thing.” He responds quickly.

“You hate me, Donghyuck.”

“I never said I did.”

“But you do.”

“I’d like to say I do, yes.” He tries to play it off coolly, only to have her laughing a bit. She leans forward, playing with the collar of her gray jacket.

“I don’t hate you.” She tells him, licking those nude lips that he has to stop looking at because she’s totally not interested in him. “And I’ll take the caramel cupcake, sure, but the croissant, too.”

He turns around, ignoring her as he starts the microwave with the croissant inside. He packs the cupcake up in those pretty see-through boxes with yellow ribbons that Eunbyul had ordered for her shop.

“Why don’t you hate me? I said a bunch of nasty shit to you.”

“It’s easy to say I hate you. Harder to do so, I think.” She answers, and he doesn’t see her, but he imagines her lips parting and sighing softly. “Because the things you were telling me weren’t wrong, Vanilla Ice.”

He seethes through his teeth, turning around and spreading his hands behind him, crossing one leg over the other. “You have never seen me as anyone else than Eunbyul’s little cousin who had a video of him rapping, haven’t you?”

“I hadn’t.” She says and he swears he sees her patting the tips of her ears, as if checking if she’s blushing. “…Until someone decided to kiss me and make things complicated.”

“You kissed back.”

“I did.”

“Then?”

“We made it complicated. There, better?”

“Worse.”

“Agreed.”

The microwave beeps in time for him to cut the conversation, turning around and packing in another bag with the bakery’s name imprinted on it the croissant. When everything is done, Donghyuck serves it in front of her, their fingertips barely touching when placing it upon her hands. She won’t eat there, that he is sure of.

She parts her lips, as if to say something important, before she looks down at the sweets on her hands. Instead, she spreads her ribcage in a long breath before saying what disappoints him entirely, yet the most fitting thing to say in this situation.

“See you, Donghyuck.”

With that, she leaves. As if nothing happened. At this point, he may start to believe that nothing will ever happen.

Yangyang just had to propose to Eunbyul on Halloween, didn’t he?

The thing is…all would have been alright if he hadn’t decided to involve everyone in his Halloween proposal. It was going to happen at their house, of course, but he wanted it to be in the middle of a Halloween party, with everyone dressed up as the cheapest costume they could find. Yes, that’s precisely Yangyang asked for—because he didn’t want to scare Eunbyul off, he said, but he also wanted it to be in an important date and Christmas was a little too far away—.

Now, the problem was that she wanted to be Wednesday and the costume that she bought online had come two sizes smaller. Instead, she’s left with a dress that doesn’t close behind her and a black coat on top of it to cover up the fact that she can’t breathe completely without feeling the fabric tear a bit. It’s either that or wearing Yangyang’s sexy Spiderman costume, and she doesn’t think it’s a great idea…

The celebration downstairs booms with laughter and the brief sound of music, with the closest family and friends hanging out, but she wants to see her two best friends get engaged.

Okay, she’s getting the dress off.

Though, her own hands and a bit of fidgeting is not enough to get the second skin off. Yes, because this black dress counts as a second skin now. A bit more moving and a few jumps in front of the mirror are interrupted by the door opening, a screech leaving her lips when she sees a man in all black clothing with a pumpkin on his head, with eyes and a mouth carved, but still.

“What the fuck?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The voice is completely familiar. Donghyuck fumbles with the doorknob, eager to get out of the room before she calls out his name. That makes him stop, though he turns around slowly, comical considering he hasn’t taken off that damned pumpkin head.

“I can’t get this dress off and it’s literally killing me. I can’t breathe—” She speaks a little too quickly, huffing when extending her arms behind her back to ease herself from the tightening fabric.

“Alright, I’ll help you. Stop moving.” Donghyuck gets the pumpkin off from his head, tussling his hair up with a hand—light brown strands as of now, long and gorgeous in their messy stance—. He nears her, turning her around and from the view she gets on the mirror of the two of them, his gaze lingers on her back the slightest before he bites his bottom lip. “Would it be okay if we tugged down? I think it has more of a chance of going down your hips than up.”

“O—Okay.” She answers, letting his strong hands settle on the fabric around her waist and tug down, bringing her arms down. “Ouch!”

“It’s moving. Just…stay still. I’m sorry for doing this.” His legs spread when kneeling behind her and she goes where her mind is going, but Donghyuck’s hands keep working on tugging the dress down, the sleeves now off, skin tainted and burning, while her arms spread on front of her chest to cover her bra.

“I hate that I’m in this situation.”

“I’m not looking, I promise.”

“That’s the bad part, I guess.” She jokes around, though Donghyuck doesn’t laugh, looking at her through the mirror before looking up.

“I was about to say something but you’re like half naked—”

“Just say it and get it over with.”

“Don’t play around, that’s all.”

He gives a few more tugs until the dress pools at her feet, her hands clinging onto the coat and spreading it on top of her body like a robe before turning around. “Thank you.” Donghyuck nods curtly, about to put on his pumpkin mask again before she says: “Is it that hard to believe that I find you attractive, Donghyuck?”

He stares at her, blinking slowly, before he raises his eyebrows. Then, his hand finds leverage on his nape. “I mean…you’ve never been into me—”

“In the past, I hadn’t.” She tells him, getting closer and tightening her hold on her coat. “But me going every week to Eunbyul’s bakery has to mean something, right? I miss us, Donghyuck. What we were in those weeks. What we could have been in that night we kissed but…” She trails off. “I don’t want someone who won’t take me seriously and if you do the same as everyone else, I’m afraid I won’t be able to try again.”

She can’t believe that the arrow that Cupid apparently throws had landed on Donghyuck, how he gives a step forward too and looks from her lips to her eyes, down again. “I would never hurt you. Not again.” For some reason, from him, she believes it. He could be his own self, perhaps fights would ensue, but she knows he is the most truthful person she can find.

“I would ask you to promise, but I don’t want to hear any more promises.”

“That’s not wrong,” He spreads his hand on her cheek. “Because if we are going to try this out, I plan to show it to you.”

Her lips connect to his own, relishing on the feeling of his hand dropping from her cheek to her neck back to her nape. Her heart doesn’t hammer, it feels tranquil, with anxiety going out the window as Donghyuck smiles against her lips.

For the first time, she might be called a girlfriend.

And for the first time, she realizes that sometimes love hides in the people she knows, not the people she doesn’t.

#haechan scenarios #haechan x reader #nct scenarios #nct x reader #yuta scenarios #yuta x reader #writing #nct au #nct fluff #nct angst #slice of life!au #haechan au #haechan fluff #haechan angst #long long fic ahead

[blossom-hwa]

(IM GOING TO EAT MY TOES THIS IS MY THIRD ATTEMPT TO SEND AN ASK PLS DISREGARD THE FRUSTRATION)

anw 5 years of slaying and EVEN JOINING A WRITING CAMP IM SO HAPPY AND PROUD FOR YOU YOU ABSOLUTE DEVIL (teary-eyed emoji but the one with a fond smile) !!!!!!

i'm gonna have to ask for some skater san and writer mc shenanigans please :'))) preferably with their cat please please love u lina please never stop giving me excuses to enable you 💖

CHAIIIIIIIIII FIRST OF ALL PLEASE DON’T EAT YOUR TOES IT WILL ALL BE OKAY SKDJH BUT ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT OVER THE PAST FEW YEARS LIKE LEGITIMATELY HALF THE SHIT ON THIS BLOG WOULDN’T EXIST WITHOUT YOU BEING MY ENABLER/RUBBER-DUCK-THAT-I-SCREAM-ABOUT-IDEAS-WITH SO. I ADORE YOU I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

5 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/TXT/Golden Child/Ateez/The Boyz member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

(not as much cat antics as I’d like in here chai I'm so sorry but it came out like this and... well. I’ll leave you to read it for yourself :D)

REQUESTS OPEN!!

~

Title: Words For You

Pairing: San x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: n/a

~

One of San’s favorite things to do is watch you read. Not the whole time, because it can get quite boring (akin to the time he watched paint dry on a wall for over an hour), but the air seems to... shift, somehow, when you get to a climax or a twist. If he’s awake in the room, he’ll automatically turn to find you fixated on the book in your hand, eyes burning wide with a ferocious intensity that both scares him, slightly, and lures him in. 

He doesn’t interrupt you, of course. That would be signing his death warrant. But when he starts to pick up on it, he starts reading your books himself, trying to figure out what exactly has captured your attention so readily. Sometimes he finds what he’s looking for. Other times he has no idea what the fuck he’s reading. But as he flips page after page of the many volumes on your crowded bookshelves, he finds he doesn’t mind all that much. Because these books are a window, of sorts, into your beautiful mind. 

Three nights after the fight, two nights after you made up, you’re dishing up dinner in the kitchen while San sets two places at the table (”No, San, the cats don’t count as kids, you shouldn’t let them around when we eat, and you absolutely should not set places for them either -”). He helps you bring over the few plates and bowls, and when they’re safely settled on the table, you begin to eat. 

There’s silence for a while, but it’s comfortable. Unstrained, devoid of tension. San busies himself with the noodles in his bowl - he’s hungry - until he looks up to see you staring at him. 

Suddenly self-conscious, he swallows a last noodle. “Do I have something on my face?”

You shake your head. “No.”

San blinks. “Then... what?”

For a moment, uncertainty passes through your eyes. A thin line of tension threads through the silence as San waits for you to say something, anything to explain your stare and the reason you, usually so confident and bright and bold in your language, now look so unsure of your words. 

Then Trash Bag hops onto one of the unused chairs. She noses at the table, coming dangerously close to one of the dishes, and you snap out of whatever daze you were in to put her back down. When you come back up, your eyes look warm again. Certain. Or at the very least determined.

“I didn’t know you liked Anne Carson.”

Anne Carson? San furrows his eyebrows. The name sounds familiar, but he’s not quite sure where he remembers it from...

“I’ll take care of you,” you quote quietly.

Oh. Oh. 

“It’s rotten work,” he replies, just as quiet. 

Your eyes don’t leave his as you complete the line. 

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

He remembers, now. The translations of the Greek poems and plays that sat on your shelves, books you held with such care despite their well-worn covers, pages you marked with script-like annotations and coded with multicolored tabs. He remembers picking up If Not, Winter a month or so ago and feeling so transfixed by the softness Caron injected into Sappho’s poetry that when he was finished, he pulled Euripides from your shelf to read on the flight to his next skating competition, where he found your quote. 

The same quote he finished for you when you were a crying, laughing haze on the couch two nights ago, the quote that dispersed the smoke clouding your eyes and made you whole in his arms once more. 

“I saw you reading If Not, Winter a while back,” he admits, pushing his empty bowl away. “The title was interesting and you looked so transfixed by it that I thought I should try it. I liked it, so I read Euripides next.”

You lean forward, eyes shining. “How did you like that?”

“Not as much as Sappho,” he admits, which makes you laugh. “But one or two quotes stuck with me.”

You’re both finished eating so you push the dishes away, letting Byeol climb onto your lap. A short silence follows his words as you idly scratch between her ears. 

“I don’t care much for Greek plays,” you eventually say. “For a long time, I only liked Sappho. But one of my mentors in college recommended that I come back to them at some point and see if I could find something new.” You shrug. “And I did. I found that.”

San watches you put Byeol carefully down on the floor, then walk around the table towards him. He knows you well enough to stand, to hold open his arms just before you crash into him, your own arms wrapping around his waist. 

“Thank you,” you murmur into his shirt. “Thank you for dealing with me.”

His hand automatically finds its way to your head, patting softly as you breathe into his chest. “It’s not dealing with you,” he murmurs. “It’s loving you for your strengths and your flaws, for the human being you are to me.”

(When San’s birthday rolls around, after the requisite party where Wooyoung sets of three confetti poppers and San bemoans the mess he’ll have to clean up afterwards, you present him with a small rectangular package. 

He looks at the cheerful wrapping paper printed with smiling cats. “You already gave me a gift.” He’s wearing it now, a designer shirt he’d been eyeing for months but could never find an excuse to actually buy. 

“It’s another one.” You take a deep breath, almost like you’re nervous, but your eyes sparkle. “If anything, it’s like a gift for both you and me.”

Slowly, he unwraps the paper, taking care not to tear it as he picks apart the tape. Two books emerge from the wrappings. The top one he recognizes immediately. The cover is the same as one on your shelf, though this one looks brand new. 

Well, almost brand new. San frowns. A small pencil mark has smudged the corner of the white cover, and the pages...

San sneaks a glance at you. Well, there must be a reason you decided to gift him another copy of If Not, Winter, if you already own one. 

He leafs through the book, and immediately it becomes clear that it is not, in fact, brand new. 

Because - you’ve annotated it. Filled the margins with your crisp handwriting, underlined phrases in light pencil. Things you already loved, things you just noticed, things that reminded you of him...

He looks at the next book before he can start to cry. This is one he doesn’t recognize - Plainwater: Essays and Poetry. But he does recognize the author. 

Anne Carson. 

“I haven’t read it yet,” you say quietly. San looks up to see you holding out a second copy of the very same book. “Sappho was... it was for you. I know she loved women, but I love you, and some of the things she writes... I wanted you to know that they made me think of you.” You swallow. “But I thought we could read Plainwater together, since I haven’t read it and I don’t think you have either, and you said before you wanted to read some more so -”

San hugs you to him, cutting off your rambling speech. Your copy of Plainwater is stuck between you and his books are probably pressing into your back, but he can’t find it in him to let go.

“... San?”

This time, he can’t stop the tears. But he doesn’t try, really, just as he doesn’t try to slow the smile curving across his lips. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, feeling you finally melt into his touch. “Thank you so, so much.”)

#ateez #atz #san #choi san #ateez san #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez oneshots #ateez san scenarios #ateez san oneshots #ateez san imagines #ateez x reader #ateez san x reader #san x reader #choi san x reader #drabble #fluff #angst #slice of life!au #words for you #I may never reach the stars #5 year anniversary drabble game #lina answers #chai <3 #blossom-hwa

[jeonstellate]

no more tomorrow

jisung, a procrastinator by nature, always finds comfort in the existence of tomorrow.

๑彡 han jisung x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 slice of life!au — character death — angst

๑彡 paragraph format — 1.9K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from tablo’s tomorrow (ft. taeyang of bigbang).

Han Jisung is a procrastinator. It is something everyone knows — including his peers, his friends, his family, even his dog. He is not ashamed of it, though, partly because his "bad" work ethic never affects the quality of his work. His procrastination does not affect his ability to finish and submit projects on time, either, so it has never been a hindrance for him or whatsoever.

Still, it does not mean he has been safe from any jokes his friends and family make about his work ethic.

"Don’t tell me you’ll procrastinate on your love life too?" As Changbin teased him once.

Jisung merely laughed it off that time, but, unbeknownst to his friends, his thoughts had drifted towards you.

You are Jisung’s . . . friend, for the lack of a better word. You are not his crush, simply because his affections for you are well past the borders for that. You are not the love of his life, either, because the scope of such title is beyond the definition of his feelings. Jisung likes you, but it is a little more complex than that. Thus, to avoid any confusion and complexities, he merely regards your relation to him as a "friend."

However, despite the platonic feel of the label, it does not automatically mean Jisung is content for it to stay that way. Albeit he cannot guarantee that his feelings are reciprocated, at the very least, he still wants to let you know.

The first time Han Jisung thought to confess, it was a random weekday.

That day, you two were set to revisit Chan in the records shop he works at with Hyunjin, Yongbok, and Seungmin. However, since your classes ended much earlier than theirs, you two went to the library to get some work done. (After all, you both knew the chances of you getting any work done later was definitely much lower than it currently was.)

Jisung suggested that you take the last two-sitter table by the window, out of consideration for larger groups that would come in later. Truthfully, he had no hidden intention for the privacy his suggestion entailed, other than not including unused chairs in his conscience. However, when he looked up from his work two hours later, he saw you. (Of course he did, you were seating across him, after all, he would have needed to be blind not to. Still, he found himself surprised in seeing you.)

The sunlight passed through the window in an angle that perfectly accented your face. It was not too much where the refracted light literally made it too blinding to look at you, but, to Jisung, it might as well did. He could not pinpoint what else was there with the light, all he knew was his heart swelled upon seeing you under it.

You were beautiful. Much more beautiful than you normally were physically, but exactly how Jisung saw you since the beginning.

He was not attracted to you solely because of your physical appearance. Rather, it was a combination of a lot of things. Amongst all else, he liked you because you were always there whenever he — whether knowingly or unknowingly — needed someone to be with.

Specifically, you were someone who, in his darkest nights, would always remind him that tomorrow exist.

Jisung had the sudden urge to blurt out his feelings then. All of a sudden, he did not care about anyone that were not you. He could not care any less about anyone else that were about to overhear, all that mattered was you would.

"[First name]," Jisung called your attention. His next words were ready to echo out, I like you, but they got stuck in his throat when you caught his stare. When the seconds stretched with no success, he quickly thought of an excuse before the silence became unbearable. "Let’s wait for them somewhere else, I’m hungry."

You later held out your hand to him before you journeyed to the nearest corndog stall, none the wiser about what just transpired in his head minutes ago.

Maybe tomorrow, then, Jisung thought as he interlocked his fingers with yours.

The second time Han Jisung thought to confess, many tomorrows had already passed since his first — failed — attempt.

It was a weekend then and he was set to binge watch a web drama with you and Jeongin. At that point, your respective midterms week just passed and you all were determined to ignore your responsibilities for a bit before going back to the grind en route to finals. Unfortunately, Jeongin was running late — which only left you and Jisung to prepare the food stash for your marathon.

Although it was Jeongin who refused the idea of just having knick knacks to munch on during your binge watch, he was the one who ended up not contributing to the dishes he wanted cooked. With you as the main chef and Jisung as your assistant (solely because he would rather chop ingredients than be responsible for the taste), you two managed to cook everything without a hitch. By the time you were boiling ramen noodles, aka the last dish on the menu, Jeongin was — thankfully — already on his way.

Jisung did not know what prompted his brain to recall his unsuccessful attempt in confessing. He was just watching you stir the noodles, then all of a sudden he thought about not minding seeing you like that for the rest of his life.

He knew that kind of thought was threading too close to the borderline between like and love, but unpacking such thought was not his main concern. Rather, his first concern was the obvious: he would only have a shot at making that specific thought a reality if he confessed.

"[First name]," your name was already out of his lips before he could even process what just happened. As it seemed, his body was quicker in reacting than his mind was.

"What?" You responded, head snapping towards him before turning back to the pot once more. "Just wait a bit more, it’s almost done."

Before he could rebut, a distinct sound of a doorbell suddenly rung. And akin to a spell being broken, Jisung immediately lost his urge to come clean about feelings then. "That’s probably Jeongin-ie."

On his way to answer the door and let his friend in, all he could think about was: Maybe tomorrow, I’d actually say it.

The third time Han Jisung thought to confess, an unaccountable number of tomorrows had already passed since his second — still unsuccessful — attempt.

His newest attempt happened during Minho’s dance showcase, where you both attended with a bunch of your shared friends. Strangely, despite showing up with a number of people, he still ended up watching the concert next to you.

Just like his previous two tries, his next one was still a result of spontaneity and of the moment. It was only by chance he looked your way during some intense dance break, so his inability to tune back in was unplanned. He could not even fathom why he could not move his eyes away from you — especially since the pulse of the music was enough to let him know he was missing some epic dance routines.

Truthfully, it was dark in the auditorium then — save for the stage, with all the lights on and pointed at it. Except for the LEDs on the steps, the dimness in the audience area was attributed to the fact that the performers were supposed to be the only attraction that night. (And they were — just not to Jisung.)

Yet, even in darkness, Jisung had no trouble seeing you. All of a sudden, it seemed to him like one of the lights meant for the stage strayed and landed on you instead, shining on you like a spotlight.

Just then, by some twisted coincidence, Jisung remembered the exact moment he realized he harbored feelings for you.

It was during one of Chan’s DJ gigs and he had been jamming and dancing with you then. When the pulsating party lights switched onto a different color, he began seeing you in a different light (both literally and figuratively). Suddenly, he realized his feelings for you were not all, hundred-percent platonic — and were actually eighty-five percent platonic, fifteen percent romantic instead.

That night, during Minho’s dance showcase, he noticed how his feelings had drastically changed since then.

What? You mouthed to him after he nudged you gently with his arm.

Unfortunately, just like always, the words that he had prepared before making his move suddenly vanished as soon as he saw your eyes directed at him. Accident, he mouthed back quickly, knowing full well he would not be able to force out the actual words he wanted to say, sorry!

When you merely smiled at him in return, he instantly regretted lying to you once more.

Tomorrow, he sweared, I’ll tell you the truth tomorrow, I promise.

Despite promising to himself that he would confess to you the day after Minho’s dance showcase, Jisung was not ready to fulfill his oath until a few days later.

In contrast to his earlier attempts, Jisung planned out his fourth. He factored his sudden lack of words to the nature they were thought: they were of in the moment, so they naturally disappear whenever the moment passed. Thus, to avoid such thing happening once more, he prepared a guiding script — meant to be used in case his mind blank out.

As it seemed, Han Jisung was determined to let you know about his feelings before the day ends. No matter what happens.

Even if he suddenly had to visit a hospital.

"I’m here," he announced his presence as soon as he spotted Chan and Changbin amidst the chaos in the emergency ward. "What happened?"

When he received a call from Changbin asking him to come to the nearest hospital as soon as he could, the worry laced in his friend’s voice was enough to make him drop everything and run. He did not even remember inquiring why he wanted him to go there, partly because he did not want to waste any time.

A part of Jisung thought he might have had overreacted a little, but after witnessing Chan and Changbin’s dark and solemn faces, he instantly knew his reaction was not overboard.

"I think it’d be best if you sit down first, Jisung-ah," Chan gestured for him to sit.

A cold suddenly run down his spine, but he tried his best to ignore it. "No, that’s okay. I’ll stand," he declined. "Now tell me why you called me here."

His friends shared a quick look he could not quite understand before Changbin answered, "It’s [first name]."

The cold on his spine instantly entered his blood vessels upon hearing your name. He was sure he would have unconsciously stood up had he accepted the offer to sit. "Wha— what happened to [first name]? Are they okay? W—"

"—[First name]’s gone," his friend did not let his nervous rambling finish before laying the reality on him. "They— they flatlined just after I called you."

Jisung could not hear anything else properly after that. He did catch bits and pieces of what Chan and Changbin were saying, but nothing really made sense to him. His mind registered that they were trying to fill him in with what happened and were simultaneously trying to comfort him, but each word only weighted heavy on him.

A folded piece of paper, full of his words, suddenly felt uncomfortable in his pocket.

A tear escaped from his left eye before his knees gave out and cued his tearful breakdown.

If only I had told you I love you yesterday, then I wouldn’t be so desperate for a tomorrow with you to still come.

#han jisung x reader #han x reader #stray kids x reader #han jisung imagines #han imagines #stray kids imagines #han jisung scenarios #han scenarios #stray kids scenarios #han jisung oneshots #han oneshots #stray kids oneshots #slice of life!au #han jisung #han #stray kids

[crabsnpersimmons]

Y'all liked raincoat chibi!DCA, well it's been snowing a lot in my neighbourhood recently, which means it's time for...

Winter coat chibi!DCA

Expectation:

Reality:

#fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf dca #dca fandom #traditional art #this au is just me putting chibi sun and moon in different outfits and sending them out to play #this began when I was out driving for work #and I saw a parent and toddler crossing the street #the toddler looked like a waddling little star with this pointy pom pom hat #and my brain just went “waddling winter stars sun and moon” #crab art #actually I've been thinking about an underlying plot for this au #yes there's a sad backstory #my writing muse already got to them #but afterwards it's all slice of life playtime shenanigans #it's also got a name! #I'm calling it the Rain or Shine AU #Rain or Shine AU

[triona-tribblescore]

They meet at some stupid house party~

#this was gonna be a whole pretty peice #but the background was giving me so much greif #I just wanted to cram in a quick drawing of them while I had a second :') #heheh love them sm #I love au's and fics where it takes on more of a slice of life type of feel #a nice change of pace #usagi is talking some random wild stories about him and his friends #leo doesnt fully believe him but find him cute anyway uvu #rottmnt leo #rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt usagi #usagi yuichi #leoichi #leosagi #tribbleart

[harunovella]

get well soon; t.f.

synopsis: the day in the life of the fushiguro's... except you, mamaguro, is sick... cw: fem!reader, papa!toji x mama!reader, nothin but fluff, megumi's shikigami are so cute and are even cuter when they're conjured by a 5 year old, not beta read so sorry for any errors! I'm delirious rn wc: 1.2k+ an: jus a lil somethin cause I am currently under the weather and I want my fictional husband and son to take care of me

It was the softest thudding that had you stirring in your sleep. With the constant change in your body temperature, shivering in one moment, then sweating the next, you were at the point where you were about to give up on sleep. Dealing with the flu was the last thing you wanted to deal with... When was the last time you were this ill? You couldn't remember. You were the one who always cared for your husband and son, they were the ones who always got sick and you were the one who managed to dodge every virus that entered your home. 

Except this time.

Hearing soft whispers, a baby voice you recognized, followed by a deeper one, you tried making out what they were saying but it was too muffled. Feeling a slight shift on the mattress followed by something tickling your nose, your eyes fluttered open to the sight of a white rabbit. Blinking a few times, eyeing it with confusion, your vision cleared as your focus settled on the small flower held by the animal's teeth. 

A daisy? 

Removing the blanket that had you wrapped up like a burrito, you reached a hand out to gently pet the rabbit before grabbing the flower. Studying it, your eyes shifted towards the small animal as another hopped up next to it, carrying another daisy. Carefully sitting up, slightly groaning from the aches throughout your body, you noticed a dozen or so more bunnies that sat around the floor of your shared bedroom. All holding daisies by their little teeth.

Trailing them and noticing they lead out of the bedroom, a smile grew on your lips as your son stood there. His five year old self holding a bouquet of flowers, yellows and whites that caught your eye as your heart suddenly felt heavy. "Hi, Gumi..."

"Hi, mama," he waved, "papa said I have to stay here so I don't get sick, too."

Letting out a small laugh, you nodded. You definitely didn't want your little boy getting sick, too. "Was this all your idea?" You asked, gesturing towards all the rabbits that sat around your bedroom.

"Mhm!" He eagerly nodded."Papa helped me pick the flowers from the garden! I had my shiki..." Standing there, Megumi tried remembering how to pronounce the word he was looking for. His little eyebrows furrowed before he gasped and continued, "my shikigami! I had my shikigami help me bring them to you since I can't get close." 

Feeling your eyes well up with tears as your nose began to tingle, you reached for your box of tissues as you blew your nose. Your son was the most precious thing in the world... how were you so blessed to have a baby boy with such a beautiful heart like his? "Thank you, Gumi... Mama wishes she could give you a big hug and endless smooches."

Slightly blushing, Megumi looked away, "mama can do it when she feels better..." His little mumbled voice made your heart do things. Oh, how you hated being sick! You just wanted to grab your son and smother him with kisses! 

Sighing as you sat back against the headboard of your bed, you wore the softest smile as you eyed the flower you held in your hand. "Where's papa?" You asked.

"Was settin' up a tea for you," Toji said as he popped up behind Megumi, towering over his son as he held a mug in his hand. You couldn't help but chuckle at the sight: your boy matched his father, in similar white sweaters, black pants, their sock covered feet... and white face masks. Megumi got 100% of his DNA from his father, a pure carbon copy. Not that you complained, you loved that your son was his father's mini me, the perfect duo. Though, you were glad he had more of your personality than anything.

"What's so funny?" Megumi asked as he tilted his head.

"You two are so cute, did you purposefully match?" You asked as your son hugged the bouquet closer to his chest, his timidness kicking in.

Grinning, Toji used his free hand to pat his son's head, "it was this little bug's idea. He saw how I was dressed and grabbed his pants and sweater to match while I made myself coffee. Then he asked if we could pick some flowers for you from the garden."

Frowning, you coughed a bit before looking away, "I hate being sick... I want to hug you two so bad..."

"Ah, don't worry," Toji said as he carefully walked amongst the rabbits, handing you the mug as he pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. The slight chill from the wedding band on his finger made you shiver as he checked you. "You're still a bit hot, but not as bad as last night."

"You don't think I'm really hot?" You mumbled with a pout, earning a laugh from Toji. 

He lowered his mask enough to kiss your forehead before he muttered, "you're the hottest woman alive" in your ear, earning a giggle from you.

"Papa! You can get sick!" Megumi called out as Toji sighed.

Stepping back and lifting his hands in defense, he shook his head, "my bad. Can't get sick or else Megs won't have anyone to play with him—"

"That's not why!" Megumi called out, causing Toji to smirk. 

"What? You won't be able to take care of your old man and your mom?" He asked as he looked at his son, Megumi's eyes widened as you lifted the mug to your lips to hide your smile.

"I'm too small! I can't reach the medicine shelf!" He defended himself, causing Toji to laugh as he walked over to Megumi and lifted him up, kissing his headful of messy hair.

"I'm just messin' with you, bud," taking the bouquet and walking back over to your side to settle them on your nightstand, you gave him a small thank you. "Don't forget to take your medicine, okay?" Toji nudged his head towards the pile of  on your bedside, cough drops and other products to help you recover faster. "We need you to feel better soon."

Saluting as you took the last few sips from your tea, you settled the daisy and brought one of the bunnies to your chest, "for now, I'll cuddle them since I can't cuddle my little Gumi bear."

"Wait!" Megumi exclaimed before he peeked over his father's shoulder. "Kuro! Shiro!" 

Watching as the pair of pups rushed in, you smiled as they instantly sat at Toji's feet. "Are they also going to keep me company?"

"Mhm!" Megumi nodded. "So you don't feel alone!" Gesturing for the pups to join you on the bed, you welcomed the pair as they cuddled against you. "They will also protect you..." he said as if it were something to keep hushed. A small giggle left you as Toji couldn't help but grin at his son and his pure way of being.

"Alright, let's leave your mother to be so she can get some more sleep." Toji said as he patted Megumi's back. "If you need anything, just call for me."

"Okay," you nodded as he took the now empty mug from your hand. "Thank you for everything."

"Always," with a wink, Toji walked away with your son in his arm, waving goodbye as you buried yourself deeper into your warm sheets and the shikigami that surrounded you.

#haruno writes; #toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji x female reader #jjk x you #jjk au #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #reader is mama fushiguro #fluff #slice of life #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #fushiguro toji x y/n

[lelelego]

messed around with clip studio's oil brush to get less rusty :^)

#oc: eli #doodly thingy #i love cel shading but this is super fun and loose too!!! :^D #nebulous slice of life modern au #original

[junstrr]

i imagine them being like the high schoolers i see on my daily commutes

#your turn to die #kimi ga shine #sara chidouin #ranmaru kageyama #sara yttd #ranmaru yttd #ransara #yttd #lol at my slice of life au for them being normal teens holding hands on the train

[protosymphonette]

society if gordon still had his ponytail </3

#gordon freeman #half life #gman #alyx vance #barney calhoun #isaac kleiner #featuring my slice of life buddy comedy au where shephard and gman are roommates while shephard is detained #gordon crashes on their couch for 20 years #gman keeps eating shephards fucking food that he buys but he keeps denying it #sorry just a glimpse into my twisted brain #symphonart

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #5: Way of the House Husband AU

I was struck with inspiration: Way of the House Husband but make it Dead on Main (or any other ship you feel like you can make work). One partner is a highly dangerous and powerful figure and the other is just some guy and they’re in love and living a beautiful domestic life even if past annoyances pop up to bother them. The best part is it works both ways for these two. Like imagine Jason’s at the grocery store and runs into a rouge or a gang member or someone from the BatFam but just ignores them. Or Danny wakes up to find one of his rouges at his doorstep for whatever reason and just closes his door and sends them packing. Their both uninterested in returning to a life of crime/crime fighting and just want to live as a happy, peaceful, “normal” couple.

#dead on main #jason todd x danny fenton #jason todd #danny fenton #domestic fluff #hijinks and shenanigans #comedy #slice of life type beat #way of the house husband au #dc x dp #Strega’s dc x dp prompt 5

[cynderrfall]

#linked universe #linked universe au #Lu #Lu warriors #starting off the new year with the most self indulgent shit ever #slice of life linked universe when⁉️⁉️ #linked universe fanart #2024 art #sketch

[dropsofletters]

the miss that missed steps [dsc]

summary: dong sicheng once had women shouting his name at the top of his lungs as they tossed their shirts on stage. now, if anyone were ever to compare him to the drummer he used to be, they’d laugh at his face. he spends his days folding clothes and making sure people don’t make too much noise around the hotel his uncle owns. the same man that told him music would never work.

as an artist, she can create beautiful things, but a relationship has never been one then. with graduation passing by in front of her eyes, leaving with her roommates and good memories, this new beginning of her life comes with a grand lie.

they both say they have their lives together. sicheng says he can unlock any door if he puts his mind into it. she says she can lie about having a relationship and not burn herself in the process.

three lies. just three months of lying and it’ll be done for.

title: the miss that missed steps pairing: dong sicheng x reader genre: slice of life!au ; artist!au ; landlord-ish!au ; previous rockstar!au ; fake dating!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au word count: 15,455 words type: angst ; fluff ; suggestive ; humor ; real life shenanigans

Booming bass. Cheers. Clinking glasses. Sounds that she should not connect to the worst experience that she could go through in an October afternoon when the air is too dense with humidity. She should be at home, laying down in bed while lurking through her Netflix account and catching up with those shows that she did not pay attention to in the past semester she cursed, but that is far from the case.

The culprit of the rampant headache-turning-migraine that locates within half of her face and dissipates to her heart comes with a name. Daeri, her classmate and supposed closest friend. This word quoted, highlighted and asked for source because it hasn’t felt like that in a while.

This hotel that Daeri rented for a girls-and-boyfriends night out exudes eccentricity. Each wall is a crimson red, bathed in the violet and blue glow from inside the room with just a thin glass resting in the middle of the door. She can see the tall man that is hanging around Daeri, who was not there seven months ago—the last time she saw her, just before graduation—, wearing a suit from head to toe that lifts up the slightest when he leans with his microphone to sing alongside his loved one.

The Daeri that she knew was aware that romance is difficult for her. It’s prickling roses and bittersweet alcohol that leaves her with more of a headache than with a hungover hues, forbidding her of remembering. The Daeri she knew looks so much like the one seated with a band on her finger, caressing the plush cheeks of the man that smiles at her as if he is the whole world.

Two years ago, she opted to have that…and it was anything but that found-love that brings happiness and calmness.

She hears the tapping of fingers against the dizzying, blood-colored walls, followed by the rolling of wheels that has her looking over her shoulder. Whoever is skating in the middle of this hotel might as well be over-the-top crazy, but that’s the least of her worries. A turn of her head gives her a nice glance of plush lips that part the slightest when gasping and falling to his knees. The carpet digs in the balls of his quite delicate hands, long legs thudding loudly and earning a hang of his head.

“Oh,” She moves closer to him, pressing a hand to his shoulder, bony to the touch yet, quite warm. Like the caress of red that presses to the lobes of his ears and damps his neck in shades that would make a perfect Valentine’s Day palette. “Are you okay?”

The guy in question looks like he works here. A quite unpolished uniform rests on his body, with golden brimming on the sleeves in a navy-blue colored sea. One of the buttons that should be right under his Adam’s apple is missing, strands of long black hair framing the delicacy of a face that is all round edges and glimmers of rose-gold.

He nods, as if he can’t find his voice, sitting down on the floor and swallowing thickly. “Nothing happened. You don’t have to worry.”

She pulls away at that moment, her hand hovering in the air like the stupidest motion she could do. For some reason, there is something about him that is quite captivating, but upon first touch, he cuts the roots that make him connect to the floor that people step up. As if he wants to be far, far away.

“I see.” She lurks through her purse, getting out an alcohol-spraying bottle before offering it to him, waving it in front of his palms. “You must have bruised yourself.”

“That’ll burn.” His deep voice says as a matter of fact, his eyes gleaming under the weight of his straight eyebrows frowning at her.

No shit, Sherlock; she wants to bite, instead, she kneels in front of him. “Quite big to be complaining about a little burn on your palms, don’t you think?”

That makes him frown even deeper. For such a pretty face, the eyebrows make it quite an expressive canvas. “Miss, a part of helping someone physically also includes helping them emotionally.”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t know falling on the rug gave you a heartache.”

“My pride.” The worker scoffs, joining his hands by the wrist and putting them forward for her to spray on. “It hurt my pride, considering I just ate dust.”

Upon seeing the pained expression on his face, with his eyelids scrunched together and his thick lips pressing on a thin line as he tilts his head to the side and waits for the spray, she sighs, sitting down on the floor with a pop.

“Take off your jacket. We’ll use it as a cloth and it’ll hurt less.”

The stranger doesn’t say a word, but he does take off his jacket. Slim and long arms with little veins popping here and there, seemingly untouched by the fall, splay in front of him after resting the jacket on her lap.

Although it’s an old rag, a jacket that belongs to the nineties and should have stayed there—not like the trends that are coming back, if we don’t count low-rise jeans—, it holds his scent. Clean, fresh, as if he has just gotten out of the shower and kept with him a lime just to reminisce of summer.  

Two sprays have him hissing even when she presses the jacket to the wounded hands, his bottom lip trapped in between his teeth like a shark that caught its prey. She hadn’t realized the music had stopped, rubbing on the wounds with softness before blowing a raspberry into the skin. The little hairs in his arms stood up, actions mirrored by her thanks to a situation way different than the one she found herself in.

“My little jade!” Daeri had a habit of calling her that ever since she gave her a set of jades as a moving-in gift when they started being roommates on freshman year of college. Her image does not differ much from how she looked then when their gazes finally connect. Her dark brown hair rests just underneath her earlobes in a perfectly styled bob, with a pointy and downturned nose and a smile that shows all set of teeth. “Didn’t know you were here already.” She stopped on her tracks, fixing the violet cardigan over her shoulders and sparing a glance to the worker and then, to her. “Is there anything going on?”

She should have said no. That she passed by the worker doing whatever he was thinking he was doing and then, get inside the party. However, much to her surprise, the man that had been caressing Daeri’s face not too long ago—or longer than she imagined, just how long had she been there with the hotel worker?—is not a stranger to her. The absolute opposite, if she’s honest.

Not an ex, but not a why. Not nothing but not everything. That’s what Dohwan was back in the day, when freshman year was rolling around with the heat of summer enticing her to finish the semester quicker as she spent her days with Daeri and Dohwan locked up in his dorm. There’d always be too many people around, reason as to why she’d end up squished next to him while playing videogames, and while the heat was unbearable, it was a little less with him.

Kang Dohwan had been a corner-kiss in a drunken night, a little crush that had burst her heart and mind when he had decided to enroll in nursing school and change majors.

Now, he’s back, and with his hand splaying on the small of Daeri’s back.

He doesn’t call her jade, he calls her by name. With his set of straight teeth shown in a big smile, black hair falling on top of his head in little damp strands. His waist is small as ever, shoulders broader, thighs thicker. It seems like he has started working out and now, she wonders if that’s the reason why Daeri has bulked up, too. Gorgeous as ever.

“What a surprise!” Dohwan boosts, as if he had forgotten that she’s Daeri’s best friend. Does she even call her that anymore in front of people, or is the term too stupid for their age? “Daeri told me she had a surprise for me, but I’d never imagine she’d reunite us.”

Sounds like Daeri had not mentioned her.

She stands up at that moment, trying not to bring back the memories that clash against her eyes of a certain August 3rd night, when an R&B tune accompanied them in a rainy night as they sat in his old car. Daeri had gone on a vacation for the summer and she had come back early from her family house because of the imminent necessity of running away. Dohwan was the only one that was available, three shots into drunkenness and with his hair way shorter than what it is like right now.

“Everything’s okay.” She complies, giving a good glance to how well-suited Dohwan and Daeri are. Daeri has a summer white dress under her clothes that grazes her curves perfectly and lets the rose tattoo on her thigh show. Dohwan doesn’t leave behind the dark colors, exchanging his old college looks for something classier. Instead, she is wearing the same pair of jeans she has gone for in special occasions in the past few years, with her favorite sweater tucked inside one of the hoops, hanging from her shoulder.

The disgusting monster that is envy creeps over her.

It’s not because it is Dohwan. She had let Dohwan behind from the moment he got in that plane and flew to New York City. Daeri cried for him as much as she did, missing their first real friend until they met other people. The problem is that Daeri’s life stays clear of issues. Everything falls into place.

She sells her art pieces online. Daeri works at a museum making live realism drawings.

She has never been able to keep a relationship going. Daeri gets any man she wants and makes him wait for her.

They are both the same age and yet, Daeri is now well-accommodated enough for her to buy the brands she’d gasp about on their shared laptop when they were roommates.

She kept the old laptop.

Daeri bought a new Mac.

“Sorry,” She utters, feeling the presence of someone standing up behind her, dusting his hands on the white t-shirt underneath his jacket. “We kind of got lost in the moment. You know, it’s not always your boyfriend gets a carpet burn.”

Maybe, these things happen to Daeri because she’s not stupid enough to say stuff like that.

The poor worker, whom she is just now thinking about, must have frowned even deeper behind her. She can imagine him shouting that she’s crazy, but screaming doesn’t seem like a verb he’d take up on. Maybe he’d just scoff and roll his eyes, insulting her silently and leaving her friends with a glimmer of a doubt.

Instead, he stands there, eerily silent, watching. She looks at him, his profile, eyes set on Dohwan with an intensity she’d never be able to read even if she tried.

This man, whoever this is, has cards hidden under his sleeve and the smile he gives after. So small that she’s surprised he can even move his face.

“I didn’t know you had somebody. Congratulations!” Dohwan emits, quirking an eyebrow and extending his hand towards…the stranger. “You’ve earned yourself a good one. Our friend over here was the mom of the group since forever. I’m Dohwan, a close friend of hers—”

Close is an understatement. They used to be best friends.

The worker still doesn’t raise his hand to meet Dohwan’s, looking at it before sparing her a glance. She’s not sure if she’s begging with her eyes, but she must be. She has to be.

“Sicheng.” The name could be invented or it could be absolutely real. Nonetheless, he grasps Dohwan’s hand in a tight hold, giving it a squeeze and making it move up and down. “I was just dropping my girl off and accidentally dropped to the floor. Happens.”

She laughs at his words. At Sicheng’s words. Somehow, the name, real or not, fits him like a glove.

Daeri cackles, placing her hands on Dohwan’s shoulder. “Anyone would fall for that face over there. I don’t blame you.” Though, she squints her eyes at her friends. “I blame somebody for not telling me they had a boyfriend.”

“It’s fairly recent.” She waves her hand, looking at Sicheng.

“Quite recent.” He pushes, looking at her with a challenge in his eyes. They glimmer and prod at her when he interlocks his hands behind his back, playing innocent. “How long now? A week?”

“A week.” She completes, and the number makes her feel ridiculous. Who brings her boyfriend of seven days to a getaway with her oldest friends?

“Great.” Daeri adds. “You’re joining us, Sicheng? We have booze and some little snacks that Dohwan’s sister prepared for us.”

Quite like expected, Sicheng shakes his head. “I have to get back to work. I just came to drop her off. Got a bit sidetracked.” Though, he is not all two plus two and metaphors of ‘the sky is blue’. Sicheng can and will surprise if needed. Quite like he does when he licks his lips before pressing them to her cheek, delicate as a flower when he noses the skin and pulls away. “See you tomorrow. Get home safely.”

“Damn it. We’ll get to talk next time then, man.” Dohwan shakes Sicheng’s hand as a goodbye, and the man can only give him a nod.

She’s trying her hardest not to touch the tickle that remains in her skin after such delicate, innocent kiss.

Sicheng hangs the jacket from his shoulder, walking towards the elevator and pressing the button to open it. It takes a few seconds before he enters, turning around and looking up at her. The strands of his pushed back hair fall on those enigmatic eyes and for the first time, she feels like there is someone in this world that can be read with less potence than her.

The doors close, quite like those irises do when looking at anyone.

So, she returns her gaze to her friends, feeling weirdly heated and guilty. Excited, in some way, for being looked at differently—Daeri is the first one to speak, and for someone she looks up to with such honesty, it’s nice to be patted in the back sometimes.

“Quite the eye-candy.”

“Mhm.” She hums, stealing a glance towards Dohwan. “Didn’t know you two were together.” Her teeth press together to let out the fakest: “I couldn’t be happier.”

“Thank you, little jade.” Daeri wraps an arm around her shoulder, smiling with pleasure. “I wish that relationship lasts longer than a week. Let’s see if you can finally make it work, aye? I want us to walk down the aisle together towards our men!”

Right. The band on her finger. Dohwan asked for her hand in marriage.

And she was just the third wheel, the trio that got involved in a matter that should have happened sooner. An almost-kiss in a drunken night. The one person that cannot make love compatible.

A month is a lifetime for her love stories. Daeri knows this.

Must be the part of her mouth that Dohwan did not kiss that spoke when she said: “It will work, I’m certain of it.”

###

FRIDAY: AUGUST 3RD, 2018. 

“Dad doesn’t get it, you know?”

Dohwan has his legs propped on top of her lap, uncomfortably going over the middle of the car seats that separates them. His head is tossed back against the window, as if the rain was washing away his worries. He had picked her up half-drunk, and she had asked him to stop once the rain started pouring. The noodles that he had wished for when he had texted her long forgotten, eyes casted on her as if he’s looking for answers in her frame.

He’s bigger than her in size. Broad shoulders and long legs. His bottom lip takes up a big part of his mouth, pouted with even more force in its red, swollen glow. His eyes twinkle in their dark hues, perhaps from the tears that he always fights back when talking about this situation or because the night has deposited its stars in his gaze.

“He’s always like ‘Hwan, you could have done better than art school. You’re not that good at art, either. Go to med school or something’. He doesn’t get it.” His hand extends then, resting on top of her palm that splayed on top of his knee. “Not quite like you do.”

“…He’s a doctor, not an artist. He can’t judge what you can or cannot do with your art.” She complies, but Dohwan only sighs, leaning forward until he’s seated face to face with her, his legs still on her lap.

“Exactly.” He answers. “…We can always imagine, right? Like, imagine if he saw me for once and he was happy with what he saw.”

Her eyes glide across his face. His strong jawline, big eyes, rounded cheeks. His short black hair and the way his body moves with each breath. He rakes the scent of tequila, but she doesn’t mind.

That’s his favorite drink, after all. She’s had them with him.

“I’m happy with what I see.”

There’s mischief in him, always has, so his right eyebrow lifts up at those words, leaning forward until he is munching on his bottom lip softly. “That sounds awfully wrong for someone this close to me. I could end up kissing you, you know? Three tequila shots do mad shit to me.”

It wouldn’t be mad, she wants to tell him. Instead, she chuckles at his words. “You’d only do it with three tequila shots on you.”

Dohwan smiles, shaking his head in the process. “I’d do it with a glass of water and three slurps on noodles in my stomach, trust me.”

“Dohwan…” She laughs, shaking her head. “Stop playing around.”

“Oh, come on. Friends do it all the time.” Dohwan complies. “Kiss. Kiss attractive friends. You haven’t seen yourself when painting; that concentrated look on your face is fucking hot.”

“Tequila shots talking.”

“…Then make it three tequila shots and a noodle date with me, how about that?”

“Dohwan.” She repeats, trying to stop the pattering of her heart. He says it without meaning much. He isn’t naming it anything other than a kiss between friends. That’s all she’ll get from him.

“Wouldn’t you kiss me?”

“I’d get a taste of the idea first, then consider it.”

Dohwan leans forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth and then, chuckling. “Ideas can’t be tasted, kisses can.”

Though, he doesn’t push any further, moving to the driver’s seat and taking his phone out of his pocket. “I wonder if we can get food delivered to the car…”

That night, the tequila talking for Dohwan sounded sweeter than any romance she ever had.

### 

There were once people shouting his name. Not endless rows or seas, but enough people for him to think he had more of a future than drumming his index fingers against the main desk at the hotel’s reception to introduce his entrance to his coworker. Besides, Uncle Yifeng hates it to bits and pieces.

Usually, Sicheng finds it easier to ignore the thoughts that weighted him down. Sure, the fallout happened a year ago—he should be over it by now, getting used to the lifestyle of waking up earlier, with less energy pumping through his veins and more of a lukewarm reality. It’s not like he was keen of meeting the people in the bars they performed at and tried to get a number or two, or that he enjoyed being watched on stage. He misses the friendship, the companionship, the fact that he could create music with his friends.

“I kicked out the people in room two hundred-seventy. Done.” That’s what he works as right now. Uncle Yifeng calls him a landlord, but he’s just a nicely dressed security guard. As it turns out, the receptionist doesn’t like confrontation, no matter how loud and annoying she can get.

“Oh my God, Sicheng, thank you.” Alex drags like her whole life depends on it, plopping her head on the main desk with the dramatics of an Oscar-winning actress. She fixes the baby hairs slipping apart from her dark bun, blinking furiously. “That old lady literally threatened me with an umbrella so I stepped on my twenty-dollar heels and I told her, respectfully, lady—”

“You didn’t tell her anything.” Sicheng completes, toying with one of the left buttons on his jacket. “Knowing you, Lex, you literally looked her in the eyes and gasped silently.”

Alex doesn’t like being told the truth. In her eyes, she’s one of those boss ladies that likes Beyoncé posts on Instagram and posts selfies without even thinking twice about the outcome.

He’s seen her, twenty selfies before a good one is about as normal as it gets with her.

“Look who’s talking. Dong Sicheng, I’m sure you just popped your head inside the room after knocking and said ‘leave’.”

“A very sturdy ‘leave’ works better than saying nothing.”

He keeps drumming his fingers against the desk, which causes Alex to clasp her hand around his fingers, widening her eyes at him and speaking at an obnoxiously high tone. “If you really were Mr. I Speak The Truth and Nothing Else, you would tell Mr. Yifeng that you’d rather give drum classes than kicking people out of his hotel.”

It was his mom’s idea. She said he needed some peace and quiet from the drama that surfaced one year ago, and Uncle Yifeng was there from the very beginning, filling his mouth with ‘I Told You So’s and shaking his head like his life depended on it.

“Drum classes that no one would pay for.”

“How’d you know?”

“I just know.” Sicheng slips away from her hold, resting his cheek against his hand. “Instead of talking about me, maybe we should talk about something else.”

Resting her hip against the desk, Alex wavers her eyebrows in a mischievous dance. “Unluckily for you, Sicheng, you’re the topic of this night. Someone’s looking for you.”

“Say I’m not here.” Sicheng completes, sparing a look to the elegant curved TV screen behind Alex’s desk.

She places herself right in his line of vision. “Too late. She’s waiting outside for you.”

That smile on her face is no good. “What do you mean she’s waiting outside for me? Who’s she?”

“I don’t know.” Alex shrugs her shoulders in her uniform, way more polished than his. “I just saw a lady going crazy about finding you and she was in a panic. Women supporting women, you know?”

“How about friends supporting friends?”

Alex presses her lips, pushing them up mockingly. “That dangling thing between your legs makes me question if a woman looking for you is something I should protect you from. Men are rats sometimes. What if you did something to her?”

Sicheng widens his eyes. “What part of ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about’ isn’t understandable?”

“You never said that.”

“Some things are implicit.”

“Yeah, I don’t do well with implicit.” She taps her finger against the bell on the desk. “But I’m ringing you in for a dinner break, so go look who’s waiting for you and come back with something great, will you?”

Sharing a tour bus with a bunch of men was less mortifying than working with Alex.

But he does as she says, he stops playing with the button of his jacket and moves over to the entrance door. His family did not inherit this hotel; Uncle Yifeng was over the moon and proud of what he had done with wit and hard work. Luxurious for what it was when it started, the three stars and a half that dangle in front of the hotel are his Uncle’s north, and the reason why he asks Sicheng to work so hard.

The humid night of fall caresses his skin with dampness. He can already feel the pores drying up the slightest when the door closes behind him, leaving him with the soft gush of the cold wind. One look to his left and he sees nobody, one look to his right and he sees a face that he had met just six…five days ago.

With a gray graphic tee tucked inside a pair of baggy black jeans, she looks like a gleaming dot under the moonlight. Though, it could be the twinkle in her eyes when she sees him, rushing to him with a covered canvas propped under her arm. He would have never guessed her to be an artist, but if the yellow paint on her collarbone and the canvas are anything to go by, she seems like it.

He recalls her name, enough for him to breathe it out when she approaches him. That catches her off guard, the wind moving the two strands of hair she has put outside of her ponytail to frame her face.

“Any more lies you want to tell or have you consumed your Pinocchio coupon?” Sicheng encounters. What a greeting, he wants to tell himself, but he was put in a position that he didn’t quite like, neither did he dislike it. It was uncomfortable, at best, a plea of someone who was not entirely happy with how her life turned out.

She free hand spreads on top of her hip. “Geez, how about greeting somebody with a ‘Good night, how are you doing? You seem cold. How long have you been waiting here?’”

Sicheng’s eyes rake down her body. Not that she’s bad looking to the eye—quite the contrary. Every portion of her molds and curves to what he would compare to comfort. A beauty that doesn’t blind, neither does it leave anyone uninterested.

“You don’t look cold.”

“I’m not.” She answers, tilting her chin upward and sighing deeply. “I do have more lies to tell, however.”

Sicheng hums. “Is that why you’re here?”

“You’re my fake boyfriend of a week and I have to go to a dinner party with some friends next week so—”

“Say we broke up.” Sicheng completes, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m…I’m not sure you realize I did you a favor. We’re two strangers and—”

“You already know my name. I know yours.”

“That’s not enough for a relationship.” Sicheng sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your friends will understand. It’s not the first time anyone precipitates with a decision and it ends up turning bad.”

He’s quite knowledgeable in the subject, mind him. He hasn’t made the best decisions these past few years.

“Well, none of my relationships last long and I want to prove them wrong.” She starts, moving closer to him. “Sicheng, I don’t know if you’ve ever gone through this but there’s nothing more frustrating than having people think you follow patterns. Your own friends expect from you to always do the same and never grow, and sure, this growth won’t be real…but is it that bad of me to want my best friend to have something to talk to me about again? Even if it’s our relationships and just having a long-term, serious thing with a guy.” She stops on her tracks, the whistle of the wind the only sound heard between them. “I miss her. I miss us. And I want to have that back. Feel like time didn’t leave me behind.”

Shit. Sicheng should turn on the heels of his old sneakers and just pretend that he’s not seeing her in the rawest form one can find a person in. Talking about their insecurities, longing for a friendship…he knows the feeling all-too-well. The loneliness that comes with leaving all we know behind.

“I’ll pay you.” She continues at his silence, and he raises his eyebrows until there is a crease on his forehead. “I don’t have money but I swear I’ll pay you.”

Judging by the look on her face alone, money is tight for her. Sicheng sighs, deepening his pockets while hiding his hands in them. “Do you have a car?”

“Yes.” She complies, pointing a hand at the hold thing parked not too far away.

“I’m not too fond of driving and I have a music festival I want to go to in January. Three months from now. I could take the bus since it’s just, like, six hours away but that’s boring and I honestly want the road-trip to be comfortable so…” He trails his voice. “Take me to the music festival on January 9th and we’ll be settled. I have an extra ticket. I don’t mind it.”

“…Is that it?”

“Or a million dollars to be Gong Yoo for three months. You decide.” Sicheng retorts softly, trying to keep his features at bay. “We can break up after the festival. Say you caught me texting some chick or something. It’ll be fine.”

She jumps on the sole of her feet, a smile so big it could outshine the full moon if she put her force into it. She lurks for something on her pocket, careful not to drop her canvas as she places a small, wrinkled piece of paper on his hand.

He opens it. It has her number and an address.

“That’s the studio I’m usually in every morning from eight to eleven. I’m an artist. I’ll have a whiteboard ready for when you want to come around and we can outline what we’re going to be pretend to be for when the dinner comes around next week.”

What kind of situation he had gotten himself in?

Sicheng nods once, moving the paper in between his index and middle finger. “I’ll have a say on the story, too. I don’t want to be a sappy, PDA loving boyfriend. I’m not like that.”

“Works for me.” She answers, turning around and looking over her shoulder. “Just…show up, okay?”

He sees her move through the streets with the careful zoom of her car, but she leaves a tingle within him. Perhaps, the look-out of something different in a mundane life.

### 

WEDNESDAY: MAY 1ST, 2019.

There was something special about looking at Yuta.

A different outlook in life was perceived just from the lead singer’s face alone. Ten almost always stood next to him on stage when they performed on bars, shirtless and with just a jacket on, dense eyeliner matching the red-haired singer to give something to look forward to in the band. Yet, as much as Yuta smirked into the microphone and used his powerful vocals to make himself stand out from within any crowd, getting cheers from the drunken youth that could barely understand their lyrics, there was something refreshing about seeing him after practice.

Sicheng sits behind his drums, playing absentmindedly as Yuta lifts the stand of his microphone high in the air like a warrior would do with a sword, only to say:

“I’m the king of the motherfucking world.” He announces, the sleeve of his tank top falling off one shoulder as he quirks one leg on top of one of the guitar amplifiers in the practice room they rent. Mark has left his guitar plugged and Yuta takes care of that. “You’ll understand it when you fall in love, Sicheng. This woman is driving me absolutely crazy and I’m not too good in the head, if I do say so myself.”

Sicheng chuckles, stopping his ministrations on the drums and letting his hands hang in between his thighs as he holds the sticks. “It’s good to see you like that for once. I’ve seen too many girlfriends in the time that I’ve known you.”

“None of them like her.” He uses the microphone stand to poke Sicheng’s nose, which the drummer slaps away. Yuta cackles, running a hand through his red hair. “You know, Sicheng? I feel like this is going to be our year. I can feel it in my bones.”

He can feel it, too. In the happiness, the electricity, the outcome of the new band.

Yes, this will be their year.

###

Art with food is not the most common form of art. Actually, most parents tell their children not to play with their food, even less to make figures with it, but she never really listened to what others had to say about her expression of soul.

Soyeon, a nice old-lady, had been sweet enough to let her use the studio above her pizza place to be able to work on her art. As long as she didn’t touch the leftovers from her restaurant, they were on good terms. Each morning, she relished on the sight that passed through the windows, even when the late-night-partying leftovers that came with Itaewon slipped through the creaks of the glass. Sometimes she’d see a drunk man on the street, other times teenagers sneaking away from the parties. It wasn’t refreshing, but the sun was.

What a pity that winter was just around the corner.

Her knees dug into the wooden flooring, using the crushed, old and rotten peanuts to make the image of a client. Sure, it’s not the most romantic thing in the world to make someone out of peanuts, but it was some kind of talent and it took hours. It was her expertise, the pen and paper being far too mundane for her liking.

On that Tuesday morning, there is a knock on the door. She hums, thinking it must be Soyeon asking her—as per usual—if she had stolen tomatoes from her kitchen. She never has, but that’s the only way Soyeon can slip into a conversation about her daughters’ romantic lives and how she wishes they were more like her. According to her, Soyeon’s daughters took up their mom’s flirty side and they can’t keep anyone under their belt without getting tired of them.

Like most people these days, to be honest.

However, the steps sound different. It’s not the drag of the old soles of the flip flops Soyeon loves to use, but careful steps instead. She looks away from the eyes that she is creating to look at the person that entered, and much to her surprise, Sicheng is there in a different attire of what she usually sees him in.

He looks way better out of that unfitted, antique uniform.

A black t-shirt covers his body, dusted in the logo of a band she doesn’t recognize. It looks like it is either rock or metal, but she’s not certain. His jeans are not ripped, but they cling to his physique way better than his uniform does. He has let his black hair fall on his forehead, different from the pushed-back look he uses when working, and now, he’s standing with the blankest face he can muster.

“Are those…peanuts?”

She swallows, sitting up and resting her hands on her knees. “You don’t have a peanut allergy, do you?”

“No.” Sicheng completes. “But it’s not like I’m going to eat them off the floor.”

There it is, the Sicheng she knows but also doesn’t. One can start to expect things from him at this point. He moves closer, interlocking his hands behind his back when looking at what she is working on from above.

“…I’m gluing them to the canvas, don’t worry. They wouldn’t ever go near your mouth.” She wipes some sweat off her head when she stands up, fixing the ponytail that is falling off her hair. “So, good morning, how are you doing? You look rather thirsty, Sicheng. May I serve you some coffee? I think pleasantries can be exchanged between us without using one liners as the start of our conversations.”

Sicheng sighs, pressing his lips together before closing his eyes tightly. “Good morning.” His voice is sweet when he says those words, soon after jutting a finger to the corner of the room, near the windowsill. “That’s the board you talked about?”

She had prepared today. Post-it notes rest on one of her tables, ready to be plastered on the board. A few markers and she’s ready to learn more about Sicheng.

And vice-versa.

Yikes.

“Indeed,” She moves closer to the board, lending him a black marker. “The white post-it notes are facts about me. The green post-it notes are facts about you. The pink post-it’s, facts about us as a couple.”

“Alright.” Sicheng grabs his pile of post-it notes in green and she does just the same. “You’re an artist.”

“Yes.” She jots that down, including the adjective ‘food’ before artist. “I graduated as an art major a year and a half ago. Been working selling portraits made out of decomposed, yet non-smelly, food for people online. It doesn’t give me big numbers but it makes me happy.”

Sicheng nods. “How did you even think of making portraits out of food?”

“I’m a picky eater and I get bored at dinners.” She completes, shrugging her shoulders. “What about you? Are you a valet?”

“No.” Sicheng replies, writing down on his post-it and stamping it next to hers. “Landlord, or so. I work for my uncle and he calls it a landlord. I basically keep peace around the hotel, make sure people are paying, that they don’t hide in rooms to stay. All that.”

“Cool.” She answers, not knowing what else to say. “Did you go to college?”

“No, I was doing something else when I was supposed to go to college.”

“Landlord-ing?”

That brings a chuckle out of him. The sound is precious, a little bit high for his deep voice. “I was in a band. We broke it off a year ago. Or well, rather, I left the band.”

She steals one of his post-its, writing that down because it is important. Damn amazing, actually. “A band? Were you popular?”

“Around the Seoul area, kind of.”

“What were you called? Were you the singer?”

That makes him stumble in his words, getting rigid upon the questions. He takes a note and writes quickly, pressing it on the board. She reads ‘The Outcast Club’s Drummer. 2019-2021’.

“Too much about me.” Sicheng whispers, clearing his voice. “What about the two people I saw you with? Are they your friends?”

“From college, precisely.” She adds, watching as he puts it on post it notes. “Dohwan was friends with both of us. I met Daeri on my first day of college; she was my roommate and she was absolutely terrified of sleeping with the lights on. I had to keep them on and stay with her just so she could sleep. We all met that year.” Her voice grows dull. “I had a crush on Dohwan then, but—”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re trying to take your best friend’s man!”

The repulsion in Sicheng’s tone has her groaning. “No, God! I would never! I’m past that crush and I love Daeri. I’m just awfully jealous of how easily things go well for her. For him. For anyone but me.”

She toys with the edge of her post-its, and Sicheng somehow sympathizes with her. He understands it—how the world moves when someone is utterly stuck. He plasters a post-it note about what she just said, before looking at the board.

“Relationship with your parents?” He asks.

“Could be better. Yours?”

“Good.” He answers, putting two more notes on the board. “How would such different people have met?”

She sighs deeply. “I’m not good with literature. Can’t expect me to come up with a story on my own.”

“I asked you for a portrait of my mom made out of flowers. I don’t know, edible flowers. I won’t have my mom made out of peanuts or corn in our story.” Sicheng brings a smile up her features and he has to fight one of his own. “I contacted you online but when I came to pick up the piece, because I was around town, we got to meet. Then, I asked you for coffee.”

She moves her lips to one side. “I’m not a big fan of coffee.”

“Oh, come on, it can’t be ice cream. We have to look like adults.”

“We’ll settle for tea.” She conquers. “Then, since I couldn’t get the idea of your face out of my head, I took the number you gave me when you made the order and I texted you.”

Sicheng tilts his head to the side, the tips of his ears growing pink when he continues putting the notes of their story down. “And I answered.”

“Well, no shit, we’re in a relationship.”

A fake one, he’d correct her, but he lets her be.

“You asked me out on a date.” She continues, only to have him frowning.

“Why does it have to be me? You texted and I already invited you to some tea.”

“I’m not the kind to ask out on dates.”

“Neither am I.”

“We coincidentally met somewhere on the street.”

“…That sounds like it’s taken out of Netflix drama.”

“I wish.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Alright, I asked you out on a date and I was an anxious wreck until you answered and we went out on that one date. Then another. Then a third, then you asked me.” She raises a finger in the air. “And you were the one that asked me, it can’t always be me.”

Sicheng laughs at her antics. “Alright, I asked you.”

“Day that we started dating.”

“Two weeks from now. Like October 11th?”

“Sounds fair.” She perks up then. “Oh, when’s your birthday?”

“October 28th.”

“So, tomorrow?”

He hums, not saying anything else. Not that he doesn’t celebrate it with anybody other than his parents, scared of getting too close to anyone anymore. “I think we have a good outline.” He clasps his hands together. “In three months from now, this will be nothing.”

“It sounds tragic when you say it like that.” She turns to the board, sighing deeply. “…Thank you for doing this, Sicheng.”

“Huh, we can only hope it’ll be fun, right?”

“Of course!” She lively says, but at this point, a voice within Sicheng’s head tells him this could also be fucking complicated if he doesn’t control it well.

“I better get going.” He adds, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “Text me where I have to be and I’ll see you there…girlfriend.”

“That’s another thing. You’ll have to call me a pet name and vice versa.” She licks her bottom lip. “What about ‘love’?”

The name brings a shiver down his spine and Sicheng has to shake his head, moving over to the door with quick strides. “I’d rather be just Sicheng.” He finalizes, sparing a look over his shoulder to see the confused features on her face. “…See you around.”

### 

Sweetie, her name would be sweetie.

Even when nothing about her is dulcet on first glance, that is the name he thinks about as she stands beside him on the elevator that leads to the spot her friends had invited her to. He can’t believe the power his eyes have, or even the audacity, as he steals a glance to the way she dressed that night. It’s a white and yellow flower-patterned maxi skirt that ends a little above her ankles, a golden long-sleeved shirt with a few lace patterns tucked underneath the skirt. It crumbles a bit thanks to the wrong folding, but grabbing her waist to fix it for her is not what he’s about to do.

He should tell her that she looks nice, instead, he only listens to the commands that she says. “We enters with our hands interlocked and for the love of God, don’t rip Dohwan’s hand when shaking it. He’s a really nice guy and—”

“And a bit pompous, come on.” Sicheng adds, only to have her side-eyeing him. “I know he is your friend, but your friends are high-society copies. I’ve met people like this a hundred times at the hotel.”

“I assume you break all of their hands.”

“I couldn’t even if I tried. I don’t hit the gym as much as your friends do.” He adds, placing his hand in between them and facing his palm upwards for her to grab. She looks at it and he has to sigh. “I promise not to break your hand.”

“I—I know but…” She plays with her hands a bit, chuckling. “It’s just…uh…weird, you know, we don’t really know each other that much and—”

“You’re thinking about what I told you days ago just now? Just when I accepted and I put on cologne and a button down, really?”

She sniffs once, getting closer to him and sensing the scent that radiates from the collar of his white button down. He looks away, only to have her humming.

“It’s a nice cologne, yes. Doesn’t make this situation any less awkward.” Though, she grabs his hand with his, her hold soft while their fingers intertwine. The comfortable touch has him connect his gaze to hers. “For such rough mannerisms with Dohwan, you have very soft hands.”

“You never give up, don’t you?”

“I don’t.” She answers, watching as the elevator doors roll open. “I think that’s my grandest flaw.”

Though, once they step inside, a bass heavy song fills the air, making them stop in their tracks. People bustle around like sardines in a can, dancing far too close with each other in a phase that reads—in neon lights—the name Aphrodite in the very back.

“Oh, this is not…not a restaurant.” She complies, blinking slowly while inspecting around. “…It’s a club.”

Sicheng rests a hand on her back when pushing her forward, using his body to shield her from the dancing drunken bodies. “Not just any club. It’s one of those love clubs people come to hook up with each other.” His breath ghosts on top of her head, looking around for her friends. “Why would they invite us here?”

“This is Dohwan’s kind of scene.” Some things never change and it is only proved when she sees Dohwan standing on top of the bar’s table, a whiskey bottle pouring its content into his well-parted mouth as he smiles into the drink. “I’m supposing he’s the one that invited us.”

“Jadey! My little jade!” Daeri moves through the crowd and wraps her arms around her shoulders in a tight hug, not missing a beat to do the same with Sicheng. “I didn’t think you’d come. You’re here late. Come, come. I will ask for some drinks.”

Daeri leads them to the seats under where Dohwan is standing, and his fiancé pats a hand against his calf.

“Come on, party animal. The invitees have arrived.”

“Guys!” Dohwan beams when he sits down at the edge of the counter, waving a hand to the bartender. “I’m so happy you’re here. I didn’t think you’d be actually able to bring your boyfriend along.”

Sicheng doesn’t like the sound of those words, so he leans back on his seat, parting his legs and keeping his hand on her back. “I can’t find a reason why I wouldn’t come with her.”

“Ooh,” Daeri coos after speaking to the bartender. Sicheng takes this time to order his drink, a simple beer. His companion mimics his motions. “It’s nice to finally hear someone tell you the things you deserve to be told, babe.”

“Yes…” Dohwan trails, quirking the corner of his mouth. “So, Sicheng, you move well through clubs. Any frat parties past left behind you now?”

“Not really. I had a band. We performed in places like these.” Sicheng completes, tossing his head back to take a sip of his beer. “You were in a frat?”

“Yes. Our little friend over here had to come pick me up every once in a while.” Dohwan wraps an arm around her, pressing the sides of their heads together and earning laughter from Daeri.

He doesn’t laugh. There’s something about Dohwan that is far too much for him.

“I’d never get her to dance, though. She was always against it.”

“Oh, come on, you were the life of the party. I would have been the center of attention if I tried.”

Sicheng takes another sip of his beer, looking into her eyes with their hands interlocked over his thigh. “So, what if we danced now? For old times’ sake.”

“A—Are you for real?” She questions, voice soft and Sicheng nods.

“Oh, come on! Yes, yes, yes, this needs to happen!” Daeri claps her hands together, bringing her friend up her feet only to push her towards Sicheng’s hold. “We’ll be over here, you two little lovebirds. Don’t mind us.”

“Sicheng…” She seethes, looking up at him. “I didn’t dance because I am not a good dancer.”

“Who tells you I am?”

He’s moving her patiently through the crowd, as if finding the perfect spot to be away from the two other companions, only to have her scoffing. “Your confidence in doing this. You’re acting like one of those alpha males—”

“Not at all.” Sicheng turns around, taking her forearms and placing her hands on his shoulders. He looks at her through hooded eyes. “You’re just living through Dohwan. Letting everyone shine but you because you’re happy seeing them shine and that’s okay, but for once, you need to have fun and not think about what your friends did and you didn’t.”

“I’ll make a fool of myself.”

His body presses to hers, abdomen to abdomen, as one of his breaths initiates one of her own. “What about it? No one will remember us here. Being anonymous, not getting known, that’s the magic of being normal. Use it to your favor.”

For someone so rigid in her stance of not trying new things, she looks gorgeous from the view Sicheng gets. He’s dancing to the beat of the song, swinging his body from side to side softly, letting his hand rest on her back and guiding her to mimic his motions. She follows through, a little awkwardly and hiding her face in his chest with bawled fists, but he won’t have this.

She doesn’t realize that this friendship she has consists of feeling like less than her friends.

“Don’t hide.” Sicheng lets out, resting his chin on top of her head. “You don’t look as bad as you imagine, actually.”

“Those are some words to tell your girlfriend.”

“Huh, I haven’t had one of those in a while. Grant me a pass.” His fingers thread under her chin, making her look at him as he gives her a smile. “What does one say in this situation?”

“How would I know? I only know what I’d like to hear.”

“Mhm, women.” He answers sarcastically, earning an eye-roll for her and a slap to his chest. “Then, what would you like to hear?”

“That I don’t look like a clown.”

“Don’t know. The red lips give me a bit of Pennywise vibes.” Sicheng jokes around, only to have her chuckling at his words. “I’m joking. You actually look…quite nice under this light.”

“Under this light? God, how long have you gone without a girlfriend?”

That finally makes him laugh and if Sicheng has learned anything this year is not to grant smiles just to anybody. Though, how can one not do it when in a situation like this with her? He twirls her around, their bodies meeting at the middle again before he sighs.

“I’ll learn. Give me time.”

She looks into his eyes for a second longer, responding: “I bought you a gift. For your birthday. It already passed but I hadn’t been able to see you and…” She lurked inside the pocket of her skirt, showing him a tiny, shiny bag. “It’s a rose necklace. I didn’t know what else to give you, but I felt like that reminded me of you.”

“You…You shouldn’t have.” Sicheng whispers, letting go of her body to open the little bag through squinted eyes. When he gets the necklace out, a prickly rose as a pendant has him smiling softly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Someone over here is good looking himself but has too many locks in his exterior.” She announces, interlocking her hands on his nape. “I wonder if getting close means getting pricked, too.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Guys!” Daeri squeals from not too far away, holding her phone up towards where they are, taking pictures with a flash. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Yes, Sicheng will have to get used to her friends, that’s for sure.

### 

The trashcan Sicheng dares call an apartment is quite cozy at times. When he gets home after a long night shift at work and he can finally release himself from the confines of that goddamned uniform, for example. Or albeit, when he can sit down and eat a good burger for dinner, like he should be doing right now as he goes up the set of stairs and holds onto a paper bag with fries, two kinds of sauces and two burgers.

Tonight will be good.

Or so he thought, all memories of a good night crushed when he reaches his floor and sees a woman seated right in front of his door. He recognizes her faintly, a face that he had seen in shows in the past. Perhaps, one of those fans that were in love enough to come to more of their presentations, but he cannot put a name to her. Her bleached blonde hair cascades down her back in dirty strands, standing up and pulling down the edge of her denim jeans when a big smile appears on her features.

“My God! I finally found you!” He doesn’t know how or why. Sicheng doesn’t want to be found, neither does he want to be connected to that band that used to consist of his friends. Not anymore. He tries to move past her, open the door to his apartment and not have to talk about it, but she grasps into his hand. “Come on, we…we have to find the boys. The band’s not the same without you!”

He closes his eyes tightly, pressing his forehead against the door as he tries to slit the key through the doorknob. “Please, let go of me or I’ll have to call the police.”

“What?” Her voice becomes tiny, the fan moving a step back before she shakes her head. “This isn’t you, Sicheng!”

“You don’t know me.” He finalizes, opening the door with quick motions and slipping inside just as he feels her fists bumping against the door.

“Sicheng, we have to talk!”

His heart leaps at his throat. Yuta and Ten were always better with this; they’d give a glance to the fans and they would know where to stand and how to do so. They held some kind of respect towards them, but not with him. Not with the guy who decided to depart from the band that he even called his brothers.

His fingers shake when he puts the bag down and he settles on bed, locking the door behind him and kneeling into the bed to grasp his phone and jot down the one number he keeps on a paper in his pocket.

The phone rings two times before he hears a lively voice.

“Good night, who am I talking to?”

Of course, she believes in those pleasantries and he’d love to grant them to her some other time, but this is not the moment. “T—There’s a fan at my door. It’s Sicheng. A fan of the band I used to be part of is by my door and I’m scared. She doesn’t want to leave me alone.”

He speaks too quickly and he hates the sound of his voice. Even more so, he despises that he has no one to talk to but a fake girlfriend instead.

“Gosh,” He hears her moving on the other end of the call and then, comes sprinting. “Send me the address, I’ll be there in no time. Promise!”

“Please…just…come.”

Sicheng tries to busy himself by eating, toying with the fries and tossing them inside his burger to grab another bite, but his heart is racing. He remembers the good and the bad. The moments in which he had three pair of hands to hold, just like the moments he had to let them go because he could not be trusted anymore. He saw the disappointment in the eyes of the fans and in the people he loved.

Tossing his head back, he looks at the ceiling. He’s not a bad person, that much he knows. He doesn’t want to be good either. Good is stupid. Good is what had him losing everything to his own innocence.

Then, he hears the mingle of voices just outside his door.

He takes careful steps out of his bedroom, heightening his senses by getting closer to the door only to hear her voice rather clearly.

“No, you hear me out. I don’t want my boyfriend to get stalked by some freak. He left the band, yes, get the fuck over it. There’s more to life than being a band’s groupie, come on.”

“How dare you?” The fan seethes and he hears a gasp coming from his fake girlfriend. “You don’t know how important this band was to Sicheng.”

“You don’t know him like I do.” She replies seriously. “Out.” She starts, though her voice gets louder. “Out, I said! I don’t want to see you here!”

“Fine!” The fan shouts back and he starts to hear footsteps at the moment that his mortified expression changes into a grin. She did that, the woman that he is getting to know had been brave enough to shout at a stranger like that just for him.

When he opens the door, he sees her in a new light. Not that she had not ever been casted down by this aurora of angelic bliss, but now, it’s far stronger. Without knowing, he’s wrapping his arms around her shoulders, caging her against his chest like his life depends on it. Her cheek squishes against the fabric of his sweater, hands bawled by his collarbones.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, not measuring his words when he pulls away and looks into her eyes. Surprised doesn’t cut it, she’s more than that. “Uh, I saved you a burger.”

Little does she know that he eats both burgers, but he’ll grant her one just for the sake of it. “O—Okay. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Better now.” She eyes his face, but he doesn’t want to let her know anymore. Not now. “So…crispy chicken burgers are fine with you?”

She closes the door behind her, clearing her throat. “Well, almost throwing hands at somebody made me hungry, so I’ll take up your offer.”

Eating with her while seated on the kitchen island shouldn’t feel as comfortable as it did.

### 

SATURDAY: MARCH 7th, 2021.

“Guys, guys, guys! It’s time we chill out, alright? We are not like this.”

No matter how far away Mark hold his hands out to separate the singer and the drummer, the rampant fire behind tearful eyes as he struggles against Ten’s hold to reach out for Sicheng. Not that he moves; not closer to Yuta or far away. He’s static, watching as his best friend burns and aches for a woman he thought he loved, as well.

How was he supposed to know that the groupie that appeared backstage from time to time, giving him sweet smiles and caresses to his shoulder, was also doing the same with Yuta? How could he have been so blind that he had not realized that Yuta did not have anything else in his life other than this band? And, of course, the almost two-year-long relationship he has with whom Sicheng thought he had a relationship with.

“Yuta, get the fuck back here!” Ten shouts, grabbing Yuta’s forearm before he could launch his fist towards Sicheng, but he knows him. Yuta’s emotional, but not quite as volatile as one would imagine him to be. But his heartbreaks, stoked one over the other, tumble down in a way that makes him feel life is ending when everything goes wrong.

“I trusted you.” He smacks his hand against his thigh when letting it fall, running his digits through his hair soon after and tugging at the blood red strands. “And you go around and do this?”

“I didn’t know.” Sicheng finally speaks, low and clear, only to have Yuta shaking his head.

“How couldn’t you have known? She was always around. Stop fucking lying.” Yuta turns to look at him, giving him a spoonful of his mind. “We’ve been together for two years, Sicheng!”

“And we’ve been friends since we were kids. How in the world would I have tried to steal your girlfriend?” Sicheng points out, pressing his index finger to his chest with every word he punctuates after. “I didn’t know.”

No one says a thing, and just one look in Yuta’s eyes tells him that he doesn’t believe him. Some skyscrapers fall with the force of the wind, of a mere spring day, and this is that moment. The fallout of what could have been.

“…I’ll make things easier for you.” Sicheng completes, sniffling to stop the tears that threaten to drop from his eyes. Grabbing his drumsticks, he puts them inside his backpack, closing the zipper in one motion. “I won’t be part of the band anymore.”

“Sicheng, come on, don’t take it like that—” Ten tries to get close to him, but Sicheng shakes his head.

“I don’t have any friends here who believe me, so why stay?”

Even someone as talkative as Ten had nothing to say after that.

### 

Dong Sicheng, from up close, could cause chaos, ruckuses, and everything that can be imagined.

It has been a month since their little lie began to unravel, and she’s still surprised that no one has caught up on it. With Daeri’s birthday taking place in her early-Christmas decorated home, he blinds any of the invitees with one of those smiles that she rarely gets to see. He gets asked more questions than her; the new interesting addition to her life that has people wanting to know even the most intricate detail about him.

Good thing that Sicheng doesn’t let anyone know more than the necessary. Including her.

He’s wearing a burgundy sweater that clashes against his slim body elegantly, curved in the abdomen thanks to his position against one of Daeri’s elegant walls. The gray wallpaper makes him stand out and she has to do her best to pretend she’s not ogling him from his side, half-laying on her hip to look at him. His digits are still wrapped around the heated mug that Daeri had served him, filled with hot cocoa, but she’s waiting for the moment those plush lips end up wrapped around the ceramic.

He crosses one leg over the other when their friend-who-is-not-a-friend is gone when his eyes catch something across the room. It seems to get his attention, because the frown on his features soften and the left corner of his lip lifts up.

Sicheng whispers: “Something’s been bothering me.” There is an undertone to his voice that she can’t understand, but she nods at his words. “How long did you and…Dohwan date?”

What the hell?

Her mouth opens and closes several times before shaking her head. “W—We didn’t date, at all!”

“I’m not judging!” Sicheng mumbles back, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m just saying. You mentioned you had a crush on him some other time, and come on, if you were college friends…you probably hooked—”

“My God.” She places a hand on top of his mouth, warm from the drink…or because it’s him. This awfully kissable yet somewhat non-understandable man. “Let me get this straight, you’re asking because…”

“Because…” Sicheng trails after pushing her hand away, but he clasps his digits around her wrist, keeping it in between the two of them. “I can’t ask now? I’m your boyfriend right now, if you don’t recall.”

There’s a whine to his tone, and she has to frown. Why exactly is he pointing this out? “Are you…jealous?”

He shakes her wrist, frowning in the process. “I couldn’t possibly be that.”

“Then, why?”

“Not everything needs an explanation.”

She coos at that. “Means I don’t have to explain myself when it comes to my friend.”

“Oh, come on, he has this kind of confidence to him. As if he thinks you wouldn’t be able to get someone else other than him.” Sicheng reiterates, and if she is not losing her goddamned mind, he just rolled his eyes. “So?”

“So, we didn’t date.” She confesses, pulling her wrist away from him and sighing deeply. “It was just a kiss on the corner of my mouth, you know, he was drunk…he kept offering to kiss me, I couldn’t quite believe it. Nothing else happened. Ever.”

Sicheng remains silent for a few seconds, only to be interrupted by Daeri, whose bun on top of her head shakes with every shouted word she says:

“Time to cut the cake, you guys!”

Though, that only makes her drink her hot cocoa in more of a rush, causing for her mouth to burn at the scalding drink. A hiss escapes her, watched and heard by Sicheng who immediately lowers his gaze to her mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“I just burnt myself!”

Unlike the Sicheng she thinks she is getting to know, he hooks his finger on her chin, looking around the room carefully to make sure the attention isn’t on them before she feels it. His plush lips pressing to the corner of her mouth that she had burnt, softly, so brief and sweet that it was as though she had not felt it. Then, leaving her as confused as he always does, he grabs her hand, interlocks their fingers together and says:

“Let’s go sing happy birthday.”

Happy birthday my ass, she wants to say.

Some things shouldn’t go unfinished, and Sicheng’s kisses seem to be one of them.

### 

He’ll admit it. He’s a nerd about a few things. Music is one of them.

So, when he heard that a limited edition of a pair of drumsticks signed by his favorite drummer were going to be sold at the mall, he opted to wait right outside the store at night. Even when it was closed and December was rolling just around the corner, leaving the dew of the upcoming rain right behind his trail.

She shouldn’t be here, he thinks, as he sits in front of the store with his back perched against the glassed door. Yet, it’s like his fake girlfriend can’t seem to leave him alone for things that she considers matter for him. The jacket she had worn that night is not thick enough for the weather, leaving her as a shivering mess as she brings her knees up to her chest.

“Explain to me.” Her teeth clatter the slightest when speaking, turning to look at him with her cheek squished against her knees. “What’s so important about a pair of drumsticks?”

Sicheng tosses his head back, releasing a smile into the sky as he thinks about that question. It definitely was important, but not as much as it used to be years ago. When releasing a dream, one begins to understand there is more to this world than being what we expect out of ourselves. He takes his phone out of his coat’s pocket, leaving him only with his jacket when he places the garment on top of her shoulders.

She tries to shrug it off, but he clicks his tongue. “You take it off and I won’t wear it.” Sicheng carefully threatens, then, he starts looking through his phone. “And about what you asked for, it started when I was in high school, I guess. I had a friend, Kunhang, who was in drum lessons and I tagged along. Then, when he had to move away for college, he left me his spot in the band. That’s how I got to get closer to the other guys.” In that part of his gallery that he never shows, he has the videos of the performances, the practices, and everything that made him feel alive once.

“..I see.” She whispers, leaning closer to his side and hiding the tip of her fingers under the fabric of his sleeve. The hairs on his arms stand up, but he concentrates on the phone instead. “What are you going to show me?”

He clicks on a video with an ugly black and white filter, where they can hear and see him working on the drums. It’s an old cover from a Japanese band Yuta loved since he was twelve years old, and he’s quite proud of the outcome. It got more than a hundred thousand views on YouTube.

“Whoa…” She coos, every word she says breathed out on the side of his face, making his gaze trail away from the phone to her profile. She’s gorgeous, even from up close. “You look so cool, Sicheng. Why have you stopped doing that?”

The knot on his throat grows bigger and he has to look away, locking his phone and putting it face down on his thigh before sighing. “You won’t look at me the same way if I tell you.”

Her grip doesn’t falter from his sleeve, scoffing at his words. “If you tell me you killed all of your bandmates, I won’t believe a word you say, Sicheng.”

“I didn’t.” Sicheng reiterates, trying to fight back a smile. Then, he turns to look at her, pressing a hand on top of her hidden one. “The lead singer, Yuta, had a girlfriend of two years I knew about but didn’t personally know.” He starts. “…And I coincidentally met a fan, a groupie, whatever it is that you call them, when I was playing in one of our shows. She’d always slip in backstage and we started getting along then. Chaeyoung was like that, could have anyone wrapped around her finger if she wanted to.”

She nods, and Sicheng continues to tell his story.

“So, the moment I tried to introduce my new girlfriend to Yuta and the guys, we both realized we were dating the same woman. He thought I had stolen her from him, instead of thinking that she was cheating on both of us.” The explanation has her eyes widening a fraction of a second before they soften, speaking his name in a low tone. “He didn’t believe me, and I felt like the guys didn’t, as well. I left the band before it could get any worse.”

“God…Sicheng…” She mumbles, placing her chin on top of his shoulders, faces far too close…but that’s the thing about her. She doesn’t realize just how her kindness makes his heart skip a bit.

That’s stupid to say, right? They have a month and some days left together.

“If it works for you, I believe you.” Her eyelashes flutter softly, covered in the humidity of winter.

Nice doesn’t cut it for how great it feels to be told that.

“Yeah…” He pats his hand against hers. “I like the sound of that.”

### 

Her lipstick has disappeared into another dimension. That’s the newsflash.

“I—I’ll be ready in a second, Sicheng. I just…” She keeps flickering through her purse and her makeup bag, to no avail. Where’s her favorite red lipstick? Only the universe knows. Though, give her some credit, it’s damn hard to find anything when there is a handsome man sprawled on her bed face down, leaning his cheek on his forearm and looking at her with a sleepy gaze. He has been waiting for over thirty minutes in that position, after all. “I need my lipstick.”

“I’ll help you look.” Sicheng stands up then, running a hand over his beige shirt and walking over to her vanity. She doesn’t pay much attention to him, lurking through her shelves and her bathroom, taking some extra time there.

When was the last time that she used it?

Though, it takes some looking around inside the bathroom to see that it had fallen on top of her dirty clothes pile. Fucking luck, she tells herself, clasping the tube in between her hands and looking at herself in the mirror, splaying the lipstick as well as she can in the outline of her mouth before filling it in. A few blotches with her finger and taking out the access by patting a napkin to her mouth and she was done. Opening the bathroom door again and turning off the light.

“Found it. I’m ready.” They should have already headed to the museum ‘date’ they were supposed to go to. She was going to be in the exhibition of a professor’s new collection, but that’s far from her worries now that she sees exactly what Sicheng has in his hands and what he’s doing with a smile on his face.

Listen, she’s a single woman. She has been single for a while now. There are things that only a few things can fulfill and reading is one of them. Romance books, perhaps the ones that are a bit steamy, are a nice change of pace for her nonexistent love life. Though, Sicheng seems to have the time of his life as he flickers to the next page, quirking an eyebrow as he coos to himself.

“Sicheng!” She squeals, knowing perfectly well what part of the book she had left it in and judging by the pink blush on his cheeks, he’s reading just that. She launches herself to his lap, trying to clasp the book in her hands only to have it taken away from her hold. “Give me that! That’s private!”

“He wrapped an arm around her hip, pulling her closer to his center, whispering in her ear—”

“Dong Sicheng!” She screams, not caring about the laughter that leaves his lips when she sits on his lap and tries to reach the book that he holds above his head. Her chest presses to his, the breaths of the laughter he leaves caressing her chin when she stands on her knees to be able to reach the book. “Don’t be reading my stuff!”

“It’s just getting to the good part. I didn’t think you’d be the kind to read porn.”

“Read porn?!” She questions, failing on her attempts of reaching the book and smacking her hand against his chest when he starts laughing. “That’s romantic literature, mind you. The fact that they have sex is not the reason why I read it.”

“You highlighted a few phrases here and there.”

“Because they are good quotes.”

“Quotes about a man foreshadowing to sex with a woman.”

“Oh, come on, as if you haven’t had sex.”

Those words make her notice just in what position they are in. One of Sicheng’s hands is next to her leg, both of her thighs straddling his thanks to her attempt to reach for her book. Her chest stands fairly close to his face, his soft breaths mingling with her own. They grow erratic, or it may have been her own breathing.

Sicheng closes the book then, keeping his thumb trapped in the page he was reading. “Uh…” He trails, inspecting her face. “You like these kinds of things?”

“Books like that?”

“No.” He shakes his head dizzily. “Men like these.”

I like this, she wants to tell him. There is nothing more than she’d wish for than to wrap her arms around his shoulders and plant a kiss on his lips, a memory of what could have been in Daeri’s birthday if only they had been braver. Instead, she tilts her head to the side.

“I like some of them. Not all. Some are written too…dominant and I don’t like an alpha male.” She confesses, trying to get off his lap only to feel his hand trapping the back of her left thigh, looking into her eyes when he says:

“Careful.” He whispers, though she knows there is no kind of danger to be ran just by getting off his lap. The touch alone electrifies her, making her press her red lips together.

This catches his attention. She knows when a man is looking at her lips.

Instead of kissing her, however, Sicheng puts the book down and presses a hand to her shoulder. “Don’t forget to bring a jacket with you. Let’s hurry up. It’s getting late.”

She’d rather be late if that meant getting to kiss him for good.

###

Sicheng is a tall wobbling figure in the night as he carries their luggage back to her car. His hair dusts in snowflakes of the remaining memories of December, just when January steps into its first week. The tip of his nose blares a vibrant red, accompanied by a sniffle when he opens the door and tosses the luggage inside.

Only when he is by her side, on this January 8th night, does he finally say something.

“All the rooms were taken up.” Sicheng announces, pressing the button beside his seat to lean it back. She watches him back down slowly, frowning at his words.

“We made a reservation.”

“Well, they forgot about us and the rooms are full.” There is exasperation in his tone. Meanwhile, she’s trying her hardest not to scoff. Sicheng looks up at the ceiling, a pair of glasses that she knows he needs to wear but never does resting on the bridge of his nose. “…And before you say you will drive us to the next motel we can sleep in, let me remind you we are two hours away from one and we’re tired from driving. I won’t let you.”

She clicks her tongue harmoniously. “So, you are trying to tell me we are sleeping in a car?”

“Not how I thought the night was going to go.” Sicheng finally turns to look at her, a twinkle in his eyes when he takes off his glasses and rubs at one of his eyelids. “Listen, I’m sorry. I will find the best hotel I can once we finally get to our destination, but this is as best as it gets. The comfort of your car.”

She sighs, mimicking his actions with the seat and turning to her side, inspecting his profile as he closes his eyes tightly. “Sicheng, you have that face on.”

“What face?”

“The one that tells me you’re not going to sleep feeling bad that we’re sleeping in my car.”

He opens his eyes then, the apples of his cheeks bobbing up with his tight-lipped smile when he turns to look at her. “So, we’re studying faces now.”

“Yours is easy to study.” She complies. “When you’re annoyed, you’re annoyed. When you’re happy, you’re happy. There’s no denying in everything you do.”

“I’ve studied your expressions, too.”

“Mhm.” She hums, frowning deeply. “So, how about this face?”

“The ‘I smelled a fart’ face.”

“Not at all. Unless you want to tell me something.”

Sicheng laughs at her words, reaching for a strand of her hair and playing with it for a second before letting go. “I know I already said it, but I’m really sorry—”

“Say sorry one more time and I’ll kick you out of my car.” She blows on her hands then, rubbing them together before letting out a small cough.

“You’re freezing.” Sicheng points out, sitting up on his seat before looking into her eyes.

“I’m not.”

“I can see you shivering.”

“You’re imagining it?” Her voice wavers the slightest and Sicheng has to roll his eyes. He pushes his weight to one side of the seat, patting his hand on the small spot next to him.

“Come lay here.”

She scoffs at his words. “I won’t fit, genius. You can barely fit there yourself.”

“Then, lay on me.” Sicheng shrugs his shoulders as if it’s the easiest thing to say. It’s tempting, she won’t lie, but the thought alone has the tip of her ears heating up. “Nothing will happen, I promise. You can sit on my lap, lay on my chest. We’ll be fine.”

She looks at him one last time, only to have him raising his hands on each side of his body, as if in defense. Her eyelids flutter shut, passing one thigh and then the other over the middle only to settle down on the small spot that Sicheng had opened up for her.

Surprisingly, she didn’t fit. And that’s not the verb she was imagining.

“See?” She tries not to think about it too much, quirking one leg up and hoisting it over Sicheng’s waist. She leaves the other one resting on the sliver of space left, her hand spreading on his shoulder. “Now, you’re going to have to deal with half my body weight on you.”

Sicheng hums, with his eyes closed and his digits resting on the back of her head. They make quick work on doing circular motions there, slow and meticulous, enough to have her back straightening, more of her skin pressing to him. “Like I said, I don’t mind.”

She doesn’t know what else to say. Instead, she lets her ear press to Sicheng’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Much different from how her heart is going crazy inside her chest.

“Our break-up is coming soon.” She announces, only to hear a new melody to Sicheng’s heart. Now, it rushes and he takes this time to stop his motions on her hair.

“Oh.” He doesn’t say much else at first, swallowing thickly. “S—So, have you thought about how you want it to happen?”

She doesn’t want it to happen, that’s the thing. Even when fake, Sicheng had been giving her—slowly, but surely—the kind of commodity she always expected out of a relationship. There is much more to unravel about each other, but she wouldn’t mind to do it one bit.

“We can always push it back.” She whispers, resting her hand on the one in her hair to try to get him to continue with his movements. He does, and she looks up at him to see his eyes open, but staring at the ceiling. “I…I don’t think…uh…that we should end it right now. Why? What for?”

“Yeah.” Sicheng mumbles, closing his eyes and squishing his cheek to the top of her head. “Two more weeks, how about that?”

She nods, letting her eyes close only to get lost in the feeling of him. The scent of that perfume she had given him on Christmas, too. “Yes, two more weeks sound perfect.”

###

The Outcast Club are right in front of him, and he wishes he could stay stoic. His eyes should not divert towards the newest drummer, whom is neither Kunhang nor himself, or to Ten as he works perfectly on the bass, with his hair sleeked back and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. Mark is as reserved as he gets on stage, all smiles and headbangs when he lets his fingers play the solo of their newest song.

The main focus goes to Yuta, leaning over the crowd of the festival and singing their songs on top of his lungs. He remembers when Yuta wrote this track; he was a little bit whiskey drunk, with his head tossed back as he made mistakes on Mark’s oldest acoustic guitar. He could barely scribble down the notes, but even when Sicheng coached him to go to sleep, he said he’d lose the melody. The inspiration.

Maybe, he wasn’t meant to be part of the band from the beginning. He didn’t have that mindset when it came to music.

His companion grounds him when she shouts at the top of her lungs, bringing a fist up and smiling through her set of red lips. He has to look at her, mostly because she holds some kind of hope. For him to know that he has not remained static all these years; there is somebody that spends time with him without thinking of anything else. Not his past, not what he could have been, what he should be…

“Come on, Sicheng!” She tells him, grabbing his wrists and turning him to her. He has to smile at her antics, at the dense eyeliner she had put on and the brightness of her beam. Even when outside it’s cold, the concert remains heated with the amount of people there. “Jump!”

And he does, mostly because he wants to bring good memories to something that he finds oh-so-bittersweet, but with each jump he matches to her own, the freer he feels. He doesn’t realize that he grabs onto her waist or that he pulls her closer. That her hands, as per usual, rest on his chest, but this time around, she doesn’t want to ball the fabric or give him a smack for saying something that she can’t argue about.

Instead, she looks at him with an expectation that steals his breath. This, this is what life wanted to bring him back with such heartbreak. Freedom, understanding, whatever this blossoming feeling in his chest is. He leans his lips down then, waiting for everything and nothing at the same time, but when he feels her lips clashing against his, he knows luck has struck on his side.

She tastes like the strawberry fuzzy drink she has in her left hand and her lips, much like her personality, want to take everything that surrounds her. Perhaps a bit selfish, but he grants it. His mouth molds against hers, trying his hardest to keep himself controlled when he feels her sigh against his mouth. As if she waited.

God, he had been waiting for this.

When she pulls away, she gives him the grandest smile he had seen, wrapping an arm around his neck and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. That’s when he returns the grin, feeling his skin heat up when he grants another look to the stage.

Yuta is by the stage, squinting his eyes at the two figures and that’s the moment Sicheng knows he was seen. He keeps his arm wrapped around her for leverage, but what comes next surprises him. The lead singer gives a tight-lipped smile, a bit lazy on his face, when he picks up his microphone and speaks into it.

“Let’s have a great night, will we? Remembering the good old times and the good ones that are to come. Every moment is valuable in our lives, no matter how it ended.”

He has to rest his head on her shoulder, not fighting back the happiness that bursts from within him.

Yuta may not hate him as much as he thought he did.

### 

Pick your poison. Never let it be a man.

Besides, it’s not like Daeri picked the best bridesmaid dress for her when her wedding came around. She looks like she’s about to pick strawberries from a field in the old west, with puffy blue sleeves and an uncomfortable waist that has her sighing in a few more times than necessary. Two more weeks, Sicheng promised, and now, he’s not here to accompany her to the grandest date of their arrangement.

He missed the wedding ceremony and now, she’s dipping her tongue in expensive wine in hopes of forgetting that he seemingly won’t come to the party, either. Dohwan keeps looking at his wife as if she’s the most beautiful woman in the world—and she is, obviously, Daeri couldn’t look more gorgeous even with tear-stained cheeks—but she needs to have less romance around her for her not to feel so bitter about Sicheng breaking a promise.

Wine can’t do magic tricks now, can it?

Dejun, one of the groomsmen, slips by her side at that moment, with an awkward smile on his pointy features and a movement of his eyebrows. “Uh, hi! Uh…would you like to have a dance with me?”

She’d like to say yes. Dejun is handsome; she doesn’t know him enough, but she’s sure he knows enough about her to be aware that she’s in a three-months-long relationship. Or, she was. Is it over? Was Sicheng too much of a coward after kissing her all the way home from the trip, like his life depended on it, so he decided to dip?

“Sorry…I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” She has to be stupid, but she takes that moment as an excuse to take a sip of her glass. Dejun nods, sputtering a set of apologies before he goes somewhere else.

And there she is, once again alone, walking over to the group of women that roam around in order to grab the bride’s bouquet.

She is not sure if she wants to get married. The idea of having someone glowing at just one look of her face is inviting, but she wants something deeper. A friend, someone to believe in, perhaps. She gets to the far back, putting her glass down and watching as Daeri smiles with all her might as she swings the bouquet in her hands, throwing it to the group of women.

None of them grab it, but someone behind her does.

She looks around to catch a glimpse of the lucky lady, but someone else holds the bouquet in his hands. Sicheng stands there, wearing a suit that is not his size at all—perhaps, lent from his uncle’s wardrobe—, but still making it work as he walks over to her, one feet after the other in a dancing waltz when he finally approaches her.

“Sorry for being two weeks late.” Sicheng announces, earning a few coos from the people around them as he grants her the bouquet in between his hold. “I had some things to sort out.”

“Some things?” She whisper-yells, trying her hardest not to give doll-eyes to the people around her to see if they know what she is saying. She puts a smile on her face, but it’s way different to what she is about to tell Sicheng. “You went MIA for two weeks, what could have taken you so long?”

He sighs deeply, looking for something on the pocket inside his vest. When he takes it out, she sees a small marked canvas, the size of her palm when he puts it on her free hand. Made out of peanuts are a few words that have her battling back tears as well as laughing at Sicheng’s uniqueness.

I want you to be the future of this forgotten man.

And then, a jade drawn to its side. Awfully done, as well.

“I’m not that good at drawing, but I really tried. It took me longer than I expected and I really didn’t want to show up without this but—”

“You have to be stupid.” She shakes her head, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer to press a soft kiss to his lips. He grows rigid, cheeks heated up when she pulls away only to have her gasping. “Oh, forgot you didn’t want to be the PDA boyfriend.”

“…I’ll have to get used to it.” Sicheng releases as a soft breath between them, taking her hand and giving it a run with his thumb. “Let’s go sit down so we can talk about these past two weeks.”

“And the ones to come.”

He smiles at her words. “Plenty of those, if we are lucky.”

###

Waking up to the sound of Sicheng playing the drums in their shared apartment would be annoying to some, but to her, it’s refreshing.

She lets herself roll to his side of the bed, smiling in glee with her eyes closed. He’s still insecure with his hits, trying not to make too much noise or get lost in the moment, but he’s getting there. Seven months into the relationship and she can say something…

Sicheng is not his past. He’s not his future. He’s not the man when he’s alone or the one he’s with her. He’s a mixture of the art of his smile, the twinkle in his eyes, the insecurity in his mind but the selflessness that characterizes him.

Sicheng is time, and she’d be lucky to spend her entire life with him.

#winwin scenarios #winwin #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #nct #wayv #kpop scenarios #cpop scenarios #writing #wayv au #nct au #winwin au #wayv fluff #nct fluff #winwin fluff #nct angst #wayv angst #winwin angst #slice of life!au

[blossom-hwa]

happy 5 years! may i request something sweet with jibeom? like maybe a baker or florist au !!

hey anon!! thanks for the request, I hope you enjoy what I've written for it <3

5 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/TXT/Golden Child/Ateez/The Boyz member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

REQUESTS OPEN!!

~

Title: The Earth Laughs in Flowers

Pairing: Jibeom x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: n/a

~

Some days, Jibeom finds himself unable to smile. 

It isn’t most days, thankfully - he’s got a family that cares for him, friends who find it in themselves to annoy him every day, a cat who likes to wind her way around his legs to the point of tripping him whenever he comes home. He can usually find a reason to smile, even if it’s very small. 

But life is annoying, and life is hard. There are days where the gray cloud hanging over him only seems to grow darker and heavier no matter what - his boss being upset at him for something he can’t control, rain pouring overhead on the one day he forgot to bring his umbrella. When that happens, it’s too hard to smile, and Jibeom doesn’t even want to try. 

On one of these dark days, he finds himself inside a little florist a street away from his office, one that he always passes by but has never really found a reason to actually explore. Today, though, the rain is pouring too hard for him to make it the next street to his bus stop, so he finds himself ducking into the flower shop as a short respite from the downpour. 

A little bell tinkles as he bursts into the shop, hair and clothes damp from his sprint through the streets. He’s so busy digging through his bag, trying to make sure his laptop didn’t get wet when the rain suddenly picked up, that at first he doesn’t notice you approaching him. 

“Hello!”

Jibeom jumps, eyes snapping up to take you in. You’re smiling brightly as though the rain outside doesn’t bother you at all, dressed in a green apron stained with bits of dirt and flowers. 

“Hello,” he replies cautiously, slinging his bag back over his back. At the last minute he remembers you’re a stranger, not someone he should easily show his annoyance to, so he tries to school his features into a more neutral expression than he’d been showing before. 

You don't seem to notice, the smile on your face still as sweet and bright as when he first saw you. “Welcome to my little garden,” you say warmly, gesturing to the expanse of flowers and greenery all around you. “Is there something you were looking for? Or was it just the downpour?”

Jibeom reddens against his will. “Just... just the downpour,” he mumbles. “Sorry about that, I can leave -”

“Oh no, it’s fine!.” You laugh a little. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need until we close. The rain’s pouring really hard, wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything.”

Jibeom isn’t sure why, but for some reason, tears suddenly begin welling in his eyes. It takes all of his effort to hold them back. “Thanks,” he croaks out, trying to swallow the little lump growing in his throat. “I appreciate it.”

"No problem,” you reply, smiling softly. “If I may ask... you look pretty tired. Had a long day?”

Normally when strangers talk to him, Jibeom closes himself up, mostly just does the bare minimum to seem polite and tries to shut down the conversation as soon as he can. But looking at you now, Jibeom doesn’t feel the walls of his defenses beginning to rise. Instead, he feels them starting to fall. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It’s... it’s been a lot.”

“I see.” You nod slightly, lips pressed together in sympathy. “Give me one moment.”

Jibeom watches you walk around the shop, plucking a few flowers of various colors from their places on shelves and in buckets on the floor. At one of the tables, you make quick work of them, snipping stems and trimming leaves until you’ve created a small, pretty bouquet. “Here,” you finally say, extending the flowers to him when you’ve finished. “These are for you.”

He blinks once, twice, looking between you and the flowers. “Sorry, I - what?”

“They’re on the house,” you clarify. “For you.”

Jibeom blinks again. “I - why?”

“The earth laughs in flowers,” you say, smiling as you press the small bouquet into his hands. “I thought that perhaps, if you see the way it laughs, it will help you smile a little too.”

Dumbly, Jibeom closes his fingers around the green stems. The soft, sweet scent of the flowers fills his nose - he recognizes a couple of roses and something that looks like a lily amidst more blooms whose name he doesn’t know. “Thank you,” he whispers, fighting the urge to cry.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, and Jibeom can almost feel the warmth of your voice wrapping around him like a blanket shielding him against the cold outside. “Oh - it looks like the rain stopped!”

Sure enough, it has stopped, only a thin drizzle painting the windows of your shop. Jibeom thanks you again, only slightly less choked this time, then heads out again to catch his bus.

Once he reaches home, Jibeom looks at the flowers still clutched between his fingers. Vaguely he thinks he should find a vase or something similar to put them in, but for now he just stares at them. Bright pink, a sprig of warm yellow, deep blue and pale purple stare back at him, interspersed with leafy greenery. Colorful, warm.

As Jibeom carefully arranges them in a tall glass of water, he realizes the weight of his day no longer feels as heavy as it once was. 

He returns to your shop the next day, the sky bright blue with a sun shining bright against the clouds. You’re helping a customer when he arrives, but when you’re finished you turn to him, eyes bright and smile as wide as he remembered. 

“Hi!” you exclaim, walking up to him. “How are you?”

Jibeom smiles. “Feeling better,” he replies honestly. “I wanted to thank you again for the flowers. They were beautiful.”

You duck your head in acknowledgement. “Thank you,” you say sweetly. “I’m glad you liked them.”

“I also -” He coughs a little, swallowing down the embarrassment threatening to crawl up his cheeks. “I don’t think I got your name last time.”

“Oh!” For a moment, you look as flustered as he feels. It’s quite endearing, Jibeom thinks as his smile grows wider. “I’m so sorry. My name is Y/N.” You cock your head. “If I may, what’s yours?”

“I’m Jibeom,” he replies. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A conversation arises from there, pleasant and warm and full of lovely, bright laughter. As you smile, as you laugh, Jibeom remembers your words from yesterday, and - 

It’s true, he thinks, watching the way sunlight streams onto your face, the way you seem to glow under the golden hour with the brightness of your smile. It’s true what you said, that the earth laughs in flowers. 

Because looking at you now, laughing in the sunlight, Jibeom can see the flowers ever-blooming in your smile.

#golden child #golcha #jibeom #kim jibeom #golden child jibeom #golden child jibeom scenarios #golden child scenarios #golden child imagines #golden child oneshots #golcha scenarios #golden child x reader #golcha x reader #kim jibeom x reader #jibeom x reader #golden child jibeom x reader #fluff #slice of life!au #drabble #the earth laughs in flowers #5 year anniversary drabble game #lina answers #anon #blossom-hwa

[loadinghellsing]

#i contribute #doodle #slice of life au #hellsing #vladcard #seras victoria #enrico maxwell #alexander anderson #funny #--- #this meme showed up on my dash recently #i had to make a hellsing version #as quick as physically possible

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Castle in the sky AU ahoy

This belongs with that first chapter of the CitS AU that i posted last week

Just a first look at the guy

Its just a little side project for comfort

#castle in the sky au #fnaf sun #sundrop #dca #daycare attendant #my art #okay guys look #this is pure comfort #maybe ill rework the au to fit more slice of life fluff in there #bc i am depressed and i need to just live out my days on the flying island please #i mean the actual story i came up with is a little sad so maybe ill just rework it to be happy instead! #just been feeling down and drawing plants is the best distraction #yay new au i guess #putting it on the au pile #guy has no mouth

[pennumbra]

#this is actually a big mix of old and new art #I wanted to do a set of post-series illustrations of an AU where Adira + Hector settle down in Corona instead of returning to the DK #getting to enjoy domesticity and experience living amongst people again #literally just a slice of life farm ending #so it was fulfilling to finish this even after so long! #(I didn't have the forethought to make this look like Attila's shop so it's a random bakery) #(but I HC that they would get along much better w/ him than Monty and become frequent customers!) #tangled the series #tts hector #tts adira #tts quirin #quirin #hector #adira #my art #rapunzel's tangled adventure