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gimmehyuck · 1 year

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a series of (un)fortunate events | l.mk

summary. it’s been months since you've seen mark in person. when you have no choice but to be around him because of a wedding, you start to feel as if fate likes to see you suffer.

or, alternatively:

maybe fate just wants to see you happy.

pairing. rising actor!mark x fem!reader, feat. hyuck and ryujin

words. 9.4k

genre. exes to lovers; fluff with lots of angst sprinkled all over

warnings. reader has anxiety, honestly she’s a little bit miserable but i think we can forgive her for that, alcohol consumption, i asked my friend what the agents name should be and we both thought linda would be funny (sorry if your name is linda), cliche kdrama drunk scene bc i can

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you were frozen in time. mind completely empty. the literal embodiment of ‘not a thought behind those eyes’. it took a solid 45 seconds of ryujin calling your name before you snapped out of it and looked at her again through your phone screen. she was frowning at you and you couldn’t help but mutter under your breath a small, “shit.”

clearing your voice you apologized with a smile this time.

“i knew she’d react like this,” ryujin said to the other person sharing the space on the phone screen.

“i know… look,” donghyuck said to you after turning away from his now fiancé. “i told mark that he’s my best man because he’s my best friend, but i also told him to try and keep his distance. we both want the both of you there for us.” donghyuck was pouting a little, probably because he always got his way when he did that but you were mostly looking at ryujin. she was happy and you could tell, but her eyes were worried for you. and who were you to ruin this time for her?

“oh, of course babe. i can handle this, no worries at all!” you forced the smile to meet your eyes, hoping she’d buy it. she didn’t. but she admired your bravery in the moment and didn’t press you further.

“i’ll let you know the details, you’ll have to fly back home so don’t worry about the dresses or anything. i’ll take care of that for you!” she chirped.

“ryu, no! if i’m the maid of honor then i should help with this stuff!” but ryujin was already waving her hand dismissively.

“just focus on getting here, it’s going to be expensive enough to get plane tickets, let alone the back and forth. so we’ll make it one trip for the wedding and i’ll facetime you for everything.”

“at least let me plan the bachelorette party,” you argued. and ryujin smiled brightly at that.

“i wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you.”

after a few more minutes of honest congratulations and eye rolls for donghyuck, you hung up the phone and you sat back on the couch while you stared at the picture that was the home screen. running your hand through your hair, you sighed heavily. the picture of mark leaning against the short wall of the ice rink as he was laughing hysterically was staring back at you, the moment captured during your one year anniversary date. you had fallen while ice skating and he spent the first two minutes laughing before he pulled himself together to help you up. you had been recording at the time and it was your favorite picture.

even though it had been two months since you had left, you still didn’t have the heart to change it. just like you didn’t have the heart to fall out of love with him. this wedding would be the second hardest thing you’d have to do.

the first will always be the night you left.

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you took everything that you had originally thought back. this would absolutely be the second hardest thing you’d ever have to do.

when ryujin sent you the seating arrangement for the wedding and let it slip that you’d have to walk with mark down the aisle, you nearly cried.

you did cry, actually.

luckily you knew where the letters were on your keyboard so you were able to type out a ‘sounds good to me, babe :)’ without actually seeing since your watery eyes were making the keyboard all but disappear.

you angrily brushed them away, getting so frustrated with your emotions and scolding yourself because you would have to get this under control in three months time. you still didn’t understand the rush of the wedding but it wasn’t your wedding to plan therefore you had no say in the matter. shaking your head you went back to your laptop to search for plane tickets to korea when the late night show’s host saying mark’s name caught your attention and you quickly whipped your head up to watch the tv.

“tonight we have with us, the up and coming star whose debut movie will be releasing this friday, mark lee!” the audience clapped and the thought of reaching for the remote to turn off the tv did not cross your mind; the idea of getting to see him aside from the random magazine cover made your heart ache but in that moment you wanted to brave the ache if only to get to see a smile from him.

mark walked on the set and waved at everyone, a bright smile on his face that you had been waiting for. his blue blazer complementing his black hair, and you couldn’t help but think about how handsome he looked. you were far too entranced to tell yourself to turn it off now.

“so!” the host said, clapping his hands together as mark took his seat adjacent to him. “welcome to the show.”

mark nodded along, “thank you for having me.”

“the pleasure is all ours, isn’t that right?” the host said to the crowd and they began the applause all over again. you noticed mark’s ears turning a little pink and you knew he was getting a little overwhelmed with the love from strangers.

“your debut movie dive into you, your very first role as an actor nonetheless, was making waves,” the host paused with a raised eyebrow while the crowd - and mark - laughed at his pun; then continued, “of the sundance festival. how did it feel to win awards so soon after wrapping up production?”

mark smiled and nodded along in answer, “it feels like it’s not real honestly, but also like my hard work has finally paid off. i never really thought i’d be here. i never thought i’d get to see this part of my dream come to pass but here i am. i can’t help but feel nervous, but also excited, you know? the director, cast, and crew were all welcoming and amazing to work with. i’ll truly remember this moment forever, and be grateful for it.” the host nodded along with mark as he answered his question at length, and then as he spoke the hosts lips pursed and he began tapping his chin.

“you said something very interesting just then, mark,” the host commented and mark raised an eyebrow at him suddenly looking around trying to figure out what it was exactly that he had said, as if the audience could help him find it.

“what? did i accidentally cuss and not realize it?” mark gave a nervous laugh and you couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. you were happy to see that although he had achieved his dream, he was still the same mark.

“oh no! and besides. it’s late night tv, you’re allowed to cuss here and there,” the host laughed a little before leaning forward on his desk and mark leaned closer as if they were going to share a secret.

“what i was curious about, and i’m sure what everyone else at home is curious about as well, is what you meant exactly by ‘this part of my dream’? what’s the other half… or whatever fraction of your dream that hasn’t come true yet?”

and mark’s eyebrows rose, “ahhh, that…” he hesitated while he scratched the back of his neck.

“i just meant… um, i just meant that the other part being that i wish that my- my friends were able to be here and celebrate this milestone with me.” mark was lying through his teeth, you could tell because as he said the word friends, his nose scrunched a little and that was always how you knew he was either lying or withholding something. but these people wouldn’t know that about him, and the shows host accepted the answer immediately. his face gave a look of understanding and almost concern.

“oh yeah, you came from korea for this movie, didn’t you?” and mark nodded in answer.

“yeah, they’re all back home supporting me but it’s okay. my best friend is getting married in a couple of months so i’ll be able to celebrate then with them in person!” and the host grinned widely at mark and then the camera.

“well that makes me happy for you, mark, truly! oh, and it looks like that’s all the time we have for tonight. everyone go watch dive into you when it releases in theatres this friday!”

the credits began to roll and mark was shot smiling and clapping, leaning over to say something to the host that the camera mic didn’t catch as the show ended. seeing his smile and being happy like that made the heart ache worsen, and you rubbed at your chest trying to ease the metaphorical pain. you weren’t sure if you were ready to see him. you weren’t sure if you’d be able to keep it together for this whole thing.

but for ryujin, you’d try.

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fuck this. you couldn’t do it.

you really really couldn’t do it.

after landing in korea you connected to the wifi of the airport only to receive one message from ryujin.

5:50 pm my baby 👭: mark will be picking u up from the airport, hyuck and i had last minute kinks to work out for the wedding but i’ll come and get u tonight for the bachelorette party! i’m so sorry 😞

she even had the nerve, the audacity to send the sad emoji but all you could do was feel your heart racing from anxiety. so you quickly typed back in a panic -

that’s ok! i can just take a taxi, no need for mark to come!

but she answered immediately as if she were waiting for your response, and her only message was, “he’s already there!”

and you were going to fucking kill her. you were absolutely going to murder her before she even got the chance to step one toe down the aisle. you didn’t even bother responding to the text, your anxiety and frustration making an uncomfortable mix in your chest and if you weren’t already thirty seconds from a panic attack, your phone buzzed again and with sweaty palms you checked it.

6:05 pm ml 🐯🥰: ryujin gave me your new number, sorry if this is weird. but i’m outside in the blue car, take your time though.

6:06 pm ml 🐯🥰: this is mark, btw

you internally screamed as you read the message over and over again, the contact name being another thing you also didn’t have the heart to change like your wallpaper, truly thinking you would never see it pop up again. you abruptly sat on the nearest bench as you waited for your checked luggage to arrive at the baggage carousel, the people who were standing around you edged further away from you. flashing you concerned looks at your apparent mental break down, but you could hardly even blink. you felt your heart rising in your throat and you tried to breathe through your nose and out through your mouth.

you tried slowly counting to five.

you tried breathing in for a few seconds and breathing out slower.

as you sat, you tried every calming technique you could think of.

it wasn’t until an elderly lady placed a gentle hand on your shoulder causing you to jump slightly and she gave you a kind look.

“everything is going to be okay,” she said as she gently rubbed your back and then just… walked away. the sudden appearance and disappearance of her making your panic halt in an instant in the distraction.

then the carousel whirred to life, and you had to rush over to haul your bag off of the moving belt before you had to wait for it to come around again. you really should have let it circle around a few times, but that idea came to you after you had already set the suitcase on the ground.

the kindness from the older woman, and the knowledge that you would be able to thoroughly murder your friend in a few short hours helped you to steel your nerves as you exited the airport and quickly found the blue car mark was driving.

it was easy to spot because he was literally leaning against it while he stared at his phone. you hesitated a moment, taking him in and god did he look good in those jeans and that sweater. the thoughts getting away from you before you could stop them but immediately scolded yourself.

steadying yourself with a quick breath, you rolled your suitcase up to the trunk and he jerked his head up at the sudden movement.

“oh, hi. i was waiting for a response from you- but, uh, um, here! let me get that.” he said quickly as he reached for your bag to help you heave it into the trunk but you put your hand up to stop him, taking a step back to create space.

“it’s okay,” you said, a little too curt with him. “i can do it myself.” and mark instantly deflated, your heart jumping at the need to fix that look.

no, you scolded yourself and internally forced your heart to still. he’s not yours anymore.

you made sure of that.

mark stepped back and let you lift up the heavy suitcase yourself, dropping it ever so gracefully in the trunk. you closed it and tried not to make eye contact as you moved around mark to get into the passenger seat. when you shut the door you couldn’t stop yourself from looking in the side mirror to see him frown and he shook his head at himself. you breathed a sigh of relief out. the ‘ripping off the bandaid’ part over and done with.

he got in to his side of the car smoothly, and you prepared yourself for an awkward silence the entire ride to the hotel.

“we’re staying at the same place, so that’s cool!” mark said casually, trying to create some form of conversation, of peace. you didn’t respond to what he said, instead opting for a different approach.

“you didn’t need to come and get me,” you said quietly as you stared at the passing cars on the road.

“i wanted to,” he said just as quietly, and you flinched internally at what sounded like sadness. he said your name, and then hesitated. after a few moments of silence, you saw his reflection in the window shake his head slightly as he decided against saying whatever it was.

“never mind.” was the last word uttered of the drive.

the tension weighed heavily on your already wounded heart.

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fate had it out for you. she must really enjoy screwing you over. because what you kept thinking would be the hardest part… kept continuously turning out to absolutely not be the hardest part, as if she were taunting you.

exhibit d:

“what do you mean my reservation was canceled?” you asked the hotel concierge for the third time in a row, causing her to sigh in frustration at you, finally cracking her happy persona she had to wear for her job.

“ma’am, i really don’t know how else to explain it to you. it says here it was canceled, and your room was already booked by someone else.”

“well unbook it!” you insisted, all but yelling out at that point, completely fed up. “i didn’t cancel my reservation, so it must have been a system error. isn’t there anything you can do to fix this?”

“i’m sorry,” the woman said again. “we’re fully booked for a wedding that’s taking place in a few days.”

“i-“ you paused pinching the bridge of your nose tightly, taking a moment to deeply inhale. you were going to have to google better calming techniques. “i. know. because i am in that wedding!” you hissed between clenched teeth and when the woman reached for the phone in fear, to call what you presumed was the security, mark stepped in suddenly. he leaned against the tall counter, and his sudden closeness made you jerk your head up to make eye contact with him.

“i booked a suite with an extra bed, it may be a little… um, awkward but the bed is yours if you want it.” his ears were turning red, but his voice sounded genuine. as if he truly meant his offer and god you wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and never come out. knowing your options were limited to this or staying with your parents who lived two hours outside of the city, you really didn’t have any other choice.

fate was absolutely fucking with you just because she could, was the only thought on replay as you were getting ready in the bathroom for the bachelorette party that night. considering you had slept on the plane, you weren’t tired yet and you figured you’d be able to sleep off the jetlag with a nice hangover before the rehearsal dinner the next evening. putting the final touches on your makeup, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

you could do this.

you repeated those three sentences like a mantra to yourself over and over, trying to give yourself the confidence to leave the room and be in the same space as mark again, but it seemed like the universe had different plans as your inner musings were interrupted.

“you look… really pretty.” he said in the entrance of the bathroom, his body blocking the only exit from the room. you looked down to avoid the eye contact in the mirror he was giving you, and muttered a quiet, “thank you.”

he paused a moment more before saying your name, for the second time since you had seen him, and hearing his voice saying your name in that way as opposed to the first time… it almost made tears spring to your eyes.

“i just wanted-“ he started, but for the first time since you had been told of this wedding, something (because it definitely wasn’t fate) decided to take pity on you and give you a break because at that moment you got a text from ryujin.

9:45 pm murder victim (1) 🔪: here babe!!

and you instantly sighed in relief. cutting mark off from what you were sure he had spent the last hour building up the courage to say, you turned on your heel and said, “ryu’s here! gotta go.”

you brushed past him to exit the hotel room, not even noticing that you had forgotten the door key on your way out.

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it was three am.

or maybe four.

you weren’t sure.

you spent the first twenty minutes of the night scolding the hell out of ryujin in the back of the uber and she just took it with a grin.

“and just what is so funny?” you huffed at her, crossing your arms and allowing your brows to stay furrowed.

“it’s almost like the universe is telling you to get back together.” she sang, and wiggled her eyebrows at you. you threw your hands up in exasperation, drawing eyes from the driver through the rearview mirror. giving a slight bow of apology to him you turned back to ryujin only to roll your eyes at her.

“no, the universe likes watching me hit a newly discovered rock bottom. we’re not getting back together and i’m sure he’ll be happy to have me gone once your wedding is over.” ryujin only shrugged and you didn’t hear it when she muttered, “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

when the uber dropped you off in front of the first club of the night, your sour mood dispersed in a second as you headed inside.

you and ryujin, along with her other bridesmaids in her party, heejin, yeji, and jimin had bounced from club to club and you had thoroughly drank your cares away. you were no longer thinking about how fate was a bitch. you were no longer thinking about the doom and gloom you were feeling.

you were no longer thinking about mark.

except that last one was a lie because he was the only thought that occupied your brain through the night, so much so that ryujin had to cover your mouth with her hand to stop your rambling about him.

but as the dawn crept closer and closer, all of you were calling it quits. yeji had lost a shoe somewhere along the way and jimin had left thirty minutes before, taking a whiny yeji with her; heejin was finally getting into her uber after ten minutes of drunkenly explaining that no, she wasn’t in the building the street over, and yes the gps was actually wrong. it just left you and ryujin as you waited for donghyuck to come pick you up, knowing he was on standby for the designated driver role of the morning. ryujin held your hand and affectionately laid her head on your shoulder. you copied the action and turned so you could hug each other and sway back and forth, the scene cute if not for the fact that anyone watching could tell that you were both heavily intoxicated if the giggles coming from you both after each dramatic sway were any indicator.

“you know everything is gonna be okay,” she slurred a little too loudly in your ear and the phrase made you think of something but you couldn’t quite remember what it was.

“i know,” you giggled at her, grinning brightly and you both squeezed each other tighter. you couldn’t remember in that moment what needed to be okay.

“hey, that’s my future wife! if you wanted her you should have proposed first!” you both turned to see donghyuck smiling widely, as he leaned across the center console to be able to tease you both out of the passenger window. you answered by sticking your tongue out childishly at him and ryujin answered by kissing your cheek with a loud, exaggerated smack, leaving a red stain on your cheek from what was left of her lipstick.

“i could have had her years before you even knew her, and i’ll have her years after you. remember that!” you said while pointing your fingers at your eyes and turning them on him. he rolled his eyes and sarcastically mimicked your response before motioning for you both to get in the car.

the drive back to the hotel was quiet and for the first time that night you checked your phone.

11:03 pm ml 🐯🥰: hey, i just noticed you left your keycard to get back in the hotel

12:00 am ml 🐯🥰: i’ll sleep with my phone off of silent, just call when you get back and i’ll let you in

2:15 am ml 🐯🥰: please be safe, let me know if i need to come get you

your heart fluttered at his messages and you drunkenly smiled at how he still cared. you covered your mouth to hide your smile but the sober one in the car didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up in a way that neither he nor ryujin had seen on you in five months. he could only smirk to himself as he drove, promising to himself to tell ryujin about what he saw the next morning.

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you stumbled your way down the hallway, stopping and taking off one shoe as it was rubbing your foot painfully. then after a few steps you realized how silly it was to walk with one heel on and you clumsily leaned against the wall to pull off the other shoe. arriving to the door, you giggled at the idea of getting to call and talk to mark.

mark was here, with you.

you were here, with mark.

something you’d never thought would happen again and it made your heart soar. giggling again at that thought you pulled out your phone. hitting the call button, he picked up after the third ring and you sighed as you leaned against the door frame, allowing it to hold you up.

“hello?” his voice was raspy from sleep and it made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“hi,” you giggled once more, and you internally smacked yourself this time.

play it cool or don’t talk yourself into sounding like an idiot, you told yourself.

“hi,” he parroted back to you. “are you okay? do i need to come get you?”

“yeah, can you please?” and you heard rustling through the phone.

“okay, i’m on my way. where are you?” he didn’t hesitate. he didn’t even sigh. he didn’t seem annoyed by having to help you. he seemed… almost happy in the way he said his words. as if you could audibly hear the smile. but maybe that was the alcohol letting you hear what you wanted to hear. you heard him walking around in the hotel room through the phone, and saw a light flick on from the little sliver of a gap under the door.

“on the other side of the door,” you smiled, laughing a little harder at your own joke and the door jerked open to reveal mark in all his sleepy glory. shirt wrinkled and hair sticking out at in odd directions. his relief, however, made way to his smile and he couldn’t help but stare down at you for a moment… but you, you were definitely still drunk. and who needs inhibitions to tell you not to do something anyways? not you, that’s for sure.

“my pretty maaaark!” you sang, as you threw yourself against him, or well, fell against him would be a better term for what happened.

he froze at the sudden affection from you, arms raised at awkward angles above your body before allowing his arms to lower and hug you back gently.

“i’m so sleepy, mark.” you slurred against his chest and you nuzzled your cheek against it, thinking about how soft this shirt was. he huffed a small laugh and pulled you further into the room so he could close the door.

“okay, let’s get you to bed then. c’mon.” and he helped you walk (in reality he half carried you) towards the shared bedroom.

“mark,” you called his name again softly. he glanced down at you and he noticed you were already looking up at him, arms still wrapped around his waist.

“mm?” he answered as he navigated you finally over to the bed.

“i’m so happy,” you said to him and somehow, fate again you assumed - that bitch - you simultaneously tripped over your own drunk feet and tumbled back onto the bed. your arms that were still wrapped around his waist gave him no choice but to fall with you, or well, on top of you. he caught himself instead of crushing you, an arm on each side of your head, caging you in.

he looked down at you and your body acting off it’s own accord by gripping his shirt tightly at his waist. you couldn’t help but stare at his face for a few long seconds, eyes going from his eyes, up to his hair, down to his lips, back to his eyes, and then back to his lips one last time.

“and why is that?” he asked, bringing you back to the moment before you tripped. and although your eyes had drifted back up to his eyes, he noticed that yours started to slowly flutter closed, as if you were fighting sleep but the alcohol was winning. your bright smile you gave him while you were thinking of the answer made his heart beat fast, but the words you said next made it stop entirely.

“because i get to be here with you, even if it’s just for a moment. i missed you so much, my mark, all marked in my heart.” you laughed softly again at your own joke, referencing back to a pickup line he had given you that made you say yes to his first request of a date. he couldn’t help the melancholy feeling that overcame him as he looked down at your sleeping form, the alcohol finally taking you from awake to asleep within seconds.

“i’m happy too,” he whispered though you didn’t hear it.

if only you knew how happy he actually was.

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the next day, you surprisingly slept well considering it was 3 o’clock in the afternoon and you were still in your clothes from last night. the curtains were drawn tightly as to not let any light in, and you groaned at the headache that pulsed behind your eyelids. you knew the room was empty based on the the silence and you were grateful for it as you felt embarrassed by your actions the night before. why the hell would you say that to mark? if you wanted him to hate you, well, you were doing a damn good job of solidifying that. you searched for your phone amongst the blankets and pillows to check your messages.

11:15 am murder victim (2) 🔫: mark said earlier that you forgot your key, hope you ‘got in’ okay ;)

11:30 am murder victim (1) 🔪: hi babe, how’s the hangover? the rehearsal is at 5. text me when u get up, ily 😘

11:47 am ml 🐯🥰: i put tylenol by the bed with some water, i would have ordered you food but didn’t know what time you’d be getting up. see you later

your heart gave way at the kind gesture as you flipped on a light switch and squinted at the brightness, quickly finding the medicine and downing it in one go to quickly turn off the light again.

maybe he wasn’t hating you like you thought.

you gave yourself thirty minutes to try and let the headache lose the battle with the medicine you took and finally rolled out of bed to take a shower, doing everything you could think of to keep mark and his never ending kindness off of your mind. you got ready in record time, and somehow made it to the rehearsal on time with five minutes to spare.

you ran through the wedding fairly quickly, and you most certainly did not blush as mark took your arms in his to walk you down the aisle for the practice run. besides that, you didn’t get a chance to look at mark until it came to dinner with the wedding party for the night.

fate, and you couldn’t say you were mad at her this time, had allowed mark to sit next to you during dinner.

“so mark,” yeji had said as she stuffed a piece of broccoli into her mouth. “what’s it like being famous now?”

he groaned in answer. his hand moved ever so slightly to the right and his pinky was suddenly touching yours. your eyes widened but you didn’t move your hand away, allowing his hand to rest next to yours. it felt like something from middle school when you would get excited over your crush, your eyes laser-focused on where you were connected.

“i mean, of course i’m happy to have found success in it.”

success.

that word alone sent you back to The Moment five months ago.

success was all that you wanted for mark, you were happy to watch him as he acted on set. with the way his schedule had been lining up, you hardly saw him. so when you suggested that maybe you could spend the day with him on set while he worked, he didn’t say no to you. it made you happy that he made you feel like he was fitting time in with you even if he was insanely busy.

you missed spending time with him, and you really… just… missed him. his absence making your worries and self doubts grow more eminent but you were both usually good at communicating so it wasn’t a constant worry, but the worry was there all the same.

mark had just left you to begin another scene, leaving you sitting in his chair that was off to the side and you couldn’t stop your eyes from following him around the room, watching his interactions with his cast mates.

a body landing into the chair next to yours caused you to jump and you turned to see his manager sitting next to you, leaning to the side to be just on the verge of invading your space. she was a stone faced woman, perfectly presented down to the red polish of her nails.

you had only met her a few times but she seemed… nice enough. you couldn’t deny that she worked hard to get mark solid chances and auditions so you appreciated her as mark did.

the situation at hand made you uncomfortable for some reason though, your gut telling you to move away from her.

you didn’t listen.

“so,” his manager began slowly, not making eye contact with you, instead her eyes were following mark as yours had been doing moments before.

“so…?” you prompted when she didn’t begin speaking right away.

“we need to talk… and i’m taking the initiative because mark’s too kind and won’t do it.” this caught you off guard entirely. mark was keeping something from you? you were both good terrible secret keepers with each other and this seemed so unlike him.

but, you thought, his manager was with him when you weren’t so maybe…

“oh…” you said, and finally his manager made eye contact with you. the cold stare she was giving you sent shivers down your spine.

“look, sweetie. this… this relationship you have with mark. it isn’t working.” and she patted you on the shoulder as if this were good news. “it isn’t going to work for his image or his future. you know you’re holding him back from the future he could have. the future he deserves. why do you want to burden him any further than you already have?” she asked, voice dripping with a sense of sweetness that screamed condescension.

you stilled at that instantly. the thought that you may have been the problem the entire time you were together… that you were the reason as to why he couldn’t get auditions… you would be lying if you said it hadn’t crossed your mind.

“but mark never said…” you argued weakly, playing with your fingers all while trying not to make eye contact with the woman sitting next to you.

“of course he wouldn’t, dear. he knows you’re too… fragile.” she sneered at the last word, her disdain for you being glaringly obvious as the conversation carried on. your anxiety made you fragile? mark had talked about you to her?

when you didn’t respond right away, mind racing, mark’s manager stood up.

“if you want to be selfish, and ruin his chances at success then that’s fine. just know any future failures would be on you. if you truly loved him, you’d do this for him. you’d leave.” her voice changed sharply within that sentence, the word selfish becoming a thicker blanket on top of burden in your mind and it was like you couldn’t breathe.

the anxiety stemming from the words she had just said - the fears you had been harboring for months, the thoughts that you had been smothering like a fire in the back of your mind suddenly roared to life, and the sudden heat was too hot for you to handle in the moment.

the idea of mark possibly resenting you in the future for things you knew were out of your control, it shook you… and it was minutes of spiraling into yourself before you realized that his manger had been long gone and the director had called cut.

mark stopped by where you sat for a brief moment to tell you that he had to go to the the hair and makeup trailer and he would be back soon. the fact that he didn’t tell you that he loved you with a quick kiss like he usually would being the final nail in the coffin for you in believing every word.

you got up and left the set that day, going to your shared home with mark and realized there wasn’t much that you wanted to take anyway. your heart was shattered and everything you’d take would only remind you of him.

you had packed a suitcase, and sat for a long time contemplating if you wanted to leave a letter but then ultimately decided that if he was already feeling burdened by you, you’d be doing him a favor by not making it hard on him. or well, any harder.

allowing that memory to play all the way through for the first time since seeing him made you feel as if reality had punched you in the stomach, and it sobered you up quickly. the heavy weight of your anxiety was back and it settled on your chest. the bubble of happiness you felt at the slightest touch, at the first sight of him after being apart from him for so long… all gone in an instant.

remember you’re the burden, you did this for him, you chided yourself sadly in your head. you were the reason why you both were estranged.

you gently moved your hand away to rest it in your lap. mark cut his eyes to you suddenly but you missed the glance and you missed the way he was still looking at you as he said, “but i’m just happy to be here with you… with all of you again.”

he tore his eyes away from your face to look at yeji and she smiled knowingly, eyes darting from mark to you. the room felt small to you then, almost suffocating. the sudden appearance of someone to the table brought you to the present.

“dessert will be coming out soon,” the waitress said to ryujin.

your appetite was gone entirely, and you had to get out of there. you leaned over and whispered in ryujin’s ear that you loved her but you were heading up to the room. you felt the tears were coming, because reality was the bitch this time instead of fate.

the kindness mark was showing you during all of this was making your heart ache and it was bringing up the pain that you desperately fought off for five months. excusing yourself from the table, you told everyone goodnight and made a beeline for the elevator that would take you up to the room.

stepping inside and punching the floor number, you hit the close door button frantically and bit your lip to try and keep the tears from coming as long as possible. the doors were almost closed when a hand suddenly blocked it and it opened again, revealing mark and he stepped inside, awkwardly coughing at the dramatics of it all.

you stepped to the side of the elevator and didn’t look up from your fingernails that you played with to avoid eye contact at all costs. the awkward tension filled the elevator thickly and you could feel mark’s stare boring holes into the side of your head. when the elevator finally dinged with the arrival of your floor, you’d never felt more grateful for the annoying sound.

all but running from the elevator, you headed to the room only to realize that, fuck, yes you were actually staying in mark’s room and no, he wasn’t riding the elevator for fun. his steps sounded behind yours and you pointedly didn’t say a word to him as you both entered the room. his presence didn’t deter your tears that had been threatening to spill, in fact it only made them more prevalent and it was taking all that you could do to not let them fall. the click of the door being shut made you flinch a little in anticipation of what came next, and mark cleared his throat.

“so, um…” he began, hesitating while trying to find the right words on how to approach this before continuing. “i think - i think we should talk. you said something’s last night and it… it really has me confused and i just need, no, i deserve an explanation.” when he finished his sentence his words sounded pained.

you did guess that you owed him an explanation.

but you didn’t want to give it to him.

the same way you felt you deserved one as well, but you didn’t want the confirmation.

“i’m sorry, mark.” you said, voice barely above a whisper. and it was the only thing you had to say in that moment, anything over three words and your voice would have cracked. you kept your back to him as you walked over to the bathroom and shut the door, not wanting to see his face during this.

you really were a coward, you thought.

you heard mark approach the other side of the door and stop.

“you’re- you’re sorry?” he asked, and then with a hint of sarcasm, he finally decided to bring up the biggest and obvious elephant in the room. “you’re sorry for what? leaving or are you sorry for what you said last night? are you going to tell me you didn’t mean it now?” and you could only shake your head even though he couldn’t see.

“all of it.” you choked out.

“all- ha, all of it?” his laugh was dry. your silence was answer enough.

“you left me. you left me without an explanation. without a single note and then you changed your number! i thought you had just left the set but i came home to find you gone. what could i have possibly done that would have deserved that? what did i do?”

“it’s…” you started from the other side of the door, tears falling at the desperation in his voice. but mark was on a roll, months of pent up frustration and sadness finally boiling over.

“you were there with me and then you weren’t and you hurt me, y/n. you absolutely broke my heart, you know that? i almost quit the movie entirely.”

“if you had, then it would have been for nothing.” you cried from the other side of the door.

“what are you even talking about?”

you flung open the door suddenly, mark taking in your tear stained face, your eyes red and bloodshot.

“i left you for you, mark.”

“i don’t-.”

“you said i broke your heart, but i broke my own first. i left you for you!”

“i never asked you to do that!”

“you didn’t have to! she did it for you. i left so i wouldn’t hold you back anymore. i was holding you back, i was burdening you, i was keeping you from the successful career you worked so hard to achieve.” you placed your hand on your chest and took a deep breath, “i admit that i was a coward in not waiting, but i couldn’t handle hearing the confirmation of it all from you. so i did it for you, i left so i wouldn’t be selfish.” you spat out the last word like it was poison, the word that had been torturing you these past five months, all while pointing your finger at mark as if to drive home your point.

“she-? you… selfish? what the hell are you even talking about?” he asked, eyebrows fully drawn together in confusion. you scoffed.

“don’t act as if you hadn’t talked to her about me. about how you couldn’t tell me any of this because i was fragile.” your mouth twisted with that sentence, and your emotions didn’t know whether to be angry or sad. so you continued to cry because, yeah, that would cover all the bases.

marks mouth clicked shut as things started to come together in his mind. pieces falling into place and then he was suddenly livid.

mark was silent for a moment, his lips pursed and his eyes thunderous - you could only assume that fury was directed at you considering his eyes never left yours, and you swallowed nervously.

“y/n…” mark started slowly, his voice dropping dangerously low in his anger, “who exactly do you mean when you say the word ‘she’?”

you hesitated a little, never knowing mark to get this angry.

“your… manager.” you murmured and mark’s jaw clenched, and you felt your anger dissipate entirely as his took over. as the seconds ticked on, you watched as mark reached into his back pocket and withdrew his phone, he only broke eye contact for a second to click the name he was searching for and he brought his eyes back to yours. your eyebrows drew together in confusion.

who would he be calling during the middle of the argument - and finally you heard it when the other person answered the phone and you could recognize that sickly sweet voice anywhere. your jaw dropped and you made to stomp away when mark used his other hand to gently hold onto your arm, pulling you a bit closer than you were before to stand in front of him.

“mark, honey, i’ve been waiting for you to call! how’s korea? you just have to tell me all about it.” she asked loudly through the phone and you frowned at the way she spoke to mark.

“korea’s fine,” he chirped politely as if his eyes weren’t telling you otherwise. “my family is well, the wedding is going as planned, and linda, you’ll never guess who i ran into!”

“oh do tell, you know i love the gossip.” she laughed through the phone and you saw mark’s eyes darken.

“y/n.” the anger in which he said your name, but it not being directed at you, was both a relief and worried you at the same time.

the deafening silence from her end was answer enough for mark.

“and she told me the funniest story,” snark dripping from every word, “hilarious actually. but i think i’d rather hear it from the horses mouth, you know?”

“look, mark, sweetie, i’m sure she misunderstood or she must have been confused by our conversation that day, i only meant to tell her-“

“what?” mark interjected. “tell her that she was burdening me? holding me back? that i called her fragile? i think that’s exactly what you meant.”

she hesitated before answering, but her answering tone was the same as she used with you that day.

sweet condescension.

“well, yes. she was bad for you,” she said shortly.

“oh no, i disagree entirely. i think the one bad for me, was in fact, you.” and she sputtered on the other end of the phone and you couldn’t help the small upturn of your lips to hear her at a loss for words, the smile not going unnoticed by mark if the softening of his eyes were any indicator.

you realized in that moment how you let your anxiety and self doubts ruin something that was perfectly fine to begin with.

linda scoffed, the haughty sound coming in loud through the phone’s speaker.

“oh, please. you’ll thank me someday when you’re big and famous, dating some supermodel. someone at your level of fame.”

mark was silent, his eyes taking in your face and he knew how hard hearing things like this must have been for you. he knew of your insecurities, and he thought he did his best to reassure you but he realized the one time it mattered most, he let it slip through the cracks.

he realized his lack of presence in that moment ruined what you both had.

linda took his extended pause as agreement with what she was saying.

“see? you know that i’m right. anyway, mark, honey, let’s-!” mark cut her off mid-sentence.

“no, what i know… is that you’re fired.” he said calmly, and your eyebrows raised and your eyes widened and you opened your mouth to argue - yes, you hated the woman but she had helped him with his career. mark lifted the hand that had been gently holding your arm to place a finger on your lips, effectively shutting you up with a smile on his face.

linda screeched through the phone, an abrasive noise that sounded awfully like a dying cat.

“you can’t fire me, you ungrateful d-.” and mark hung up the phone, tossing it onto the counter of the kitchenette behind him.

you swallowed thickly now at the sudden silence that fell over the room. mark moved his hand from your lips to wipe the tears that had ran down your face earlier and you avoided eye contact with him then at the gentleness of his hands.

“mark, i…”

“you said you loved me, so you left. did you stay away because you loved me too? change your number for the same reason?”

you nodded, “i thought i would be making it easier for you…”

“do you still love me now?” your eyes snapped back up to his. you decided to be truthful.

“i can’t do anything but love you.” mark’s smile at your answer ignited butterflies in your stomach.

“and i…” he said stepping closer into your space, reaching down to hold your hand in his as he brought it to his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that you could feel. “i have no choice but to love you.”

you felt tears well up again in your eyes at his admission, and you bit your lip to try to keep them from spilling over.

“you still… are you still in love with me?” your voice quivered, and you cleared your throat trying to tame the burning sensation that came with holding back your tears.

“without a doubt.”

“well, if you really do love me… if you love me like i love you then…” you looked between his eyes to his lips, and as you blinked the tears you had been holding back fell. and mark tilted his head, his playful smile making you smile with him through the tears.

“then kiss me.”

mark didn’t waste any more time, one hand tangling itself in your hair and the other cupping your jaw tenderly and you melted into the kiss, wrapping your arm around his neck and pulling his body flush against yours. five months of anger and sadness and longing pouring out in the movement of your lips. you were crying still but the tears were more out of happiness this time and mark continued to kiss you through it. he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, lips centimeters from yours, his breath hitting your lips and you closed your eyes, both of you breathing heavily. his voice was soft when he spoke.

“five months spent wasted because i didn’t reassure you enough, i’m… i’m so sorry, y/n.”

“and five months gone because i was too afraid to talk to you… i’m sorry, too.” and you opened your eyes to see he had tears in his eyes this time and you let out a small laugh.

“did you miss me that much?” you joked softly, eyes shining with the happiness that you had pushed down finally seeping through.

“shut up,” he groaned and swept in to kiss you again.

that night, neither of you slept alone in your separate beds.

.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.

the next day found you and mark, surprisingly (to everyone else) friendly, almost flirty, with each other and it didn’t go unnoticed by everyone else in the wedding party. ryujin walked down the aisle to an overjoyed donghyuck and the proceedings went on without a hitch.

the reception was loud, and a bit wild as after the first dance, no other slow song was played. ryujin and donghyuck made it feel like you were clubbing, and if you danced with mark a tiny bit provocatively, no one seemed to notice or care.

during one of your breaks from dancing while you stood near one of the tables, you felt a hand tap on your shoulder and you turned to face them. once you saw their face, your jaw dropped.

“it’s you!” you couldn’t help the gratitude that laced your voice.

the old lady from the airport stood there, the wrinkles from years of smiling showing proudly on her face.

“see, i told you everything would be okay, didn’t i?”

you nodded, smiling and you couldn’t help yourself when you leaned in and gave the woman a hug.

“grandma? you know y/n?” it was mark’s confused voice that came from over your shoulder, coming behind you to rest his hand on the small of your back.

“oh, not really…” she gave you a secret smile, and continued, “but mark, dear. do tell ryujin and donghyuck it was a beautiful wedding for me, i’m sorry but i’m too old to stay up with the younger crowd nowadays.” she patted mark on the arm and said goodnight to you both, leaving you with a wink. mark looked back and forth between you and her and you only shrugged in answer, and you pulled him back out to the dance floor with a smile.

eventually, the night had to come to an end though, but not before the traditional throwing of the bouquet. you were pulled onto the floor with the other bridesmaids and the second ryujin tossed the flowers over her head, the other girls dispersed leaving you to be the only one standing to catch it. you were confused at first but when ryujin gave you a knowing smile, you couldn’t help but laugh at their group effort. and so you turned around to find mark smiling at you and clapping at the edge of the crowd, and you smiled brightly at him as if he hung the stars himself, newfound confidence in every step as you walked up to him.

you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him fully in front of the guests who remained, mostly the small group of friends who all knew each other well. mark wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you slightly off the ground, while your friends cheered dramatically behind you.

breaking the kiss you smiled at mark before he set you down, and both you and mark turned and caught sight of ryujin and donghyuck sharing a highly triumphant high five.

it all clicked then, every step had been planned by your cunning best friend… and you couldn’t even be mad anymore.

how could you be, when it all turned out to be okay?

.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.°.

epilogue:

you sat at the table of celebrities like you belonged there, no longer feeling as if you were the misfit amongst them.

a year and a half had passed since ryujin and donghyuck’s wedding and with it came changes.

all of them, you could say, were good.

you battled your anxiety and won… well mostly won, you still had your moments but the second you called mark for reassurance, he was there in an instant with gentle words of affirmation, which you discovered was your love language.

you and mark got married six months after donghyuck and ryujin did, and mark’s reasoning was sound in his opinion.

“i spent five months apart from you, and i think i’ll die if i have to do it again. so i’m locking you down, babe.”

you couldn’t argue with him on that.

and now this moment, the moment where upon hearing mark’s name being called you stood up and cheered, clapping a little louder than the famous people next to you. mark kissed you quickly before running up on stage to receive his award.

it wasn’t an oscar… yet.

but the golden globe would do.

his speech went as he rehearsed with you in your bedroom in the off chance he won. being nominated was enough for him, he had said but you encouraged him to have a speech prepared, just in case.

you had no doubts he would win tonight.

you were right.

his speech was coming to an end, something you could quote with him word for word, until you heard him derail from what he practiced beforehand.

“and i just wanna say the biggest thanks of all to my wife. who, without her, only half of my dream would have been achieved,” he gestured the award to you and the smile he wore was lighting up his entire face. “without you, this wouldn’t matter at all to me. so this one’s all for you, babe. thank you.”

you stood and clapped again, accepting mark back to his seat with an excited hug.

fate - well, ryujin - may have had it out for you, but it was okay in the end.

and you could honestly live with that.

#gimmehyuck #masterlist #nct 127 #nct 127 au #nct #nct dream #nct dream au #mark au #mark lee #mark lee au #mark lee fic #mark lee x you #mark lee x reader #mark lee x y/n #mark lee fluff #mark lee angst #technically?#this made me fall for mark so hard ngl #he’s so precious

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alittlehurtwithyourcomfort · 5 months

Text

Vigilante Kdrama Whumplist

Character: Kim Ji Yong (played by Nam Joo-hyuk)

Age Rating: TV-MA

Show available on Hulu

Genre: Crime, Mystery, Action, Superhero

Synopsis: Kim Ji Yong, a student at the police academy, lost his mother at the hands of a local gangster when he was young; he becomes a vigilante and kills criminals. (via Google)

Note: This is a dark series, there's a good amount of whump but be careful watching because it handles very sensitive subjects.

TW's: blood and gore, violence towards women and children, domestic abuse, gun violence, sexual assault/non-con, suicide, mental illness

List Key:

bold = most whump, best whump, or favorite whump scenes

~ = a scene break

THIS LIST CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES!

--------------------------------------------------------------------

1x01: angry, punched, covered in blood (not his own), teary-eyed ~~ sparred ~~ multiple fights, angry

1x02: angry, worried ~~ angry, pushed up against a wall and kissed (kind of non-consensual), drugged, very out of it ~~ rough awakening, frustrated ~~ teary-eyed ~~ covered in blood (not his own) teary-eyed ~~ exhausted

1x03: stressed ~~ angry, heavy breathing

1x04: rough fight, argued, bloody face ~~ treating cuts on his face ~~ bruised and bandaged face ~~ confrontation

1x05: fought, stressed ~~ chased, angry, teary-eyed, very rough fight, choked, very bloody face, struggling to breathe

1x06: (scene cont. from previous ep) strained voice, punched, collapsed, groaning ~~ unconscious in hospital bed, slowly waking up, bandaged, bruised face, oxygen cannula ~~ bruised face ~~ covered in blood (not his own) ~~ angry

1x07: stressed ~~ argued, teary-eyed

1x08: fought, cut face ~~ very rough fights, bloody face and mouth, sad, stabbed in the leg, in pain, collapsed, weak, unconscious ~~ bandaged, bruised face

#whump #whump community #whumplist #whump blog #whumplists #kdrama whump #whump recs #kdrama whumplist #vigilante #vigilante kdrama #nam joo hyuk

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oh-saints · 1 year

Note

anything with max please! but please make it happy ending?

taking a little break from footballers, shall we?

you

despite all the success and achievements max verstappen has secured in his bag, there's still one thing he wishes to have but knows he can't.

max verstappen x doctor!reader

note: this is inspired by one of the scene from one of my favourite kdrama; hospital playlist (s1; 2020). i hope i do the drama some justice for its amazing rollercoaster ride (#spoiler) so max can be humbled for a minute. but this time, i happen to write during my family trip so this is not proof-read yet.

when the name of his very bestfriend popped up, max couldn't hold back from smiling.

he'd previously told her that he's coming back tonight and asked if she was free for a catch up session. due to the nature of their jobs, the two friends couldn't see each other as much as they'd love to.

if he had his way, she wouldn't be working as hard as she is now. nothing in this world can make max's life better—and this was saying a lot when he's achieved everything earthly possible—than to have her at every race. win or lose, max knows there's always someone waiting on him to cross the finish line, as long as he's safe and sound.

nobody ever asks that of him. it's always wins, titles. no matter the cost, no matter the consequence of this very dangerous sport.

"hi—"

"can you come over tonight?"

max's heart immediately took a free dive.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

"so sorry i called you very late into the night,"

she didn't let him express how much he'd missed seeing her. as soon as she opened the door, she strode back inside of her apartment. her hands immediately reached for the white pristine coat hanging on the wall as she passed by.

"i got a call from the hospital but my nanny's not picking up,"

max was still silent. they'd fallen into the habit of her saying the same thing and he'd remembered them all by now. after this, she'd cited her usual justification. "sorry, i forgot telling you about it because there's always someone calling me when i want to do that."

"sorry, i forgot to tell you—"

"i know, i understand," and max truly does. with how little monaco is, he understands she becomes a well-sought surgeon here. he's actually rather proud, if anything. "go save the world."

she looked up at him from behind the kitchen counter, and max swore she looked dashing as ever, with the gentle yellow lighting highlighting her features. she is one of the rare kind, one who never needs an elaborative piece of clothing to enhance her beauty. she is inner beauty personified—at least per max's standard, but supposedly it says a lot because max isn't kidding when he said he'd seen the bests of the world.

"thank you, max. you don't know how grateful i am of you," and that smile right there, radiating gentleness and calmness and pure yet gratitude, is the very reason why he always heeds to her whims. "but my kid's burning right now so can you do things i've listed down here while i'm gone?"

"sure."

there went another of max's resolution, even before he knows what she'd asked of him. he's so puny in her hands that his father once gaslighted him with her as a bait. so different to the cold, ruthless max verstappen everyone labels him to be.

after running through everything on the list together and making sure max understood them once more, for she wouldn't be able to be contacted for at least the next 3 hours, she finally put her arms to the coat hanging on her shoulder proudly. she reached for her bag, and when she was about to pick up the car keys, max halted her hand.

"please use taxi," he said, and she wondered why. "for my sanity sake, knowing you'll make it safe there."

she wanted to argue that there was no guarantee she'd make it safe with a taxi, no different than driving on her own, but she nodded wordlessly. she'd asked max to come down here in short notice, not long after he told her he was in town and only to make him babysit her kid, but he'd come with no question asked. taking taxi was the least she could do for him.

it seemed like the kid knew she left their home, for the cry ensued not long after, like a chick looking for the hen. thankfully it wasn't max's first rodeo, more over when his girlfriend has her kid of her own.

unfortunately.

"hey, hey," he cooed gently, and the little one scratched the teary eyes, crying stopped at the sight of max. he was always the favourite in this household, always coming here with something in his hands the kid doesn't know it exists. toys, actions figures, you name it. "are you okay?"

"maxie?" suddenly he remembered his sister's comment about his father instinct spiking whenever this particular kid was around. he'd even let them call him by his first name, no specific title else needed. so unlike him, when he taught leo and luka to call him by "oom maxie" or uncle maxie in dutch.

"thirsty or hungry, schatje?" max immediately picked up the split version of his best friend, and the feeling of being hugged back affectionately by his best friend's entire world contended the best feeling in the world for him. it was as if the little treasure was trying to get a hold of him entirely with their little arms and hands, like he meant the world for them.

like he is the world to them as much as the kid means the world to him. oh, if only they knew...

the kid passionately shook their head as soon as they tucked themselves comfortably against the crook of his neck. max paced back and forth for them, in hope his bouncy steps would calm them down.

"alright, lieve. you let me know when you do, okay?"

but he was only met by soft snores.

he peered down at his best friend's entire world, the axis to her existence, the reason behind her juggling her personal and professional world just to make sure they get only the best of both worlds. for that alone, max had already loved the kid like his own.

and he'd love to have them as his own, providing everything the kid's heart desire, knowing he could give them everything of it at a heartbeat. knowing he could give them what they deserve, after being deprived of a proper, fatherly love for so long.

if only she let him. if only she saw him as one.

but max knew it all boiled down to him. if only he'd denied her desire to get married to that good-for-nothing that turned out to be a cheating bastard she called her ex-husband, she wouldn't have to suffer everything of this on her own. the child didn't have to go through all the mess life would bring to someone so early in their age.

it pained him that he never let out the "marry me instead" that was poking the tip of his tongue when she'd asked you to be her men of honour. it hurt max verstappen to the point of no return, more than being robbed a championship win, that he could've had the smart kid with her instead from a long time ago, and a life he'd always dreamed of building.

with her, and no one else.

because he knew that whatever he was feeling right now, as he was holding her entire life in the home she built so hard despite the single-mother stigma, is the closest thing to right in this life that feels so wrong.

not even his multiple championship titles he had in his bag. not even the feeling of winning a race so many he'd grown accustomed to. per max verstappen's standard, that was given; with so much hard work he'd been putting since he could walk, thanks to his father.

his phone dinged, breaking his train of thought. it was the alarm that he'd set up to remind him of the checklist she'd made for him. the sound stirred the child in their sleep, and as they noticed him walking away from the room, they whined, "please stay, maxie."

like the effect of the mother had on him, he succumbed to the whim. but good lord, my goodness, there had never been something as liberating as that. it was a paradoxic feeling where you don't feel weak as you surrender yourself, instead it grew so much on him that someone needed him. it feels so damn good to be needed by someone, his heart soared so high as the revelation hit him.

maybe that was what max verstappen had been yearning for.

that one piece in his life that anyone around him didn't know how to fill the void. a home to go back to, he thought, as he fell asleep in such a ridiculous position to fit the crib's size.

but due to his lightning reflex towards every sound and movement around him, max jolted up when he heard a click of the door closing. it was small; he deducted it wasn't mean to be disturbing.

that could only be her checking up on him.

the kid was now drenched in sweat in his embrace, so he decided to change the pajamas first before heading out of the nursery. he did it as fast as he could because he knew she was making his favourite mushroom soup outside from the smell of it.

the pang on his chest came back as he got out of the child's room, only to be met by his best friend's back from the kitchen, busy scooping her signature delicacy to a bowl matching the set only designated for her and her child—his bowl—because it looked so domestic. they looked so domestic like this. they looked like they'd make a great family.

yes, it wasn't the first time they did this, but that was what made it hurt all the same everytime he came over.

"how was the surgery?"

just in time when she turned her body to him. she smiled immediately, both at the sight of a disheveled max and at the question thrown at her. max looked so bulky in the house full of her delicate touch, so different yet not out of touch, for his question brought warmth to her chest.

it'd been a while since someone had asked the question—the simplest question of asking how she'd been holding up at work—that didn't come out from her child's mouth. from someone who actually knew how hard it was to make a living. from someone who was genuinely interested at what she did. from someone all of the above.

"got a bleeding out of hand but all's good now," she'd spare the bloody detail later. right now, she just wanted to bask how peaceful their rhythms are as the f1 winner took a seat on the other end of the kitchen counter. "i hope my kid's not a hassle for you."

"you and your kid can never be a hassle to me," max made sure to stare down at her as he replied her, wanting her to know he wasn't kidding. "i love spending time with you two."

and it scared her deep down to see max so set on what he said. she could only hope he wasn't implying anything else behind his words, for she was afraid it would bring unattained hope to her heart.

despite her strong display she'd paraded around the town, she is only a human with two hands and feet and a heart. and she is a woman, first and foremost, who was once in love in max verstappen.

the real max verstappen before all the achievements, the fame, the titles. when max verstappen had eyes only for the glory, and never hungry for anything else.

but the one-sided journey could be so lonely, she never realised that. it resulted her finding love in a hopeless place. at least that was was she thought, love, until she discovered her ex was cheating with one of her fellow doctors.

so she knew she had to extinguish every kind of sparks before it grew stronger. especially now, where every of her decision doesn't only affect her, but her child also.

"spend your time for something else, max," she smiled bitterly now and max already hated whatever her mind fed her just seconds ago. "tell me, what's your favourite thing to do in your spare time? going for a vacation?"

"whatever it is we're doing now," max replied, soup still untouched. it frightened her that the eyes were not just set anymore; she'd recognised that winning determination anywhere. "wanna know why?"

she sat down, eyes trying to hold his, ignoring the fluttering feeling inside of her and set her mind to simply wanting to know the words he had in mind. max took it as an invitation to might as well break it down.

"because it's you. it's always been you."

#anon asks #oh-saints answers #oh-saints writes #max verstappen #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen blurbs #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen oneshot #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fics #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #oh-saints writes request

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sousrantings · 8 months

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BEST KDRAMA OUT THERE, ARGUE WITH THE WALL.

#comfort show #comfort kdrama #reply 1988 #sung deok sun #kim junghwan #choi taek #lee hyeri #ryu jun yeol #park bo gum #kdrama #netflix #korean

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dgybbvrcsacgswtcbkyv · 1 year

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My favorite couple in Our Blues Kdrama (which, by the way is the best drama series on the planet argue with the wall) is the 'tan ocean boy who assists his big brother in sailing a ship' and 'cutest girl ever with her lil coffee cart'. They're just the cutest ever. Her thinking he likes her sister at first. Her not understanding how he could like her cause she's deaf. Him agreeing to quit his job immediately cause she doesn't like people who work in the ocean.

ARGHHHH THEYRE SO CUTE THEYRE THE ONLY HET COUPLE I CARE FOR

#our blues #kdrama

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artsyhobi · 3 years

Text

Cursed

Divine Gods!BTS x reader

series masterlist

Chapter one, Calico Cat.

characters: mortal!fem!reader, god of the moon!park jimin, god of the sun!jung hoseok, god of death and darkness!min yoongi, god of the four elements!kim namjoon, god of time!kim seokjin, god of nature and life!jeon jungkook, god of mischief!kim taehyung.

a/n: hello ! i hope you enjoy this first chapter, i actually took inspo from Goblin (which is a kdrama i absolutely loved ;;) and i'm sorry in advance for my poor writing, but english is not my first language ...

trigger warning: mentions of blood, violence and death, curse words.

tag-list: @greezenini, @fangirl125reader, @motherofbludgers

Min Yoongi sat on the throne, his legs elegantly crossed as he rested his forearms on the armrest. He slightly raised his left arm so that the tip of his index finger could lightly brush against his lower lip, his eyebrows mildly furrowed in a focused expression.

The black-haired man continued playing with his lip, then reached for something in the pocket of his silk pants and held the object in the palm of his hand: it was a vintage pocket watch entirely made out of gold, with a ruby located right at its center. The hands of the watch moved mechanically, producing a “tic” sound that resonated in his mind like an irritating echo.

Yoongi hated time. What was ironic, though, is that he had too much of it: he had an Eternity.

Yoongi glared at the antique object once more. A satisfied smirk appeared on the corner of his lips, depicting anything but an innocent smile. He stood up, adjusting his coat and grabbing his black bowler hat in a swift movement before taking some steps forward: as he walked, the dark throne room surrounding him became gradually more distant and, in a matter of seconds, the man was walking in the busy and snowy streets of Seoul. The snow crunched under the soles of his shoes, the snowflakes that landed on his coat immediately melted, and as he passed by, nobody seemed to notice his presence.

The street was crowded with people rushing to purchase the last Christmas presents, couples holding hands, and kids eating strawberry cotton candy. Disgusting, thought Yoongi as he curled his nose.

“One minute and thirty-three seconds.” He murmured to himself, turning into a deserted alley after checking the correct street name on a brick wall nearby. As he walked, the bright white snow became dirtier until there were just a few clusters of it on the side of the path. It started snowing heavier.

“Fifty-eight seconds.”

“I told you there were consequences!” A hoarse male voice shouted in the distance. Yoongi stopped hands into the pockets of his coat. “You’re a worthless bitch!”

There was a loud bang, followed by two others, and a feeble female voice asking for help. No one could hear her, and even if her cries reached someone’s ears, no one would help her since - according to Min Yoongi - humans were nothing but greedy mortal souls that enjoyed the sufferings of others. They were too occupied with spending their money on materialistic goods and developing toxic, violent, and possessive relationships. They were human beings but had no humanity left in their hearts.

He approached the poor woman laying on the ground, her hand resting on her stomach: blood was gushing out of her bullet wounds, dripping down in a pool of crimson absorbed by the snow. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered the same words over and over again, “Help me”.

He crouched down beside her and tilted his head, observing her like a detective inspected a victim. He knew that her time was up and that she was destined to die there, alone, desperately waiting for someone to find her.

“S-Sir…” She mumbled, some blood running down from the corner of her mouth. “P-please help me…” Her hand desperately clutched the hem of his coat, smearing it with her blood.

Yoongi sharply exhaled and rolled his eyes, turning his head to the side.

“Fancy seeing you follow me everywhere I go, Jungkook.” He stated, reluctantly standing up to face a man leaning against the brick wall, his arms crossed.

“Did you miss me?” Jungkook grinned.

He seemed almost like an angel since the clothes he wore were entirely white. His blond hair brushed against his shoulders, and a pair of long crystal earrings hung from his ears, sparkling as soon as they moved. Yoongi, on the contrary, was his polar opposite: his short wavy locks were as black as pitch, and although his eyes were a dull brown, they almost felt like looking into two holes, black as a night without stars.

“Seokjin sent me here to stop you from reaping her soul,” he affirmed, playing with the many rings he wore on his fingers, “It’s not her time yet.”

Yoongi scoffed, slightly amused at his statement. “Don’t you see the three holes on her stomach… Or do you need a magnifying glass? I am the one who decides if she dies today, not that Doctor Strange wannabe.” He took some steps toward him until his face was a few inches away from his, “I don’t take orders from a teenager.”

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, the slight grin disappeared. “These are not my orders but his, and you know you must obey him.” He lightly shoved Yoongi’s shoulder without interrupting eye contact with him, trying to remain calm. He kneeled beside the woman and caressed her hair, a sad smile depicted on his pink lips, while Yoongi stared angrily at the two.

“Don’t even think about it, Jungkook, her soul is already mine.” He said through gritted teeth.

“It is, you’re right.” The blond whispered and delicately put his hand on the woman’s chest. “But not now, Yoongi, you will have to wait.”

“Wait!?” Yoongi exclaimed in disbelief, and then frantically ran a hand through his black locks, “This has to be a joke, is Taehyung with you?”

“He is not,” He responded as a gleam of light formed under the palm of his hand, turning brighter by the second, “I haven’t seen him in ages.” This time his tone was lower, and his expression had darkened. Yoongi nodded, having no interest in knowing what had happened between the two friends.

“I suppose you won’t tell me why Seokjin wants to spare her life.”

“He just told me to stop you, nothing more.”

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lies,” he snarled, “you are his little obedient puppy, Jungkook, we all know it.”

Jungkook inhaled the sharp, cold air and smiled as the woman opened her dark eyes. “I’m not here to fight, Yoongi, so you can insult me how much you want.” The blond took the now conscious woman into his arms and glared directly at his former friend. “But nothing will change the fact that you’re on your own now.”

Yoongi turned around, ready to argue back, but there was no trace of Jungkook.

The black-haired man remained still as he watched the empty spot, sighing, a strange feeling at the pit of his stomach.

20 years later

“Chung-Ae, we’ve already talked about this!” You groaned in annoyance, sinking your face into your Pikachu plushie. “I’m happy here!”

Chung-Ae sat on the counter, her arms supporting her as she gave you a stern look. You peeked, escaping the protection of your plushie, noticing that she wore purple lenses - although her stare was as scary as it had always been -.

“You’re a twenty-two-year-old living in an old house, with your three cats, and working in a cat-café.” She emphasized the “and” as if working in such a wonderful place was something to be ashamed of.

“That’s the best life!” You exclaimed as you sat comfortably on your sofa. “I mean, why would I need to move to Seul with a bunch of horny people when I could just spend the rest of my life in peace?”

Chung-Ae sighed loudly.

“They’re not just a bunch of horny people. They are my friends.”

You parted your lips to respond, wanting to remind her about the last party you both had attended, but she cut you off.

“Y/N, you live alone in such an abandoned area, it’s dangerous; it even takes you more than an hour to reach the café.” She slid down from the counter and sat next to you, putting her hand on your shoulder. “Trust me, I know that you’re attached to this place, but it doesn’t work for you anymore.”

She was right, you loved that place. Your grandparent’s house was located in the countryside, in a small rural village that was scarcely populated. The few young people remaining had started moving to bigger cities such as Seul or Busan, but not you. You adored waking up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning and the gurgling of the river. You got used to being alone, and you didn’t mind it. You couldn’t understand why Chung-Ae tried to force you to move with her, but she was rather determined, and you knew she was going to insist.

“Chung-Ae,” you reached for her hand and squeezed it delicately, a small smile forming on your lips. “You know I can’t leave, I promised my mother I would take care of this house.”

“You have to stop living in the past, Y/N.” She firmly stated. “This house is falling apart, and so is your life. Moving to Seul with me is your best option.”

Her eyes stared into yours for a few seconds, and you felt unreasonably guilty. You knew how much she cared about you, and you were constantly giving her “no” as answers. She retracted her hand, reaching for her purse right beside her, before standing up. “You still have time to think about it. You know that, right?” Her hand was on the doorknob.

Your mind wanted to decline her offer, but your heart told you otherwise, so you just nodded.

“Take care, Y/N.” And with that, she closed the door behind her, leaving you alone once again.

You finally took a deep breath running your palms down your face in an exasperated manner. Chung-Ae was your childhood friend, and she had always been by your side. You had met her in elementary school: she was popular amongst your class since her father was a renowned lawyer who worked for big celebrities, but you - on the other hand - weren’t as popular. You weren’t a social butterfly and preferred spending your time playing with the stray cats in your neighborhood.

You stood up and walked toward the kitchen, deciding to make yourself a homemade chicken noodle soup. You put the ingredients on the counter and started to chop the carrots into strings. As you were about to grab something, you heard a strange noise coming from outside: you reminisced Chung-Ae’s words and felt a shiver run through your spine, but you shook your head, mentally reassuring yourself that it must have been a wild animal.

You grabbed the celery from the fridge, deciding that you would drink some strawberry milk while waiting for the soup to cook. However, when you closed it, you were taken aback by a calico cat sitting on the floor, right in front of you. Your eyes were wide open in surprise since your three cats were all black, and you crouched down. “Hello, little one,” you gently smiled as you observed the little creature staring at you with a pair of light blue eyes, “I wonder how you got in…”

You inspected the room looking for any open windows but soon discovered you had closed everything. When you turned your gaze back to the cat, it was gone. Puzzled, you stood back up, massaging your temples. Am I hallucinating? You asked yourself before resuming your dish.

After literally devouring your delicious meal and doing the dishes, you headed to your room, where you found the windows wide open. You didn’t remember leaving them like that, but you also didn’t mind the fresh breeze coming from outside. It was a quiet night of July, and the moon was shining vividly in the sky, its brightness being the only source of light in the room. As you approached your bed, you couldn’t help but notice the shape of a cat on the window ledge, but when you came near, it had mysteriously vanished.

"Okay, Y/N, you're probably tired." You told yourself while sitting on the bed. As you laid down, feeling the freshness of your newly washed sheets, you heard another sound and then a chorus of meows coming from the living room. You sighed, reluctantly standing up, wearing a hoodie before walking down the stairs.

"What is it, guys, did you hurt yourselves?" You asked as your three black cats, Luna, Mars, and Pluto, continued meowing toward the front door. You groaned, "Alright, I will check."

You weren't ready for what you were about to see: you expected nothing but pitch darkness or that calico cat that was apparently haunting you now. But as you opened the wooden door, you froze on the spot at the sight of a man leaning his arm on the doorframe.

Because of the darkness, you could only see his silver hair reflecting the moonlight and a pair of light blue eyes staring at you in curiosity.

"Hello, little one."

#bts ot7 x reader #bts series #kim taehyung x reader #bts imagine #bts x reader #bts fanfic #park jimin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #kim namjoon x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jung hoseok x reader #min yoongi x reader

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wincore · 4 years

Text

sour tangerine | huang renjun

pairing: keyboardist!renjun x songwriter!reader

words: 15.3k

summary: ‘i gave up on that sort of music,’ he’d said. but not like this. not when you’re there to grab his wrist and drag him into your ridiculous notions about music that make him want to tear all his hair out. huang renjun falls in love with two words that escape your lips, and now he has to pretend his cheeks aren’t caked in a blush as red as donghyuck’s guitar. maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to joining this band of idiots just for an incredibly cute songwriter.

themes: rock band!au, fluff, (mostly existential) angst, comedy-ish

warnings: making out, alcohol, college kids being college kids

song recs: hello sunshine - wetter // how to love - day6 // today - nell // rooftop - n.flying // what can i do - day6 // red - the rose // i loved you - day6 // leave it - n.flying // baby - the rose

a/n: nct dream 00 line rock band. that’s it. who wants to join my renjun cover literally any song by day6 agenda. if you think this is like a kdrama compressed into a fic i am so sorry but you are correct hsdksh also i do not know what it’s like to major in music or make music so... please bear with me.

special thanks to @insomni-writing for beta reading this ilysm!! and @cinanamon because your support made me actually finish this ily dude <3

With hair dyed blond and a stream of colourful words ready at the tip of his tongue, no one assumes Huang Renjun majors in classical music. Not when he’s threatening Lee Donghyuck by the vending machine, not when he’s pulling an arrogant half-smile by the semester-end results and certainly not when he’s hardly ever seen near an instrument as elegant as the grand piano.

If they heard him play it just once, they’d forget the rest.

He strikes the keys gently, and then all at once in a motion so very unique to him—and you know this, not because you were stalking him, but because you happened to get a very rare ticket to the national level performing arts concert (which you didn’t scam out of someone that time, you swear). Looking pristine in a clean tuxedo and with then dark hair swept to the side, Huang Renjun looked very much like an alien, like the words leaving his mouth and the things he’d do would be so unpredictable.

You were right.

Huang Renjun plays the piano like he’s not of this world.

He plays soft rock tunes even better—which, this time, you know because you were, in fact, stalking him while he spent extra hours in the practice room. From the lazy smile on his face to the way he let himself loose (for once) in a hot pink hoodie he kept trying to cover with his bag all day, you knew he was perfect.

Out of all the miserably planned (and timed) situations you’ve pulled yourself into, this might just hit top 3.

You’re going to convince Renjun to join your band.

Which is easier said than done, because Renjun is just as stubborn as you are, if not more. You’ve never wanted to smack someone so bad and neither have you ever contemplated the outcome of spontaneous fistfights as much. But as frustrated as he leaves you, you know you need him, or your picture-perfect plan will fall apart before you’ve even started to paint.

The first time you’d nudged him in class, he’d sent you a glare as soon as the question left your lips. You’d fought a pout, the warmth on your cheeks popping like firecrackers. But you’re not easily discouraged, no, not really, not ever.

The second time, you’d spread your arms in front of him to get him to stop walking off, looking more of a lunatic than a college student (sometimes, what’s the difference?) and Renjun had pursed his lips and furrowed his brows in an expression more than annoyed.

“Please!” you yelled, catching the attention of fellow students.

Renjun eyed your palms flat against each other, elbows raised in a most comical prayer and announced a “No” just as loudly before briskly walking away.

The third time, you’d sent Donghyuck, your lead guitarist, who you really shouldn’t have expected to perform better than you did. You know they’re friends, so that should have worked better, right? Wrong. Renjun had returned a pouting Donghyuck, complaining nonstop for two whole days afterwards and with a message from Renjun to “in the best of words, fuck off”.

You sigh, glancing at the time on your watch. This is your last time to book him for your ragtag rock band (still unnamed) and you’re going to leave him with no choice. You can do this.

You tiptoe from one side of the corridor to the other, the large windows drenching you in an uncomfortable amount of sunlight. But you are quiet—you know how to be sneaky and you’d be lying if you said you’re not at least a little bit proud of it. Renjun stays at the senior practice room well into late afternoon and if the door was closed fully, you’d be hearing nothing of it.

The old model of electronic keyboards in the practice room, which made you wonder if electric instruments ever rust, now plays ringing clear. It’s not just the fondness with which your school’s beloved pianist plays it but the added charm of his structure, straightened enough to focus but relaxed just as much.

A few minutes pass by in quiet contemplation, as you run through your plan again. First, approach him with a friendly gesture, offer him your strawberry milk or something. Second, block every exit he might seek once you’ve cornered him. Third, spew that long speech you prepared—a pretty pile of words ought to move him. Right? If all else fails, you’re going to call in Jaemin as your secret weapon. The boy can charm a rock, and you hate to be doing that to anyone (even Renjun), but drastic situations call for drastic measures. You take a sharp breath.

Oh, he’s singing now?

You misstep over the marble flooring and the door creaks open a little too loud.

Shit.

The music stops. You take a good second to swear at yourself, well and full, before breathing in and entering the practice room with as much confidence as you can gather.

“Renjun!” you say, grinning wide and arms stretched as if you’re there to welcome him.

Renjun looks at you, surprise smeared across his face. He quickly picks up his bag, shaking his head at you as he makes his way towards the door.

“You- “

Instead of all your brilliant planning, you resort to pulling a disgruntled Renjun into a lonesome corner before he can leave. It would seem more of a threat than an invitation to join, you’ll admit, but right now, you need Renjun to not glare at you with a scowl so obvious. It’s not that his face makes you nervous, it’s the outcome of today’s attempt. The bright afternoon sun reaches his hair and the left side of his face, a warm hue over eyes that look at you with more than just mild annoyance. He wears a grungy dark jacket over his lightly coloured T-shirt and has the audacity to claim he doesn’t do rock.

“Are you trying to kidnap me or something?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his bag.

You quickly smack the wall so your arm blocks his way, though the impact of it makes you wince.

“Join me,” you say, looking at him, determination across your face though the sentence comes off more cult-ish than you’d want.

Renjun takes a step back to look up and take a sharp breath.

“I already told you,” he says, raising his voice, “I don’t do that sort of music anymore.”

“Anymore?”

Renjun groans, lips shaped in perfect annoyance. “Just how long are you going to keep this up?”

He tries to escape you but you take a hasty step closer, his back hitting the wall with a thud. It’s not all that fun, getting people to join your band. It’s even less fun when Renjun’s cologne is a tad too minty for your tastes.

“I’ll do anything!” you say, pressing your lips tight as the pleading grows in your eyes.

“Anything?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” You jolt up straighter.

“Then leave me alone forever for the rest of my life.”

Renjun crosses his arms and you frown, a sigh lacing your lips till you bring yourself to look him in the eye again. It’s not yet time to pull out Jaemin, you’re not even sure if that will work, but you might just have something else.

“Lee Chaerim!” you suddenly yell. “You like her, don’t you?”

It’s a long shot but if it works…

Renjun’s cheeks dust pink and he takes a step back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. Bullseye. You fight a snort before he can catch you. Gods, he’s so obvious.

“Wh-what gave you that idea?” he retorts, pitch shooting higher before he recomposes himself. “She’s a classmate, idiot. And don’t yell her name!”

“Star pianist Lee Chaerim,” you wave your hand about. “Who wouldn’t have a crush on her? I mean you’re a close second though.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “It’s really not…”

“I’ll score you a date with her!” you declare, grinning like a maniac. “If you join my band.”

Renjun sighs, shoulders sagging. “You’re really not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” You shrug, popping the ‘p’ in a helplessly obnoxious manner.

Renjun leans back against the wall, head tilting to look you in the eye as the frown grows prominent over his lips.

“And you think scoring me a date will make me want to join your…band?” Renjun snorts.

You shift your eyes awkwardly. “Well, I didn’t really paint you as the Romeo type either but hey, I don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“(name)?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh. That’s actually the sweetest thing I’ve heard from you,” you muse before quickly returning to the subject at hand. “Ah, come on. Just give it a chance, please?

“I major in classical music.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk crawling over your lips. “And yet you’re more than decent at Queen on the keys.”

Renjun straightens, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “You’re stalking me?!”

“No, I’m scouting you. All the big companies hire people to do that.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Er, it’s called extraordinary.”

“Extraordinarily annoying.”

“Stop arguing with me!” You stomp your foot.

Renjun mimics you in a rather aggressive tone, the tip of his nose almost touching yours. You pull a face, throwing a soft punch at his shoulder to which he responds with a sharp cry and a glare.

“Fine!” Renjun says, massaging his shoulder. “I’ll give you one week to prove to me this band’s worth my time.”

You feel something akin to surprise before his words register. Worth his time? He's just about as arrogant as you expected.

“Deal,” you say, shooting him a forced smile.

From the light periwinkle of his T-shirt to the blond strands astray against his forehead, there’s a sort of halo surrounding him. You press your lips together before you can laugh at his supposed angelic qualities, before he somehow starts to look as pretty as your friends describe.

“Starting today, I’m your lyricist and composer!” you grin, extending your hand towards him.

“I...You…”

Renjun hesitates before taking your hand in a firm shake, but not before pursing his lips in doubt. Perhaps you could have warned him before grabbing his wrist and so unceremoniously dragging him here.

“I didn’t even join,” he mutters.

“I’m giving you the full trial!” you defend.

Renjun stays quiet before suddenly clearing his throat. “You can- You can let go of the wall now.”

Your eyes trail to your hand and you immediately retract it with an “ah”. There’s barely any distance between your chests, and you suppose you were successful in cornering him—a little too effectively. Renjun shakes his head, quickly walking past you with no gesture of goodbye.

“You’re going to be disappointed, (name),” he says quietly before leaving.

You blink in confusion at his disappearing figure.

Whatever. When have you ever paid attention to words of warning? You glance at the back of Renjun’s head from the second floor’s handrail as he rushes down the stairs, albeit a sort of grace to his movement, and sigh.

Donghyuck owes you twenty. You’re going to be rubbing it in his smug face that you’ve recruited, er, almost recruited the unreachable Huang Renjun. And for a date? He must be far more romantic than you thought. You don’t think you’ll ever understand him.

You take a slow, deep breath reaching all the way to your belly.

Your plan is working out. It’s going to work out—soon you can be writing songs to a rhythm and melody of your choice, for people who can hear the words and dance to it. The world’s gonna sing along to your songs, to the chorus to your ambitions.

“Renjun?!”

Between Donghyuck’s agape mouth and Renjun’s defensive stance, you really don’t know who to approach first. This place was apparently the only room in all of Seoul a bunch of college kids could rent out and while all of you dished out a remarkable chunk from your earnings, it was worth every penny. From the ugly orange wallpaper to the stinky couch, you wouldn’t trade a thing in this room, except for maybe Jeno’s withering plant in exchange for a new one. Poor thing’s been dead for as long as you can remember (courtesy of Jaemin).

“(name) actually convinced you?” Donghyuck asks, exaggerated surprise in his voice before he drops it lower. “You can tell me if you were threatened or something, promise I’ll get you out of this.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, a smile making on to his face anyway. “It’s just for a w—mph!”

You slap a hand over Renjun’s mouth, stepping in to grin victoriously at Donghyuck. “See, Hyuck? I told you I’d make it work. Now, pay up.”

“You bet on this?”

The curtains are drawn shut but the room lights are bright in a strange sort of way, like someone in the sixteenth century discovered electricity early and decided to reinvent candlelight out of it. Late afternoon isn’t as gentle as it is in winter, but you’d rather have patches of sunlight decorating the room instead of the garish yellow lights. The lavender air freshener you sprayed a few minutes ago has already settled in, the previous scent of instant noodles, though delicious, finally gone. You should’ve brought the coffee mix, you think with regret. A productive day needs a productive start, as you’ve always been told. (You might have messed up, but it’s never too late, right?)

You think you should have anticipated a little adjustment trouble after all.

Jeno walks headfirst into the mess—with Renjun choking Donghyuck under his arm while you try to not drop the pile of records from the small coffee table and onto the Dorito dust-covered wooden floor. The recorder is safe, a good few feet away from your mayhem.

“Oh, hey Renjun, didn’t know you’re a part of this,” Jeno says, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

“Yeah, I didn’t either,” Renjun mutters in response, loosing up on Donghyuck.

You narrow your eyes. “Wait, you guys know each other?”

“Yeah, we’re in the same dorm,” Jeno answers, shrugging before he drops his bag onto the couch.

You gasp. “You could’ve just asked him all this time?!”

“Uh,” Jeno drawls out before coughing forcefully. There’s a slight change of air, and your inability to read situations, for the first time, is a major help.

“Hello, trouble children,” Jaemin announces as he enters, his bag thrown in Jeno’s direction, who seems relieved for the interruption.

“Oh, hi Renjun!”

“You know him too?” You’re almost offended at this point.

Jaemin stares blankly in confusion. “Yeah, we’re…all…in the same dorm.”

You throw up your head in exasperation, an annoyed huff leaving your parted lips. “And none of you thought of asking him to join?!”

“We didn’t think he’d ever agree,” Jaemin says, glancing at Renjun discreetly.

Renjun stays quiet, shrugging before he plops down on the couch. “Anyone wanna tell me what we’re supposed to do today? Apart from killing Donghyuck?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so bad at rock, paper, scissors,” Donghyuck retorts quietly.

“You cheated!” Renjun sits up straight, glaring.

You raise your palms like the peaceful negotiator you are, and honestly, all they had to do was decide the lead vocal for the new song, which Renjun vehemently rejected.

Donghyuck gasps. “Renjun isn’t half as innocent as he looks. Watch out (name)—oof.”

Renjun elbows him in the stomach, the resulting expression on Donghyuck making you wonder just how much strength Renjun really has.

“Renjun, Donghyuck. You’re both lead,” you say, finalizing.

“What?!”

The two of them look at you, one with betrayal and the other with an emotion very close to murder. It wasn’t easy coming to the decision, sure, but for this song, you’ll be needing Renjun a little bit more. Is it treacherous of you to have picked out the song most suited to him? You have your reasons, however. You’re not letting Renjun leave without experiencing the wonders of performing at a local pub, and in general, you’re a little iffy about letting him leave at all. You need the keys and you need a chance. You have something to prove.

“Just this song, Hyuck,” you sigh. “You know we switch up things every time.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “The show's coming Saturday, right?”

You nod when Renjun interrupts.

“Show?!” he blurts.

“We’re performing,” you answer, shrugging. “You know Odd Fruit? In Hongdae?”

Renjun wrinkles his nose, shifting back. “No? Isn’t that a dive bar?”

“Best place for us,” Jaemin grins, resting his elbows against the headrest beside Renjun. “Saturdays are for rock.”

Renjun sighs. “I don’t- I don’t sing rock.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t peeping or anything but wasn’t that you in the shower? What were you singing again—”

“Okay, okay!” Renjun sits up straight, heaving a sigh, his shoulders moving with it. “I sing Disney songs in the shower, it doesn’t mean anything…”

“We can do that sort of music too.” You grin, tilting your head. “We can do any music!”

“Yeah,” Jeno encourages thoughtfully, “Even idol music!”

“No,” everyone says in unison.

Jeno mutters something under his breath, sulking as he sinks into the couch and crosses his arms after adjusting his bright red baseball cap.

Renjun shakes his head, recomposing himself. “You want me to perform next Saturday?! That wasn’t in the deal!”

You furrow your brows. “I told you it’s a full trial!”

“That’s over a week!” He throws up his hands in exasperation.

“The trial week ends on Friday and Saturday’s just a bonus,” you reason, crossing your arms.

You don't break the gaze just in case it determines your stand. It’s probably a full minute of glaring at each other before your humble audience intervenes, Donghyuck bursting into laughter and the other two following. You share a puzzled look with Renjun, looking around for an explanation.

“We’re gonna have a blast this Saturday,” Donghyuck says, wiping a tear from his eye. “I can’t wait.”

“We’ll get to practise,” Jaemin says, resting his palm on Renjun’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re gonna have fun, trust me.”

“I hope so,” Renjun mutters.

That’s all you need to hear.

Renjun isn’t half as disagreeable when he’s focused. His brow line is straight, lips parted gently and eyes almost hazed over as if his fingers over the keys have eyes of their own.

Renjun is also fantastic at perfecting your notes. You always thought he’d be too prissy to work with you, but he doesn’t seem to care about that anymore. With flushed knuckles and long fingers, part of hands that were meant to play the piano—you’d say Renun lives up to the musical prodigy title. The short demo you’d played for him somehow swirled and twined into music so him and yet still you, rock undertones with light blues. You haven’t met anyone who can play with melody like that, besides Donghyuck.

Rock means hope. Undone to be done.

And maybe, part of you is a little disappointed at how well he handles the pre-performance stress. You would love to see a hint of jitters in him for once. Saturday wastes no time in creeping up and while you wish you could say you feel what your band looks like, you don’t. The pre-performance stress is very, very different for you.

Let’s say, you’re not too sure about reviving rock music in Seoul. It’s not very popular and still considered underground, but hey, at least it’s easy on the ears and it is honest, if nothing else. And an honest sound wins, right?

You lock eyes with Renjun, before they're ushered to the centre. There's not much to be said. You smile with a determined nod, holding up both of your thumbs to the boys. This will work out. It will.

And at the very least, you're getting two shots of whiskey on the house.

The place is shabby, but not too shabby for a dive bar. There’s a giant mural… thing of what seems to be the hybrid of a peach, apricot and dragonfruit. You’re not too sure, actually. Just as crowded as you expected, the lights glow dim and the smell of musk and lime keep in check the other foul smells that could possibly emanate from the human body. Lovely. Your fingers play against your lips as they stretch into a smile. It’s the perfect place to play your song, but maybe the jitters have a purpose after all.

There are foreign faces around, quite literally, and it makes you nervous. You settle by the bar, your last words of encouragement drifted off further from you to whatever that excuse of a stage is.

Renjun looks calm as ever. The confidence in him is not what you'd expected, though a bubbling feeling in you suggests it's even better this way.

“You finally got someone on the keys,” a familiar voice calls from behind the countertop.

You turn your head to find Doyoung, arms resting on the table and holding what seems to be a bottle of vodka so tenderly, you’d think it was either his child or an explosive.

“Huang Renjun,” you respond, smiling. “Like the best pianist in our year. Or maybe second best.”

Doyoung laughs. “You kids could be as good as us some day. Need more practice.”

“Hey, old man, it’s not your time anymore,” you say, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky grin. “Maybe you were the best keyboardist back then but…”

You lean in to emphasize as you point at a Renjun furrowing his brows at all the wiring. “That guy’s going to outsing you. It’s the new era now. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“You talk like I’m from a different generation.” Doyoung scoffs, though the corner of his lips twitch. “Still dreaming of making your boyband? Do you guys even have a name?”

You pout. “It’s not a boyband! Okay… technically, it is a boyband. And no, we don’t have a name.”

You sulk for a moment or two at the way Doyoung had called your life’s work a boyband in that uninterested tone. Nothing’s wrong with a boyband. You sigh.

“At least we’re getting free alcohol, eh?” you nudge Doyoung, him being the reason you’re getting to play here anyway. What does a graduated music performance major do in his free time? Bartending, apparently. You haven’t ever really questioned his life choices and you’re not going to start now. Never question your seniors.

“I’m not serving you kids alcohol,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows in disbelief.

“We’re legal,” you argue, crossing your arms.

“Hard to believe.”

You see the smile lines crease on Doyoung’s face and before you can retort, a hum of strings resounds through the place, loud enough for the two of you to catch.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck mouths sheepishly to the two of you, Doyoung responding with an eye roll.

“I didn’t know that demon could get nervous,” he mutters and you laugh at the comedic duo the two of them make.

Donghyuck clears his throat into the mic and you cringe, but not before holding back your laughter at the terror in his eyes. Right then, the keys are struck, and suddenly, music is into motion.

You absentmindedly hum along, smiling to yourself before it strikes you to monitor the crowd. You gulp, a crease in your brows as you look around with the determination of a child at a pet shop scanning for a puppy to adopt.

You give up after a minute or so, the feeling weighing heavy. Reading facial expressions has never really been your thing, especially under lights that don’t acknowledge the purpose of their existence. (You’re not saying this because you have bad eyesight.) Fun varies. Everyone in this place is in a crowd of their own, and if not a crowd, in a dream. Some nod along, some smile but you, you know the song better than anyone else in this room. It has to be worth something.

You sigh. Your desperation gets a notch crueler each drawing year, and yet, the questions still arise. Do you have to be someone? A smiling face at a dive bar is more than enough to be, you think.

You mouth the lyrics, nodding your head along to the baseline you helped make. You think Doyoung chuckles beside you, something about taking self-love too seriously but you can’t hear him over the sound of the band.

Bass. Drums. Keys.

Suddenly, in the moment between heartbeats, your eyes meet Renjun’s.

He sings into the mic full of self-assurance, teeth occasionally making an appearance in a chaotic smile. It's always the little things that make the person. Eyes peering down at the keys, barely keeping open at certain parts and yet you think you see a hint of exhilaration in them.

The riff of the second song starts out loud. This is Donghyuck’s song and this time, it turns heads. You’re not sure in a good way or bad, but it wouldn’t be the first time people have wanted to beat him up in a bar. You snicker to yourself but just then, two guys cheer from the crowd, a red-faced Donghyuck flashing them a grin.

“Ah, Jaehyun and Taeil are here too,” Doyoung notes. You’ve never actually met the two but you’ve heard of them so many times you think you could replace Doyoung as their lead singer.

The song is called Cheers and for good reason.

Donghyuck smiles into the mic, and with a highly anticipated breath, you realize, Renjun is smiling too. Little by little, the night grows more optimistic and into the palms of your youth. Even in this tiny, crowded place. Even in a room full of people you can’t read.

The song ends in time, but not enough for Donghyuck to actually convince Doyoung to give him drinks. It’s not a Saturday night without their fights, and despite that, the atmosphere is warm with spoken words. You think you catch Renjun beam at Doyoung’s compliment, suppressing your own smile at the two..

Clink, splash, clink.

“You know, for someone as excited about whiskey, I thought you’d be better with liquor,” Renjun says, sighing as his hesitant finger pokes you in the forehead.

Your eyes open so suddenly, Renjun flinches and you ease into a smile. “I’m not that drunk. The next shot, maybe.”

That’s not entirely true because you’re sure the previous one just needs a little more time to settle into your gut. Renjun, on the other hand, seems to be better at dealing with alcohol. The peach hue across his cheeks make you want to pinch them and you’ll give it twenty minutes before you lose control and actually do.

The two songs were only three and a half minutes each but they seemed to stretch long enough for you to be pleased with them. You’re not sure about the rest.

“I almost messed up the beat there,” Jeno mutters, resting his head against the bar table. Jaemin shrugs beside him, taking another shot. The two of them can hold their liquor, at least. Donghyuck cannot.

“Was it that bad?” Donghyuck asks, adjusting the red bomber jacket he was so sure made him look cool. “I don’t think it was bad. I mean, we all do embarrassing things once in a while—”

“Does he not shut up?” Renjun wails before looking at you accusingly. “Don’t end up like that.”

“I don’t mope, Renjun,” you snap, your finger unsteady as it points at him. “You better remember that about me.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “And you’re gone too.”

“Tell me,” you say, your lips tugged into a lazy smile, “you enjoyed it, didn’t you? I saw you smiling.”

Even under the wash of blue light, you can see his cheeks tinge with colour. Is Huang Renjun purple now? Not the crystal clear jewel you’d expected, but these hues are so much nicer on him. He doesn’t always have to be under golden spotlight—he can just bask in the mulberry shades of a nearly sketchy club once in a while.

“Renjun,” a loud whine erupts from beside you, Donghyuck immediately wobbling up. “I can’t believe you actually agreed to play with us. C’mere, let me give you a smooch.”

Renjun curls his lips, desperately trying to fight off Donghyuck clinging onto him for life, and you hear a grunt of pain from Renjun in a pitch you didn’t think was humanly possible. You laugh, clutching your stomach and hear a few strained words from Renjun about how no one ever helps him. Who would help him when he’s providing you the funniest event of the weekend?

Jeno is the knight in shining armour tonight, pulling Donghyuck off but not before the boy lands a kiss on Renjun’s neck, in turn getting smacked in the lips a little too hard. Donghyuck places his hand over his mouth, keeling over with eyes shut in pain and Renjun mutters about how he deserved that. He fits in just fine, you think.

“You wanna… not do that?”

Renjun pulls the shot glass away from you, and you frown at him.

“So tell me,” he says, leaning in a little closer to be heard over the song. “Why did you want me to join your band so desperately you forgot your own dignity? I’m not saying you had any to begin with but…”

“Look, Renjun, I don’t give away embarrassing secrets when I’m drunk,” you warn, poking him right between the ribs. “Even if it’s not embarrassing. Or a secret.”

“Right. You’d do that sober,” he sighs, arms a polite distance from you when you try to stand up.

“Now you tell me—”

“You didn’t even answer me.”

“—did you have fun?”

Renjun pauses, taking a moment or two as he scans your face. The light dances across his features, gentle eyes and parted lips, across the dark jacket over a white shirt that has turned fluorescent under the lighting. You forgot how fun this place got beyond midnight, when they play beats to dance to for a crowd that seeks nothing more than fun.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

Renjun might be trying very hard to stop the smile over his lips but you can see it in his eyes. And perhaps, people are only seen when they are true to themselves.

“Huang Renjun!” you yell all of a sudden, voice still drowned out in the delicate discordance.

Unfortunately for Renjun, you yell directly into his ear and he responds with a violent recoil, hand flying to his ear involuntarily. He probably cries out too but the music is deafening, something you enjoy rightly so. Or is it the alcohol? Should you have stayed sober for Renjun’s sake? Right now, you don’t even mind the strong minty scent wafting from Renjun—in fact, it’s welcoming, even.

You wobble onto his chest before tentatively pushing yourself away. You curse at yourself. You weren’t supposed to get hammered. How much did you drink? You can’t even bear to look at the bill right now.

“You know what? I’m not having fun right now,” Renjun speaks into your ear and you jump. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

You sit back down on the bar stool, pouting at the fuzz blooming inside your head. No more words for tonight. In all honesty, why doesn’t anyone ever let you dance?

“Oh no, you don’t.” Doyoung pulls the bottle of whatever-alcoholic-beverage out of your reach. “Do you even know how expensive that is? You’re going to have to pay.”

You think you sober up a little, sitting straight. “Oh no. I don’t have money. I’m not cleaning the place again.”

A sort of unspoken arrangement passes between Doyoung and Renjun, who you’re sure have never met before. You know Jaemin’s dragged Donghyuck home, the same way you’d drag your pet cat away from the kitchen and Jeno is the only one with a driver’s license and Doyoung’s trust (hence, designated driver). Which leaves the two of you.

Renjun heaves a sigh, pulling you up by the shoulders. “You’re going home. Or whatever dumpster you came from.”

He proceeds to mutter something about Jeno being late but in the moment, you flash him a grin, walking perfectly away (at least, you think you do) and out into the night. Renjun follows, flustered by your absolute lack of restraint as he somehow manages to stop you from tripping over the sidewalk.

“You didn’t dance,” you complain, looking at him.

“You didn’t let me,” he retorts. “Look at you. You’re as bad as Donghyuck. Babysitting him is difficult enough.”

You grumble before agreeing. “Okay, fair. Next time, no drinking. Unless it’s free.”

What college student would have the audacity to turn down free drinks? Huang Renjun should not have been this good at holding his liquor. Needlessly, your thoughts are incoherent—not too good for a songwriter, right?

Huang Renjun has a lighter touch than you thought. He has a polite hold over your shoulder, in a way friends do most often, and you might feel like you could have been friends with him forever, but you can never tell what he thinks. Sometimes, Renjun really is extraterrestrial. In the way he talks, in the way he looks at things and in the way you almost believe he’s going to do something unspeakably outrageous someday.

You feel a certain sprout of warmth in your chest as he sits quietly beside you in the noisy car Jeno loves to drive. Must be the alcohol, of course. Of course.

And sometimes, you come up with words fit for a song. To fall asleep in last night’s clothes and wake up with tomorrow’s dreams—all part of the grand plan, part of the crusades of youth, nothing more and nothing less. That sounds like something you’d love telling your family when you’re old and grey. You laugh to yourself, pulling the covers over your head, not knowing how you even ended up here.

It smells minty.

With that one fleeting thought, you doze off in your unwashed bed sheets and faintly lemon-scented pillows, shades of plums and oranges and cherries of the night twisting into midnight black.

Playing at Odd Fruit is now a thing. Your thing. The band’s thing.

As if you needed any more reasons to stay over at the bandroom, now that Donghyuck and Renjun bickering keeps everyone up all night. You’re not blaming them, of course, when you join in the fun too. The day Renjun’s nostrils stop flaring and his eyebrows don’t furrow into an oddly adorable expression will be the day he’s finally set free from your ‘ill-treatment’.

Tap, scratch, tap.

Donghyuck fiddles with the strings of his guitar, while the rest lay slumped in any clean bit of space they could find, like runners after a marathon. Which is funny, really, considering you were the one running errands and cleaning up the damn place and it’s yet still somehow trashed. You could be having a little more energy, you always could.

However, the lengthened nights have left you in a state you’re rather afraid to be in. Your eyes don’t grow any more determined when it’s time for end semester tests, you don’t grow any happier at the thought of graduating. There are so many tunes to find, so many words to scribble—just how will you catch up?

Fun is a perfectly valid reason to do things but it’s only so long before the rest of your feelings each grip you by the limbs.

“We need to do something more,” you say, pacing the room. “Something that’s a little more eye-catching, you know?”

There’s a pause.

“Make Jeno play the drums shirtless,” Donghyuck suggests.

Jeno sighs, still not having figured out how to respond every time a scandalizing proposition escapes the boy’s mouth. At this point, most of you have considered duct taping him over the mouth but it’d never work. Renjun’s tried.

“Why do we even need it?” Renjun asks, eyes on the ceiling as he lies back on the couch.

“To improve!” you say, shoulders hunching.

“I don’t need improving,” he mutters, neck angled to the side in contemplation.

“Yeah, you should see Renjun at the dorms,” Donghyuck snorts. “I don’t think he can get any better.”

Renjun furrows his brows. “What?”

“You play the keys in your sleep, Renjun,” Donghyuck says, almost distastefully. “You keep tapping and tapping against the study desk. How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“And you snore,” Renjun mumbles, glaring at him. “How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“Guys,” you interrupt. Your lack of sleep throughout the exam season has not left you any better than this. “More important matters at hand.”

“Why are we so stressed anyway?” Renjun sighs.

There’s another pause in the quiet afternoon. You’d think it’s comforting even to have the same fear lingering beneath each of your noses, that same existential grasp ready to pounce—all within the comfort of the same room you share. All those late nights sharing ramen have meaning after all, as do the utter messes all of you make on Friday evenings as the boys try to practise, as does every Saturday night performance and every Sunday afternoon spent trying to watch the same movie on a tiny phone screen.

“How about we each look for inspiration?” Jaemin pipes up, eyes still a little lost.

Everyone turns to him and he straightens ever so slightly. “Me and Jeno can come up with a beat, (name) and Renjun can look for a melody and Donghyuck—”

“Can fuck off?” Renjun suggests helpfully.

Donghyuck pouts, crossing his arms. “Hey I’m—”

“Yeah, maybe Donghyuck can fuck off,” Jaemin says, fighting a smile. You raise an eyebrow, wondering which one of Donghyuck’s antics finally got on Jaemin’s nerves.

“This is harassment,” Donghyuck mutters before sinking into the couch beside Renjun. “Well, good for me! I get a day off—”

“No, you don’t,” Jaemin disproves. “You’re cleaning up this place.”

Donghyuck lets out a gasp. “All by myself?”

“Well, you trashed the place all by yourself,” Jeno reasons.

You tune out the bickering for a few moments. There are important matters at hand and no one seems to be listening to you. You play with your fingers absentmindedly when the thought arrives that maybe you should declare your secret little project. The song you wrote with Renjun in mind, that is. You should admit that it’s really just a nicer way of saying you wrote a song for him.

Astounding, isn’t it? This should be the part where you feel your pulse quicken. It’s just a song and the nights spent with him on the keyboards, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes has given you a head full of rhythm and song. It’s just a song.

You’d do anything for a good song.

But first, you need your audio converter fixed. The damn thing’s been generating noise all on its own, when it’s clearly your job.

“I need to go to Yongsan,” you say, picking up your bag. “We can find inspiration along the way, can’t we Renjun?”

“Why do we need to go—”

“Oh, get me some replacement strings for my guitar,” Donghyuck chirps.

“And a new pair of drumsticks,” Jeno says, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. You sigh. He really needs to stop breaking those. Where do drummers get such unparalleled rage on a drum set?

You walk over to the door before turning back and sending a pointed look at Renjun.

“I… have to?” he asks, and the look in his eyes almost makes you pity him. If anything, he’s having it worse than the rest of you are, with balancing the weekly gigs and practising for his piano recitals, though he never studies like the rest. You feel sorry but clearly, not enough.

“Yes,” you reply hurriedly. “Quick, get up, come on, we’re wasting time.”

“Okay, okay! Don’t pull my shirt!”

It’s so easy to get Renjun to do things these days. You bite back a smile as he fixes his collar, features still disgruntled by your (over)enthusiasm. His bag is cuter than you thought for someone who dresses punk (“It’s not punk,” he’d snapped, after re-dyeing his hair yet again.), with three different moomin keychains hanging against a baby blue hue.

You should know better than to let yourself think about someone so much.

The subway is absolutely lovable when it isn’t rush hour.

Skyscrapers nearly aren’t as looming as they are on rainy days, but you make your way through a still busy city, the heart of it beating like a snare drum with each passing moment. A little rain cannot stop Seoul.

Renjun walks beside you explaining how you should really look into this new underground artist you’ve already listened to three times this week because of him. He never seems to understand that you are, in fact, capable of remembering the things he says.

“I wrote a song about you,” you say abruptly.

Very smooth.

Renjun raises an eyebrow. “Like as a gift? A fan song? I’m so flatter—”

“No, stupid,” you interrupt, shifting your eyes upon irrelevant surrounding details. “It’s not about you. I just thought you’d like it.”

You pause.

“Yeah, it’s a little bit about you. A gift for joining. You can sing it to yourself in the shower or something.”

“You know, I feel really offended when you call me stupid.”

You glare at him. His ears are tinged red but right now, you’re a little more than done with his insults. Sure, you make mistakes—like dropping a full open can of soda on your own lap or submitting the wrong assignment to the wrong professor—but at least you’re not cynical Huang Renjun, incapable of making mistakes at all. It would be much more infuriating if you hadn’t seen Renjun drooling in his sleep or vigorously wipe at his nose after having snacks too spicy for his own good. You suppress a retort.

You reach the subway entrance taking slower steps than usual; but time is not a constraint here.

“It’s not a diss track, is it?” Renjun asks, suddenly doubtful.

You can’t help your laugh (and horrifically, snorts), in turn evoking a smile in Renjun.

“No, it isn’t,” you assure, before grabbing his wrist and skipping down the steps, Renjun’s panicked voice yelling at you to slow down.

“Can you not do that?” he complains, massaging his wrist at the subway platform.

“You made it through without tripping,” you reason, sticking your tongue out at him.

He reaches out to flick your forehead but you cover it just in time, a grin blooming across both your faces at this childish playfight. The train arrives with an almost soundless screech and you hop on slowly with anticipation in your footsteps.

“So what is it about?” Renjun asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

“You,” you respond, nonchalant.

“Very informative.”

The noise of the trains keeps the moment engaged, chuffing throughout as busy as they are.

Renjun lets out a barely audible gasp. “It’s not a- It’s not a love song, is it?”

You laugh, amused.

“Renjun, I knew you were arrogant but not this arrogant,” you tease.

He flushes hotly, and there’s that feeling again—that maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you don’t have anything else to hang on to and music is the only ledge left.

You wrinkle your nose before shaking yourself off the feeling. Rainy days always do this.

“Besides,” you say, “I’m still going to score you that hot date with star pianist number one, aren’t I?”

“Not number one,” he begins before hesitating. “That’s… not necessary but thanks.”

You punch him swiftly and he responds with an oof, clutching the ball of his shoulder.

“Don’t be shy,” you complain. “That’s not fun.”

“Well, I’m not fun,” he retorts. “I don’t need to be. I like having a working brain.”

You send him an exaggerated hurt look, hand reaching to pull at his cheek before it gets swatted away. Somehow, in this exact moment, you find a new tune and it doesn’t seem to be the end of your search. You contemplate saving it in your voice memos but you figure a noisy subway train is the last place to record. Besides, you don’t want to lose the look in Renjun’s eyes when he’s talking about how impressive the new relocated concert hall is.

“It’s called Not Feeling Spring,” you say when the train doors open to your station.

Renjun raises an eyebrow, somewhat disbelieving, although you’re not sure of what.

“You’ve definitely packed some insults in there,” he accuses.

You look at him, defeated. “Trust me.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Step, step, splash.

“Ew,” Renjun says, shaking his foot after landing on a particularly damp part of the sidewalk. They really should have evened out the path when laying the pavement. But unfortunately for Renjun, he’s already stepped onto rainwater in bright yellow converse.

It’s not just his shoes that look like daisies could bloom over them either—there’s paint over his denim jacket in pictures you’re aware that Renjun himself painted. A nice little touch, but not a very smart choice for a garment. How unlike him, you think to yourself when you hear him sigh and complain about the weather.

“So this is your famous shop?” Renjun asks, eyeing the discoloured walls of the store by the shop.

“You’re doing your thing again,” you reply, face souring.

He looks baffled. “What thing?”

“Your thing. The one where you act all cynical.”

“I’m not cynical.” He crosses his arms.

“Great, you’re even cynical about being cynical.”

Inside is, of course, as warm as ever. The walls are vibrant red, in stark contrast with the exterior and you think you see Renjun’s face grow pinkish. You smile at the man behind the counter, in his late fifties and smile still somehow as bright as yours.

“What’s the problem, dear?” he asks, glancing at your laptop. “You know I can’t help with software issues.”

“I know,” you say, “But I’ve tried every guide on the internet and there’s still unnecessary noise.”

He clicks around your screen for a few seconds.

“Have you tried getting a better mic?”

“Uh.”

Renjun snickers beside you before promptly apologizing at the two pairs of eyes on him. You didn’t bring him here just to embarrass yourself in front of him. Your cheeks flush as you tell the man you’ll come another day with your mic, before heading to the supplements aisle. Renjun follows you quietly, silent laughter yet still etched over his face and he looks away when you glare at him.

“Are you sure you wanna buy the wooden drumsticks?” Renjun asks, picking up the carbon fibre ones instead.

“Jeno loves the wooden ones,” you defend. “And you really think those are within my budget?”

Renjun shrugs, keeping them back in place.

“Feels like I’m shopping for babies,” he mutters.

There’s a second’s pause before he straightens, a particular discomfort in his being. “Not- Not like my babies or something. I- I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” you say, trying very hard to hold in your laughter.

“I don’t like that face you’re making.”

“You don’t always have to explain yourself,” you smile before heading to the counter.

The scent of rain makes you nostalgic. You step outside with Renjun and into the sound of rain against pavement. It’s wet and damp, and your hair clings to your skin in that horrific discomfort of humidity, truly one of the worst cruelties of rain. You make a face but an idea strikes you smack across the forehead.

You gasp.

“This can be our stage!” you declare, spreading your arms.

Renjun pulls your arms down. “Don’t block the sidewalk!”

“Sorry.”

You shove your bag onto Renjun, bewildering him even further. The sleeves of the jacket he rolled up, fall into place again as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“This,” you say, waving your arms about, “Should be a stage.”

“Huh?”

Renjun looks unconvinced at your flailing and you sigh.

“The rain!” you say, trying to sound as enthusiastic as you can. “Isn’t it romantic? You’ve never thought what it would be like playing in the rain?”

“Uh, inconvenient?”

You groan. “Come on! Picture it for a second.”

You give it a moment before showing him what you mean. Renjun bursts into laughter at your air guitar performance, suddenly unaware of the pit-a-pat.

“It would be nice,” he says, his teeth poking against his lips. He places the bags under the shaded entrance of the store before stepping into the drizzle.

Pitter, patter.

Renjun flashes you a goofy smile, shaking the water out of his hair only for the rain to come in stronger. With raindrops caught on eyelashes, you can only think of the soft, rising melodies that come in movie scenes like these, except it’s a lot more uncomfortable than they show it to be. You smoothen your hair, getting slightly frizzy due to the raindrops. You’ve always wanted to do things out of line and out of regularity and it’s not just because of the price sticker spelling ‘youth’ that clings to your back—but now, is it selfish to just want to stay under the rain?

In a way it feels just the same as ever; like singing barefoot on an asphalt road, cooling rains and people around, without a care each. You tell Renjun about the time you were stranded by the bus stop under heavy downpour for so long, you decided to walk home with pneumonia a step behind you and he tells you that you’re an idiot. It’s nothing unusual but it makes you smile when he laughs at you.

The rain slows again before you can start to shiver, chest rising and falling with each breath that fills your lungs.

“I have a song!” you declare, eyes shining. “A love song. We’ve never done a love song.”

“A love song?” Renjun asks, laughing almost. “You want to write a radio love song? Why?”

“Because, Huang Renjun, there’s not a thing in the world that isn’t made for love.”

Renjun pauses before wrinkling his nose. “Don’t preach me.”

The clap of thunder startles the two of you out of calm. It’s not so much the screams that left your mouths simultaneously as the looks you get from passersby. Renjun looks at you the same time as you look at him, his ears red and eyes nervous.

“Lightning doesn’t- Lightning doesn’t strike in the middle of the city, does it?” Renjun asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, like a hare stranded in the middle of a busy road.

“I don’t know!” You respond, pulling him by the sleeve to the nearest cover. “I don’t want to know.”

Renjun grabs your hand and you realize with a thump in your heart the effect of it. He pulls you to the side, saving your jeans from the fate of getting splashed by muddy water courtesy of an oncoming car.

“Ooh, quick reflex,” you say, despite the clanging of cymbals inside your ribcage.

He shrugs, picking up the bags and shoving yours to your chest.

“Ow?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You know why.”

“You know, you’re not as grumpy as I thought you were. You’re still petty, though.”

“Thanks.”

When you’re back to the bandroom, you find Donghyuck snoring on the couch with an even more worn out Jaemin sitting cross legged on the floor and his head against Donghyuck's knee. Jeno looks like he’s in a world of his own, tapping away at his phone in a game he seems to be losing at.

“Why are you guys wet?” Jaemin asks, cracking an eye open. “Had some life-changing experience?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “Why do you guys look dead?”

“I am dead,” Donghyuck mumbles in his sleep to which Jaemin shakes his head.

“He didn’t even do the entire cleaning…”

You hope the skip in your steps isn’t too obvious. You have a song and this time, it feels pure in a way that you haven’t made before.

“I hope you guys came up with a beat,” you call.

“Uh, about that—”

“I have a new song!” you announce bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Your declaration is met with a bunch of smiles. Soon enough, everyone in the room is up and to their positions in a matter of minutes.

Music isn’t about being eye-catching, considering the eyes have nothing to do with it anyway. You signal Renjun who in turn, clears his throat.

A strum of guitar string. Four notes on the keys. Bass. A beat on the drums.

“One. Two. Ah, one, two, three, four!”

The cafeteria is jam packed at three a.m so it’s a good thing you brought Renjun here an hour early. So, your top secret, full resistance, avant-garde mission? Your new song and the one for Renjun, of course.

“So this is top secret,” you whisper when he sits down from across you.

“I’m sure it is,” he snickers.

You pass your notebook to him, scribbles neater than usual. (That’s only because you rewrote the song in a new page.) You start your laptop, waiting for the screen to load as Renjun goes over the lines.

“My dreams and I don’t get along,” Renjun reads aloud before furrowing his brows.

Ah, I hate people.

I hate my friends too.

And I love saying that which isn’t true.

“Oh, very funny, (name),” Renjun scorns, crossing his arms. “Is that what you think of me?”

You chuckle to yourself. Maybe it was a little petty, but you love the look on Renjun’s face when he’s annoyed, nerves a second away from being completely fried. Just for fun. This was just for fun.

Somewhere along, however, you can’t deny the essence of him you’d so hopelessly wanted to capture in the melody, in rhythm and timbre, orchestral almost. It’s each note of the piano he plays to himself late at night in the bandroom, each featherlight hit on the cymbal and the song you hum to yourself on the bus ride to classes every morning.

It’s a love song.

You break into a sudden coughing fit at the thought, Renjun flinching before offering you his bottle of water. Somehow, the gentle hand on your back trying to ease you gives you yet another reason to support your unwanted epiphany. That’s just ridiculous. It’s something natural between friends, isn’t it? Yet, you’d gag at the idea of writing Donghyuck into a song.

You calm down and meet Renjun’s eyes, the glint of something familiar making you pause.

“Water?” he offers, and you straighten.

“I had the stupidest thought,” you say, trying to laugh it off.

You can’t do it. You can’t make light of it with him.

“When do you not?” he says, a soft smile on his face.

You smile awkwardly in response, avoiding his eyes as you rub circles on the soft flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

It’s quiet, much more than not, distant buzzing of the 3 a.m. university cafeteria crowds drifting through the space between you and him.

“Do you ever- Do you ever think about doing it?” Renjun asks.

You blink before feeling warmth on your cheeks.

“Doing what, Renjun? That’s a little too private to ask. I mean, I could answer, of c—”

It doesn’t take long for him to burn bright vermillion at the cheeks.

“I- I didn’t say that,” he defends, stuttering over the words. “I was talking about making music. Do you ever think about it or do you just do it?”

“Oh,” you respond intelligently, the embarrassment making you flush harder. Funny, you used to laugh the loudest at these sorts of mistakes. “I don’t- I don’t know. I think about it after I’ve… made it?”

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

“You… do like it, don’t you?” he asks, something akin to worry in his eyes.

You hum, smiling. “Of course I like it, Renjun.”

No. The truth is, you don’t even know how it makes you feel. The truth is, you do feel sick listening to your own song over and over again. Have you run far enough? Do you have to be running for this?

You seem scared. Is that what he wanted to tell you? You can’t be that easy to see through, you resist. When he held your hand earlier, could he feel it shake?

You’re so afraid that all of this is for naught that you can’t feel it anymore. You hardly make music for yourself, for no one else to hear. Is that what you wanted? When you wrote Not Feeling Spring, were you searching for something you desperately wanted or something you lost? You’re only twenty and you’re aging.

You snap yourself out of the whirlpool of questions to a drowsy Renjun playing with the bracelet around his wrist, lost in his own circle of thoughts.

“I wanted to give up on this,” he whispers suddenly. “I wanted to give up on music.”

You hold your breath till he looks at you, a strange sense of vulnerability that makes you want to reach over the table and share some of the warmth your palm offers.

You’ve already drawn the conclusion.

“You’re not alone,” you say, leaning in with the widest grin.

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Are you saying that to comfort me? It barely has any effect. Thanks, th—”

You shake your head, standing up abruptly and scrambling onto the tabletop. It’s the perfect time to be a little ridiculous. Renjun looks around, alarmed, tugging at you to get down which, unfortunately, draws even more attention.

“Raise your hand if you’ve ever wanted to give up on music!”

There’s a moment of pause before laughter erupts, followed by a few cheers and almost as many raised hands as you’d expected. Some of them tell you to get back to your date, or focus on completing overdue assignments—friends and friends of friends. They are music students, after all.

Renjun looks around the place, rosy hued in the face, though he isn’t as angry as you thought he’d be.

“I almost never started,” you say, giggling as you resume in your seat. “Giving up came so much later.”

Renjun laughs. You don’t even have to make music out of it.

“I tried to give up the piano,” he admits, still flushed. “But I couldn’t break the habit of playing against my desk. Even then.”

You smile, resting your chin against your palm. “That sounds just like you. Now tell me, when did you discover flumpool?”

Renjun frowns and you feel an uncharacteristic thump in your chest. You want to draw your finger against his cheeks and the space between his brows, against the strained lines—the thought of it much more scandalous than the action itself.

“I didn’t- My parents didn’t- ugh.” He hesitates. “Look, everyone hated my style of music. My parents, the neighbours, their dogs.

Your eyes soften as you sit up. “I’m sure they didn’t hate it—”

“No, trust me on this one.”

Suddenly the honey tint of his voice is dripping a dangerously low baritone. It doesn’t sound like him and it sends a shiver down your spine, a certain coldness you never thought would seep into you. It is the loneliness of curbed dreams, after all.

“I thought I should’ve given up on music altogether. Became, what, a doctor? A lawyer?” Renjun sighs. “Whatever I do, it shouldn’t be music, right?”

He heaves a sigh in sync with you. There’s a passing moment in between where you can clearly see the apple of his eye, shining a daunting amber and a warmth you can only feel over coffee tables in university cafeterias at midnight.

“But you’re here now because this is the closest you can be to music?” you offer, your smile sheepish.

Renjun laughs, your eyebrows furrowing as he tries to stop. “No. No, classical music was the last option on their list—but it was on the list.”

You smile, although it is small and gentle. And—unlike anything you’ve felt since you jumped onto the adulthood train.

“They like it now, though,” he beams, shoulders relaxing as if rid of a burden.“I mean- They said- They said they’re proud of me.”

When someone decides to confide their happiness to you, it is just as precious.

You look up, eyes bright as you finally get to ruffle his hair. “Well, I’m proud of you too!”

Renjun coughs indiscreetly, shaking his head before facing you. “Th-Thanks. It’s… good to hear.”

“Say it back,” you demand, making Renjun laugh.

“I’m… proud of you,” he says with rose-tinted cheeks.

The midnight chatter grows louder when the two of you pause. A symphony of voices through the area, higher pitches and lower, baritones and trebles. You wonder what people talk about most when you are quiet. You have friends—it’s not like you’re alone, per se. But everyone seems to be running, away from something or towards something. Your bones feel heavy for a second as you stir the coffee. Is it selfish to just want to get to know someone? Neither of you moving a muscle, with laughter that isn’t carried away by the wind.

“I didn’t think I’d be good at anything apart from classical,” he says, reluctance in his mouth. “Sorry about all that ruckus I caused when you asked me to join.”

You raise an eyebrow, nose wrinkling at the apology. “Renjun. It sucks when you apologize.”

He groans. “You’re really annoying, you know that? I was being nice.”

“I know,” you say, grinning. “It was all forgiven a long time ago. Can’t believe you had to say it out loud.”

“Oh, pardon me,” he says, voice rising. “I was taking into consideration your below average understanding of social cues.”

“You’re going to get smacked.”

That night, when you leave Renjun at the intersection to your respective dorms, you have yet another unwanted epiphany. He waves you goodbye with a smile, pale blue T-shirt hanging loose on his shoulders and you wave back as ardently as you can against your prominent heartbeat. Huang Renjun has the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Some days, you take the bus together to and from classes. It’s not like the dorms are far but walks are considerably less fun when you’ve barely rubbed the sleep dust out of your eyes and class started ten minutes ago. Besides, you’re not letting the student bus pass go to waste.

Rattle. Rattle. Woosh.

You yawn and it quickly spreads to Renjun beside you. Classes are over and there’s no practice today. You can hear a popular song play through his earphones and tilt your head to look at him, a suppressed smile on your face. Renjun does a double take when he notices you, a little flustered as he quietly offers the other earbud and you put it on with a short word of thanks.

It is a track by one of Seoul’s favourite bands and you’re not going to lie, say you haven’t fallen prey to its charms. A catchy baseline, engaging drums and attractive vocals—you stop yourself. When was the last time you enjoyed a song without deconstructing it piece by piece? You sigh and Renjun shifts beside you, though no words part from his lips.

Absentmindedly, you find your head drawing nearer to his till they bump once and you startle away, only to laugh at each other. Is this another useless epiphany of yours? That Renjun has a lovely laugh—these are getting out of hand.

You look out the window instead, skyscrapers shiny and metallic as always and with little to offer. Unwittingly, a pout climbs onto your face at the prospect of feelings bubbling up right when you’re setting Renjun up on a date. He doesn’t know, of course. It’s meant to be a surprise and somehow, the little voice in your head won’t stop yelling at maximum volume inside your head about how wrong this is. Is it selfish? To an extent—nothing ever is purely selfless and you haven’t lived long enough to question. So why are you even bothering with this whole surprise?

Because you don’t want to think about the feelings. As if they’re things to be thought about. As if you can throw them away into the trash bin like a crumpled piece of paper.

An elderly couple boards the bus, sharing a large shopping bag as they take slow, careful steps over the aisle. Renjun responds almost at the same time you do, getting up so quickly Renjun has to hold on to the strap so as to not trip over you. The couple thanks you and you nod politely, trying not to bring attention to the earphones tangled around your necks.

You take a step closer in an attempt to separate the wires but it only makes you lose balance, Renjun clutching the cloth at your back so you don’t faceplant right into him. The other hand hangs overhead on the strap, grasping so tight his skin has turned red.

He glances at the old couple once, blood rushing to his cheeks at something and he turns his focus back to you.

“The- The wires- We should—”

Young love isn’t what this is. How silly. There’s enough of that all around.

“That’s what I was trying,” you interrupt. “Wait.”

You use your hands to pull the bud from your ear, trying to figure out how the loop even coiled this way. Renjun’s hand pushes against your waist at the sudden jerk, your soul almost leaving your body at the unexpected feeling of falling down. You breathe out, cheeks getting warmer. This isn’t quite uncomfortable, though.

When you look up to meet Renjun’s eyes, you feel something faint, a hint of something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“There,” you say, the wires all out of their miserable twining.

Renjun barely nods, the music still blasting loud and clear through the buds. His hand still holds the strap for balance, and the other still holds you, for reasons private.

There’s a warm flush over his face when he mumbles about crowded buses and the afternoon heat, eyes averted to every corner but you.

You laugh. Renjun is adorable when he least expects to be. And when you least expect him to be, he’s even terribly attractive. You swear by the way he’s looking at you, if you leaned in a little further, he’d let you kiss him.

Wait, what?

You sober up quickly, in a moment of clarity you do not wish to have. You’ve never felt the weight of the feelings this intense. Yours isn’t the name he should be calling out so affectionately. Her. Anyone else. You were so sure of it. Huang Renjun’s fleeting interest in romance doesn’t involve you—cannot involve you.

That’s why you’re doing him (and yourself) a favour. Besides, you promised it anyway, didn’t you?

You gulp.

When did you start explaining yourself for everything you do?

Step, screech, step.

“Where the fuck are you even taking me?” Renjun complains from behind you, light on his foot. “You said it’s not too far away.”

“It’s a surprise!” You stop walking to cross your arms.

“I hate it when you say that.”

How would he react? You think he’ll get a little angry, maybe scowl at you or even yell a little. You haven’t been able to look him in the eye longer than two seconds for about a week now.

“Ta-da!”

You stretch your arms to point towards the new cafe in town. Renjun looks at you and then the cafe and back again.

“You’re taking me on a coffee date?”

You choke on air, coughing before you can clear your throat and clarify.

“Not- Not me. Remember I promised you a date with—”

“No.”

“Yes! Wait, is that disbelieving no or are you saying you’re not going to go?”

Renjun closes his eyes and sighs, as if dealing with a toddler. “I’m not going. Why didn’t you say anything? I’m not prepared or anything!”

Something takes a tumble and falls inside your chest. You smile at him nevertheless.

“Don’t be shy now. She’s waiting, come on.”

Renjun shifts his weight from foot to foot, but it seems equally uncomfortable on each. He peers intently at you, looking up and down your face before pressing his lips together.

“Have fun,” you wish.

You push Renjun towards the door and he hesitates, some part of you expecting a little more resistance. He shrugs, although he seems to be holding back a smile. This isn’t the time, you tell yourself.

You turn on your heel before you lose your final excuse to be able to say that you are not completely enamored with Huang Renjun.

The afternoon would be more peaceful if it weren’t for Donghyuck and Renjun yelling at each other. This time, you’re not to blame.

“That’s not how you tie a bow tie!” Donghyuck complains, though Renjun won’t let him anywhere near.

“I know you’re trying to get back at me for drawing on your face last Saturday,” Renjun yells back. “But this is the pre-annual concert. You’re not fucking anything up.”

Donghyuck grumbles before settling down. Four music performance majors and yet none of them know how to do a bow tie—if it weren’t for you, Renjun might have ended up with his usual askew one. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, and you’d just rather not look at him too long anyway.

Formal white shirt, a much debated black bow tie and polished black dress shoes on Renjun aren’t strange to look at—in fact, they quite suit him when, despite its striking colour, his hair is parted neatly to the side. But they’re all so out of place in the bandroom, monochrome against messes, that you start to wonder if you simply think too much about him. That all of his colours and melodies are just there for you to notice.

It’s not true, of course.

But when did you become a cynic?

“I’m going out,” Donghyuck says, huffing, “Why are they taking so long to buy ramen?”

Oh no. No, no, no. You try to mask your panic. Is one person enough to check up on Jaemin and Jeno? Would it be weird if you left too? Before you can answer those questions, you and Renjun are the only ones left in the room. You stand awkwardly by the couch, Renjun a few feet away, smoothing out the creases on his shirt.

You clear your throat, bringing his attention to you.

Nice going.

“So how was your date?”

You had to ask that, didn’t you?

The voice in your head has never been so loud before. When your question goes unanswered, you look up from the highly interesting floorboards to Renjun trying very hard to fight a snort.

“We talked about the recitals, extra lessons. Joked about you being an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Chaerim’s not interested in guys.” Renjun laughs. “I thought you knew!”

There’s a pause.

“Wait, you were serious about setting me up with her?”

You stare a little too intensely at the space between your feet. Why would you choose now of all times to be coy? You keep yourself from swearing out loud.

“I- I didn’t know, okay?”

You feel the heat over your cheeks, the sound of everything other than your own heartbeat drowning out. A few more seconds pass and you worry more.

“Don’t set me up on dates,” Renjun says, a sigh leaving his lips. “It’ll never work out.”

“What? Why?”

Renjun falters only to cover it up. “I- I… Why do you keep avoiding me?”

You can’t answer that.

“Setting me up on a date, never looking at me when you talk to me—are you going by the book or something?”

You hold your breath. He’s not misunderstanding and it only makes matters worse.

“All that because you don’t want to be in love with me?”

“Renjun, that’s not—”

“So what is it?”

You look up from your restless fingers and regret it almost immediately. The way Renjun looks at you, it damn near breaks your heart. His nose is a pale shade of red, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with undecided words.

“Am I- Am I dreaming everything up? Just tell me you don’t like me. I thought I made myself obvious.”

You can feel your pulse against your eardrums, ready to burst open any second.

“Renjun. It’s not about this,” you say, voice strangely low. “It’s about music—It’s always about music. I can’t risk anything.”

“Risk? What risk? You’re afraid you’re going to stop making music when you’re with me?”

“No—”

“You just want your songs on the Billboard charts?

“And what if I do? I just want to be heard—”

You can barely breathe at the lack of distance between the two of you. Renjun looks straight into your eyes and you remember why your heart has been hammering in the first place.

“So it isn’t about music.”

You fall silent. It’s not wrong to want to succeed. But it’s never been about that. You were preparing yourself for a race while you repeated your love for it that was never there. Music is not a race and so, it is not the race you love.

“I didn’t want to be rich or famous,” Renjun says, voice lower than usual. “I don’t want to be rich or famous.”

But a musician does not want to be forgotten, does he?

For once, Renjun is fearless and you are not.

“There are worse things,” Renjun says, breath against your cheek and a rapid pulsing in your wrists. You look from his eyes to lips before breathing out slowly, eyelids growing heavy despite yourself.

The sudden bang makes the two of you jump away from each other.

Donghyuck kicks the door open, hands occupied with steaming instant ramen cups and Jeno walks in with the sprite.

“Jaemin’s paying and we forgot our wallets,” Jeno offers an explanation when you raise an eyebrow.

You clear your throat awkwardly as the two scrutinize you with eyes you’re not yet ready to meet. You know you’ll never hear the end of this and better yet, you can pretend it never happened.

“Aren’t you supposed to get going?” Jeno asks, struggling to balance this month’s entire supply of ramen while Donghyuck holds the top of the pile.

Renjun responds with a soft ‘yeah’, eyes glancing at you once before he grabs his coat.

“I’ll see you for practice then.”

With that, the sounds inside your chest draw to a deafening close.

You’d think Doyoung would perform with his own band at his brother’s wedding.

(“I don’t want to work on the day my brother gets married.”

“I thought you work as a bartender?”

“Oh, dear.”)

You’re not complaining, of course. The longer you spend in the bandroom, the more suffocated you feel. You can’t meet Renjun’s eyes and neither can he meet yours. You rejected him, for fuck’s sake. It cannot get any more awkward than that. Any distraction will do.

This might be the first time you’ve been to a wedding on a Thursday night. At the very least, you’re happy about it being an outdoor wedding, the cool night air refreshing you the moment you step into the garden. It’s fairly large and you know Doyoung’s brother is an actor, but it never really struck you how wealthy that meant.

“There’s a chocolate fountain?!” Donghyuck gasps, walking towards it before Jaemin grabs him by the collar.

“Stage. We’re being called.”

Donghyuck massages his neck before he decides to give everyone an unnecessary pep talk.

“Look, Renjun, you better sing like that’s your ex, who you’re still in love with, getting married,” Donghyuck turns to advise a deadpanning Renjun.

“I- what? You should do that yourself.”

You smile at them encouragingly, smacking Donghyuck a little too hard on the back (you need payback for him “borrowing” your lunch on Monday) and stand at the sidelines. Donghyuck’s guitar seems to be the brightest thing in the venue, followed by Renjun’s hair. Unfortunately for Jeno, they couldn’t get the whole drum set in and the puppy dog look on his face when he sees the box-shaped cajón might have affected you some other day.

They perform as usual, if not more enthusiastic to be in front of a crowd that isn’t drunk or worn out or both. The love songs you wrote came to be useful, after all. The muse of them, however, stands out even now.

This time, your heart skips a beat to meet Renjun’s eyes. And he doesn’t take them off you the entire performance.

The soft vibrato of his voice doesn’t fade easy, the crowd clapping along to the song with encouraging laughter. You move to the drinks table—it’s a good thing the wedding has a no kids rule because there’s alcohol you haven’t heard of at the bar table. Or maybe it isn’t a good thing. You’d love to see the look on Doyoung’s face when some rebellious twelve year-old chugs a shot of vodka. The thought makes you giggle.

You keep your word, even if you were drunk when you’d said it. You didn’t drink at any of the gigs, mostly because Doyoung wouldn’t offer anything for free, but a deal’s a deal. This doesn’t count, does it?

You take the shot after a few moments of contemplation. You’d ordered it on impulse and whatever dare of whim you have left in you.

Unbeknownst to you, the songs had stopped about five minutes ago, enough time for Renjun and the rest to appear at your side.

“Doyoung never said there’d be alcohol,” Donghyuck says, not trying very hard to hide the sparkles in his eyes.

Renjun doesn’t say a word, not even at the obvious flush over your cheeks from the drinks.

“I need to go to the washroom,” you say, wobbling as you stand.

“Woah, (name),” Jaemin says, steadying you. “Take someone with you.”

“I’ll go.”

You avoid Renjun’s eyes, even now. Looks like shame isn’t as easy to wash away as it seems.

You can’t hear anything apart from your pulse, a rather disarming thing to have to listen to when it’s for long enough. You walk wordlessly to the building, locating the washroom after a few twists and turns and Renjun waits patiently for you outside.

It’s always bizarre to see yourself in the mirror of a public washroom, especially with alcohol in your system and a flush over your cheeks that you think makes you look cute. You rinse your face and dry it before you exit.

Renjun leans back against the wall, eyes glazed over in thoughts he spills only occasionally. He looks gentle in the fairly lit hallway, under lemon-coloured lights.

“Renjun,” you call absentmindedly.

He straightens immediately and for the first time in a while, you stare at each other for longer than four seconds.

“I don’t want you to feel awkward around me,” you begin. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean—”

“Cut it out.”

You feel a drop in your heart at the harshness in his tone. Even so, you don’t feel any less drawn to him.

“Don’t be like that,” you say, voice nearing a whine. “You know I’m not any good at this. I… I have so much work to do.”

“Are you so insecure that you can't trust yourself?” he hisses, and somehow the truth of it doesn’t lessen the euphoria of proximity with him.

“You have pretty eyes, Renjun,” you say, but his eyes are not what you’re looking at.

Renjun looks down, sighing out heavily. “Stop this, (name). Don’t play.”

You smile. “This isn’t a drama, you know?”

It really isn’t, but the touch you're craving has been collecting, drip drip drip, and now it’s ready to boil over in a climax befitting any stupid drama. There should be a soundtrack to go with it, right? Renjun’s face so near to yours, lips full and pink, and heartbeat erratic under dim lights. Temptation has never been a sin to you. Then, what are you afraid of?

For a moment, Arctic Monkey’s Snap Out of It loops in your head.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, the last shred of your senses fallen apart.

He falls silent, at a loss for words you don’t want to hear.

You can’t blame the alcohol. It’s not that you wouldn’t do this sober—it’s that you would definitely do this sober, and all would be ruined just like that. So now, while you’re under the thinly veiled excuse of being drunk, you might as well say it.

“I want to kiss you,” you repeat, bolder.

Oh, sudden proximity can make you aware of so many things. For instance, Renjun has changed his cologne, less minty and more citrus. You aren’t even looking at him when you lean closer, pressing your lips softly and yet carelessly against his. You feel returned pressure and for a moment, the wash of numbness.

Renjun pulls you away by the shoulder, eyes wide in panic.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you apologizing? God, I hate you. I could listen to you speaking forever.”

You bury your face in Renjun’s neck and breathe in. He gives in almost too soon, a hand gently resting against the back of your head while his arm wraps around your waist.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers.

You feel him shift, the rhythm of his pulse loud in his jugular, and somehow it makes you breathe a sigh of relief. The night fades little by little into the chatter of crowds, to the the hum of a car engine and finally, to the inevitable quiet of your own bedroom.

It’s a Friday. They’re supposed to be nice.

Of course, it would be were it not for a list of things. One: your fading hangover. Two: the vague regret of a drunk kiss. Three: your friends you can’t tell a word to. You might just die of shame before the autumnal existential dread settles in.

“Do you guys have any idea whose number this is?” Donghyuck asks, holding the handkerchief open for the rest of you to see. “I don’t want to be accidentally related to Doyoung hyung.”

The night is bleeding into the evening outside as Jaemin stands up to flip the light switches. You stay curled up at one side of the couch, Renjun by the keys as he tries to figure out a tune and a state of calm that would be perfect if you weren’t falling apart inside. The bandroom always made you feel at ease, but it doesn't seem to be working its charm now.

“You drink too much,” Jaemin states. “You would’ve remembered if you didn’t have an entire bottle of soju.”

“I wasn’t the only one,” he defends, sending you a pointed look. You roll your eyes. Donghyuck never did learn to take the blame.

“Didn’t Renjun and (name) leave early?” Jeno asks innocently. “What were you guys doing for so long by the washroom?”

Renjun presses on several of the keys at a force too hard, the haphazard symphony bringing everyone’s attention to him.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “Home—the dorms, er. We went back. Taeil hyung drove us.”

You don’t know about the atmosphere, but you could definitely cut something with a knife right now. Your eyes shift from person to person, nothing unusual about them except for the two of you.

“Does anyone want to come get ramen? I’m hungry,” Jaemin suggests quietly.

Jeno shrugs, getting up.

“I just had a cup of ramen,” Donghyuck begins before breaking into a smile. “Too much ramen can never hurt.”

“I’ll pass,” you say, ready to fall asleep any moment, if it somehow alleviates the messy scribbles in your head.

“Me too,” Renjun says, back to playing out the tunes softly.

Your fingers tap against the armrest of the couch, occasionally scratching it out of boredom. The atmosphere is still just as thick but you can't say much about it hanging there.

“You’re not sleeping,” Renjun says suddenly, more of a statement than a question. “You look tired.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can manage.

“Is your hangover gone?”

You cough when you try to answer, getting more nervous with each passing moment.

Renjun slowly walks towards the coffee table, picking up the bottle of water to offer it to you. You utter a short ‘thanks’ and before he can get back, you tug at his sleeve. Your breathing is sharp but you don’t react much when he sits beside you, legs outstretched in front of him.

“Your roots are showing,” you note, hand involuntarily reaching out before you stop yourself.

Renjun sighs. “What’s wrong? You don’t- You don’t have to—”

He clears his throat.

“—You don’t have to pretend around me.”

There’s a rustle of cloth as he shifts to turn to you, eyes concerned when they look over.

“I’m just...sad,” you admit, the feeling weighing down when you do. “What, you never have days like these?”

Everyone does, don’t they? The truth is, sometimes you get a little sick listening to your songs. If you don’t hate it at least once, is it worth it at all?

The monthly breakdowns have taken a hard turn now that you don’t have much to do. No exams, no more weekly gigs due to Odd Fruit’s renovation and most importantly, hardly any inspiration. You don’t know how to do things unless you’re on the run. It’s so stupid.

You speak of dreams and yet, yours feel void.

“I do. A lot, some weeks.”

Renjun hesitates. You know he’s dying to talk about last night, he’s never been the sort to let feelings rot inside his stomach. But how do you tell him that despite knowing life’s full of ups and downs, no one’s bothered to explain to you which is which? You’ve never lived life with clarity.

Sometimes life hands you tangerines instead of lemons. Sometimes they’re still as sour.

You look back at Renjun, heart churning with feelings you don’t understand. From wide eyes to his full lips, there’s a way you can’t help but stare. It wasn’t the alcohol—you still want to kiss him. Maybe you should start with an apology, maybe those are meant to be said out loud sometimes.

“I’m sorry I… I ‘m sorry I kissed you,” you say, finally. “Without warning.”

You wonder how you turned into this. Head over heels for something that might not even be real.

“I’m not mad,” he mumbles, “Just don’t go around kissing strangers.”

You let out a short laugh, rubbing your arm. It’s not like you to explain yourself but for him, you’d spill every single thought that crosses your head. Does he know that? You’d never let him but now—you can’t say you mind.

Quiet.

“I- I may not always know what I’m doing, Renjun,” you start. “I want things and I don’t know how to get them. Sometimes I don’t even know what I truly want.”

There’s a short pause when Renjun draws nearer.

“You want to make music,” he says with certainty, gaze trailing over your eyes, then nose, then lips. “You want to have fun…”

Your heartbeat quickens despite everything.

“...And right now, you want to kiss me.”

It’s partly the confidence, and partly the fact that his lips are less than three inches from yours, that you close the gap without hesitation.

It’s different—of course, it’s different this time. There’s no goddamn alcohol and the amount of clarity you can taste with your mouths pressed together is more than you’ve ever had. All the sounds in the world fall silent, replaced by the rhythm of your lips moving against his. Renjun’s hair is soft and he hums when you run your fingers through them, not song enough but still full of melody.

You pull apart after a few minutes, breathing heavily before you push your lips against him again, rising to keep your leg on either side of him. For a moment, there’s a sinking feeling and then a soaring one, and it evens out to the mellow drumming of your heart against your chest as Renjun holds your waist with the same delicate desire as ever.

The second time you pull apart, Renjun breaks into the widest smile you’ve ever seen on him. You can’t help but reciprocate, burying your head against his shoulder.

“I think you should get off me.”

You pull back, frowning severely.

“Oh, that’s very romantic,” you huff, eyebrows furrowed as you move to sit beside him, crossing your arms.

“Hey.”

You look at him and he takes your hand in his, thumb rubbing over the back. Somehow, the gesture calms a part of you down, a part that hasn’t been calm for a very long time. You smile without realizing, leaning in for another kiss when the door slams open.

You yelp, clutching Renjun’s hand harder with just about the same force he does.

“Jeno.”

You turn around to see Jaemin glaring at Jeno on his knee, Donghyuck fallen over his leg and both of their faces scrunched in pain. Jaemin shoots the two of you an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his head.

“Did you guys know this room isn’t all that soundproof? I can’t believe the neighbours didn’t complain.”

The tip of Renjun’s ears flare red, and he points an accusing finger at the three of them.

“You were spying on us!”

Jaemin clears his throat but Donghyuck snorts before he can say anything.

“You’re still holding hands, lover boy.”

The statement flusters Renjun further but he doesn’t let go.

“Look, did the two of you think we’re stupid?” Donghyuck continues. “God, we thought your pining romance would, like, break up our band or something.”

You flush deeper, averting your eyes.

“You cry at romantic comedies,” Renjun provokes.

Donghyuck stutters something incomprehensive before crossing his arms indignantly.

“We’re glad you’re dating now!” Jaemin butts in. “Ah, I can’t wait for all the love songs. The two of you do great on those!”

Renjun turns a brighter shade of red. You’re not going to be the one to tell Jaemin that he’s not helping at all but you sigh instead, resting your forehead against Renjun’s shoulder.

“Ugh,” Donghyuck makes a gagging sound. “Does this mean you’re going to be all heart eyes in here? Right in front of my innocent eyes?”

He shuts up when he receives four glares all at once, the air turning dry.

“I’m guessing you guys didn’t buy any ramen,” Renjun says, sighing.

“Shall we go?” you ask, looking at him.

He nods, smiling at you.

“You guys don’t mind us crashing your date, do you?” Jaemin says, wrapping an arm each around the two of you.

“I’m not complaining.” You shrug.

“I heard there’s a new flavour. Tastes like crap apparently,” Renjun says.

There’s collective laughter and Renjun beams, walking over to the door with you in tow. Every once in a while, you don’t mind peeling off the layers of a tangerine, especially since winter is near.

You were right, Renjun did change his perfume to something more citrus-y. It’s the little things that build up in simplicity and it’s the little things that give everything flavour, from songs to journeys.

Crackle. Shrrk. Rustle.

“Dream,” you say, the noodles slipping through the chopsticks.

The others look at you quizzically, as if you’d suggested the most ridiculous thing ever.

“That’s the name. Our band!”

Under the convenience store lights, it somehow makes sense—and that’s one of the only moments of clarity you need.

#nct dream scenarios #nct renjun #cznnet #neowritingsnet #renjun x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagines #renjun fluff #nct dream fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct dream #moonwrites #anyway hope you guys have fun this is way longer than i intended for it to be i am mad #and i know i only recommended songs from idol bands but it's always good to check out the krock scene lol!!#rock band!au #tw:alcohol #so this wont show up on tags heart been broke so many times </3

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emergingsentiments · 3 years

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Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episode 9 (Repost)

If the previous installment of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha probed the heart and its anxieties, then Episode 9 is where the show’s characters begin to confront these fears. Our Sikhye couple had already shared a subtext-laden embrace after a threat to Hyejin’s safety, and now that unexpected skinship begins to bother the two, so much so they are unable to sleep. Homcha shows this in the romantic parallelism of their nocturnal troubles. If there's no meaning to that intimate moment, then why would they lose sleep over it?

But the drama isn’t eager to please by simply saying they are in love. Actions, after all, speak louder than words. And what better way for a man to prove his love — and overcome his fear — than by meeting the parents. Thanks to a mix-up at Hyejin’s seaside home — organized by Miseon once more — Dusik finds himself face-to-face with Yoon Tae-hwa (Seo Sang-won), Hyejin’s father, and Lee Myung-shin (Woo Mi-hwa), her stepmom. This after both overheard rumors about Hyejin’s supposed trysts with Dusik, courtesy of resident loudmouth Namsook. You’d think after being saved from a swindler, she'd be a little more careful around Hyejin, right?

What follows is Dusik pretending to be Hyejin’s boyfriend for a day and Gongjin’s tour guide for Mr. Yoon and Ms. Lee. It’s a Kdrama trope used to good effect in this episode, giving our two reluctant lovebirds the space to be together for most of this chapter.

Mr. Yoon, however, is not easy to please. He’s brash and arrogant, brandishing high standards for himself and her daughter. For him, Dusik’s provincial austerity misses all the marks. Mr. Yoon is also confused with Mr. Hong’s unemployment. What is a Seoul National University engineering graduate doing in Gongjin fixing showerheads? And the language — too casual, too familiar! Hyejin should break up with Dusik. She’s too good for him, it seems. He fears for her future. So easily offended is Hyejin’s father by everything that sulking is almost as frequent as his breathing.

Seonghyun, who the pair of couples meet along the way, is different. Hyejin’s senior back in college, he’s now a successful TV show producer. In on the farce, Seonghyun tries his best to ingratiate with Mr. Yoon and Ms. Lee by offering brunch at Gamri’s home while putting his best foot forward. Mr. Yoon seems to fall for Seonghyun’s affectations. Earlier in the drama, our PD was likable in his naivete, politeness, and helpfulness. With potential losses on the line, however, he decides to put up a fight, and that means showing his true colors — and interests. He’s missed an opportunity once, so he figures he can’t lose another one.

Interestingly, Hyejin and Dusik remain the same despite the spur-of-the-moment arrangement. Except for lying about their relationship, they’re not doing anything unusual. Hyejin and Dusik as friends are the same as Hyejin and Dusik as fake lovers. They bicker and annoy each other, with Hyejin constantly muttering against Mr. Hong’s laughable ideas. They steal glances, argue with their eyes, and jostle with their gestures. Around Seonghyun, she is prim and proper. As Dusik’s friend and girlfriend-for-a-day, she’s always a little nervier, curious, annoying, foolish, and candid. Shin Minah’s wide-eyed surprise and arresting smiles capture the more uncalculated Hyejin, the one lost as she, according to her father, grew up too fast.

Unlike Seonghyun, Dusik is not interested in formalities. He uses his brashness and natural charm to deal with the bullheaded Mr. Yoon. When playing Go, he doesn’t attempt to please the man by deliberately losing. He simply sticks to his guns. Conversing about orchids, Dusik doesn’t shy away from showing off. When Mr. Yoon shows his disgust over seafood during family lunch, he insists that his guest take a bite. If it were Seonghyun, he would have acquiesced to the demands and impulses of Hyejin’s father. Dusik, however, lives large. He can be rough around the edges and unapologetic. He gets his way, too. But we also know it can often be just the exterior — a defense mechanism to whatever is lurking underneath.

We get glimpses of this past once more in Episode 9. During lunch and while Dusik is away, Mr. Yoon inquires with her daughter about Mr. Hong’s background. Who is he? Where is his family? An orphan? Well, that’s a flaw. The irony escapes Mr. Yoon, who gets reminded when Hyejin answers back, that he’s a remarried widow. If Dusik has no blood relations around, and it’s a gaping hole in his otherwise fascinating resume, then what does it make of Hyejin and the presence of her stepmother. It’s a searing argument that Dusik overhears but takes coolly even as Mr. Yoon storms out of the restaurant.

But it’s also an awkward rebuke of Hyejin’s stepmother who, throughout the episode, has demonstrated to be anything but the nightmarish second wife we may have imagined her to be. Myungshin takes everything in a stride, aware of her place. Amidst the hurt, she manages to be the middle-ground for both stubborn father and equally stubborn daughter, attentive to the needs of both. Hyejin sees this and is quick to apologize for her outburst.

Dusik is just as perceptive as Myunhshin. With great courage, he approaches Mr. Yoon to start one of the more poignant conversations in this chapter of Homcha. Broken by the death of her wife, he had largely neglected Hyejin’s needs as a child. She grew up too fast in the absence of paternal love. Listening intently, Dusik says otherwise. Hyejin received a lot of love — perhaps unseen because it doesn’t fit the conventions of what love might be. If not, then she wouldn’t be able to give love, right? Dusik takes the time to explain the actual situation, too, although Mr. Yoon doesn’t do our couple any favors by mentioning maybe, just maybe, Mr. Hong is who Hyejin deserves. Mr. Yoon clearly likes Mr. Hong.

This is what Homcha does well — provide glimpses of the growing affections between Hyejin and Dusik when they’re around other people. During lunch, Hyejin sees how Dusik manages to wear down the harsh walls of her father and fit comfortably with the family. She asks herself in the quiet of her thoughts what it is with Dusik that she gravitates towards. Probed by Mr. Yoon over his true affections, Dusik answers as prudent as he could that he likes Hyejin only as a friend, even though his eyes betray him.

Shin Min Ah and Kim Seon Ho use their powers to demonstrate this tension within. Their eyes flicker and their lips quiver, showing the tentativeness that marks the lives of their characters. How long can they hide what they truly feel?

It’s the same question for everyone else in Gongjin. Love is light and shadow, after all. For the ever upfront Miseon, that shadow clouds her judgment when she gets rejected by a more old-fashioned Eun-chul. In the more delicate relations between Chohui, Hwajung, and Youngguk, the hidden reasons of Hwajung over her divorce frustrates a Youngguk, who now faces the pain of unrequited love. Hwajung displays a formidable front in the ending scenes when he refuses Youngguk the satisfaction of her deepest sentiments. But bottling it up has a cost, as Namsook rightfully explains. Hwajung will have to admit to it sooner or later.

Seonghyun, too, who is now confronted with the possibility Dusik does have a thing for Hyejin, must take a chance or be late again. On a late-night walk, Dusik also ponders about his earlier conversation with Mr. Yoon and senses it’s now or never. Both have made their decisions. One takes a u-turn while the other heads straight for it. Are they ready to confront those lingering terrors?

Namsook’s broad observations aren’t just frivolous curiosity, however. “If you keep bottling your emotions, you’ll get sick” she exclaims. It’s the perfect commentary to Episode 9’s darker epilogue. Dusik is at his shrink's clinic to discuss the root of his fear, that large swath of evening that hides beneath the daylight he projects in Gongjin. So everyone you love has left you? inquires the doctor, as we become privy to the painful memories of the wakes Dusik has had to attend, wakes that have scarred a man of promise, wakes that stole his sleep.

But the question is too simple, naive, even bare — and that makes it even harder to answer.

#hometown cha cha cha #kim seon ho #Shin Min Ah #writing #korean drama #kdrama #love #갯마을 차차차

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sope-and-shine · 3 years

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The Right of a King: Pt. 2

-> SFW // Soulmate!AU // fluff, angst // mummy!Namjoon -> Pairing: Namjoon x Reader -> Word Count: 18.7k -> Summary: Life as the night guard for your local high-end museum was supposed to be simple and easy. The most dangerous part of your job was only supposed to be the middle-aged patrons who insisted they get a discount for a line being too long. Nowhere in your contract did it say you’d be taking care of a 1,000 year old king that had been mummified. Thankfully, for you he’s harmless, but the storm that comes with him is not as welcoming. -> Warning(s): mild language, brief crude humor, misogyny still exists, overuse of the word wench but not by Namjoon, brief mention of death, brief mention of illness, Jimin is STILL that salesman that uses his charm to steal your money and your boyfriends money - but will anyone complain? no. , kdrama ending - if you know you know, mild violence

a/n: Thank you @sakuraguks-main for checking this out before posting! You really came in clutch for this one

also i SWEAR NAMJOON WILL GET A HAPPY ENDING

Part 1 // Masterlist

Who would have thought that your life could turn up like this? You didn’t have any intention of ever falling for the man who literally scared the shit out of you when you first met him, but now you can’t help but blush when you think about him. The look of content he has when he views a new exhibit, the gentle smile he shares with you when you bring him food for the night. Some of his mannerisms are still very annoying, but he’s much more endearing than you initially gave him credit for.

He’s lightened up over the past few days as you’ve grown to know each other more. You’ve put in an effort to not patronize him, and he’s made a much greater effort to not to offend you with comments regarding your gender. Teaching him about misogyny was a night you won’t forget.

You spent half an hour just teaching him how your phone worked. Thankfully, he grasped the concept that it was much like the kiosks around the museum, only the smaller device did much more. You also threw in a quick explanation on the internet and it’s wonders, using that very interesting lesson to segway into your talk about women of power.

The woman on the screen throws another punch into the man’s jaw, cutting up and effectively knocking him back into the cage surrounding the ring. She advances on him and continues to throw punch after punch until a call is made and she steps back into her corner.

“Is he dead?” Namjoon asks, watching the man crumple to the ground through the tiny screen.

You chuckle at his assumption, “Not dead, but he’ll definitely feel all of those tomorrow when he wakes up.”

“She has excellent precision!” He praises, “I can’t believe the women of this era are so fierce.” He taps the screen to try to rewind the video like you showed him before, but he can’t seem to tap the screen just right. He huffs, “Infernal contraption…”

You laugh at him and he glares at you, “You think this is funny?”

“No! Not at all~” You say, all the while trying to hold your laughter back.

Namjoon is unimpressed with your amusement and pushes at your shoulder, “Don’t be so childish.”

He’d usually get annoyed with you when you’d laugh at his shortcomings and achievements. Every huff over the kiosk and every curious press of the button at the water fountain is met with a small giggle from you. You just can’t help it when his eyebrows furrow and a little pout appears on his face, and you’d found it harder to ignore his excited little dance when he did something new.

“Alright, I’ll stop.”

Despite annoying the king to no end, he did enjoy your lesson for him. He also learned that he enjoyed boxing and the political diplomats of the 21st century. For some reason, both seemed to go hand in hand for him, but you weren’t going to question his sudden enjoyments of your world. He was known to read and write in his free time before his death - not to mention the battles he faced when the situation arose. Introducing him to women proving their strengths in both probably ignited a fire that he hadn’t been able to experience since before his death.

As a way to help him, you decide to bring him a notebook and some felt tip pens. It wouldn’t be like anything he was used to, but it would give him an outlet for himself. Sure he had you to talk to, but you weren’t exactly ideal. With a pen and paper, he’d be able to write out his own thoughts and feelings for himself. He wouldn’t have to worry about holding it all in or hoping you’ll understand how he feels.

Handing them to him is a nerve wracking experience itself. This wasn’t just walking around the museum to look at the exhibits as an act of kindness, this was a gift. He didn’t ask for it, and you were so nervous that he wouldn’t even like color.

“What are these?” he asks, taking the bag from your hand. He opens the top and looks inside, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“I stopped by the store on my way here.” You grab the top of the bag and pull it towards you, letting him hold it open so you can pull out the materials inside. You show him the light blue cover of the notebook and flip it open to showcase the pages, “It’s a notebook so you can write down your thoughts when you don’t want to say them to me.”

“I see.” He nods in understanding. He looks into the bag and reaches in to pull out the felt tipped pen you’d bought just for him. He looks even more confused than he had before, holding the plastic container between his fingers. “This is what you’re using to write with now?”

“It’s called a pen.” You set the notebook back in the bag and take the pen from him, pulling the cap off so he can see the tip. You draw a line on the back of your hand before showing him the mark you made, “They put all the ink inside one part so you can write with this part. The cap is so your ink doesn’t dry or bleed out.”

You hand him the open pen and let him try, allowing him to draw on your hand so he can try it himself. Seeing the black line appear in one clean stroke by his own hand, he becomes mesmerized, “Genius.”

“At the end of the night, you can tuck them away by your feet so you can keep them close. Just make sure the pen clicks when you put the cap on.” You explain. You hand him the cap to the pen and watch him carefully put it back in place, laughing when he flinches at the clicking sound. “Did that scare you?”

“It most certainly did not! It was just too loud!” He argues, attempting to defend his pride.

“Oh, no! The great King Kim Namjoon is afraid of a teeny tiny pen!” You tease, laughing at his expense.

“I am not scared of the pen!” He whines, unamused by your teasing. You continue to poke fun at him, even as he protests against you.

CRASH

A loud, metallic clanging interrupts your small dispute. Before you can even turn your head to see what it could have been, Namjoon grabs your arm to pull you into his embrace. He has your face pressed against his firm chest, a hand cradling the back of your head to hold you close. You can feel his muscular arms through the thin fabric of his shirt pressing against your back to keep you in place and protected from whatever danger may be lurking in the hall.

“What is that?” He asks, more to himself than for you.

“-Ah owno!” You mumble against his chest, unable to properly pronounce your words. You push against his chest and tap his sides until he finally lets you move back far enough for you to try again, “I don’t know.”

Namjoon pulls you over to a display case - the one that runs parallel to the kiosk wall - and presses your back against the wood. He looks around the case before he turns back to you with the most concern you’ve seen on him since you’ve met. “Stay here.”

“No.” You try to push him off, but Namjoon’s grip is firm.

He levels his face with yours, “(Y/n), I’m not letting you put yourself into potential danger!”

“Namjoon, that’s my job!” You remind him, “If someone is out there, then I need to report it! Let me go.”

You try your best to push against him, not wanting to use excessive force if you really don’t have to. Only Namjoon still refuses to budge, “No. You can’t protect yourself properly, I’m not letting you go.”

“Oh, I can’t protect myself?” You ask. In all fairness, he’d never seen you in action besides when you first met, and you could only manage to scream and back away from him at the time. Now, you were in a real situation that required your immediate attention, and he was mocking you for not being strong enough!

“No, you ca-Ah!” Instead of allowing him to continue, you kick your right leg out and wrap it behind his, pulling it towards you as you push against his shoulders at the same time. He falls to the floor with a thud.

“Now, how about you stay here and I’ll go check out what’s going on?” You suggest, leaning over him as he holds the back of his head.

He tries to sit up and falls back down with a grunt, “Yeah...that sounds like a good idea.”

You leave Namjoon lying on the wooden planks and go to investigate the sound. You pull your flashlight from your belt loop and peek around the entryway. The hall itself is completely empty, no signs of anyone having been in the hall. Making small, quiet steps to the next exhibit, you see that it’s gate is still intact and locked just as you had left it.

A hand places itself on your shoulder and you don’t hesitate to kick behind you. You turn over your left shoulder to hit your assailant in the neck, but you quickly stop when you see it’s only Namjoon who’s bent over himself behind you.

“Namjoon!” You rush forward to comfort him, holding his arm with one hand and rubbing his back. “I am so sorry.”

He applies pressure to his shin where a patch of dirt is left from your shoe. He looks up, “You are surprisingly good at that.”

You bend down, leaning over yourself to look at Namjoon on his level, “Yeah, self defense classes come in handy for everyday criminals. They don’t really teach you what to do when an ancient mummy breaks free from his coffin.”

“Sarcophagus.” He corrects.

You scoff, “Is there really a difference?”

“Ow...”

You and Namjoon exchange a worried glance, unsure of what to think. The hall was empty and the exhibit was still locked, so whoever spoke had to have been hiding within the exhibit and you’d missed them during your sweep. They wouldn’t be the first to try, but they would be the first success. You’ll be lucky if Hoseok and Yoongi don’t fire you on the spot when they get here.

You move to the gate, “Alright, you’ve had your fun-”

You stop.

Looking at the exhibit from the doorway, you don’t see anyone at all. No human being stands anywhere within the exhibit. However, the artifacts that line the room are more than just the usual ‘eye catching’ that patrons would describe them as.

They’re alive.

It’s truly a scene from a movie, watching the paintings on the wall move in ripples as their paint begins to stretch with every push against their canvas’. Statues along the rooms edges move with ear-piercing screeches and subtle creaks, their bodies slowly moving of their own volition. In the next room over, the statues move as well. Extraordinary and familiar, you can’t help but to stare in awe at the scene before you.

Namjoon shares the same sentiments, only he’s even more amazed, “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” He asks. His jaw is slack and brown eyes as wide as a curious child. Between the both of you, he should be the one that’s used to the scene.

You can’t help but nudge him, “Now you know how I felt.”

He shakes his head, still enraptured in wonder, “It’s amazing~”

“Yeah…” You look over the room, watching the pieces that can move freely begin to roam. Each one is different as they allow their curiosity to take over. They remind you of Namjoon the second night he had been awake; each confused yet determined to learn more about their surroundings.

In the second room over - the one that connects to the exhibit - you find only a few of the artifacts have also come to life. It’s strange, but you don’t question the magic of the supposed moon goddess. Instead, you and Namjoon enjoy the new company given to you through the night, and you ensure they return to their rightful places at the end of the night.

* * *

“He told those children that I rode tigers around my palace in my freetime! I did no such thing!” Namjoon rages, arms flailing about. With each angry word, his arms move back and forth as if they’re constructing an invisible masterpiece, “I protected and rehabilitated it! I imprisoned many a man that sought those beautiful creatures for such purposes, and I will not accept such ridiculous claims against me!”

Neither you, nor Namjoon had gone to the exhibit next door. He’d been on a tangent about Jeongguk’s inaccuracies since you met him at his gate and he pulled you in. Apparently, he’d woken up during the day, unable to remain asleep. He’d spent quite a bit just thinking in the dark while casually listening to the conversations that happened beyond his resting place. He’d heard a couple argue, two friends making fun of his portrait, and even an elderly woman paying her respects to him. But no conversation he heard was as important to him as Jeongguk’s ‘outrageous’ claims to a group of random school children.

“It’s like he thinks I am a joke! Am I a joke?” He turns to you with such a heated glare, you almost feel bad when your face breaks into a smile. Namjoon seems to pick up on your thoughts when he sees this and his frown forms into a thin line, “Nevermind, I don’t wish to hear your opinion anymore.”

“You shouldn’t take it to heart. Jeongguk isn’t the most educated person among the museum staff.” You say, attempting to reassure him. However, it only seems to anger him more.

“Why not? He works in one of the most wonderful places in the world, and he chooses to ignore the precious history around him?!” He spits, resembling the same king you had first met. His hardened gaze was nothing but cold and spiteful, “How selfish can he be to not take advantage of such a wonderful opportunity?”

“Woah, chill out. Jeongguk isn’t the brightest tool in the shed, but he’s one of the most hardworking!” You defend. You knew better than anyone that Jeongguk was not the best candidate for the job, but he was always looking to improve. Above everything, he always put his everything into studying the exhibits - even if it wasn’t spot on, “Sure, the information may not stick or he may not remember it exactly as it is, but he’s a nice kid.”

“I just don’t see why he’s perfectly fine with learning it wrong.” Namjoon takes a moment to think, really thinking about what you said before he continues, “If I were him, then I would do everything I possibly could to learn about these exhibits and that my information is accurate.”

Your expression softens and Namjoon sighs, “I just want to know more about this world. If I am to be stuck in this era, then I want to experience it all for myself! I want to know what I’ve missed.”

What do you say to him? A simple ‘I’m sorry’ will only go so far. There’s only so much you can do for him in his current situation. If you could let him leave then you would, but he has no papers, no family, and no experience. He’d be forced to leave without question if someone found him as he is now, but you can’t decide if that would be worse than keeping him locked away in the museum for the rest of his life. If you were forced to, you’d go crazy. To think about being stuck in his position…?

“Namjoon-!” You try to speak up, but his hand raises to stop you.

“It’s alright. I know you can’t do anything to help me.” His smile is bittersweet as he shows it to you, his dimples nowhere near his cheeks. He clears his throat and stands, “I think I’ll stay in my exhibit tonight. I’d like to be alone.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, not wanting him to be alone.

“I’m sure.” He nods his head and hands you his empty food box, “I’ll see you tomorrow as usual.”

You allow him to walk away from you, disappearing to the back of his exhibit with a certain stiffness. It’s like he’s reverted into the shell of the king he was that first night, only this one is choosing to hide from you this time. Even when you leave and wish him goodnight, he doesn’t say it back. He isolates himself, and you’re disappointed to find he’s still by himself when you come back at the end of the night.

Even after the other exhibit is double checked and the morning shift arrives to clock in, you’re still thinking about Namjoon. Especially when Jeongguk arrives with his morning coffee order. It was hard to not think about what he had said and the experiences he was missing out on. There was so much he could be doing, but instead he was locked away like a caged animal.

You mull over these thoughts as you replace your security jacket with your outside coat. They weigh heavy on your mind even as the break room begins to fill with the morning shift. You’re so distracted, you almost miss Hoseok greeting you.

“(Y/n)! Have a good night?” He asks, unaware of your own personal conflict.

You nod in return, “Yeah! It was as eventful as usual.”

“I bet the air conditioner kicking on really gave you a run for your money.” Taeyang jokes, reminding you of your first shift on the job when he had helped to train you.

“Oh, doesn’t it always.” You reply, a light roll of your eyes expressing your amusement. You set your flashlight on the top shelf and close your locker. Turning back to the table where your things lie, you look at Hoseok, “Did you find anyone for the night shift?”

“No, not yet.” He says. Only this time, it’s almost a relief to know you get to keep Namjoon to yourself for just a bit longer.

You nod and grab your bag off the table, “Okay, just keep me in the loop.”

“Actually-!” Hoseok stops you before you get too far, “You’ve been working a lot of hours and I really appreciate your hard work. Why don’t you take the weekend off and I’ll cover your shift.”

“Oh!” You contemplate his offer for only a moment, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He asks, his head tilting to the side.

You know he means well, but all you can think about is Namjoon waiting for you to show up and being greeted with Hoseok instead. You don’t even bother to think about the exhibit next to his that’s also come to life. If Hoseok finds Namjoon, then he’ll call the police and then you’ll never see him again.

You smile, trying to mask your nerves, “I mean, are you sure? That’s two whole nights-”

“-Three!” He interrupts, “You deserve a break and I’m not taking no for an answer. Go out to a club or something. Stay home and watch a drama. Do something other than sit in the office and have fun.”

You honestly haven’t thought about doing anything fun since you’ve started to appreciate Namjoon’s presence more. If anything, you’d rather spend the nights at the museum with Namjoon rather than at home alone.

That’s when the idea hits you.

If you take Friday off, then you can sneak Namjoon out Friday morning. You can take him home with you and show him what the outside world is really like, rather than him watching from a window. You could take him to try street food, the Han River, the sea. There’s so much that you could show him, but you only have so much time to do so.

You agree to Hoseok’s offer and wave goodbye, for once walking out of the museum with some pep in your own steps. Later that night when you return, you’ve added a tape measure to your bag of things. Namjoon is more than confused when you accost him before giving him his food for the night.

“Am I having something tailored?” He asks, his body tense as you place the measuring tape against his shoulder.

“No, but I am buying you clothes.” You say, looking at the measurement you got so you can record it as well.

“What for?” He asks.

You look away from your phone for only a moment, meeting his eyes before you turn back to your screen, “Do you want to see more of today’s world, or do you want to stay in this museum?”

“You’re taking me out?” You can practically see the excitement in his features without even looking at him. It makes you happy to know he’s happy, but at the same time, you know it might mean more to both of you than you’re willing to admit.

“Just for the weekend.” You tell him. You take his food out of the bag you brought and hand it over, “This is just a friendly gesture, so don’t think anything of it.”

“I won’t. Promise.” His smile is taught, and you know he’s disappointed more than anything to hear the words leave your mouth. But at least you’ll be able to make him smile in less than 48 hours.

“Good.” You grab your own food and take the initiative to sit down first, “I’ll figure the rest out later, but I need to make sure I can convince the other exhibit not to move for the next 3 nights tonight.”

“I’ll help you!” He insists.

That night when the both of you finish eating, Namjoon assists you in talking to the other exhibit. He uses the moment to work on his social skills once again, pretending that he’s speaking to other humans of the modern age. It’s both amusing and heartwarming to watch him, the bright smile he offers to every living artifact that he speaks to. Even more so, they each treat him with so much respect and kindness. To them, he is a king, and they have no problem treating him as such.

Even after you’ve talked to everyone and you’ve closed the exhibit for the night, you spend your night walking the museum halls with Namjoon. You let him practice with modern slang sheets you found on the internet while you order clothes to pick up for him, stifling your laughter when he uses words you’d never heard anyone his age use. It’s endearing to listen to him practice, and it excites you to know you’ll get to show him his first real glimpse of the world so foreign to him.

It’s all you can think about on your way home, before you go to sleep, and when you wake up in the afternoon. Waiting in line to pick up his clothes, you can only think about Namjoon waiting in line. You think about the mistakes he might make and the blush on his cheeks when he realizes he made a mistake. Walking along the sidewalk, you think about Namjoon seeing a car up close for the first time. Would he be scared? Would he try to break into one?

You’ll be keeping a very close eye on him around cars.

Your coworkers give you curious stares as you walk in with more bags than usual, but none press you about what you’re doing with them. Everything is moving seamlessly, and even Taehyung gives you an easy time kicking him out of the museum. You thought Namjoon would give you a hard time as well, but you’re pleasantly surprised when the man giddily takes the bags from you.

You leave him to put on the first outfit you picked for him, leaving his exhibit open to come find you when he’s done. The whole night that you spend finishing your paperwork and your rounds for the night, reminding the other exhibit that they have to be still for the next few days. When you finally catch up to Namjoon again, you’re almost speechless to see him in casual clothing. If you’d known a pair of jeans, a white shirt, and a simple green jacket would look so good, you would have bought them for him the second day you’d known him.

“Do I look okay?” He asks, unsure of himself in the new style of clothes.

“Perfect! Now, follow me.” You both leave his exhibit, you locking the gate before leading him down the stairs. You take him all the way to the lower level storage space where new exhibit pieces are loaded from the large dock doors. You find the right key for the padlock and open one side just enough for the both of you to look through. “You wait out here on that bench right over there. Don’t leave that bench.”

“Why not?” He asks.

You shrug, “Because I said so.”

“I am a king!” He reminds you, puffing his chest more than necessary.

You shake your head, “And I'm the queen of I don’t give 2 shits. Go park yourself on that bench and stay there or I’ll end you myself.” You push him out the door and wave him off, Namjoon stumbling to catch his balance.

“Well, you don’t have to be so violent.” He grumbles, dusting himself off, “I will not remove myself from the bench until you allow me to do so, queen of not giving 2 shits.”

“Thank you.” You laugh, paying his scowl no mind. You close the door, but you open it once more before he gets too far, “I’ll be out soon.”

You lock the dock doors back up and rush yourself upstairs, double checking the exhibit to make sure everything is in place and there’s no trash left about. You return to security and clean up your own belongings, waiting only 15 minutes before your morning shift comes to liberate you. Packing up and clocking out is a breeze, sparing only a moment to say goodbye to those who greet you. All of your focus is on returning to Namjoon before he decides to wander off.

Going through the employee entrance, you walk along the side of the building to get to the back. It only takes you a minute along the sidewalk before you make it to the bench where the king sits in his new clothes. He sits with his usual pristine posture, watching the cars and people pass in front of him. He reminds you of a child - a very overgrown child - watching the world around him for the first time. It’s almost as if for the first time he’s seeing everything in color, and every sight is one to cherish.

“Enjoying the view?” You ask, catching him off guard.

He jumps at first, but his shoulders relax when he realizes it’s just you. He nods, “Yeah. It’s different in the light.”

“Things usually are.” You agree. You let him rake his eyes over the city, allowing him to experience the early morning beauty for just a few moments longer. He looks so at peace with the world seeing a true sunrise for the first time since he last walked the Earth. His lungs taking in large breaths of fresh air instead of the cold museum air that he’s grown accustomed to. Pair it with his new clothing, he looks as though he’s spent his whole life in the 21st century with you.

When you feel a yawn crawling up on you is when you decide it’s time to leave, “Let’s go back to my place to get some sleep and then I can show you everything you’ve been missing.”

You can tell he’s reluctant to go, his entire body tensing as his hand unintentionally grips the bench as if it would ground him there for just 5 minutes more. But instead of voicing his desire to stay, he nods and stands to join you, “I would be honored to be shown to your apartment.”

—-

It’s just past 1:30 in the afternoon when you wake up, the soft melody of your alarm ringing in the small confines of your loft. The rays of sun coming from your apartment windows hits the decor of your loft just right, bouncing off of your mirror and sending a sliver of light to cover your eyes. You’re more than tempted to hit snooze and turn yourself over to catch just a few more precious hours of sleep, but the lingering thoughts of showing Namjoon what your world has to offer him are much more desirable.

You pull yourself out of bed and stumble into your house slippers, your left foot missing the sock you’d fallen asleep with. You allow yourself to stretch your arms above your head before you walk downstairs, finding the King exactly where you had left him on your couch. Though, instead of sitting as stiff as a board, he’s folded over the arm of your couch with one arm clutching the blue koala throw pillow you’d bought online - You can only imagine how long he sat on your couch holding the same posture before he finally passed out.

You decide to let him continue resting and get yourself ready for the rest of your day. You take a quick shower, doing your face routine in between the shampooing, the conditioning, and the scrubbing. You dry most of your hair with a towel before leaving it to air dry while you throw on some jeans and a sweater and some light makeup to enhance your features. When that’s done, you head back to the living room to wake up the peaceful king.

“Namjoon-” You shake his shoulder gently, not wanting to startle him. You nudge his shoulder and call his name a few times before his eyes flutter open and close, “Namjoon, we have a lot to do in very little time! You have to get up so we can get some food!”

“Have the food brought to my room, Jihye…” Namjoon mumbles, his face contorting as his eyes squeeze shut and his arms pull the pillow closer to him.

You giggle at the way his nose scrunches, “I’m not Jihye, your majesty. You’re not in your time period anymore, remember?”

The king’s eyes open and you’re met with tired brown eyes. For a moment, there’s an air of sadness as he takes in your appearance, but it leaves as quickly as it appears. He sits up quick and stretches his arms above his head, his white t-shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin.

You turn away from him, feeling the embarrassment climb to your ears as you walk towards the door, “You should put your jacket back on so we can go and eat.”

“Yes! I’m starving,” He says. He follows you to the front door where both of your shoes sit, sliding on the laceless shoes you’d bought for him.

You put on your own before you grab your jackets out of the closet, “Here.” You hand him his and unbunch yours to slip it on.

“Let me!” Namjoon drops his own jacket in favor of yours, straightening the article of clothing for you to put on.

You only stare at him in awe, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I want to,” he explains, his dimpled smile gracing his cheeks. You let him hold the jacket for you, allowing him to help guide your arms into the sleeves. The whole time you’re trying to hold your breath, as if even one hitch or loud exhale would give away your thoughts or feelings. His hands smooth the shoulders of your coat down before they're gone and he’s picking up his own jacket, “Good?”

“Yeah! Good.”

It’s only a small walk to the cafe a block from your apartment. Upon arrival, you try your best to figure out what drink would best suit Namjoon’s tastes. He didn’t necessarily have a sweet tooth, but he didn’t enjoy the bitter drinks you’d brought him either. You eventually settle on ordering him an americano and letting him choose a sandwich to eat. Neither of you talk much as you eat together, you instead let Namjoon enjoy the new atmosphere and the view from the window as he eats. It’s when he bumps his plate off the table and sends it splattering against the concrete floor that you decide it’s best to leave for the aquarium ahead of schedule.

You pull him to the bus stop as the bus rolls to a stop, only waiting in the line for a moment before you file onto the bus behind everyone else. As you turn your phone to scan the bus pass on the back of your case, you feel a tug on your other hand.

“(Y/n)!” Namjoon whispers harshly.

“What?” You ask, nervously eyeing the bus driver as you scan the pass again.

“Is this safe?” He asks.

“Namjoon-” You laugh. Of course he would think it isn’t safe. Hell, on the right day you don’t either! You pull him down the aisle to find a seat at the back of the bus to sit down before you answer his question, “Of course this is safe. I know it’s loud and it shakes, but I wouldn’t put you in any unnecessary danger.”

“You’re right,” He sighs. He squeezes your hand, his deep brown eyes meeting your own, “I trust you.”

The words alone are enough to make your stomach twist into knots. You feel warm and tingly and you quickly find something outside of the bus to catch his attention instead, “Look-” You point in front of his face, finding an intricate statue in front of a building approaching, “-isn’t that cool!?”

He turns to admire the sculpture and you take in a much needed breath. Keeping him distanced from you was going to be an issue. Even if you do fall for him and you never take him back to the museum, how would you explain where he’s from? How would he get a job? How would he be able to do anything other than live in your home if he wasn’t a real person anymore?

“Where are we going?” Namjoon asks, pulling you from your inner turmoil.

You can’t help but smile, knowing that this will be one of the best surprises for the King since you’d brought him his journal, “I’m going to take you to see something you’ve never seen before.”

After quite a few stops and many questions from Namjoon, you finally get off of the bus in front of the tall blue building. Over the doors reads ‘Seoul Aquarium’ in colorful lettering, standing out against the plain white of the sign.

“Aquarium?” Namjoon reads, his head tilted in confusion. He turns to you with his skeptical gaze, “What does that mean?”

“Why don’t we go inside and I’ll show you?” You offer, squeezing his hand that’s still connected to your own.

The both of you enter the building and you’re immediately surrounded by a dim atmosphere highlighted by waves of light that glisten off the floor and the walls. The white walls of the interior are decorated by multiple pictures and colorful murals. The ceiling - high and vaulted - holds a large models of different fish suspended, the portion closest to the ground protected by a small fence in the center of the room. Multiple exhibits lay beyond, but a quick trip through the ticket line holds you back.

You guide Namjoon through the roped off line to get your tickets, but his attention doesn’t leave the main room the entire time. His eyes dance over every detail of the room while you wait in line and as you speak to the teller in the booth for your tickets. Even as you lead him into the room itself, his eyes are still trying to catch every last square inch. With the king thoroughly distracted, you take the chance to look at the aquarium’s layout to see which way you should go first.

There were of course the sharks and the dolphins, they would definitely surprise the king to see ‘a beast’ so large. Then again, there were the jellyfish and the underwater walkways as well, mesmerizing and unthinkable for him as a man of another century. But the intractable exhibits would be so much more exciting for him to experience, being able to really touch sea animals you wouldn’t normally be able to. It’s all so wonderful to think about, but where to start is going to really set the stage for him.

And you know just what will make him happiest.

“Namjoon-” He turns to you, his eyes meeting yours, fleeting to the side to see one more piece of art for just a moment before they’re on yours again. You giggle, “-are you ready to see the first exhibit?” He nods and you lead the way to your first stop.

On the right side of the building is another line of people, all waiting patiently to enter past a rubber curtain maintained by an employee standing behind a podium. As you wait, Namjoon begins to bounce, becoming restless until he can’t stop himself from asking, “Is this another museum?”

“It is!” You nod, “Only the exhibits here are supposed to be alive.” Namjoon’s cheeks darken and you can’t stop the endeared smile that adorns your own features, “I think you’ll really like this, Namjoon.”

When it’s finally your turn to walk through the rubber curtain, you enter a narrow hallway encase in darkness - save for the glow in the dark tape on the floor. You have to pass through another curtain made of rubber before you finally enter the glass encased tunnel that barricades the both of you from the water that rests above you. It’s dimly lit just like the rest of the building, but the most striking difference isn’t the atmosphere.

It’s the various schools and pairs of fish that swim carelessly around the glass.

Namjoon is in awe just watching the vibrantly colored fish go over him, seeing all kinds of fish of different shapes and sizes only mere inches from his face. He reaches his hand for the glass and pulls back upon feeling it’s cool touch, not expecting it to be so cool.

“How is this possible…?” He asks, his tanned skin lit by the soft blue hues that shine through the glass.

You shrug, “I’m not really sure how they do it myself, but it’s amazing, right?”

Namjoon turns to you, a look of pure wonder and amazement painted on his face, “It’s gorgeous.”

---

It took you almost an hour just to pull him away from the tunnels, but you managed to drag him past the seahorses, the sharks, and the dolphins. Each creature was just as fascinating for him as the other, and every laugh and smile he made had your stomach doing flips. He makes it so hard to only see him as a friend when he’s just so incredibly adorable every time he sees something new.

Now, as you exit the small projector room playing the same squid documentary over and over again, you lead him to the interactive exhibit. Just from outside the exhibit’s entrance you can see the dozens of tanks that stand in the room with an employee at each one. Only a few families and couples are in the room, making it the perfect environment for Namjoon to explore something new.

“What’s in here?” Namjoon asks as you approach the new room.

“In here are the exhibits you can touch and interact with. Do you want to see?” You ask.

He nods and takes the first step himself, deciding to take the lead as a way to show you he’ll be fine. You follow him into the chaos, making your way over to a box about as tall as your knee where Namjoon stands peering over the side. Inside the box looks to be a mountain of sand with rocks and grass at the bottom and various logs and sticks piled up to be climbed on by whatever creatures call the box their home.

You stop by his side and he turns to you, “Can we start here?” He asks.

“Of course!” You nod, gesturing for him to look at what else is inside.

It takes a minute for the tanks contents to register with you, and then you see the movement in the sand. Little bubbles that move before a hole - much like a dozen others that decorate the sand - is formed that reveals the small, white and yellow crabs.

Upon seeing the tiny creature poke it’s head out, Namjoon’s eyes immediately light up like a child receiving a gift. He reaches his hands out to touch the crab in front of him, but he quickly pulls them back to himself. Turning to you he ask, “Am I allowed to touch them?”

“You don’t need to ask me, Namjoon. This is a touch tank, so you can touch anything in each of these tanks.” You explain.

Just like that, the childlike wonder of the King is back and he’s reaching down to hold the small crab in the palm of his hand. The sight is so endearing. To see him hold the life in the palm of his hand with the utmost care and adoration sends your heart soaring. It makes you wonder if you can really keep a line between being his friend and wanting more.

It’s Saturday, the day after your aquarium escapade. You’d had so much fun just being able to watch Namjoon enjoy something he’d never seen before, and he practically begged you to buy him a book about sea life from the gift shop before you left - a sight you didn’t think you’d see from the King.

He spent his whole night in between trying different foods just reading through all the discoveries humans had made since his time, and at one point he even tried to use your computer to do his own research. His thirst for knowledge of his new surroundings seemed unquenchable, and you weren’t sure you wanted him to learn anything else in hopes that you’ll be able to watch his constant excitement for something new.

Now, as you both sit in another cafe enjoying your lunch, Namjoon seems to have come down from his information kick. He sits across from you eating his sandwich in a content silence as he people-watches from his chair.

You focus on finishing your own sandwich, enjoying the sustenance as you imagine how your trip to the shopping district will go. You can’t help but imagine Namjoon trying some of the newer fashion trends, or see how good he’ll look in a hat. Or maybe he’ll hate shopping and you can take him to experience karaoke for the first time. He won’t know the songs, but it might still be fun.

“-(Y/n)!” Namjoon says harshly, breaking you out of your trance. You turn to him, a piece of bread poking out of your mouth. Namjoon stifles a chuckle and it takes you a moment to realize why he’s laughing at you.

Quickly you cover your mouth as you finish chewing, your eyes trained on your drink rather than your companion. Once it’s all gone, you turn back to the man in front of you, him sitting with his elbows rested on the table and his face resting on his hands as he watches you. You take a quick sip of your drink before you decide to acknowledge him, “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “I was just wondering about something.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“You.”

“Me?” You look to him for reassurance that you heard him correctly and he nods. “Why would you want to know about me?”

“Well, you know a lot about me, and most of that is thanks to your technologies of this time period, but-...” He hesitates, playing with his thumbs, “You don’t talk about yourself.”

“There really isn’t much to say. I’ve had a fairly normal life, I’ve had regular experiences, I have regular friends…” When you think about your life compared to what his must have been like, you can’t help but feel insecure about yours. He’s lived a far more fulfilling life than you, and it’s not easy to expose just how dull yours is. “I just don’t think there’s much of my life that would compare to yours.”

“And why is that?”

You spare him a glance, totally unamused by his obliviousness - playful or not, “I don’t know if you noticed, but my apartment is the size of your stables.”

He shrugs, “So what? Your life is so much different from mine! It’s absolutely fascinating to me.” You can only guess what he would find so fascinating about your life when he compares it to yours, but the way he looks at you makes you want to lay it all out on the table for him, “Can’t I know something?”

So you indulge him, telling him stories of your childhood as best as you can remember. The time that your Dad was helping you bake cookies and you set the oven on fire, the day that the family dog got out and sent the neighbor flying, that one time your brother got drunk with his friends an you had to sneak him into the house without your parents knowing - something they still don’t know about. Any weird, funny memory that you could recall, you shared with him, and each one made him laugh and smile and it only encouraged you to share more.

“Wait wait wait-” He says, stopping you in the middle of your story and his own laughter, “So he really said that?”

“Yeah! I swear I thought our professor was going to end him!” You say, recalling the memory of your college friend who told the professor if his manhood wasn’t the size of a pea then maybe he’d be a much happier man.

“Brilliant!” He hits the table with the palm of his hand, “My friends that I had when I lived weren’t as quick witted as yours.”

“No?” You probe.

“They used their swords instead of words,” he explains. He contemplates for a moment before he continues, “Though, their swords did get them far for my time.”

“I can imagine.” You laugh, taking another sip of your almost empty drink.

“Have you felt love before?” Namjoon asks, changing the topic just like that.

“Love?” You choke, your hand pressing against your mouth to stop anymore of your drink from spilling onto your shirt.

“Yeah. Have you had any love interests?” He inquires, turning his full attention back to you.

“Once. When I was in middle school.” You shrug, feeling the intense heat of his state, “It only lasted for a few years, nothing too long.” You hadn’t thought about that relationship for a while. You really hadn’t thought about anyone at all except for him, “He just wasn’t the right one.”

His eyes practically sparkle when you mention your past love not being the one. He smiles, “You believe in finding the right one?”

“I believe in finding someone that blends well with you.” You explain carefully, knowing exactly where he’s going with this.

“But no soulmates?” He asks.

You can tell he’s saying it in more of a joking way to mask the truth behind his actions. You know he wants you to believe he’s your soulmate and you’re meant to be together, but you just can’t go through with it yet.

You clear your throat and stand up, “We should get going. The movie will start without us if we don’t.”

“Right.” He agrees, standing up after you.

Though, you know neither of you are really finished with the conversation.

It’s much later in your apartment that you think about the conversation again. You’re working on some of your online work while Namjoon watches some movies much like the one you had shown him. It never occurred to you that he might enjoy superhero movies all that much, but seeing him cheer on Spiderman through the screen like the actor could hear him puts a smile on your face.

The other patrons at the theater did not enjoy his enthusiasm as much as you.

Then again, they didn’t know him. They didn’t get to see his dimples pop out when he saw Thor appear on screen. They didn’t get to see him parade around your apartment in the Ryan pajamas you bought him with his fourth bowl of popcorn. They didn’t get to hear him recall stories of what it was really like to live in a time where none of this existed. They didn’t get to appreciate him.

But at the same time you realize, you haven’t appreciated him either.

It’s been almost a month since he first woke and claimed you to be his soulmate. In that time, you’ve done your best to understand him and let him roam, but you’ve only been pushing him away. Keeping him at arm's length in hopes of not catching feelings.

Yet...you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to give into the temptation of accepting your role as his soulmate.

—-

“We don’t need to get on the bus today?” Namjoon asks, the last of his breakfast in his mouth.

You shake your head, “Not today. I have something planned that I think you’re going to really enjoy.”

“Is it more food?” You turn to him with a look that is usually saved for Jimin or Taehyung and he just shrugs, “What?”

You sigh, “We can get food there, but we’re not going there for the food. You’ll see.”

You loop your arm through his and continue on down the large sidewalk, enjoying the fresh morning air as you walk your regular path. It’s when Namjoon sees the flower beds that he realizes where you’re taking him and he stops.

“You’re bringing me back to the museum?” He asks, a look of disbelief written across his features.

Sensing why he’s upset you’re quick to shake your head to dissuade the thought, “Not just yet! We still have tonight and tomorrow before you need to go back. I just want to show you what you miss during the day.” Letting go of his arm and instead your hand to him, you smile in hopes it will make him feel more comfortable, “Follow me?”

You lead him up the large staircase, pausing at the top to show him the view and take a few pictures before you go inside. A line like there had been at the aquarium is off just to the side, but you drag Namjoon in the opposite direction.

“Don’t we need to follow them?” He asks

“Employee perk.” You vaguely explain, more interested in getting him into the museum and letting him meet your friends, “Come over this way! I want to talk to someone real quick.”

Jin catches sight of you before you get the chance to even call out to him. He waves to his departing guests and turns to wave to you, “(Y/n)! I thought you had the day off, what are you doing here?”

“I’m showing my friend around the museum, he’s never been here before,” You explain, not missing the way Jin looks Namjoon up and down in his light jeans, black turtleneck, and brown jacket you’d picked up for him. Thankfully, he seems to approve of Namjoon and the clothes you’d picked for him, “Jin, this is Kim Namjoon. Namjoon, this is Kim Seokjin.”

Namjoon gives a curt bow, “Very cool to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Jin chuckles. He doesn't seem to mind Namjoon’s vernacular as he continues to tease him, “So, Kim Namjoon? Any relation to the King in our 3rd floor exhibit?”

“No, my mother was a history stan.” The king explains.

You share a look with Jin that screams “don’t you dare say anything” and he nods with a fake smile, “How fascinating.”

“Well-!” Deciding that now is as good a time as any to get him out of there, you squeeze Namjoon's hand with one and wave to Jin with the other, “We should let you get back to work, but it was nice seeing you Jin.”

“You too!” Jin waves back with his familiar, bright smile. Though it fades into a mischievous one just as fast, “Don’t cause too much trouble with your boyfriend~”

You don’t comment on his words, knowing that Namjoon probably wouldn’t get the insinuation behind his words anyway. You just drag him along to the stairs to bring him to the first exhibit you’ll be visiting.

When Namjoon sees the familiar entrance cone into focus, he gasps in excitement, “This is the European exhibit! I’ve been waiting to go through here.”

“Well, today is your lucky day.” You say. You pull him into the exhibit's entrance and notice the empty kiosk to the right of traffic, “C’mon there’s a kiosk over here.”

You go to grab headphones for yourself, but Namjoon is faster than you, “Here-” He takes them out of your hand and places them over your ears for you, a tender smile on his dimpled face as he repeats the action you’d done for him the other night. “There you go.”

He puts his own headphones on and presses play on the video, but you don’t listen. You don’t let the words process. All you can think about is the soft smile that he shared with you and the gentle touch of his hands against your head.

---

You can’t deny that the museum is much more appealing during the day. With all the patrons that walk around enjoying the exhibits, the quiet chatter is low and welcomed to your ears. More importantly, the ability to watch Namjoon enjoy the presence of humans is a gift itself. He’s really come out of his shell over the past few days. He’s enjoyed getting to know people again, and being able to practice his use of modern slang - no matter how horrendous it is.

Only part of you regrets taking him around to meet Jeongguk. You knew Namjoon wanted to meet him, but it was only for him to school the younger man in a history lesson. Not a hard feat, but nonetheless. It was still a very interesting encounter.

“And this is really what they used?” He asks, staring at the chair contraption for birthing behind the glass. It was old and rusted - not much to really look at - but he found it interesting anyways. “Strange.”

From another part of the room, you hear a familiar voice speak up, “-and over here you’ll all see a replica of a French Gillotine from France!”

You weren't going to pay him any mind until you noticed Namjoon tense up beside you, “Namjoon?”

“It’s him.” He mutters ominously.

“Jeongguk?” You ask.

“Isn’t it pronounced Guillotine?” You hear someone ask, only for the young guide to laugh, “No, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes.” Namjoon assures you.

When you turn to spot the boy in the crowd, you see him only a few feet away with his group around him, “Why don’t you all take a moment to look around at the artifacts of the room and I’ll be over here to answer any questions.”

You are more than aware of how Namjoon feels about Jeongguk, even if he is just a kid trying to get through college. With him being right there, it would be impossible to really keep the determined King away, especially with that look in his eyes.

“Do you want to meet him?” You ask, hesitant to really introduce the two to each other.

“Please.” He pushes up the sleeves of his jacket and you try your best to ignore the action, “I’d like to teach this kid a thing or two.”

The brunette walks away from you before you can say anything else and all you can do is follow after him and redirect the conversation.

“Jeongguk!” You call out, moving in front of Namjoon before he can say anything, “I want to introduce you to my friend Namjoon.”

“Namjoon? Like the mummy?!” He asks immediately, getting excited at the mention of his favorite dead guy, “Bro! That’s a crazy coincidence! He could be your great-great-really great-granddaddy!”

“Please don’t call him that.” You beg.

Namjoon clears his throat, clearly not prepared to deal with Jeon Jeongguk at all, “Yes, well, there is no relation. I am, however, what you would call a pro when it comes to the king.”

“Really?!” The boy only seems to get more and more excited with every word Namjoon speaks to life, “You know, I actually have a lot of questions if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Uh…” The king looks to you and you shake your head, unwilling to help him, “Sure thing?”

“Okay so is it true that when he was a boy he would run around the castle dragging hanbok behind him?! A few historians found in journals left in his tomb that that was something he would do. Do you believe them?!”

A hot blush creeps onto Namjoon’s face, “Uh…Well, you see-”

Watching Namjoon try to explain why he may - or may not have done - without giving Jeongguk too much information was an experience itself, but it paid off. You’d have never thought Namjoon would actually enjoy the conversation, but that was just a part of Jeongguk’s charm. Though, you could have done without Namjoon trying to use ‘lit’ and ‘yeet’ correctly in a sentence against the kid that uses the words every chance he gets.

Thankfully, the observatory is Jeongguk-free, and you’re more than happy to take Namjoon to see the stars. You let him choose the spot, a space far enough from a group of kids so that the two of you can talk quietly to the other during the showing.

“So what is this again?” He asks, as you both settle into your seats.

“It’s a light show that shows you the stars and their constellations.” You explain, “They even show you planets hundreds and thousands of miles away from ours.”

“Your technology never ceases to amaze me.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great when it needs to be.” You agree. The lights begin to dim and you playfully hit Namjoon’s arm out of excitement, “Oh! It’s starting.”

At the center of the room, the projector comes to life, projecting thousands of dots onto the ceiling. Each one shines and glistens differently, creating an illusion of shimmering like real stars in a night sky. The introduction begins to play, welcoming everyone to the observatory and inviting them to spend the next few minutes enjoying the view of the night sky before the lesson begins.

With this being one of your many trips to the museum’s observatory, you turn to Namjoon to see his reaction instead. Just like the other places you’ve taken him to, he’s very invested into what’s going on in front of him. His eyes glisten in the artificial starlight, and he looks so entranced by the holograms that decorate the ceiling.

A part of you is screaming at yourself to talk to him. To let him know everything about you. But another part just wants you to keep quiet and stop yourself from getting attached.

But how can you not want to share everything with him?

You decide for yourself, leaning on the arm rest to get closer to him so you wouldn’t disturb anyone else, “You know, when I was younger-“ He turns to you, “- and I lived in the country, I’d spend every night by my window just to look at the stars.”

“Really?” He asks.

“Mhm! I don’t why, but I’ve just always been drawn to the stars and the mysteries of space.” You admit. You look to the hidden constellations above you and let out a pleasant sigh, “Seeing them just makes me feel at home, you know?”

“I think I do.” He nods, “Thank you for telling me.”

Together you enjoy the calm and quiet of the display, happily listening to the narrator while you sit so close together. No one to bother you, no one to interrupt a peaceful moment. It’s something you’re more than happy to share with Namjoon, feeling much more comfortable than you have before.

Then again, happiness and calm can only last so long when Park Jimin runs the museum gift shop. And right now, y could do without him trying to sell Namjoon every item that catches his eyes though.

“This one is a real keeper! I’m telling you, these pens write like they were made for a god. They’re insane!” Jimin insists, showing Namjoon on a scratch piece of paper just how good they really are.

“Really? And they each have these cool designs?” Unbeknownst to Jimin, Namjoon really doesn’t know the difference between a good or bad pen. He could tell him it had a cap instead of a button and he would be in awe.

Jimin nods, “All of them.”

“Perfect.”

“Jimin!” You interrupt. You gain the attention of both of them and motion for Jimin to come to you, “Come here.” He leaves Namjoon to look on his own and jogs over with a mischievous smile, knowing that you’re frown is not good, “What are you doing?”

“My job.” He says.

You cross your arms, “I brought him here to meet you, not for you to sway him with your manly charms.”

Jimin shrugs, completely unbothered, “It’s not my fault if he falls victim to my tactics~”

“Oh you are a minx!” You huff, “I don’t see how Yoongi puts up with you.”

“He just makes my schedule and signs my checks. After that, I don’t see him at all.” Jimin explains, bragging more than anything as he begins to clean his counter.

“Yeah, I’m starting to see why.” You mumble. You push your angry thoughts about him away to change the topic so something else. Or more specifically; someone else, “Hey is Tehyung not here? Where is he?”

“He’s sick today,” He tells you, “He called me this morning and asked if I’d keep an eye on his exhibits.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Have you?” You pry.

“I love Taehyung. He’s my best friend!” Jimin assures you. He picks up his cleaning towel and throws it in the drawer by his register, replacing it with his phone, “But there’s no way in Hell that I will be spending my free time watching over exhibits that A. Have their own security and B. Don’t move.”

You sigh, “Yeah, I wouldn’t either and it’s my job to watch them.”

“I’d like to get this.” Namjoon says, breaking up the conversation. In his hands he holds a closed box, a box that Jimin showed you the other week.

The box with your necklace.

“Are you sure?” You ask, knowing that the price tag on it was a hefty one.

“Yeah.” He sets the box on the counter and then pulls a handful of cash out of his pocket, thoroughly surprising you.

“Wait, where’d you get this?” You ask.

“There was a nice guy that came in while you guys were talking.” He explains, “He asked who I was buying a gift for and gave me the money when I told him it was for you.”

“Did you get his name or see where he went? I can’t just let him pay that much.” You peer around him to see if the man was still nearby but Namjoon places a hand on your arm.

“He didn’t say. All he said was that I should put it to good use, so I am.” The king explains. He looks into your eyes with a pleading gaze, “Please.”

You’re powerless against his gaze and you nod to Jimin who is more than happy to ring up the over priced package, “One soulmate necklace for the handsome gentleman and his lovely lady.”

Namjoon doesn’t let you carry the bag, he doesn’t even let you touch it until you make it back to your apartment with dinner - that he also insisted on carrying. It’s long after the two of you have enjoyed your dinner that he finally lets you open the bag.

“Are you sure, your majesty?” You tease, earning yourself an unamused frown.

“Yes I’m sure.” He says, handing the bag over for you to take, “Open it.”

You do as he says, opening the bag and pulling out the box carrying the replica of your very own necklace. Lifting the lock and opening the lid, you’re met with the familiar shine of grey moonstones and pink gems held tight by a gold strand. Though, unlike the necklace sitting behind glass, this one has a hidden clasp that is better suited for modern tastes.

You take the shining jewels out of the box and hold it up for the both of you to admire, “It really is beautiful.”

“It’s very convincing.” Namjoon agrees. He takes the necklace from your hands and gestures to yourself, “May I?”

You're confused until you realize he wants to help you put it on, “Yeah-!” You turn your back towards him so he can place the necklace on you, “Yeah, sure.”

He’s gentle as he moves his arms around you, letting the jewelry lay flat against your collar before he shuts the clasp. When he taps your shoulder and you turn back around, he looks completely blown away, “Wow…”

“It looks good?” You ask.

He nods, “Come and see for yourself.” He stands up and gestures for you to go look in the mirror with him.

“Oh…” Standing in front of the mirror actually wearing the necklace, you really see the appeal. How it glistens in the light and the way it lays perfectly against your neck, you’re left speechless. “Wow indeed.”

Both of you stand there in front of the mirror, admiring the way the necklace looks. You had no idea a piece of jewelry could look so right, and now you were glad that if anyone gets to see it on you it’s Namjoon.

“I go back tomorrow? Yes?” He asks, his face head peering over your shoulder in the mirror.

You nod, “You do.”

“Could I-...” He hesitates, “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Any rational side of you would have said no, but you just can’t stop yourself from running with the moment. You turn around so you can look at him face-to-face, “Sure. I’d like that.”

You grab your phone off the table and let him choose a song, knowing he’s quickly made himself his own playlist since being introduced to the 21st century. When you hear the soft instrumental ring through your speakers, you’re not surprised to hear it’s an older western song from the one Avengers movie. He’d fallen in love with it the other day and had been playing the scene over and over again.

“My lady?” He holds his hand out for you, waiting for you to accept his offer.

You accept his hand, placing your own in his, “Your majesty.”

He pulls you towards him, his other hand coming to rest on the small of your back while you rest your freehand on his shoulder. With small steps you sway together to the beat, letting the smooth sound of the trumpet lull you. Neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t unwelcome.

Eventually, Namjoon begins to hum. He begins to embrace the beat a bit more, swaying you a bit harder - though not in a rough way - and engaging you more into the song. You giggle as he pulls you against his chest and spins in circles, loudly imitating the voice of the trumpet. His obnoxious noises do little to sway the fun you have, especially when he pulls you away to spin only you instead.

“Namjoon!” You laugh, your hand grabbing his bicep to catch yourself.

“Dada da~! What?” He asks, briefly pausing his imitation to answer you, still insistent on swaying you.

“I thought you wanted to dance?” You remind him through stifled giggling.

“La la-!” He pauses, “I thought this was dancing. La la LA~”

You shake your head and pull your hand away from his, confusing him until you throw both arms around his neck with your head resting on his shoulder. You slow down his excited sways for soft, gentle ones.

“It is, but I like this better.” You mumble, just enough for him to hear you without hearing the embarrassment laced in.

This time Namjoon smiles, resting both hands at the small of your back and pulling you closer, “I think I do too.”

And so, the two of you continue to sway for the rest of the song and however many times it plays after. You take advantage of the moment you have. This moment in his arms. Even if it’s wrong, you allow it to feel right just for tonight.

“(Y/n)...?” Namjoon whispers.

You pull away, still in his arms but enough for him to see you, “Yeah?”

He doesn’t answer, instead he looks at you. His brown eyes staring into yours. It’s so intense it feels like he’s looking for something, like your eyes are a key to finding a hidden treasure. But you don’t ask him what he wants to say, instead you stare back. With eyes locked, he feels like a magnet just pulling you closer and closer until you finally realize that the two of you have inched too close for comfort. Just a little closer and you could feel his breath, touch his cheek…

kiss him

Without a second thought you pull yourself completely away, faking a cough so as not to hurt his feelings.

“Are you alright?” he asks, a reassuring hand coming to lay against your back and it’s fake convulsions.

You nod vigorously, pulling your body away from his touch and moving towards the kitchen, “I’m fine!” You assure him, “I just need some water.”

“Oh.” He says, awkwardly watching you from the living room. He shifts his weight between each foot as you make yourself a drink, “Did you want to continue?”

“Uh, no! I shouldn’t.” You say without thinking. You curse at yourself before you slowly set your cup on the counter and turn around to explain yourself, “I should really get cleaned up and ready for bed. We have a big day tomorrow.”

He nods, “Right...I’ll get changed then.” He grabs the folded Ryan pajamas off of your coffee table and gives you an awkward, tight lipped smile, “Goodnight.”

“Yeah. Goodnight…” You say back, only the words feel bitter on your tongue.

You don’t want to say goodnight.

And you definitely don’t want to take him back.

Sneaking Namjoon back into the museum made your return to the night shift that much worse. It wasn’t that having Namjoon back in the museum wasn’t fine with you - you had already come to terms with that. But it was the constant talk of when he could go back that made it unbearable. You weren’t against the idea at all, but your next break would most likely be when it would be impossible to sneak him out.

It was already a mystery to you that Hoseok didn’t have any strange encounters with exhibits coming to life at all. As soon as the sun was down and you made your way back to Namjoon, you could hear their chatter from the other room as well as more chatter from more exhibits. It’s like over the weekend half of the museum just woke up. It didn’t bother you as much as it had the first night, but it’s still a new concept to grasp.

Even throughout the night you only became more and more tired. At one point, you told Namjoon you’d be in the office resting instead of walking around because you just didn’t have the energy. He understood, of course, but it took you a minute to explain that you just needed to rest alone for the night.

You were more than happy to go home after the first night back. You needed sleep and you needed it as soon as you could get it. You even rushed through your morning duties just to get your morning shift in and get yourself out.

It’s much later, when you’re feeling refreshed and ready for a new day that you find yourself walking into work again with a much better attitude. Walking through the front doors of the museum just sends a wave a peace over you and you embrace it wholeheartedly.

“(Y/n)!” You turn your attention to the sound of the voice, seeing Jin jog over from the information desk. You smile at him, but it disappears when you see how worried he looks.

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned for your friend.

He stops in front of you and grabs your wrist, “You need to see this.” He pulls you after him towards his desk and pushes you into the chair. He clicks away from the Museum’s website to what looks to be security footage of the front stairs. He points at the screen, his finger covering the statue of three giraffe’s that stand at the right of the screen, “Watch closely.”

You do as he asks, watching the video for a few seconds before it looks like the camera glitches and the head moves. Immediately you register what’s happened, though you’re unsure if Jin has come to the same conclusion. You turn to your friend who looks right back at you and feign confusion, “Did the giraffe head move?”

“No! Why would the head move?” He lets out an exasperated sigh and points at the spot of the ‘glitch’ on the screen, “The camera! Someone moved the camera.”

You shake your head and play along, “The only way to move the outside cameras is with a ladder, and I would have seen it on the surveillance system.”

“I know, that’s what has everyone on edge.” He says, “Well, that and the gift shop.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, “The gift shop?”

“Jimin came in this morning and it was ransacked!” He tells you.

“What?!” It wasn’t possible that anyone could get into the gift shop, not even you have a key for the gift shop, “There is absolutely no way anyone got into the museum, let alone the gift shop.”

“I know that and so do Hobi and Yoongi.” He assures you, “They’ve been looking at security footage all day trying to figure it out, but there’s nothing. They don’t know how it happened and Jimin insists that he would have never left it that messy.”

“We’re going to have to upgrade security.” You sigh. It’s not like you haven’t been saying that for weeks, but now you really need it if someone is planning to get into the museum, “If things are happening that we can’t explain, then we’re going to need more eyes.”

Seokjin nods, “That’s what they were saying.”

You shake your head in disbelief, “I can’t believe I let this happen on my watch.”

“Hey, you didn’t do this. We know that. Yoongi actually thinks it’s a ghost.” He laughs.

“What?” You ask.

“Yeah! But I’m not all that surprised.” He shrugs. His indifference, however, does nothing to help you, and he seems to take notice of this as well. The brunette places a hand on your shoulder, “Don’t worry too much, okay. I’m sorry if I scared you, but I’m sure this will all sort itself out.”

“Yeah, let’s hope.” You say, not entirely convinced anything will get solved. You stand from his desk and readjust your things on your shoulder, “’ll see you later.”

You head for your locker first, hearing the news from Jeongguk and Taeyong again before you meet Hoseok and Yoongi in the security room to hear it for a third time. They tell you exactly what Jin had told you, explaining their theories - even the superstitious one that isn’t that far off - and express to you how they don’t blame you for what’s happened. It’s a lot to take in all at once, especially when you have a really good idea of what’s going on.

Eventually they let you go to get on with your duties, letting you know that they’ll let you know what they decide on. You promise them to keep a sharp eye out, but you know there’s only so much you can do against whatever magic is going on in the museum.

Namjoon only mentioned that the necklace was a gift and made for his soulmate to bring him back to life so they could spend the rest of their lives together. Not once did he mention he’d be bringing everything else to life too! Then again, he was just as confused as you that first night the other exhibit came to life. If he didn’t know, then you doubt anyone would be able to tell you anything about what’s going on.

All expect for one.

It took you eight tries of running around the museum to find the blonde curator before you catch him fixing his belongings before he leaves through the official employee entrance, “Taehyung!”

He jumps, but smiles bright when he sees it’s you, “Hey, (Y/n), did y-”

You don’t give him the luxury to finish his sentence, however. As soon as you get close enough, you grab his arms to keep him in front of you, “What else do you know about the necklace?!”

“What?” He asks, his attention more focused on your grip than the actual question.

You sigh, “What else can you tell me about it? Is there anything you haven’t told me? Anything at all?!”

He shakes his head, “No! I told you everything!”

“Are you sure?!” You prod, only getting a nod in return. You groan and think for a moment, not letting up on your grip as you think of anything else that could help you, “What was the necklace supposed to do?”

You watch as he tries to recall anything that he hadn’t mentioned before or may have when you were zoned out. His face brightens when he gets something, “The necklace was supposed to bring light and happiness to him and his people! She was to be his light and bring the people to life!”

“Bring them to life…” You repeat.

He nods, “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“It’s bringing them to life.” You say, sparing no thought to Taehyung as you come to the realization.

“What’s bringing what to life?” Taehyung asks.

“Nothing!” You let go of his arms and brush off his shirt sleeves, “So if the necklace wasn’t with them?”

He shrugs, “I would assume it wouldn't matter. It's love, right? If anything, the special curse on the necklace would need to go away first.”

It’s then that you realize what he’s saying. If you want to get rid of the curse, then you and Namjoon have to destroy the necklace. But if you destroy the necklace, then would that destroy him too?

You open the employee door for Taehyung and usher him out, “I need to go.”

You try to close the door on him but he stops you, “Are you making questionable choices? What’s wrong?” He’s worried and you know he is, but now isn’t the time to have people worrying about you.

You shake your head and smile, “Nothing at all, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“(Y/n)-!”

You don’t waste any time closing the door in Taehyung’s face and locking it before he can ask anymore questions. You race to lock every door, double checking doors that aren’t yours just to be sure there’s no chance of any exhibit getting out and causing even more of a mess. You can’t let another exhibit make a mess that you don’t even notice! You didn’t even have access to leave the gift shop open for Namjoon to enjoy. It was completely off limits, yet it was still affected by the power of the necklace like everything else.

When you make it to Namjoon’s exhibit, he’s already waiting for you. Unlike every other night, his smile is replaced by confusion.

“Is everything okay? Why am I locked in?” He asks.

Seeing the confusion on his face only makes what you have to say even worse, “We need to get rid of the necklace.”

Namjoon confusion morphs into anger and his hands grip the gate tighter, “What? No!”

“Namjoon, things are getting out of hand-” You try to explain, but the king wants nothing to do with it.

“I refuse.”

You groan in annoyance, “Can you think about the consequences here? People could get hurt if all the artifacts finally come to life!”

“I’ve thought about nothing but other people for over 1,000 years! I’m tired of taking care of others!” He says, removing one hand to hit the gate with it.

You flinch, but you don’t falter, “Namjoon…”

He sighs, “All I’ve done with my life is serve my people. That’s it. I’ve never had one day to worry about myself until you touched that necklace and brought my soul back to life.” He looks so defeated and heartbroken as he lays his feelings out on the table. You want to hug him and tell him that nothing might happen to him, but you know that’s not what he wants to hear, “I don’t want to lose that yet.”

You place a gentle hand on the gate where his fingers slip through the bars, resting yours over his, “Things are starting to get out of hand Namjoon. Every night something changes. A new exhibit wakes up and starts causing chaos. The statues outside have been moving too! How long until it all comes to life and stays alive?”

He tries to come up with some kind of explanation, but he just shakes his head, “I don’t know.”

“It’s going to hurt so many people, including us.” You say, hoping if you use yourself as an example he may see reason. But his solemn look is replaced with a dedicated one instead.

“I will protect you. That is my duty as your king and your lover.” He assures you, “The necklace remains the same. End of discussion.”

He removes his hands from the bars and backs away to try and leave the conversation there, but you aren’t willing to let him win, “You can’t tell me you don’t see the problems around us!”

“And you can’t tell me that you honestly don’t feel anything for me!” He cries out, “These past weeks I know you’ve warmed up to me! You can’t call what’s happened between us nothing!”

You know he’s right, but you can’t afford to let him win at a moment like this. Especially when - if you admit your feelings - you have to then admit that you’re willing to give him up as well. “Can’t I?”

“It is my right as a king to be happy.” He says, redefining his position as king with you. He’s set his foot down and he’s making it as obvious as he can.“You won’t get rid of me without me agreeing. Get used to it.”

“Don’t be stubborn, Namjoon!” You scold.

“I’ll stay in my exhibit tonight.” He says curtly, turning and walking away from you.

“Namjoon!” You yell, hoping he’ll come back.

But he doesn’t.

He continues past the display cases that divide the room and hides on the other side where you won’t be able to see him. He doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t come back out. The only thing you can do is unlock his exhibit and give him time to think before you come back to see him.

“I’m sorry that we see things differently right now.” You announce to the exhibit, wanting to make sure he at least knows where you stand with him, “I’ll leave your exhibit open for when you get hungry. I’ll leave your food on the information desk on the first floor.”

No response.

“I really am sorry, Namjoon.” You say, lingering for just a moment longer than you should before turning your back on the exhibit and walking away.

---

Sitting in the security office has always felt boring, but tonight it feels even more so. Knowing that Namjoon is upset with you and not being able to do anything about it but give him space feels like waiting for test results you know won’t come back for a month. No amount of homework or idle keyboard clicking could change that for you, and it just made your night even more unbearable.

Maybe Namjoon is right.

There’s no way to know that everything that comes to life won’t be friendly or have the ability to calm down. For all you know, they could all come to life and just do their own thing.

But then again, there’s no guarantee that whatever comes to life won’t behave like it does in everyday life. You’ve already seen how the paintings interact amongst themselves and with each other, and there are a few that you’re glad aren’t statues.

“Ugh!” You groan, slamming the cover of your textbook closed. There’s just too much to think about, and the atmosphere of the security office is too stale for you to keep your thoughts straight.

You turn your chair away from the desk and stand up, stretching a little before you pick up your flashlight and leave the room. You make your way down the empty hall leading to the main entrance, hearing the soft chatter of exhibits as you go. It’s always normal to hear the sounds echo throughout the museum. You’re used to hearing the wails of children that don’t want to leave the children’s exhibit and the pleas or scolding of their parents.

You’d rather hear the children over the ominous noises that leave the stairwells.

At the information desk, you see a figure standing where you had left the food. Tall and swaying side to side awkwardly, you can’t help but chuckle at Namjoon as he knocks the pamphlet stand to the floor. He bends to pick it up, and as you get closer you can’t help but notice the clothes he’s wearing. A dark purple hanbok with a hint of blue and white around the collar.

That’s not what you remember him wearing.

“Namjoon?” You call out, closing in on the figure. When he turns to you though, who you assumed to be Namjoon is not even close. Who you thought was your dead king come to life is really a wax figure of a Silla Dynasty soldier you’d seen from an exhibit on this floor on the other side of the building.

“Uh...hi there.” You greet, awkwardly waving to the man inspecting what he’d knocked over.

The man in question doesn’t humor you though, instead he pulls his weapon and points it in your direction, “State your business.”

Your heart races at his demand and you instinctively clutch your flashlight tighter. With a level voice, you do your best to feign confidence, “I’m the night guard. I protect this building.”

“You?” He scoffs. He eyes you up and down before shaking his head, “A woman. How distasteful.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” You mumble, slightly annoyed at the return of misogyny. You take a breath to steady yourself and try again, “If you give me a moment, I can explain where you are.”

“I know where I am!” He yells, scaring you. You see his grip on his sword tighten and you can’t stop yourself from shifting your weight, “You’ve taken my Queen for a chance to replace her, and that’s a sin I cannot ignore!”

“What?” You think to the woman who sits behind the shatter-proof glass in his exhibit, realizing she must be who he’s talking about. You shake your head, “You have it all wrong! She’s not in any danger! She’s no prisoner!”

Now that you think about it, you’re not exactly sure how he got out of his exhibit. You locked it yourself. You know for a fact he shouldn’t be out and about. Yet here he stands in front of you, sword drawn and ready to strike you.

“Oh really? Then why have you trapped her in an unbreakable cage, wench?” He spits. He must’ve already tried to break her out himself, “I will not let a witch like you harm my Queen and not suffer the consequences.”

In the blink of an eye, he lunges forward. You barely have enough time to side step his advances, feeling a breeze as he rushes past you. You run behind the desk, grabbing the umbrella Seokjin keeps there in case of emergencies and running through the other side away from your assailant who follows you. You let out the loudest scream you can manage, hoping that Namjoon hears you as you run around the grand staircase in hopes of losing the man behind you.

You zig-zag in between pillars, running straight and grabbing one to help you make a quick u-turn to throw him off his guard. But no matter what you do, he stays on you. You round the staircase again and hide behind a pillar this time instead, giving yourself a chance to catch your breath.

When you don’t hear his footsteps, you take a hesitant peek behind the marble. Your eyes turn to saucers when they see him right in front of you with his sword drawn back. You turn quick, hearing his blade strike the pillar before he cries out, “Do not run from me!”

“Namjoon!” You shriek, once again hoping the king can hear you from where he is upstairs. You make a beeline down the hall away from the staircase, heading for the children’s exhibit’s in hopes to cut him off, “Help me! Please!”

The entire way down the hall the man stays hot on your trail, cursing at you and demanding you to listen to him. You pass the exhibits, hoping that if his was open one of these would be too. But as if fate is working against you, none look to be open for you. It’s not until you reach a dead end that you realize your mistake.

“This is your final resting place,” He declares, “Take your last breaths with pride.”

“No.” You shake your head, determined to get away from him. You press the button on your flashlight and point it in his eyes, blinding him enough to run past him again. However, you’re unprepared for the beads that litter the floor, sending you careening to the floor and skidding across the shiny tile.

“You cannot fool me, witch!” You hear him laugh from behind you. You use your elbows to push yourself up and grab your flashlight or the umbrella, but both objects are too far away from you. There’s no way you’ll be able to grab one before the man above you strikes. Instead, you turn yourself over to face him, eyeing the Silla Dynasty soldier with a false confidence.

“Your magic tricks are nothing against me, wench. I will be sure to tell my queen as much when I rescue her from your trap.” He divulges, dragging out your imminent death with a monologue. He laughs to himself, “You must think you’re so smart. Too bad your life is mine.”

He raises his sword and you lift your arm, eyes squeezing shut as you prepare for the blow. Only the blow never comes, and instead you hear a clash of plastic rustling against metal.

“Her life belongs to me just as mine does to her. You’ll do well to remember that.” Namjoon growls, his voice much lower than you’ve heard it before. When you open your eyes to see that it’s really him standing above you, you see he’s holding Jin’s umbrella against your attacker's sword, holding it steady to keep it from harming you or him.

“Namjoon…” You whimper, happy to see him.

Namjoon lifts his leg and kicks the guard back, knocking him to the floor and onto the beads the man had dropped. He turns to you and pulls you to your feet, placing a hand on the back of your head and pulling you in to place a gentle kiss against your forehead, “Run to my exhibit and lock the gate. I’ll be there for you soon.”

“I can’t leave you.” You protest, holding onto his biceps to keep him from pulling away.

Behind Namjoon the man groans as he stands, breaking up the moment the two of you had and pulling you back to the reality at hand. He turns to place his entire body in front of yours and holds his one hand behind him to steer you back, “Now!”

As much as you want to stay and help him, you know you’ll only distract him. There’s nothing you can do to help him any longer, so you do as he tells you and you run. You run as fast as you can and make it to the staircase, running past it to the information desk where the computers lay open and ready to go. You pull up the security feeds and flip through camera after camera until you find the hallway where Namjoon fights the once wax figure with the umbrella.

It lasts for a few more swings until Namjoon finally backs him into a corner and hits him in the head, knocking the figure unconscious instead of taking him out entirely. Instant relief washes through you as you watch the man fall to the floor, asleep for who knows how long. Just as long as Namjoon is still standing and physically okay, you’re happy for now.

You catch your breath and collect your thoughts as he makes his way back down the hall to you, working on what you’ll say to him in your mind and hoping that whatever you come up with will be good enough.

“(Y/n)?” Namjoon calls from the stairs, surprised to see you at the desk and not upstairs where he’d asked you to go.

You only shake your head, “I know and I’m sorry. I just had to make sure you were okay.”

“It’s fine, I understand,” He assures you, “I actually wanted to say that I-” Namjoon is interrupted by a growl, a low throaty one that comes from the staircase just down the hall, You both turn very slowly towards the sound, and are met with two sharp green eyes of the tiger from the downstairs animal exhibit.

“(Y/n)...” He tries to call out to you, but you shake your head, “Don’t move, Namjoon.”

“I told you I’d protect you.” He reminds you.

You see the way his eyes flicker from the tiger to the opposite end of the hall and you hold a breath, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Run to my exhibit and I’ll meet you there.” He promises before clapping his hands together and shuffling to his side to run towards the exhibit’s the guard had come from. The tiger immediately locks onto him and takes off, Namjoon sprinting down the hall to lead it away, “Go! Now while you still can.”

The tiger passes you, but you can’t bring yourself to run away from Namjoon. You can’t bring yourself to leave him alone again. So you take off after the two as well, following them down the hall into the ancient jewel’s exhibit. The whole room is stocked full, large enough to run around with an exit gate on the other side. It’s one of the few rooms to have two gates, and right now you were more than happy for that.

Namjoon and the tiger haven’t noticed you yet, the two run in circles around each other with Namjoon trying to outrun and outsmart him. You take that opportunity to close the gate behind you and lock it up, leaving only one exit for you to escape from.

“Namjoon!” You yell, grabbing his attention as he runs past another display case.

He lets out an exasperated yell when he sees you, “I told you to go upstairs!”

“I won’t leave you!” You yell back, “Run to the gate and close it behind you!”

“No! Not while you’re in here!” He argues, making another pass around a display case.

“Do it!” You demand. You run further into the room and grab the tiger’s attention, pulling it away from Namjoon so you can enact your escape plan, “Here kitty kitty kitty~!”

The overgrown feline takes notice of you, giving Namjoon a chance to run to the doors and pull the gates together again. You lead it away just as Namjoon had done for you, doing what you can to distract the tiger and put enough space in between the two of you.

When you finally get an opening, you take it. You make a beeline for the gate where Namjoon is and grab your keys, “Open it!”

Namjoon throws the gate open and closes it as soon as you pass him, holding it shut while you fish for the right key. “(Y/n)...anytime now.”

“Hold on-” You breathe, flipping through your keys for the correct one, “I almost have it.”

“It’s going to claw my hands off!” Namjoon yells.

“I got it!” You cry, shoving the key into the lock and turning it before the tiger can pounce on the gate or their hands.

The two try to catch their breaths, but more yelling comes from down the hall. It leaves the two of you with only the option to run as fast as you can back to the main entrance to get to his exhibit and lock yourselves in.

“Hold my hand and don’t let go, okay?” Namjoon tells you, making sure you understand with a nod before he pulls you after him.

The two of you run again, quickly meeting more Silla soldiers and dodging them like you had their friend. Birds and other animals far more inviting than the tiger run into you both, but you only keep running to the stairs. Namjoon continues to pull you along, even as he takes the stairs two-by-two in hopes of reaching his exhibit before anyone else can apprehend the two of you.

Even as you run, you’re thumbing through your keys to find his. You keep up with every step and hold on tight to his hand, even more so when you feel his key hit your palm. He pulls you along and into his exhibit, the both of you letting the other go so you can shut the gate and lock it behind you.

Namjoon takes your hand again and pulls you deeper into the room, hiding behind the display cases as the other’s reach his gate, “You were right. We have to get rid of it!”

You shake your head, “Then I’ll lose you!”

“You’ll lose me anyways if we don’t do this!”

“I don’t know if I can any more…” Within hours the two of you have changed mindsets, but now there’s no time to think of a new plan. The only thing you can do is hope for the best outcome now.

Namjoon takes your face in his hands, gently cupping your cheeks as unshed tears well up between the two of you, “(Y/n), I’ve waited so long to have you, and I’m so sorry that I didn’t listen to what you had to say earlier.”

You shake your head, “I’m sorry for not listening to you! You were right. Just like you always are. I’ve loved spending every minute with you, and I don’t want you to go.” Your voice breaks and you can see it in his eyes that it’s getting to him too.

“This past month that I’ve been able to enjoy with you, has been more than I could have ever asked for.” He admits, placing a kiss against your forehead, “But it’s time to say goodbye.”

“No.” You shake your head, “No you can’t say goodbye.” You wrap your arms around his torso and hold him close, squeezing as tight as you can in hopes it’ll block out the sounds of the angry mob outside, “Please, don’t say goodbye yet.”

“You’ll see me again.” He assures you, gently running his thumb over the back of your head.

“Namjoon, please...” you beg, hoping that if he hears how much you really care for him that he’ll change his mind one more time.

But instead he pulls back so you can see his face and he can see yours. Smiling his cute dimpled smile with glassy eyes as he says, “I love you.”

Before you can change your mind, you find the display case key on your keychain and unlock the glass. No alarm rings, only the sounds of banging on the exhibit’s gate ring in your ears as you pull the necklace from its place. You turn with it towards Namjoon, but you’re hesitant to hand it to him. Knowing that when you do, you’ll have to say goodbye no matter what.

Namjoon senses your hesitance, and pulls you in for a hug. Wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace and holding you close against his body, he tries to convey every thought he’s thinking into one hug and make it last for a lifetime.

With one final burst of confidence, you pull yourself away from Namjoon and press your lips against his for the first and last time, relishing in the feeling of being so close to him as his free hand brushes over yours - the one holding the necklace.

All too soon, he pulls his hand back a tight grip around the necklace, breaking the jewel into a million pieces. You can feel the magic of the necklace burst free from it’s confines as you feel the kiss you share with Namjoon dissolve away. And when you finally gain the courage to open yours eyes.

He’s gone.

The loud banging is gone.

All signs of life besides yours are gone.

You’re left with nothing but a broken necklace and an empty room where the only sounds you can hear are the silence of the building, the shakiness of your breaths, and the pounding ache of your heart.

You can’t stop the sob that leaves your mouth as reality settles in and crashes down on you that he’s left and he’s gone and there’s nothing you can do to get him back anymore. You weep for the love you found and lost in such a short time, and you can’t stop yourself from wishing you hadn’t pushed him away as you had. From wishing you had appreciated him more while he was here. You cry out to the world for them to hear, but there’s nothing but the silent void that calls back.

Then you hear the footsteps.

They’re soft at first, only a patter. And then they get louder and it’s like someone is racing to get to you. Rationale leaves your mind as you come to the realization that Namjoon is still there! He didn’t disappear as you thought he had!

But nothing can mask your disappointment when you see the soft blonde locks of Taehyung run through the door. Nothing but pain and confusion.

“Taehyung?” You ask, wiping a tear, “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I had to check on you.” He explains. He kneels down to your level and places a hand on your shoulder, “You just lost your soulmate, I couldn’t not comfort you.”

“How did you know? I never introduced you to Namjoon. No one knew about Namjoon.” You ramble on, trying to think of when you’d ever let Namjoon slip through the cracks. Then it dawns on you, that someone had to have let him in here and it wasn’t you, “Did Hoseok let you in.”

“There’s a lot that I need to explain to you.” He says. You’re confused, but you allow him a chance to explain himself. He had to have something good if it meant he got into the museum and knew about Namjoon. But then again, there was also the mention of the burglar messing with the museum equipment to break in. If anything, you’re hoping Hoseok or Yoongi is with him rather than him being a thief.

“I’m the moon goddess.” He says.

Not what you were expecting.

“But you’re a boy.” You say without thinking. You pause for a moment to think and retrace your steps, “I mean I’m not judging, but I’m just confused.”

“When I first approached Namjoon he mistook me for a woman and I just never corrected him.” He explains. There seems to be more to his story, but you weren’t going to push it at the moment. “I’m so sorry for everything that I’ve put you through.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me?” You ask. If he was trying to help you and Namjoon, then he should’ve just told you that first night instead of this elaborate scheme to bring the two of you together.

He sighs, “I wanted to, but fate is tricky. I can bring you together, but fate has every right to pull you apart. I really thought this was it this time.”

“This time?” You question. Taehyung freezes, glancing at you and then to the floor in thought. It’s as if he’s having a battle within himself on the inside, something you’ve never seen from him before. “Taehyung?”

“Can I show you something?” He asks.

You raise a brow in confusion, “Show me what?”

“Your past life.”

“My past life?” You repeat.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve crossed paths with Namjoon.” He explains. Gently, Taehyung takes one of your hands and squeezes lightly, sending the room around you swirling in a funnel of blue and gold. When it stops, you find yourself in a wooden room filled with clay pots, water, and rolls upon rolls of fabric. A bed lays in the center of the room, and in the corner is where a woman who looks a lot like you sits with her hands folded in her lap.

“This is your past life with Namjoon.” He says, the thumb of the hand holding yours rubbing the back of it gently.

“I was a doctor?” You ask, taking in the simple clothes you wear as well as the supplies within the room.

“Yes.”

“Miss-” Another Taehyung peeks his head around the corner, only this one wears a woman’s hanbok in a baby blue with his long hair left down to sway free, “-his majesty would like to meet you.”

“Right!” Your other self stands quick, her hands pressed tight against her sides before she follows Taehyung out of the room.

You turn to Taehyung with an inquisitive stare, “Why are you wearing a woman’s hanbok?”

“It’s complicated, just follow me- Well, us.” He pulls you along after him, going through the door that had been shut behind your other selves.

The both of you follow them down the hallway to a room with two guards at the door. When they see Taehyung, they bow and open the doors, letting your past selves enter the room with you following after them.

On a large bed, tucked under satin sheets lay your king, cheeks sullen and heavy bags under his eyes. It doesn’t take a doctor to see how sick he is, and it breaks your heart just to see him in such a state. “Namjoon…”

“Your majesty, the doctor who will perform on you has arrived.” Taehyung’s younger self announces. When Namjoon doesn’t answer, he gently shakes him awake, “Your majesty?”

Namjoon opens his eyes slowly, taking a moment to register what Taehyung’s told him. He sees your other self, and you see a glimmer of the smile he’d shown you only minutes prior, “I-” The king coughs, “I thank you...for coming all this way. I hope-” he pauses, “I hope your trip was well.”

Your past self bows her head in respect, “It was very gracious of you, your majesty. I am honored to ease you into the afterlife so that you may meet your one true love.”

Namjoon gives a subtle nod of his head, “Your words warm my heart...I thank you for your service.”

“It is my honor.” You say, bowing your head in respect, “You should rest now, my king. You need your energy for when you wake again.”

“Yes...I look forward to it.” He muses, eyes closing once again.

You feel the tears on your cheeks, but your past self doesn’t bat an eye as she turns to Taehyung’s former self, “He won’t make it through the night. Not like this.”

“That’s what we’ve feared.” Taehyung admits solemnly. He allows a moment of peace before a thought rushes to him, “The king! He asked me to make sure you receive all of his items that will be in his tomb.”

“Shouldn’t his servants be the ones to keep track of his belongings?” You ask him, watching as he searches the room for something.

“Yes, but he told me himself, he wishes to have his lover’s necklace with him.” He assures you. He takes a minute, but he finds the box in only a few moments on a chest closer to the door, “I would bring it back myself, but I do not wish to leave the king in his final hours.”

You nod in understanding, “I understand. I’ll take it for you. Anything for his majesty.”

You watch as your past self reaches for the box to take it back to the medical room with her, but a guard barges in and stops her, “Stop! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“His majesty asked for his belongings to be moved to his operation room.” You explain, your hands quickly moving back to yours sides.

“No one but his royal guards are to touch the necklace!” The guard bellows. He grabs your past self and pushes her towards the door, “Out with you!” Another guard meets her before she stumbles to the floor and the first guard gets in his face, “Make sure she gets back to her room, and don’t let her out until the king has passed.”

“Please, she was just following orders. I heard them myself.” Taehyung’s previous self tries to explain. Unfortunately, for the both of them, the guard wants nothing to do with it.

“When my king tells me what he wishes, then I will his - and only his - orders.” The guard spits, slamming the door in past Taehyung’s face.

The door closing sends the image into smoke, and when it clears you find yourself back in the museum in the same empty exhibit.

“When they wouldn’t listen to me, I vowed to bring you together in your next lives.” He tells you, his head to the ground. When he meets your eyes, there are tears running down his cheeks, “But I failed again.”

“Tae…”

“I’m so sorry.” He weeps, hanging his head in shame once again.

You only move closer to him and wrap your arms over his shoulders, “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.”

Together you mourn the loss of a friend

A promise

And a lover.

~ Read Part 3 ~

69 notes · View notes

yawnjunie · 3 years

Text

so you’re the artsy type, huh ❦ cbg (1)

Genre: fluff, university au, crack (get ready for a bad take on comedy)

Pairing: broke artist!reader x art sponsor!beomgyu

Word count: 7k

Summary: After spending way too much time chasing after an impossible dream, you weren’t too sure you wanted to continue with your lifelong passion— art. One eventful day at the museum steered you onto a road full of twists and turns, and you unexpectedly found yourself wading deeper into murky water with your new employer.

A/N: a huge thank you to @noiaeu and @halohyuka for being my beta readers! anyways here is a long overdue fic that was a 20k+ word monstrosity but is now a series. happy reading!

— blu and struz

You tapped your feet absentmindedly against the grimy tiles of the cheap burger chain as you waited. The atmosphere that usually felt bustling and welcoming now felt stuffy as your stomach churned each passing second. The waitress walked past your seat as she served the customers behind you, the fragrant aroma of the burgers on her tray prompting a vicious growl from your stomach. Sighing, you checked the time on your phone: 8:52pm. Scrolling past the inactive conversations with your “friends” (you didn’t really know what to call them because you tried to ask them out and got rejected; you’d kept those conversations anyway because you were too attached to them), you sent a quick message to a number you wish you didn’t need to text today. Without a second thought, you picked up your belongings and left the small burger shop.

Thank goodness, you knew just the perfect place to drown your sorrows in.

You called for the nearest taxi to the small food shop by the name of Mrs. Lee’s Mandu House.

“What happened this time?” A stout lady with an apron asked, peeking her head out of the kitchen, setting down a large bowl of dumplings in front of you. She made her way to the condiments shelf. “Kimchi?”

“Yes, please. I got stood up again.” You grumbled, stuffing a large dumpling into your mouth ravenously. Then, speaking through mouthfuls of food, you continued. “Maybe I should just stop trying altogether. Change my major to agricultural studies and move to the countryside while I’m at it.”

Food had never tasted so good! The savory filling of the dumplings literally melted in your mouth, and soon the blaring sound of the old AC and the sound of the kdrama from the TV had just blended into the background. It was nice not having to listen to anything.

“Aw, don’t say that.” The woman replied as she set down a pot of kimchi and a plate of kimbap on your table. The friendly ahjumma took her seat across from you and set down a bag of melon seeds. “Trust me, it’s going to be hard. You’re just in your first year of college! You’ll get there someday.” Then, she continued on to tell you about other people she knew who had it harder than you, but all that faded into the background noise, along with the AC and the TV. That sentence was the only thing you heard, and although there weren’t any lemons in the soup, everything that you ate suddenly started tasting sour. Sometimes, even the best food cannot drown out the bitterest words.

You’ll get there someday.

Foomp. You flopped onto your bed with a small grunt as your back met the soft mattress. Throwing off your glasses to the side, you massaged your eyeballs and then looked at the ceiling. It was grey. The same grey that you saw before going to sleep at night, the very same grey that greeted you when you awoke in the morning to another unexciting day. The more you stared at it, the more the popcorn ceiling looked just like a grey mass with a few monotone specks here and there.

You were always told to look to the future and stop dwelling on the past. And that was a long shot, given that all you saw in front of you was a blurry ceiling.

What is this feeling? You let yourself sink a little deeper into your mattress, lazily shifting your gaze to the left, where you saw your huge Gabriel Garcia Marquez poster taped to the wall. Solitude. Looking back, you supposed that was how you’d been living your life thus far.

Doing jobs here and there, never really achieving anything big.

Single as hell.

It was days like this that made you feel not quite sad, but just really demotivated. A reminiscent smile flickered on your face as you turned your head to stare at the wall, unto which the light that peeked through the overcast sky cast a faint shadow. Words like “lonely” and “outcast” didn’t mean a thing to you. The fact of the matter was, you didn’t have anyone, and the universe sure didn’t put an effort to sugarcoat that fact.

Rolling lazily to the edge of the bed, you finally sat yourself up. You walked over to your desk, pulled out the wooden chair, and turned on the lamp. Then, you took a moment to tie up your hair before looking down at what was lying under the spotlight of the lamp.

Amidst the blizzard of eraser shavings and the familiar scent of freshly shaved wood stood the lead outline of a girl. Shoulder-length hair up in a high ponytail, a soft, rounded nose, chapped lips, and blank, unsuspecting eyes with dark circles hanging below them. Looks like she’s never seen a day of joy in her life. Looking into the mirror standing to the left on your desk, a very tired girl with a dark face stared right back. Dusting off the eraser shavings into the trash bin next to the desk, you commended yourself for the superb self-portrait.

At the insistence of the tightness in your right wrist and the crick in your neck, you set the pencil down and extended your arms to stretch your back. When your eyes fell upon the drawing once more, a wave of disappointment washed you back onto the shore of frustration. Yet another addition to the ever-growing pile of wasted white paper. A part of you argued that art was not a waste, which was true enough. Art made by you, however, was a different story.

What happened to me? All that time, effort, and energy never really amounted to much. After all, you’d only seen the world in black and white. It was as if someone took a giant paint tube and squirted an awful lot of grey paint everywhere.

After all, who’d ever heard of an artist who couldn’t tell orange from blue?

–––

Even the song playing in the background mocked you with every word.

♪ I see trees of green,

red roses too ♪

♪ I see them bloom,

for me and you ♪

♪ and I think to myself

what a wonderful world ♪

You glanced around tiredly as you saw your classmate’s boyfriend carry a stack of canvases for them. For someone who, one: saw the world in grey, and two: had never gone on a date, the world was anything but wonderful. You felt your eyelids drooping despite the hard, wooden stool jutting into your buttcheeks. Drowsily, you turned your gaze to your art pieces. Noticing the other students coming in to set up their pieces, you straightened up your back and set your bag down on the stool. You took a deep breath and swung your arms nervously in an attempt to garner a sense of purpose and hope. You got this! You whispered encouraging phrases to yourself under your breath, smiling at the students who bothered to greet you first.

Today was your first time participating in a student exhibition. Although it was quite unconventional for first year students to be showcasing their work in the advanced exhibition, your teacher had been nice enough to make a spot for you. Well, it was more like you practically begging her to consider you, because of your current family situation. You terribly did not want to sound like that broke college student™, but sometimes, a little bit of courage to fight against the stone cold reality was useful. And of course, Ms. Kim, being the benevolent soul she was, granted you special rights to participate.

This year, the exhibition was being held in the empty room at the Museum of Modern Art. Attendance of the students was optional, but a good handful of them came, hoping to get a professional review, or even a sponsor for their art. The moment you walked in, you held your breath—the entire room was empty, all six surfaces painted white. It was the brightest room you’d ever been in, yet the temperature seemed to drop 100 degrees.

It’s fine. This time, things will be different, you told yourself in an attempt to shake off the dread that settled in the pit of your stomach. Fifth time’s the charm, after all.

It may have been your first time participating in a college exhibition, but you’d participated in countless art competitions as a kid. You were like a wildfire, and there was no award for a competition you entered that you didn’t win. Now, it felt like you were back to base one. After all, who has that easy of a life? Those days of your easy childhood life were long gone.

You tried not to think much as you sat uncomfortably next to your paintings. For the first hour or so, you made a point to look each passing person in the eye, a wide smile plastered on your face. The second hour, the corners of your mouth started to twitch beyond your control. By the third hour, you found yourself staring at people’s shoes more often than their faces. As the minutes ticked by, you kept your eyes trained intently on the floor, mouth pressed firmly closed. Glancing around the room, you tried to take your mind off of your worries. But you couldn’t help but be envious of your classmates, who were getting noticed by the professional guests.

That’s okay, there’s always next time. Guess today just wasn’t my day.

It was beginning to feel like no day was your day. A warm sensation pricked at the corners of your eyes when a voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Ma’am, excuse me.” A woman in a worn out blue outfit approached your stand.

Being as desperate as you were, you hastily wiped away your tears from all the yawning and slapped a smile on your face, mustering up the peppiest voice you could manage. “Hey! How can I help you? As you can see, I work exclusively in grayscale, and I mostly do portrai–” “Miss–” the lady interrupted, “it’s closing time. Could you please pack your things?”

Upon processing the sight of the tattered mop in her hand, realization hit you like a truck, and not just any ordinary truck— it was a Belaz 75710 filled with 496 tons of rocks and sharp glass. That was a fun fact you stumbled upon while scrolling on Instagram; the fact that you somehow retained this useless information made you silently curse yourself. Your smile was frozen in place as you gave a series of curt nods. “Oh. Okay, I’ll start packing.”

The kind woman nodded back and started to walk away, but stopped and turned just a few steps away. “Don’t feel too down. Sometimes, life just doesn’t go the way you want it to. It’ll get better, trust me.”

“Yeah.” You replied coldly, not bothering to mask your sadness. Attempting to muster a small smile in gratitude for her kind words, you gave her a thumbs up before she left the room. It kind of hurt, getting pity from the janitor. But in a way, you felt a little comforted. At least you knew you weren’t the only person struggling. Robotically, you placed the canvases onto your utility cart one by one, then started folding up the easels. When the janitor’s footsteps had faded away, the only thing disrupting the silence was the rain.

Plip. Plop. With the accompaniment of the beating of the raindrops on the rooftop that rang in your ear like a dull symphony, it only seemed natural for your tears to fall. And this time, there was nobody to interfere with your sob session.

And on that afternoon, in the empty art hall, you cried your heart out. There was only one question that gnawed at the back of your mind relentlessly, like a famished dog on a bone twice its size. Should I just give up on art? The thought of it just made you cry even harder. Art was your everything.

From the moment you’d grasped the thin body of the paintbrush on your doljabi, you’d fallen in love with art. Throughout your childhood, you’d spent your days drawing. From drawing on plain computer paper to painting entire murals on your bedroom walls - you did it all. Everyone was sure you’d become an artist when you grew up. You’d even kept a money jar by your bed, which you’d used to store money for new art supplies and eventually, art school. You were happy. You had a good eye for color.

Thunder crashed outside as that memory resurfaced in your mind. Back then, you drew like there was no tomorrow when you could see colors. Until the world became dark when your colors, your precious colors were taken away. And the world remained dark ever since. They all pitied you, sending a sigh your way in condolence for your loss. You didn’t need or want their pity, of course. All you’d ever wanted was an answer, a reason to why they left your eyes.

You wanted to blame it on something, but what could you do? Every night you prayed, praying desperately for your colors back. But every morning, the ceiling remained grey. So did the sky when you walked to work. Pushing your shabby cart with a loose wheel down the hallway full of eccentric art pieces, you didn’t even spare a glance at them. Well, other than to avoid being noticed by the few people who were still in the museum, to which you hid your swollen face in the opposite direction and choked back your sobs. Well, what can you do now, y/n? It’s not your first time participating in an exhibition anyway. There’s probably someone out there having it harder than you, so suck it up! Everything will be better once you get back home…

Just when you were nearing the entrance of the museum, you heard a different pair of footsteps from your own behind you.

“Hey.” You jumped out of your skin at the tap on your left shoulder. Caught by surprise, you found yourself stumbling backwards into your cart. You lost your footing and down crashed your rear end. By attempting to hold onto the cart handle for balance, your art pieces now seemed to fall in slow motion, the cart suspended in the air as your mouth hung open in horror. You reached out to grab it, but unfortunately, you were an aching 2 centimeters short of saving your artwork. The cart toppled on top of your canvases with a comical crack, wooden splinters flying everywhere. The empty utility cart squealed defeatedly as it toppled to its side, a loose wheel still spinning.

You felt your head spin even faster, as you grew increasingly frustrated by your inability to comprehend what had just happened. Holy shit.

Strewn across the floor, battered and broken, lay hours upon hours of your time, your hard-earned money, along with the last strains of your hope of becoming an artist. F*ck!

Eyes wide and mouth agape, you turned to face the perpetrator of the tragedy.

This is the part where he apologizes and promises to make it up to me, then gives me his contact info and we go on a date and he falls for me and we live happily ever after. Or so you hoped, you thought. The thought was so ridiculous that you could have burst out into laughter if it hadn’t been for the fact that the fruit of your blood, sweat, and tears was now a bunch of broken wood and torn cotton on the floor. F you and your last brain cell, y/n. Get yourself together and snap out of it. You were convinced that you were so sleep deprived from your K-drama binging session this morning at 4am that you’d convinced yourself that you were living the next episode.

Chances were low that the two of you would get together and live happily ever from an offense like this, but even so, he would have to compensate for the damages somehow. Now that you came back to reality, you realized that you couldn’t even make out what the guy in front of you looked like. “Okay, but what if he’s like, your next patron or something.” You don’t know if you muttered that out loud, but your odd behavior was really annoying you today. Shut up, it's not like he's Song Kang! Stop it! Nevertheless, you bet on the Balenciaga slides that he was wearing that he would pull out a business card the next moment.

You stared into the boy’s eyes expectantly and he met your gaze. You felt your pulse quicken as he opened his mouth to speak, eagerly awaiting your compensation. Hello hello, my next patron. This is the moment that marks my upgrade to a better life.

“I am so, so sorry about this.”

“You should be.”

As he spoke, the boy pulled his cap lower and threw on his hood. “Not just about me breaking your paintings, but also this.” Dammit, what have I gotten myself into?

And then he bolted.

🏃 💨

“Wha– hey! Where do you think you’re going?!”

He slammed his body against the glass door and ran into the rain while you followed in close pursuit. However, after a few wobbly steps, it occurred to you that you weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion, so you took off your heels and continued the hunt barefoot.

Still, even under normal circumstances, you weren’t much of a track star. Wearing a blazer with suit pants and no shoes wasn’t helping your chances either, and the weather didn’t seem to plan on making things any easier.

The two of you ran through the heavy rain like cat and mouse. Clenching your teeth and your fists, you chased after the boy. He ran about two blocks before you caught up to him. As your calves grew sore, you considered hurling one of your heels at him.

The boy slowed down for a couple of seconds, looking around frantically. Mr. Kim.....! I told you to wait for me out here—!

Heaving a sigh, he turned around and began to run in another direction. And although he'd hate to admit it, today was one of the days where he had no choice but to admit that his choice of footwear today was a fatal flaw.

Somehow, despite the odds against you, you weren’t the one who ate the pavement. The boy tripped over the curb and slammed into the sidewalk, bellyflopping straight into a gargantuan puddle. Those Balenciagas did not help him run through the rain very well. You laughed in triumph and squatted next to his almost-lifeless body.

“Gotchu now, you jer–”

Boom! The world went white for a second, illuminated by the blinding clap of lightning. In an instant, the downpour increased tenfold, the raindrops now feeling like bullets against your skin.

“Okay, maybe this isn’t the best place to have a conversation.”

–––

The two of you trudged through the rain—or, more accurately— you dragged the boy through the rain, your grip on his hoodie sleeve iron-tight. When you finally reached your car, you opened the passenger door and he went in obediently. From an outsider’s point of view, you might’ve been mistaken as an undercover cop. In fact, you were sure feeling like one as you apprehended the criminal.

You went around to the back and opened up the trunk, where after rifling through months' worth of empty bottles, fabric bags for shopping, and a variety of other car junk, you finally found your stash of somewhat clean clothes. After careful consideration, you chucked a worn hoodie and the swimming shorts you’d worn to the beach last year over the seat. Just in case, you also tossed your first-aid kit over. You threw your heels in and swapped them for a pair of nylon flip flops before slamming the trunk closed.

You went back to the passenger’s side and opened the door. Taking in the figure of the drenched and bleeding boy, you kind of felt sorry for him. Which was stupid, considering he had just wrecked your life’s work and made a run for it. You tilted your head back and sighed, trying to sort your thoughts out.

With all of your best art pieces now reduced to splinters, it was a cold, hard fact that you weren’t going to get a sponsor. Besides, even before they’d been smashed into smithereens, nobody had been willing to give you a chance. The probability of you finding a sponsorship was like the graph of the height of a ball thrown from a cliff at sea level, or the number √-1. It was not just in the negatives, but it was also imaginary.

Taking a sharp inhale, you talked as quickly as you could. “Listen. I’m going to go get what’s left of my art from the gallery. Just change your clothes and patch yourself up, then you can leave.” You paused to dig out a few crumpled dollars from your wallet, which you promptly threw at him.

“Here, take this to get a taxi. I don’t know how far you live, but that’s all I have. Don’t get me wrong– I still think you’re a massive schmuck. And there’s nothing you can do to fix the damage you’ve caused.” Despite your best effort to remain composed, your voice cracked a little at the end. You stopped talking before you were to break out into tears again.

Without waiting to hear what the douchebag had to say, you slammed the door closed and strode through the rain back to the gallery, where your pieces still lay broken on the ground where you’d left them. A part of you was hoping that maybe, by some magic or miracle, the whole thing had been a dream, and nothing really happened.

But reality was as cold as stone, and you were powerless to change it. So, as you always did when confronted with the unchangeable, you picked yourself up and carried on, struggling against the current.

By the time you wheeled the broken canvases back to your car, the boy was long gone, all traces of his presence vanished except for the dampness of the left side passenger seat. You buckled on your seatbelt and tuned into your favorite radio station, then sped off into the summer storm. The storm, your artwork, it was all so out of the blue– well, in your case, grey.

The situation on the freeway was like a stuffy nose: irritated and congested. In fact, it would’ve been faster to moonwalk down the road. To make matters even worse, instead of music, the radio station was streaming ad after ad. Is this even legal? Exasperatedly, you tuned into a different station, then another one, but to no avail; all of them were on ad break.

It was frustrating enough that the gallery was a complete flop, not to mention that your best art was demolished in a hit and run and that you were sitting soaking wet on a leather seat stuck in the middle of traffic. Now, even the radio had turned against you. You shut it off and sat in silence.

Thump. You sighed and leaned your head back against the seat, willing the migraine that was building up in your head to f*ck off. After craning your head to check the backseat one more time, to your vexation, you found that the asshat hadn’t even bothered to close the first aid kit.

Muttering obscenities under your breath, you reached for the kit, cracking your inflexible spine 4 times in the process. You rummaged through its contents, straightening them out, counting how many were left, and you were about to slam the lid closed when you saw the note.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

“Well, gee, that’s REAL helpful.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the ten numbers scrawled on the note. Your half a brain cell told you to quit being stupid and toss that note out the window.

The rest of your stupid self told you to call it. I mean, why not? You cursed yourself for how your brain worked– or rather, didn’t work– sometimes.

You licked your lips in brief contemplation before punching in the numbers in. The person on the other end picked up immediately.

“Hello, welcome to Papa John’s Pi–”

You hurled your phone into the backseats and ripped the note up, throwing the scraps into the air like confetti before continuing the wearisome ride down through the rain.

–––

It took an eternity, but you made it back to your apartment, where you promptly crashed onto the couch. As per usual, you spent the rest of your waking hours scrolling through baking videos, even though you had neither the ingredients nor the time to be making any of the confections. At around 8pm, exhausted from crying and the events of the day, you dozed off without having a bite of the frozen pizza that’d just finished baking in the oven.

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Your dreamless slumber was disturbed by the vibration of a string of text notifications and the glow that lit up the dark ceiling. Still half-asleep, you blindly felt around for your phone and attempted to read the message through bleary eyes.

It was from an unknown number.

Rubbing your eyes to clear out the nasty gunk, you sat up and read the message again, this time with clearer vision.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Hello, sorry for ruining your paintings today. I will make it up to you.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Thanks for bothering to call, let’s meet at this address to talk about your compensation. My parents can’t know that I did this so it would be great if you could keep this a secret :(

What the f*ck. You muttered under your breath, eyes half shut. Did I call anyone? In your half-asleep state, you didn’t bother to recall. For a second, you considered blocking the number. But just in case this was just one of your dumbass friends who changed their number, you decided to give that person a reply.

[You] hello? is this papa john’s?? i would like a cheese pizza

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh sorry the voicemail was a prank for someone else

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i’m the guy from the art museum earlier, remember

[You] okay why do you have my number

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] because you called me

[You] right. okay, what do you want

[You] unless you want to pay me back for all those damages back there, no i am not interested in anything else sry i’m a very busy person you know

You hesitated a second before pressing the send button. You’d just sent a lie; in fact, you weren’t really that busy. Apart from your part time job at the boba shop, you were actually quite free most of the time. During the summer, at least. In fact, your screen time had gone up by 42%, your daily average now totaling to a whopping 12 hours. After a minute or so of silence, you threw your head back onto your pillow and let out a loud sigh of relief. Peace at last! It also made you quite happy that the person who texted you was in the least, not some weird scammer.

Ping! You celebrated too soon. Reaching for your phone groggily, you read the new message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] okay then i was going to ask if you were free tomorrow

Am I being asked out? You squinted at your bright phone screen in the dark. You might have been nearsighted, but you weren’t illiterate in pick-up lines.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i want to return the clothes you lent me

[You] it’s fine, you can keep that

Oh good, he was talking about the clothes, not anything else. Your millisecond of relief ended quickly when he sent another message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh also it would be great if we could meet up anyway? i want to talk to you about something that i had been meaning to say for a while

Oh, god. I knew it wasn’t just about the clothes. Lonely as you were, you would shoot yourself in the foot if you got into any relationship without landing a stable job or having any money. Scoffing amusedly, you stared at the screen as he continued to type. But dating someone like this? Never in a million years. Turning over to your other side, you thought about the many ways you could reject him.

[You] no sorry :(

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] we should set a date at the cannoli restaurant to talk about your compensation costs. i’m extremely sorry for ruining your beautiful artwork, and i know that my apologies will do nothing to change your current situation. since this is my fault, i’m willing to pay any amount you request (and i’ll pay to the best of my capabilities)... i’m assuming $50,000 would be enough to cover the costs for most of the damage? if monetary compensation doesn’t work for you, we can discuss other forms of compensation as well.

[You] i know it may not seem like it but i’m actually caught up in too much work to have time for dating anyone. you see, it’s just that i have lots of work on the side so i can’t really spare time at the moment. please don’t take this personally haha i’m sure you’ll find someone,,, like i don’t know how to say this but yeah…..you don’t wanna be w someone like me, it’s me not you

Huh? Just as you sent your message, another message popped up before yours. And if your life had a background narration, this very moment would have been “and in that moment he knew. He fvcked up.”

Fml.

With just one single message, you perhaps have ruined the only god-given opportunity to turn your life around ever. He’d just offered you money to cover the costs of your broken paintings... now that you thought about it, he could even be your patron! You couldn’t even get a patron even if you went out of your way to look for one on Craigslist, pestered Ms. Kim for any news from the Art Teacher’s Association, or even begged random people on the street in hopes one out of the million people would be willing to promote your art. Now, someone was asking to compensate you with tons of money, and you’d just rejected him in the most embarrassing way possible.

[You] oh shoot

[You] i mean wrong chat, uh can you please stay on hold, i will get back to your compensation offer, yeah i will see you at the restaurant sometime thanks

XXX-XXX-XXXX is typing…

You did not bother to see what he had to say. Hurtling your phone onto your carpet, you let out a guttural scream of “I AM SUCH A DUMB@$$$” before pulling the strings on your hoodie tightly. And for the second time that day, you cried.

———

Leaving behind the upsetting events from a couple of days ago, you listlessly shuffled through the entrance. It was Saturday morning, and that meant groceries. The local Asian market was one of your favorite places to be; breathing in the familiar blend of spices that hung in the air was a cathartic feeling. The corners of your lips were turned slightly upwards as you bent to grab a basket.

First stop was the meat section, where the bugged-out eyes of dead fish followed you as you walked down the aisle. Cooking raw animal flesh wasn't really your thing, so you simply picked up a package of pre-cooked chicken and went on your way.

Next came the produce section where you felt up all the tomatoes, only bagging the ones that felt the right amount of firm and soft. You also added a pack of bok choy and mushrooms, perfect for cooking up a lazy soup.

Now that you were nearing the end of your expedition, it was time to head into the best part of the store: the snack aisle. Sometimes, when you were feeling more down than usual, you would blow the whole sum of your weekly grocery savings on off-brand shrimp chips and chocolate banana Pocky. One by one, you were doing all the things your mom had told you not to do when you moved out, from coating the entirety of your insides with nothing but sodium and sugar to shifting your sleep schedule by 15 hours.

What was next, the-no-dating-boys-until-you’ve-gotten-your-Master’s-and-have-a-7-figure-job rule? You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Even if your stomach was totally trashed and your sleep schedule was nonexistent, you would never let yourself fall that far.

As you stepped foot into the chips aisle, you beheld the holy grail. From Hello Panda to rice crackers, wasabi peas to Yan Yan sticks complete with a chocolate dip, cream wafers to dried seaweed, you were in a sea of temptation. Being that broke college student™, you just gulped and kept walking. I can just feast on these goodies with my eyes.

Your initial plan had been to just walk through the aisles to admire and drool over snacks you knew you couldn’t afford, but you were stopped in your tracks when you reached the instant noodles section.

At the end of the aisle, the shelf was bare except for a single lone pack. Even from a distance, you recognized it, all right; there was no mistaking the outline of your favorite instant ramen brand. 신라면. More like 神라면 (it’s more than just spicy noodles— it’s noodles made by the gods) you thought, eyes already tightly clutching at the packaging from 5 feet away.

From many a sleepless night of binge-watching third-rate rom-com dramas (though you cringed thinking back on it, this was an integral phase of your dark “past”), you knew where this was going–– but you weren’t going to sit around and let yourself fall into some overused trope. You gripped your basket tight as you swiftly made your way over to the shelf, just about setting a world record for speedwalking with a basket.

Sure enough, if you had been one second slower, you would’ve been ensnared in a sticky situation. Just as you were snatching up your prey like the pterodactyl you were, another figure was rounding the corner. Another broke college student™, it seemed, judging by the state of their hoodie, which was pulled over their messy hair, the strings tied in a bow to make sure the hood wouldn’t fall. Even though their face was concealed by their hood, you could see their reaction as they connected the dots from the bare shelf to the ramen pack in your hand.

“Hey–” they started, reaching towards you, but you promptly dropped the pack into your basket, spun on your heel, and noped out of the aisle before you could be confronted. You felt sorry because you could sympathize with their situation, but you were in no place to be kind to others. Not in this dog-eat-dog world. To survive, you’d have to stay on top of the food chain.

You were about to fall in line when you remembered that you were all out of Sriracha sauce. You could deal with giving up your Pocky and shrimp chips as long as you had your favorite condiment in stock; no matter how down you were, scrambled eggs with a heaping squirt of Sriracha always took you up to Cloud Nine. If you were going to leave something behind, it would never be the Sriracha sauce.

After grabbing a bottle from the condiment aisle, you scanned the checkout desks for the shortest line. Luckily, a new checkout desk had just opened on the left, so you scampered over and placed your basket onto the counter. The clerk was a kind-looking old woman, but was surprisingly agile for her age. As you waited for her to bag the large span of items that belonged to the grandpa in front of you, you opened up your phone to check your budget. You eyed the message app with two unread messages temptingly before going into your bank app. This was a lucky trip~ thankfully ramen isn’t too expensive. Even if it wasn’t on my grocery list, a few cents won’t make too much a difference. I think I can spare enough to get a Pocky next time.

At long last, the grandpa shuffled away with his cart filled with some veggies, a thick stack of newspapers, and an unusually large stash of rice crackers. While the clerk scanned and bagged your items, you continued to fiddle with your phone until she cleared her throat.

“Would you like a single receipt, or two separate ones? Because there’s a divider between your items.”

“Excuse me?” “You and your boyfriend. By the way, you guys look really cute together, especially with your hoodies~ are you on a date?”

You spun around only to come face to face with the broke college kid from the ramen aisle. Well, that’s awkward. The cashier must have been blind or deaf (or both) because you didn’t even interact with that boy. You stole glances of the customer through your peripheral vision, trying to see what he looked like. Hmm, do I know him? He looked uncannily familiar. Just then, another realization dawned on you. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad one. Your expression quickly changed from one of confusion to one of pure shock.

Surprise, surprise. It was the douche from the art gallery. And he was wearing your old hoodie.

“I-I don’t know him.” Before he could open his mouth to say anything, you quickly looked away, feigning ignorance. Unfortunately for you, the old clerk had seen much in her day and your little ruse wasn’t going to slip past her that easily.

“From the flushed look on your face and the stammer in your voice, I’m pretty sure you do. And I’m sure he would agree, wouldn’t you, lover boy~?”

And… cue to the horrified look on lover boy’s face. The conflict that was playing out in his mind showed on his face; he knew that if he answered this wrong, he would be facing your wrath.

“Uh, well, the thing is…” He shot you a nervous glance, but your features were stone cold. At a total loss for what to say, the boy just trailed off and turned his eyes to his basket. Following his gaze, you looked over his items and immediately recoiled in disgust.

Not a single leafy green (grey) in sight, no meat, no rice, not even one of the food groups necessary to sustain life. Strawberry ice cream mochi, Taiyaki, strawberry Melona bars, Choco Pies, strawberry Hi-Chew, strawberry Chocorooms, strawberry Pocky–– it seemed that strawberry was a recurring theme among his groceries.

Even though the sheer amount of sugar made you gag, a pang of jealousy flashed across your face. That was the life you’d longed for ever since you finished high school: living off of nothing but sugar and carbs, looking like a bum and not giving a damn about it, just chilling.

Unfortunately, with the number of failures and setbacks that stained your past, a carefree life was something you could no longer afford.

“Yeah, okay, we’ve met,” you cut in, saving the boy from the tricky situation. Skeptic, the clerk stared into your unblinking eyes for what seemed to be a solid 15 seconds before shrugging and handing you your groceries. You snatched up your fabric bag and went on your way, walking fast. The color in your cheeks was probably the same as a tomato. Your least favorite fruit.

Why him, of all the places? Why, universe? Where did I go wrong? You were about to drop dead from embarrassment. As you closed your eyes, you could see your tombstone: “Rest in Peace y/n, died alone and patron-less.”

However, what you didn’t know was that your day was about to get worse. A whole lot worse. It all started when you felt a familiar tap on your left shoulder. I swear– You took a deep breath in and let it out slowly to compose yourself and answered without turning around.

“What in God’s good name do you want. And why are you wearing hobo clothes.” My clothes, you realized, a tiny bit weirded out.

“They’re comfy,” he pouted, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his newfound hoodie as if to show off. “Anyways, how come you didn’t check your phone earlier?

“Oh, uh,” you felt the pressure in your head rising as you recalled how you threw your phone down in embarrassment and cried. “Sorry, I was feeling kinda down because a certain someone sorta trashed my life’s work and my only chance of being successful in the industry, sooooo yeah. My bad.”

Sniff. You looked up, startled, only to find that the boy in front of you had tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His mouth was clamped closed, but his bottom lip was quivering and his eyebrows were turned up, resembling a small child trying to keep himself from bursting into tears after falling and scraping his knee on the pavement. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Well shit. There were two ways you could go about this: one, let your superego do the talking like a good person and prevent the boy from having a total meltdown in the middle of the sidewalk. The second was letting your id run rampant, taking full advantage of his feelings of remorse and overall just being a jerk. Maybe you could be distant and lacking in empathy, but you weren’t an asshole because you wanted to be one.

“Listen, I’m sorry for calling you a schmuck. A schmuck would not have bothered to keep in contact and a schmuck would not be on the verge of tears out of guilt. ...I accept your apology.” You were going to say that what he did was unforgivable, but you decided no to say that. After a pang of guilt jabbed into you, you bit your lip and softened your tone.

“I know you feel bad, but you don’t need to cry; there’s no way to turn back time. So instead, let’s move forward and keep looking up. I’ll start.” Smiling slightly with a tilted head, you held out your hand. “Hi, my name is y/n. I know that we’ve technically met, but this is the first time we’ve met met. So, nice to meet you.”

He wiped his tears away with the butt of his palm and tried to return the smile, though his was more watery. “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Beomgyu.” You noticed the corners of his lips curl upwards in a small smile as he took your hand, shaking it firmly.

There was a pause of awkward silence as you let go of his hand, wiping your sweaty palm on your sweatpants. Well that was the most awkward introduction I’ve ever had in my life. Clearing your throat, you spoke again to clear the tense atmosphere.

“About my compensation.”

#moacabin #txtarcadianet #txt fanfiction #txt scenarios #txt fluff #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu fanfiction #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fluff #okay this is ... awkward #it's been an eternity since i first started writing this #i don't even think this is that good of a fic LOL it's just lots of crack #but anyways i hope you enjoy this story so far !!#it would be great if i could get some feedback about how it's going so far haha

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