rmxsomin-blog

[rmxsomin-blog]

rmwooseok:

somin’s weight is against him in every way that he doesn’t want it to be, like his shoulder is too bony, he’s too heavy and too light; he’s too much and too little; too close and not close enough. it’s exhausting being discontented, grinding on the taste between his teeth as he tries to pretend his agitation isn’t noticeable. maybe he wanted to be asked, to be queried, to be prodded until he was angry and emotional, and blurting out everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. because he was the younger brother, the little brother, the one they pinched the cheeks of and cooed at, like he was still five years old and working off the baby weight.

his eyes sharpen at the question, arms coming up to cross his chest – there’s a long list of reasons why. romance was dumb, it was extra dumb because somin liked them, and three times dumb because he had no doubts that somin watched them imagining jinseok was the male lead who would come sweep him off his feet. not to mention the storylines were stupid and no one died, or got blown up, or had magical powers and had to save the world.

wooseok’s glances at somin, at the controller and towards the television. “i know,” he mutters, words prickling on his tongue. that was one of the thousand things he knew about somin. like how he smelled of some type of flowers and his skin looked like it would taste of cinnamon, and how he’d get that tiny jut in his bottom lip when he was being stubborn. “it’s all you ever want to watch,” he dismisses before somin can question why wooseok would know. 

it wasn’t as if it was a secret, but maybe somin thought it was.

‘why?’ pries at wooseoks cold front, at the iron door he takes in on himself whenever somin is near. every bone creaking in wooseok’s chest as he shifts.

he sits taller, one hand falling out from being tucked against his chest. he didn’t know why it was funny – it wasn’t funny to him. “because that’s what people do with romance movies. it’s not silly, it’s what people do. i don’t fucking know why,” there’s a soft growl when he swears, agitated but not angry. “i don’t watch them. i just.. hear about it.” he hated how childish that sounded, like he was thirteen and still hadn’t kissed a girl; but acne-prone skin and adolescent gawkiness and the awkwardness of not even understanding how to get a girl to talk to him yet.

there’s a prod, an electric shock up his spine and he squirms before he can stop himself, arm dropping to protect his side and eyes widening. each poke came with a jolt of annoyance, a flush of irritation, and the teasing words coming from somins lips. one hand clasps on somins instinctively, and then reaches to grab the other. they’re too close. his body hunched over sideways, his eyes taking in the thick black of somin’s lashes and the flecks of black in his eyes. he swallows down, needing to remove the embarrassment of his earlier words.

“no, not my anime,” wooseok corrects, hands slipping and long fingers curling around somin’s thin wrists. he’s smaller than wooseok, lithe and delicate; and it’s easy to move, to turn his body, to dig a knee into the couch and use his strength to pin the older boys hands, to capture them up above his head. “what kind of things are you assuming, hyung? what do you think goes through a nineteen year old boys head when he’s watching romance movies? when they kiss and when they have sex?”

wooseok begins to urge somin back, down into the cushions. 

he repeats the older boys taunting word,“huh?”

everything about wooseok in those moments makes something burn beneath his skin. it licks at his fried nerves, like he had been waiting on the edge of his seat for that one moment and anticipation is fed to him through each of wooseok’s shifts, each word muttered in that deep voice that sent shivers down his spine, the grown that made his spine prickle and fingertips tingle. he’s on the edge of the seat and waiting - for what he doesn’t know, but it’s uncomfortable and his body is firmly wound in moments like those, pulled tight. it’s that jittery feeling in his chest that lets him make mistakes, that allows him to push wooseok in ways he shouldn’t, in ways he assumed the other would find irritating, but somin is grinding his teeth and trying to rid himself of those emotions and perceptions that overwhelm and wash over him like the cold tide. he expects anger when wooseok finally stops him, when large hands so easily capture his own, warm and slightly calloused and far more manly than he was prepared for. he expects anger, but not the way his stomach turns and twists into knots, not the proximity of wooseok’s face and his warm breath. he doesn’t expect the fingers travelling along his skin and wrapping around his thin wrists so easily, capturing him so easily and he’s falling before he can think about what’s happening. his back hits the soft couch and somin is trapped, pinned; tiny beneath wooseok’s hovering form and something in him shifts, makes his back arch and body squirm like he’s testing the limits, like he’s testing wooseok’s strength and the ease with which he could free himself. the anger never comes and somin slightly regrets it because he would have known how to handle that, how to slip away and escape, but he’s met with a quiet voice, instead. there’s the soft words and the teasing edge and the forbidden words that he didn’t think wooseok of uttering with such a straight face. “how- how would i know?” his own voice had lost it’s confidence, face pink and words breathy and small, like he’s sinking and shrinking and so pliant. their faces are too close suddenly and he looks away, turns his face as if he’s trying to hide against the fabric of his sleeve, trying to rid himself of the pink on his cheeks by brushing it off. “i’m not a nineteen year old boy, so, how would i know? probably-“ — somin had always had an odd fascination of playing with things that were forbidden. curiosity was rumoured to have killed the cat, but somin was confident in still having all of his nine lives. “probably something improper.” he glances at wooseok from the corner of his eyes, tugs at his arms like he’s once again remembered that he was trying to pull away all this time and his hips shift along with the rest of his body, knees pulling up and legs parting to fit wooseok in between them. “is that why you don’t want to watch romantic movies? you think about making out because that’s what’s on your mind, isn’t it? kissing and s-sex. that’s what you think about, isn’t it?”

･ﾟ✧ cupid’s got me in a chokehold *･ﾟ

[rmxsomin-blog]

it’s not the first time - wouldn’t be the last either - and by now somin should have learnt to get a power bank and save himself a lot of trouble. but somin, despite all his supposed smarts, could be a huge idiot at times and somehow not checking if his phone was charged enough before leaving and getting himself lost in the middle of nowhere seemed to have become a recent expertise of his. it started because he was following google maps on his phone to the location where they were supposed to sell all kinds of anime and manga stuff - maybe this was a sign that randomly buying something for wooseok was not a good idea -, but it was just his luck that he ran out of phone battery long before he was supposed to reach his destination. he wished he had learnt some numbers by heart, but the only one he knows is his own and while the situation wasn’t that dramatic and somin would surely find his way home, one way or another at some point, it surely seemed quite dramatic to him in that moment. it would have been easier if he wasn’t alone, but the night tended to make everything look more frightening and somin wasn’t known to be the most brave soul. (it could probably be compared to a spoilt and lazy housecat being sent out into the big world all on its own. quite the pitiful image.) the panic was still nestled deep within the pit of his stomach when he turned the corner into a quiet and dim street and caught sight of a familiar profile. they weren’t exactly close friends, but somin was certainly on friendly terms with her and considering how far back their history went - and that she was the only person around who he knew in that moment - adrianne’s appearance seemed almost like a blessing. the sign above her head was flickering and just as somin had been about to open his mouth to call out to her, the source of light vanished, leaving the young woman sitting in relative darkness. somin’s eyes shifted and adjusted almost immediately and while it was possible for him to see comfortable, he didn’t consider how it must be for adrianne to be approached by a shape with glowing eyes in the darkness. “adrianne!” there was urgency and relief in his voice and the smile on somin’s lips sadly would go completely unseen, “i’m so glad i found you. i’m starving and lost and- do you have a phone on you?”

green light @rmxsomin

Incheon turns itself inside out in the after hours, with a midnight sky and streets illuminated by headlights and neon fuzz, and it takes her along with it. What should’ve been crunking it out at the club till sunrise comes with an unexpected twist: the party already over two hours too early and she’s left sitting by the street curb, hair mussed, decked out in a too-thin little black number and limited edition Valentinos off her feet, held by their straps. 

Contrary to what it looks like, she’s sober—or, has been, for awhile. A clean sweep of her surroundings tells her this is uncharted territory, a part of the city she’d yet to get a better idea of. Calling up an Uber would be a lost cause, not when Snapchat’s killed her phone battery; flagging down a taxi might’ve been worth it if there’d been any driving by (hint: there weren’t). So Adrianne stays put, beneath a flickering sign, with a single thought that doesn’t really seem to sink in (given how calm she’s been for the past hour), all the while completely and utterly oblivious to another equally lost figure approaching her: 

“Man.” 

I’m fucked.

The sign above her buzzes right then and there, as if it fully concurs with her assessment. How’s that for perfect timing?

[rmxsomin-blog]

rmwooseok:

the disappointment was palpable, obvious and heavy on somin’s shoulders, and wooseok almost wants to make that comment. ‘what do you expect, he’s an asshole’. but he restrains himself, knowing that somin did not see his brother how he saw him. while somin stared at jinseok in wonder, with wide soft eyes, hope radiating from them in sickening levels, wooseok was more three steps from pushing his older brother into a death pitch and watching him fight it out with a mob of hungry tigers. wooseok clenches his teeth together, shrugging his shoulders before he utters out a muted. “guess so,” because he was never the committing type, even to obvious answers.

there’s always a burn of wooseok’s skin when he feels somin’s gaze on him, as if he were caught unaware every time, doing something he shouldn’t be–feeling something he shouldn’t be–and hoping somin would continue to pretend he didn’t notice. an illogical system of thought that didn’t connect with his desperation for somin to notice him, to begin to like him, to want him back. but wooseok never has much time to consider this, not when his mind is abruptly turned blank by the hand on his thigh and the gentle squeeze. it takes everything in him not to move, not to look down, not to react – and that leaves him frozen, holding his breath as he rewinds to catch what had been said. ‘just the two of us, then’ were simple words for anyone who digest, but there wooseok was, gnawing over then, mulling over them, running his tongue on each one as if there were some soft chocolate he needed to find in the middle. a sweetness he never found when he knew better and caught himself. somin never meant those words how wooseok wanted him to. 

“guess so,” he repeats, like a broken record and another shrug.

the intrusion into his bag of chips catches wooseoks attention, drags him out of his daze and leaves his eyes chasing the slender fingers of the boy next to him. when he he was fifteen, he’d studied those hands with intention, like they were some piece of art that he was told to understand but he didn’t, he never could. all he knew was that the more he knew he shouldn’t touch, the more he wanted to; the more he looked at it, the more incomprehensible the beauty was. and he’s staring again, an act he finds himself in when he notices the peek of somin’s tongue across his fingers and there’s the hot drop in his gut. air sharply taken as he jerks his attention back to the television, like a child bursting up to the surface of the water to find his breath.

if there was anything more distracting than a hand, sliding up his thigh, wooseok didn’t know what it was. his shoulders tense across the back of the chair, his eyes wavering from the point directly across from him that he was trying to anchor himself onto, and his tongue darting out over his parted lips where they could numbly taste the salt. every weight of somin on him made wooseok’s breaths become shallower and his heart beat louder. somin was going to hear, he was going to know. he’s drowning again, and there somin is, batting his lashes and looking sweet while he held him under. it takes everything not to shove him away in frustration, to not fight back; his instincts knotting themselves in his gut as he peeks at somin from the corner of his eyes and lets his gaze drift back. “do whatever you want. but if it’s disgustingly cheesy and i throw up on you, that’s your own fault,” wooseok mutters out, taking in a lungful of water and glancing down at the knee against him. “i hate romantic movies.”

accepting your fate was never a skill anyone was good at, it was something your learned. and wooseok had had years or practice, he had years of deciding that even if having somin like this would kill him, he wanted to have somin anyway he could. his head turned, glancing over the older male next to him. “anyway, wouldn’t your rather watch it with someone you can make out with? isn’t that what they’re for?”

for the longest time, the position wooseok took in somin’s life was that of an adorable kid - someone he could almost see like his own little brother. the twins like to pick on him growing up and somin often wondered how they were capable of being so mean when they were lucky to have a family, to have each other. he remembered asking jinseok about it once, but now whenever he tried to think back on it, he couldn’t remember what it was that he had answered. maybe the answer didn’t make him happy; maybe somin heard something he didn’t like, but he remembers wanting to make an effort to include wooseok, to keep him around more, to make him smile and tell the twins off. somin also remembers failing miserably and staying quiet, like a coward. one look from jinseok, a it’s just a joke from inseok and somin forgot all about including wooseok, about being the kind older brother that he wanted to be. he regrets it now and thinks about it sometimes, too, but wooseok is far from the little kid he used to be. he’s no longer half a head shorter than somin, no longer looked innocent and wide eyed. instead, somin leans against broad shoulders, a frame that towers over most and leaves people staring. just like his brothers, wooseok ended up a giant of a boy and somin no longer felt like he was capable of shielding or protecting him from anything. why was it then, that he insisted on those feelings? on those thoughts of wooseok being like his little brother, someone younger he had to take care of? (there was one incident that changed a lot for somin. wooseok was still seventeen and somin dropped by uninvited. he hadn’t seen him in a while, had missed the jumpy growth spurt that hit him and when he caught sight of a broad back and tall frame, only covered by a towel around the waist, he assumed having caught jinseok not yet dressed. it was one thing to ogle his best friend; it was a completely different thing to ogle his still underage little brother.) he listens to wooseok act stubborn and almost petulant, tells himself its that teenage angst and grins like he finds the immaturity something endearing and amusing. it’s condescending in a subtle way, he tells himself is justified because wooseok is an adult now, but he’s still young. his behaviour showed that. “why, wooseokkie~? what has romance as a genre ever done to you to make you hate it?” it’s a rhetoric question and somin doesn’t give enough time for wooseok to answer before he continues in a quiet mumble. “i like it.” his attention is still on wooseok as he reaches for the remote and changes the channel, but his eyes are stubbornly glued to the screen, like whatever he was seeing was that fascinating. (in truth, he had noticed the cold shoulder wooseok was giving him, the tense body, almost like he was uncomfortable, and somin had decided that ignoring it was the best way to go on about it.) “why?” the question makes him laugh, a humourless sound that’s supposed to cover his sudden flusteredness. “why do you have to make out with someone while watching romance dramas or movies? that’s silly.” the remote is dropped next to him and somin - still so desperate to overcome the awkwardness, the distance between them - turns back to wooseok once more and prods a small and slim finger in his side. “what kinds of things are you assuming, huh?” another poke, again to the side. “is that what your anime taught you?” a poke to the stomach and somin knows he’s overdoing it, thinks wooseok might get angry at him, instead. maybe he can even tell how desperate somin is at this point. “huh?”

･ﾟ✧ cupid’s got me in a chokehold *･ﾟ

[rmxsomin-blog]

rmjaewon:

alcohol works wonders, but it does not lessen the kind of pain that claws bring to skin. he’s still got scars from before. some bandages on his hands are there as a symptom and not a preventative measure. but jaewon, like all things, does not know when to let go of things that hurt. he buries it, like all things, and smiles and holds his pets ever-gently, because he’s well aware they’re frightened and he should’ve placed them somewhere safer, if he had time. but that’s a regret sober-jaewon will worry about the morning after. so are the marks that are sure to arise on his skin, new ones, better ones. as long as they aren’t on his face, he doesn’t have to explain them to anybody, and god knows jaewon will lie if he had to do that anyway.

so he’s glad that somin realises what he means, because he can’t even stand upright without wobbling a little. it’s turning out to be an extremely long night, and his search for his partner has, so far, proved fruitless, and especially disheartening by the minute: people keep streaming in, and there’s hardly space to breathe. somin, now, looks like an angel in comparison to the teeming hordes of youth and sweat and smoke and noise.

“i’m not subjecting them to it! i’m trying to save them!” which, really, is why he’s taken them in in the first place. he doesn’t remember if he’s told somin the story; he can’t quite form a solid memory when everything’s shimmering. it’s good that he’s consumed some of the better alcohol, after all: he’d rather be dead-drunk than remain sober on shitty drinks that can hardly be called any kind of ‘drink’. 

he pats his sides with his shirt, and reaches out with a hand, impatient, for somin’s shoulder; a memory, half-formed, makes him rescind it quickly. he doesn’t want a repeat of last time. “hey, man, can you help me clean up? it’ll be quick, i swear, then we can go back to partying!”

the cats are curled beneath his chin and he can feel their rapid heartbeats, can smell their panic and unsettled anxiety and thinks it truly is ironic how they feel the exact same. it was no wonder that they felt more comfortable with him; they could feel it. his attention returns to jaewon, his flushed cheeks and unclear eyes and wobbly stance and he didn’t even need to catch a whiff of the scent of alcohol that leaves his mouth when the tell-tale signs of his drunkenness are more than obvious. he can’t help but wonder how much of their encounter he’s going to remember tomorrow and if somin should have given in and simply gotten as drunk as everyone else in order to bear the night more easily. well, too late now. “you want me to help clean up?” somin echoes the question, his eyebrows rising beneath his fringe and eyes trailing along the bared skin and towards the pink and red welts left behind by the two cats. he’s about to ask ‘can’t you do it yourself?’, but he doesn’t think he can trust an alpha who can barely stand on his own two feet to tend to his own wounds. “fine,” somin sighs his agreement, finally and holds the cats in his arms a bit closer. it would be the perfect chance to get them out of the loud and and stifling room, too. “and i don’t need to return to the party, i don’t like it anyway. i’ll just stay somewhere safe, with your cats.” he can’t find moonsik again, anyway, but if he needed him he could always just call. “come on, lead the way. i don’t know where to go.”

a yawn is a silent scream

[rmxsomin-blog]

rmwooseok:

weekend stays at home were not uncommon for wooseok, he’d make the way home on a saturday morning, score some of his mothers cooking for breakfast, hang out, watch television, have a good old fashion family dinner and then on sunday, he’d wander his way back to university, wondering what was worse. the battle over the last of the food on the dining table or the competition going on at school. ( at least at school they didn’t hit you below the belt and then have your mother scold you for flinging rice across the table. ) but this weekend had been extra quiet, his father was working on a big case at the law firm, his older brother jinseok was busy aiding in the justice system and his mother and sister were busy clothes shopping. that left wooseok alone, staring at the television and with a hand habitually filling his mouth with food whenever he realised how quietly it was – or how dumb the movie was.

when he hears the door, his gaze flickers up. there’s the expectation of a voice, one of his family members announcing their arrival home, and so the silence irks him, sitting up taller in his spot and dropping his socked feet from the coffee table. he can hear them drawing closer, and he’s about to declare that he will kick their ass if they try anything – when he sees the familiar face and swallows down. the light shining on the dark strands of hair, the perfectly shaped nose, the stung pink lips, the way his voice rings out ( fuck, wooseok knew he was deep, but he hated how much of a lovesick teenage girl he sounded like. ) but he couldn’t help himself as he stared at somin.

like he had to adjust his whole body to the sudden presence.

but by then, somin’s body drops down next to him and his hand unconsciously thrusts deep into the bag of chips. his eyes falling down, looking at the handful of salted junk food and then back at the television. there’s a soft grunt in the back of his throat as he shrugs. “i don’t know. my dads firm has a big case. he’s helping, i guess,” wooseok answers. chips are soon crunching between his teeth as he shifts his weight, and tries to roll the tension away from his shoulders. nothing was going to work, not once he inhaled the sweet scent of lavender and peeked from the corner of his eyes at somin again. the salt on his fingers leaving trails as he scratched at the left side of his chest, at the uneasy beat of his heart. 

all somin has to do is blink, breath, shift and wooseoks head ducks forward more, his eyes peer at the screen ahead of him, and he realises he has no idea what he’s watching. something was exploding. his ego, his pride, his heart. he didn’t know what to say to somin who was there to see his brother, but his mouth never functioned in time with his brain; it did it’s own thing on occasion. “you can wait here if you want, but i don’t know when he’ll be back,” wooseok blurts out, only to realise he was giving the other an option to leave. he didn’t want him to leave. “but my mums cooking a big dinner tonight, she always loved cooking for you.”

his shoes had been left behind at the door and somin curls into himself, inhales the familiar scent of home and exhales tension and worry and nervousness. the disappointment lingers - his best friend really stood him up without another word -, but those thoughts are pushed aside for the moment as he shifts his body, subconsciously leaning closer to wooseok, like he was craving that warmth and proximity without realising it. « so he’s busy, huh? » he mumbles the words more to himself than to the boy sitting next to him, trying hard to mask his displeasure with a short sigh. dark eyes finally shift from the television and whatever was playing to wooseok’s face, a smile once again pulling at full lips as he tucks his legs beneath him and turns his body to face wooseok. « that’s fine. it’ll be just the two of, then. » his hand lands on wooseok’s thigh, the gesture subtle, giving it an affectionate squeeze; it had been a while since the two of them got to spend time alone and even longer since they spend time together anywhere else but at university. it’s odd how he used to see the whole jung family every single day, how he knows the house they live in better than his own, every nook and cranny, and how much that changed since last year. he’s spending more time with wooseok, now, tells himself he’s simply checking in on het boy he’s known almost his whole life now that his brothers weren’t there to do it, when he knows fully well that he enjoys hanging out with him. wooseok was familiar and comfortable; somin doesn’t question that weird tingle in the pit of his stomach, almost like nervousness, at the thought of the two of them being all alone. as soon as wooseok’s hand leaves the chips bag, somin leans over him to reach into it as well, eyes returning to the tv screen only to flicker back to the other male a second later when he speaks up, again. he stuffs the chips into his mouth and licks the tips of his fingers; if jinseok was really helping his father out whatever business he was attending to could take the whole day, but somin didn’t drive all the way to their house and get ready for nothing. he would have probably invited himself over even if wooseok hadn’t done so first. « i haven’t had your mum’s cooking in so long, i miss it. and i told moon i’d be eating out today, anyway. so, of course, i’ll stay. » and he leans closer, one hand sliding up wooseok’s thigh to steady him as he reaches over to grab the bag of chips and place them on his own lap. the bag is almost empty, which meant that wooseok had eaten pretty much all of it. somin had deserved whatever was left, still. he slides his body close enough to brush against wooseok’s side, anyway, lets his knees rest against wooseok’s thigh so he could still reach for the snack if he wished to before twisting to search for the remote. « this movie is boring, though. i wanna watch a romance. » he leans his head back and lets it rest against wooseok’s arm, batting long lashes at his dongsaeng. « can we? there’s this great new fantasy drama that i started watching. you might like it, too. »

･ﾟ✧ cupid’s got me in a chokehold *･ﾟ

[rmxsomin-blog]

rmmoonsik:

‘why don’t you just leave then?’

the words were still fresh in his mind like a morsel of a nightmare, persistent even during the day - as tame as they were without context, from moonsik’s mouth it had sounded so harsh, so vehement, so unlike him. he’d never lost his temper with somin before, never had any reason to when their interactions were always laden with so much affection and trust but… there’s something about jinseok that grates at his nerves. 

he doesn’t know jinseok and doesn’t care to, but the way somin waxes poetic about a boy who didn’t seem to return his affections in the slightest even after seven years sets his chest ablaze. how anyone could be so willfully blind (both jinseok and somin), how somin can continue to subject himself to what surely has to be emotional anguish, he can’t understand. and… he really shouldn’t have lost his temper. he should have let the boy continue waxing, to continue dreaming - but he’d been convinced to do so was irresponsible. he still does. but if it meant bringing somin home sooner, he’ll let him. 

with each second that passes, the stone in his stomach grows heavier, and the world grows dimmer with the sky. the phone rings - a sign. he picks it up on the second ring, and everything unmovable in him softens at the sound of somin’s voice, anxious and nervous and unbearably alone - he thinks that perhaps he never went to jinseok’s after all. “i’ll be right there,” he murmurs, “where are—” a dial tone. he can feel his pulse quicken - has something happened?

not five minutes later he’s dressed, carrying a towel and spare clothes and hopping into a taxi. “my cat’s gone missing,” he blurts when the driver raises a brow at his request to simply drive slowly around town, because it sounds more acceptable than searching for a fully grown flatmate, and because in some ways, it’s true. 

it takes thirty minutes of aimless driving before moonsik is desperate enough to jump out of the taxi and storm into the rain, the deluge still paling in comparison to the squall besetting his heart. “somin!” he bellows into the tempest. “somin, where are you!”

« moon? » silence. somin blinks once, pulls the phone away from his ear to stare at a completely black screen. he hadn’t charged it since last night. it seemed almost comedic - amongst the panic and the fear and the anxiety that’s pumping blood through his veins at record speed - this small instance of fate, to have their conversation interrupted just before somin could tell him where he was, almost made the whole situation a bit funny. though somin wasn’t sure if the noise that bubbled from his throat was really a laugh or something closer to a sob. the rushing of the rain was drowning out most other sounds and somin curled into himself tighter, buried his face in his knees. regret seeped into his bones like rainwater into the fabric of his sleeves, the hem of his shorts and tips of his shoes; it spreads almost paralysing fear with every clap of thunder and icy cold takes over his body. shivers and goosebumps join the already existing tremor of thin limbs and somin bitterly recalls the first storm in his new life, in the new house he was supposed to call home. he pulled the blinds down and closed the windows, hid in his warm and stuffy cupboard with the irrational reasoning that if the storm couldn’t see him, he would be safe. his adoptive mother had found him then - with blankets and milk with honey, warm fingers that combed through his hair and a soothing voice. as kind and caring as her gestures were, they only made him cry harder and miss his mother more. the storm doesn’t ease up. the wind carries the far away sounds of busy streets and amongst all them is the whisper of a familiar voice. it seems like an illusion at first; the fata morgana for his quenched and terrified soul. he lifts his head; hears but doesn’t see. the rain was too heavy, the clouds too dark and casting a dim veil over his surroundings that couldn’t be breached. somin wants to get up, look for the owner of the voice, but his legs are shaky and unsteady and any attempt to unfurl himself further proves anything but fruitful. « moonsik-ah, i’m here. » his voice is too quiet, too easily overwhelmed and overlapped by the roaring storm. it feels a bit like he’s lost in the very middle of the freezing, night sea and trying to draw attention to a boat that was too far away. for a second the fear that he won’t be found grips him; like that was his only chance of ever getting back home and moonsik would miss him, walk right past him, leave somin alone and cold and wet and sitting in the rain. « i’m here. » he’s too quiet still, but there’s a shape approaching and something grabs his heart, squeezes his throat shut, causes his voice to tremble and break. moonsik doesn’t have his senses, he won’t hear; with a hand on the wet ground, somin pushes himself up onto unsteady legs. bony knees knock together with each step he takes forward and his body still cowers at the cold rain, the flashes of lightning over his head. he reaches for a blurry shape. « moon. »

･ﾟ✧ i’m an arc above the horizon, just for you *･ﾟ

[rmxsomin-blog]

with a cool fingers curled around his wrist and the soft smile on softer petals somin never stood a chance. he couldn’t have refused, he had no real options and in the end he’s being pulled through the door and into a room with a vibrating bass and pushing bodies. at first he reckons it could be alright; he’s clutching onto moonsik’s fingers and trying not to notice all the hands that wandered beneath clothes and further than they should go, but it’s only minutes into them having entered the party that he loses his grasp on moonsik’s fingers and sight of his face. it wasn’t the first time - and it wouldn’t be the last - that somin ended up being dragged to an alpha party and ended up alone, but no time was more fun than the previous one. somin liked to believe he could handle himself fine enough to not accept too many drinks, even when people try to press them into his hand, but the lack of space makes him panic and he’s pushed into corners by dancing bodies and wild limbs and quickly becomes the living definition of uncomfortable. he’s fishing for his phone and trying to fish for excuses to leave when jaewon’s voice calls for his attention and somin gets onto his tip toes and cranes his neck to meet his eyes. the smile he’s greeted with alone seems suspicious enough but jaewon quickly and easy covers the distance between them, pushing uncomfortably close and into somin’s personal space. ( he’d never stop remembering the catnip incident from years ago whenever jaewon was this close. ) the request that’s voiced close to his ear makes as little sense as the innocent and wide smile it’s joined with and somin squints. “what.” he’s heard jaewon perfectly clear, despite the loud voices and louder music, but he doesn’t want to believe what somin heard is what jaewon actually meant. a movement from below jaewon’s shirt catches his eyes and it’s then that it dawns on him that he knows exactly what jaewon was smuggling. a sigh leaves his lips before he’s pushing the fabric of jaewon’s clothes out of the way and reaching for the terrified felines beneath. any annoyance vanishes from his face; the previously slightly sour expression changes into a soft smile as somin peels the two cats off jaewon and holds them close to himself. the purr that vibrates through his chest is instinctual and something somin can’t help as reaction to the two cats nuzzling closer. “why the hell are you subjecting them to this torture, jaewon? i can barely stand it here, can you imagine how it must be for them?”

a yawn is a silent scream

@rmxsomin

he finds his cats fashionably late. like all felines in his care, he’s just assumed that they wandered off for the night. but he finds them, in his stupor, slinking on the counter and avoiding, quite gracefully, the bodies slamming on top of and against it. jaewon’s only staring because he’s drunk, and amazed and, really, distracted from heading towards his original objective. 

only when someone nudges his shoulder does he stumble forward, and blink, and doesn’t even think to berate the person who’s probably already gone. 

another beat drops, and so do his cats – and he dives forward and doesn’t give a flying shit that he knocks over a few people to catch his pets and pulls them under his shirt, right against his ribs. they hold onto him, claws digging a little, and the curses that tumble out of his mouth are clumsy and unheard, and he doesn’t care enough to apologise, stumbling forward and forward and forwards, seeking out no one and everyone, and finding a familiar face,

“somin!” over the crowd, and over everything, he smiles: a burst of light, again, and he heads towards the boy, and all but corners him, “come, help me get these off, will you?”

[rmxsomin-blog]

･ﾟ✧ i’m an arc above the horizon, just for you *･ﾟ

« i⃝f you’re by my side, that place is treasure island » @rmmoonsik

somin had started feeling the edges of regret cut into him, gnaw at him, the moment he stepped out of the door and an unexpectedly cold breeze hit him. it should have felt like a warning then, certainly made him sober up and pause for a second, one step on the pavement and the other on the street. the regret and guilt hit again, but his pride quickly took over and a second later he was walking again, chin lifted.  if he was honest, he’d say it was his fault.  moonsik was patient with him, gentle and kind and sweet and somin tended to push it. he gets stubborn during the most inconvenient times and it’s so easy to forget that everyone has limits when moonsik seems to be a saint (or maybe somin was just lucky). the argument was as unnecessary as any fight between them could have been but jinseok was a raw spot for somin, forever the open wound on which even the most soothing ointment felt like salt. he wishes moonsik hadn’t tried to touch it. the wind picks up the sky turns darker and somin only then bothers looking around to notice that he’s far away from their apartment that their neighbourhood had become a foreign and unfamiliar ground. leaving might not have been the best idea, but moonsik’s words still rang in his head - why don’t you just leave, then?  annoyance and anger spikes in him again, the same thoughts from when his voice was raised - why couldn’t moonsik just drop it? why did he have to argue? - and the speed of his steps picks up again, lead him to a playground. the feelings of deja vu arise as somin can’t help but reminisce his earlier teenage years that were spent sulking away on a lonely swing set, until jinseok came to tug him home. jinseok was too busy now, he wouldn’t come even if somin called him. at first he thinks doesn’t mind the whipping wind; but it quickly grows more chilly and a cold drop of rain falls directly onto his nape, sliding down his shirt. more follow almost immediately and within seconds it’s pouring. somin runs in a panicked frenzy and finds shelter beneath the protruding roof of an abandoned store, but his skin was already wet and cold, the fabric of his shirt sticking to him in patches and hair hanging in his face in strands.  rumbling thunder vibrates through his chest a second later not just his anger, but his pride as well, are about to be chucked aside as somin reaches for his phone and stares at moonsik’s name in his phonebook. he’s miserable and cold and scared and all of that because of his own, god damn pride. lighting strikes and somin counts to four, hears the thunder roll again and dials the number.  « help me, please- » lighting strikes close by and somin flinches, « moonsik-ah, there’s a storm. »

[rmxsomin-blog]

･ﾟ✧ cupid’s got me in a chokehold *･ﾟ

« i⃝ tried to run but i was too slow » @rmwooseok​

once you’ve become attached at the hip to someone you’ll always feel the lack of body warmth when they aren’t around - that’s how it feels for somin, at least. when he thinks of jinseok and wonders how much he must be missed the biting rationality in him reminds him that he probably has another group of friends and barely notices somin is missing. the hopeful dreamer in him keeps insisting that things are much more meaningful and deep than they seem, that jinseok probably thinks of him a lot, waits for his messages the same way somin does, and smiles while looking at the pictures they took together.  somin is well aware that dreams are dreams, not reality, but with the amount of time he spends napping it becomes hard to separate the two.  and jinseok makes him hopeful; he sends him messages, small reminders of his existence, doesn’t drop the conversation even when it becomes apparently that somin’s mood is sour and that there’s way better company and ultimately somin is left reading and re-reading the same line of a text message over and over again, the words simple but meaning the world to him-  somin-ah, let’s meet up! it’s the weekend and he smells like he rubbed himself all over with bouquets of lavender while awkwardly hovering at the door of the jung house and while it shouldn’t be that awkward after he spent most of his childhood there, the prospect of seeing jinseok again made him nervous. somin lets himself in with a casualty that speaks volumes of his comfort around a family that wasn’t his, but the excited smile on his face doesn’t last. the house is quiet, sans for the soft murmur of the living room and when somin approaches said living space and only spots wooseok sitting there it quickly becomes obvious that things wouldn’t go as expected. he’s disappointed, but light steps carry him further into the room, anyway, the soft patter only stopping once he lets himself fall into the soft couch next to wooseok. « wooseok-ah, where’s your brother? »

[rmxsomin-blog]

i’m fashionably late because i was busy the whole day but here’s jooheon’s cringey aegyo to make up for it 

first of all thank you for all the lovely welcomes i got!! i’m really happy to finally be part of this rp and to finally be able to unleash my soft brainchild onto your muses (this is a very weird sentence but i’m tired pls bear with me). if you wanna plot and read up on somin i got his profile’s link here and bio here. also feel free to hit the like icon thingy and i’ll roll into your im’s (or reply to the ones i haven’t replied to yet since i’m finally on my laptop now). beneath the cut are some lame random facts about somin so leggo!! (ic b  i just wrote this)

* he’s 23 and a 4th year * studies astrology & physics  * actual nerd and has a bit of an air-headed and melancholic vibe to him (it’s the reason he picked astrology) * not part of any alliance but his best friend was in alpha till last year and dragged him along everywhere he could * moonsik is his flatmate * he’s quite outgoing, but also reserved. he isn’t especially talkative with people he doesn’t know well and doesn’t let a lot of people get close to him, but he’s friendly towards everyone and treats most people the same * unless you insult him or try to shade him bc he’s sensitive and short tempered and tends to lash out * turns to putty if someone plays with his hair or scratches his neck but doesn’t necessarily like being touched by most people  * is a picky eater but you earned yourself a lot of plus points if you treat him to seafood or cake * he’s Lost™ a lot and really bad at taking care of himself  * has been crushing on the same guy (npc and aforementioned best friend) for 7 years * is a huge romantic and a lowkey nun  * i can’t think of anything else * i guess this is a good moment to stop

[rmxsomin-blog]

© Noble Magnolia ✷ Do not edit.

[rmxsomin-blog]