adoredvi

[adoredvi]

I genuinely don't know what's going on with some people who requests stories on a writer's blog now a days, especially on the FORSAKEN x reader fandom side..

I just felt the need to discuss this at this moment but, when a writer or author says that their request are CLOSED it's closed, don't go requesting a story when its closed, and don't rush them to write it.

Authors are human too, and please remember that, they are not some robotic human being that can magically whip out a story on the air, no, they need breaks and rest too, so if you're requesting, just please remember to check if their request is open or not, this may not be a huge deal to some authors but I'm just saying! Let's not cross some boundaries, and this can be for all other fandoms too^-^

Anyway... that's all I really wanted to say LOL and this is just my opinion.., so like what I said, let's respect everyone around us, and not cross boundaries next time<33

[adoredvi]

This is so peak that I have to draw it😼😼🙏

I headcanon that when y/n was dying they remembered their memories with C00lkidd one last time like how our brain replay memories before death...🫶🫶

Sorry for the anon ask again but is request open?? If it is can I please request c00lk1dd x reader....perchance...I really love how you wrote him🫡🫡

This is up to your imagination, what reader is up to you, I would say fluff to angst because..angst🥳🥳

—from 🌻 anon<3

"The Afterglow of a Sun Long Burnt Out"

--TRUD!C00lk1dd x Survivor!Reader

"The Afterglow of a Dying Sun"

--TRUD!C00lk1dd x Survivor!Reader

notes: 🌻anon tysm for requesting this!! i have this storyline that's been on my mind for quite some time now

 c00lk1dd will have his old personality since i assume that's what you prefer. one-shot format as well. survivor!reader too to maximize the angst 😈

this might be the last time u guys see nicek1dd tho lmao, unless someone specifically requests otherwise

WARNINGS: angst, 1 singular swear word, gory descriptions during angst part (keyword is: “failed to connect to server” if u want to skip), OOC characters

------

Rows of flower columns, beautifully arranged by nature herself, stay untouched by griefers and exploiters. Trees in sizes large enough to provide shade, but short enough to let sunlight pass through, are scattered across the meadow. The air carries a fresh, spring breeze that revitalizes those who breathe it in. Over the dozens of meadows C00lk1dd has shown you, the one in Prairie Blocks is his favorite. 

When you aren’t participating in Underground War competitions, and he isn’t busy tending to his flowers; he takes you to this secluded spot under his favorite tree. There, you two would chat for hours. The conversations are mostly led by you, but he doesn’t mind listening whilst he fiddles with an array of flowers.

Today was one of those days. You have taken your place beside him, back against the rough tree bark, as you start talking — rapidly shifting topics as you do so. Meanwhile, he weaves you a crown made of fresh sunflowers, blue poppies, and dew-kissed leaves. His fingers intricately interlock each stem with one another. His free hand comes into contact with yours, lingering for seconds that endure for a bit too long, to retrieve more flowers for his flower crown. There’s a keen focus in his eyes that stays unbroken as he does so. The melody of your voice pushes him on further.

“—while they were distracted, I took their flag and ran. My heart was pounding like crazy, you won’t believe how many of them were chasing after me.”

“Sounds intense.” He murmurs, linking the daisy with the rest of the flowers.

“It was! I would have almost made it back to base, had it not been for this Bloxxer fellow.” You huff, a sour expression on your face.

“Bloxxer, huh?” A rose falls out of place. C00lk1dd curses under his breath and works on reattaching it.

“He’s skilled — which I respect by the way — but you don’t hear me shoving my wins in people’s faces- Oof!” An apple falls on your head with a loud thump. Massaging the sore spot on your head that was hit, you whine.

The flower crown is set aside as C00lk1dd moves to check up on you, placing a gentle hand on your forearm.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asks with a tinge of worry.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Don’t worry.” You sigh.

“Stupid gravity…” The tree felt the weight of your anger condensed in one, heavy punch; only for it to return said anger to you tenfold.

“OOUCH!” Splinters and small fragments of wood bark get lodged into the side of your fist, accompanied by a large, red, dull ache. He flinches at the sight, the furrow between his brows deepening.

“Sorry, I know. I know that was stupid — Ughhh.” Lamenting your recklessness, you cradle your hand. Now the pain is in several places rather than one. As if your set of humiliating losses today wasn’t enough.

With a sigh, he places the affected hand in the palm of his red one. The splinters are long, having stuck themselves deep in your skin. Luckily, rivers are abundant in Prairie Blocks. He shouldn’t have a hard time finding one.

“There’s a nearby riverbank.” C00lk1dd takes the flower crown he had previously neglected, slipping it through his arm. Droplets of dew cling to his skin as the plants rustle against it. 

“Let’s go wash up your wounds first, then we’ll pull the splinters out.” He pulls you up, then sets course for the river. You follow suit.

“Hoo boy…” Anxiously, you grip the hem of your shirt.

…

Following a painful extraction session, he plucks the last needle-like fragment out of your skin. It leaves a sharp stinging in its wake, but it is finally over. The splinter is tossed into the ground along with the others.

“Phew! Thanks. That took forever.” It had only dragged on much longer than it needed to because you kept flinching, but C00lk1dd’s willing to omit that detail. Hands outstretched, you collapse onto his lap, your hair spilling onto his legs in an unruly fashion. There’s a stiffness that overtakes his body, and he looks away.

“...Please don’t punch any more trees.” 

You chuckle, “That was a one-time thing!” lightly jabbing him. Your joy is infectious. Against all odds, he joins you in your hysterics. In the midst of it all, his body relaxes against yours.

When the laughter dies down, all goes quiet. For once, you don’t fill the silence with words. You let it be. C00lk1dd cards his fingers through your hair.

His fingers suddenly retreat. The sound of shuffling is heard as you hear him mumble incoherent words under his breath, before a floral headdress obscures your vision. It rests in an asymmetric position on your head.

“Oh?” You push it slightly above your eyes and look at him with raised brows.

“S-sorry.” Your friend fixes it with shaky fingers, which brush past your own as you retrieve the flower crown. 

“Is this for me?” A smile blooms on your face. It’s a harmony of yellows, blues, and greens; a lovely handiwork. You’re careful not to damage any of it. 

“Mhm.”

“Huh… so that’s what you were so focused on all this time.” You wear the gift with pride.

“Thank you.” You utter, the usual crescendo in your voice mitigated by a rare solemnity.

He doesn’t reply further, and his hands return to the place on your head. Birds fly home to their nests, owls come out of hiding. A gentle breeze, nature’s hand, lightly touches your cheek. It’s late. You soften into his touch, before your breathing steadies. Within minutes, your eyelids flutter shut — your hands lethargic.

After you stop moving, he gently pokes your cheek to confirm you’re asleep. You are, and you’re out cold. The serene scene on his lap makes the butterflies come back. They flit in his stomach, urging him to say something. In your slumber, C00lk1dd whispers words he would never have the courage to say while you were conscious.

“I love you.”

The sun sinks deeper below the horizon; its orange hue bleeding into the sky. The moon runs after it in an impossible chase. Day and night cannot co-exist, such is the will of fate.

…

FAILED TO CONNECT TO SERVER. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER.

-91 SECONDS LEFT-

“Uhh, is the timer broken or?”

“C00lk1dd…”

“Get your head in the game! We have to hold that little shit off.”

Voices blend into the background. Figures contort into blurry shapes. Crimson hue envelops his vision. Every vein in his body boils with an anger that cannot be quelled, like a dormant volcano that has waited years to erupt. Today, it does. And it overflows.

Kill.

Adrenaline fuels C00lk1dd’s movements, with it he lunges at the first person he sees. At a speed quicker than he can perceive, a resounding swish pierces through the air; and a sword is jabbed in his right arm. New flesh twists and writhes, growing in place of the wound seconds later. The sword wielder is quick and agile, but so is C00lk1dd. When his prey can no longer run, he tears him apart limb by limb. Bones crack, ligaments tear, skin detaches from tendons. Raw red muscle is exposed. The screaming dies down quickly.

Kill.

A rocket explosion rings in his ear, but it misses him by just an inch. The projectile reveals the location of his next victim, who hides behind a wall. In a panic, the man fiddles with his launcher in a desperate attempt to reload it. By the time he is able to get another missile in, it is far too late. C00lk1dd is at a proximity too close for any ranged attack to be effective. Black tentacles burst out of the survivor’s back. He fights against it, grabbing tightly onto the appendage that pierced his chest. It is of no avail — the survivor falls limp. Blood stains the ground red as his corpse lands on the ground with a harsh thud. 

KILL…

One survivor left. His Patience is soon to run out  — he has no time to waste. On a bridge littered with shattered glass, he eyes you down. For a reason he can’t quite name, an inexplicable feeling washes over him. A distant ache in his chest, a pounding in his head, and the slight tremble in his hands. As if his body is trying to remind him of memories he can’t recall. He thinks it’s fear: fear of your composure, fear of the way you seem to predict every move of his, fear of the sad, nostalgic look in your eyes that mirrors his own.

So isn’t fear supposed to push him away from you?

Lost in his own thoughts, C00lk1dd fails to block the imminent attack of your swuvle. The longing he once felt is quickly snuffed out, replaced by the insatiable rage and bloodlust that had overtaken him before. Whoever you may be, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a survivor. 

…

Moonlight, barely enough, faintly guides your path. Your pulse hammers against your ribs; powered by the clash of longing and dread. Millions of panicked thoughts run through your mind like a stampede of wild animals. 

The footsteps behind you intensify. A large shadow looms over you, and you grip your swuvle in anticipation.

CLANG!

You block the attack in time, delivering one of your own as your swuvle makes contact with his skull. His agony is your own, but you can’t afford to let him win. Not this time.

Razor-sharp silver punctures through several layers of your skin in the process. You clench your jaw tightly and retreat, hoping to find some coverage while C00lk1dd is stunned. He recovers faster than you do — dashing after you at an inhumane pace.

In the midst of running, a burning sensation blooms on your back. You ignore it and keep running.

Until the pain hits.

And it hits hard, bringing you to your knees. It robs you of all your strength, the swuvle on your side falling with a clink. The sting multiplies tenfold when the knife leaves your body, and you’re kicked to the ground. Petals descend as your flower crown falls in front of you.

Most of the flowers had wilted, if not fallen out. The stems no longer hold it in place. Still, you reach out to it in your dying breath.

“Who gave that to you?” C00lk1dd’s sharp voice interrupts.

Crimson droplets varnish the faded colors of sunflowers, roses, and poppies.

In uneven breaths, you answer, “...Someone I love.”

When your hand falls slack, the man walks over to the flower crown and frees it from your unnaturally tight grip. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that the choice of flora felt familiar.

His vision fogs once more, yet this time it is not because he has fallen into another blinding rage.

Ironic.

You just had to die under a tree, huh?

[adoredvi]

Giving Love A Chance

Pairings: Joseph Desaulnier x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, light angst.

Warnings: None.

Chapters — Discontinued!

— ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ —

Prologue —

Being a young woman in a rising in the world of men, where women are only seen as housewives, and a property of their fathers and husbands. Not only were some of the men are sexist, but also abusive towards the women.

So you often get why people often whispers about how you are raised very differently, growing up with intelligence about medicine and political views. Men especially, while studying in abroad, men had criticized you for your choice of work, as offending as it was, those men never really got the chance to graduate on the university and instead just got stuck in a loveless marriage from what you've heard.

While it wasn't surprising, you have expected some of those to happen, their attitude will get them no where, and might even be an idiot and tarnish their own family name.

Although you were successful woman who graduated in a high end university, where most normal people cannot even attend to, your father had forced you to stay at home and be the lady of the house, which means signing papers and responding to letters and such, not that you were complaining, most women wouldn't be able to do some of these so you're extremely grateful.

But that all changed when your father introduced you to a man from a foreign country and said that he arranged both of you in a marriage.

Chapter 1 —

The meeting.

Joseph Desaulniers, a man born in an aristocrat family. He was distant, elegant and enigmatic man, often attached to his camera snapping pictures of what he deemed beautiful. He was an unpredictable to decipher, like a puzzle that you have to connect to get the answer, and maybe that's why you grew interested, too interested if I say so myself.

You and him met when your parents had called you to the living room, telling a maid to fetch you out of the study room, and of course you complied, fixing your attire and appearance first to look absolutely presentable to face your parents.

You entered the room, undeniably tired, but still masked it with nonchalance in case your mother suddenly berates you for it. Your eyes immediately landed on a man with light hair tied in a low ponytail accompanied with a yellow bow and beautiful blue eyes that you could compare to the blue sky, it was simply so beautiful, eye catching even.

"Ah, come, have a seat." Your father finally spoke up with the clear of his throat, gesturing for you to sit down on the empty chair beside the couch, in which you did.

"You might be confused on why we called you here, yes?" Your father inquired again, looking at you with a stone face, not even releasing a single emotion.

You nodded, absolutely confused on why you were even here to begin with, you would rather drown in papers and signing letters than be here and be bored.

"very well, this is Joseph Desaulniers, a man who came from France," he gestured to the man you set eyes on earlier, you bowed you head to him as a sign of respect and mannerism, in which he just nodded at.

"I've decided to make an arrangement between the two of you," your father continued looking at you specifically. Your eyes snapped wide, looking at your own father who told you that you were never getting arranged to someone when you were young.

"and you did not ask if I'm comfortable enough to agree?" You questioned, a frown playing on your face while you looked at your father, hurt, and betrayed.

You mother only shook her head, as always, she was a woman of views, always so composed, not once minding any gossips about her, finally spoke up.

"Dear, you must understand that this arrangement are for the better on our business, we could now ship our items overseas." She reasoned, but you were having none of it. You shook your head with a frown still playing on your face, clearly upset.

"so I'm just a pawn in this? This is unacceptable, mother." You said before standing up and leaving the room with the door closing behind you with a loud thud.

Your mother stood up and excused herself, claiming that she'll talk to you and they should continue their conversation about the matter.

"apologies for our daughter, she is just used with having freedom of things she do." Your father apologized on your behalf, nodding at Joseph, who only nodded, taking no interest in his apology, although his attention was slightly peaked with your personality, he had never seen a woman have so many freedom about her choice in a world of men, he just wants to, capture it and make it his.

➣

Second time writing like this, I don't know if I did great, and I still don't know how to capture Joseph's personality properly😭😭

[adoredvi]

Times Apart. [WORK IN PROGRESS]

Synopsis: People always say that, 'love has no bounds', they say that you're free to love whomever you would want, but what if that someone had been long dead for the past, eighty four years?

Pairings: Fashion Designer!Jeon Wonwoo x Fem!reader

Genre: ghost and soulmate au, romance, and angst.

A/n: a random burst of passion on writing..

People always tells you that you will never find love and that you'll forever be stuck as a sad lonely woman with no one on her side. Though you think the opposite, you always believed in spiritual beings, such as ghost, heck you even swore you saw one as a child. It was fascinating to learn about them, that's why you took a photography course, you want to capture everything even if it's not visible on your camera.

Sighing, you leaned away from you table, pictures of places, unknown, scattered across the table, sometimes it being dark or just a clear white photo, or sometimes even having caught a shadow on it.

Looking at the clock above your board, you once again sighed, stretching your bones before getting up and getting ready for the day. While you do like photography, you also needed a job to feed yourself somehow, you would not rather starve to death and die lonely, you still have many things to do in life, especially when soulmates exist in your world.

Soulmates, the thing you always dreamed about since a child, you always wondered how it feels like to have someone love you, accept you and put up with you. You also wondered how you're going to have to meet them, will you see the world with black and white filter?, will you have a string attached to your pinky?, or will you feel the pain your fated one feels?, It was unknown to you.

While your parents did try to reassure you that time will come and so does your fated one, but it never happened, your love life feels like it's stuck on a loop, a constant repeat on time, like your stuck in a paradox of the past.

It was very overwhelming, you had even told yourself to give up, and just die alone, but, for some unknown reason, you can't bring yourself to do that. Like there was some forcefield, forcing you to stand on your ground, to be alive for as long as possible, you wondered, maybe it's connected to your soulmate? You don't know.

For the third time this day, you sighed again, glancing at the camera you had brought from an antique store. The owner told you that at some point of time, back on the past, the camera had belong to a fashion designer, well known for his designs, you think his name is wonju? Wonwoo? You don't know, you had barely heard what the old lady was saying.

Taking the camera, you shoved it in your bag before grabbing your coat and rushing out of your house, closing and locking the door behind you as you rushed out. You walked into a cafe and took the coffee you ordered and reserved for earlier while on your runs, you took it and rushed for the train.

Standing in a crowded train station, you drank your coffee, taking out the camera on your bag, inspecting it. You had yet to inspect the details on the old camera, but the designs were amazing, the little details on the silver of the camera, to the lenses still being intact after all this time.

"amazing, isn't it?" Suddenly, a voice asked, their tone soft, possibly has lisp, as they spoke out the words. Quick as ever, you turned your head to the source of the voice, you could swear the bones of your neck cracked a little at how fast you turned.

You were left surprised, amazed, and even scared, the man was nearly invisible, yet he can still be seen. He was wearing a very fine suit, blazer discarded elsewhere that you don't know, hair slightly tussled, hand full of straight line scars, he looked absolutely majestic that you swore he was some kind of model.

"what are you.." you muttered finally being able to get a word and sentences out, the man in question, merely smiled, kindly.

"Kim Mingyu, and I'm...a ghost.." he introduced, extending his hand out only bring them back down after realizing you can't touch him at all.

"how—....how can I see you..?" You questioned, eyes wide genuinely shocked at the mans appearance, not even noticing that some people have looked your way with their gazes full of judgement.

"Oh!, that, you see, ghost from the past are always connected to little things and objects, like that camera for example," he pointed out to the camera on your hand, forgotten until he mentioned it.

"That camera belonged to my friend, he entrusted it to me after he passed away by a tragic event." He continued sitting beside you, which by the way, you don't know how he did it considering he was a ghostly being that could pass through walls and such.

You processed the information in your head, nearly choking on your own spit at how ghost are actually real, not that you don't believe they are, of course you do! You're just shocked that an actual one showed themselves to you.

"but how can I see you...? Should I, just feel your presence??" You asked once again utterly confused by the whole ordeal not even noticing that your train had arrived already, not that you care anyway.

"that.., is what I actually do not know, maybe it's something about your soulmate, but that would be questionable." He hummed out, thinking about it harder than he needed to be.

A WIP!, and a birthday gift also, since my birthday is tomorrow, happy birthday to me!

Anywho, release date is still unknown so...enjoy this for now!

[adoredvi]

◦˚~ BUNCH OF LIGHT GREY/WHITE DIVIDERS by enchanthings ~˚◦

white dividers:

Requested by: anonymous Info: these were all made & edited by me. please reblog/like if using!

[adoredvi]

Me because, I cannot finish the dk, imagine/small story I'm doing due to writer's block and laziness...

(kkuma is such a cutie🥹🫶🫶)

[adoredvi]

I like you so much and you'll know it

Pairings: non-idol! seungkwan x reader

Genre: fluff, crack(?), woozi, dk, dino, and reader are siblings, collage au!

A/n: I was bored, I figured I'll make you guys a short smau, since I'm going to get busy again😞

Confessing to someone was definitely not your forte, especially when it's your best friend we're talking about.

Seungkwan, is all you dreamed of, sure the guy was sassy and clearly looks like he'll judge your entire being, but he means good.

When you first met him, it was thorough your brothers, three of them had insisted to introduce you to their friend group because in their words, 'you need friends', that was insulting at best, but hey, they were right.

Talking to seungkwan was easy, he made sure you were not left out, everyone on the circle talked to you, got to know you, but you and seungkwan just, hit it off, like both of you were meant to be friends.

He wasn't difficult to be friends with, it was fun, which was definitely why you fell for him, you loved everything about him, even his nagging.

Both of you just connected to one another so easily, like it was a match made in heaven, you don't mind though, as long as it's him.

Anywho, back to the current time, you sat on your table patiently waiting for seungkwan, who had asked you to wait for him while he use the bathroom, of course you agreed.

After he got out of the bathroom, you insisted that both of you should go and take a walk along the han river, not a bad idea.

Walking with him feels like eternity, before both of you stopped, and watched the light from the sky slowly turns dark, the street light partnered with the moon above it was perfectly illuminating his figure, it is enchantingly to look at, like he was an art piece made to be displayed in a museum.

Quietly as possible, you took out your phone and snapped couple of pictures of him, before hiding it as he turned to look at you.

"the moon looks lovely tonight, right?" You asked trying to sound natural, as you looked above, avoiding his gaze.

"you know I know what that means, right?" He questioned with a bit of a teasing edge on his tone, in which you just hummed in acknowledgement.

"and you know that, I know, you just confessed, right?" He added, briefly looking at the moon above before looking back at you.

"right..," you trailed off nervously before catching his gaze, your palm practically sweating.

"why so nervous?" He asked, inching closer to you, his tone teasing as he nudges you.

"I'm not." You defend, frowning slightly trying to brush of the heat creeping up to your face.

Seungkwan could only let out a small chuckle of amusement before giving you his signature smile/smirk.

"no need to be nervous I like you too." He said, before you looked at him, shocked.

"really...?" You questioned in disbelief, while he just nodded before going into a deep explanation about how he likes you and when it happened.

The night ended with you having a boyfriend, and moving past the best friend stage, obviously.

Yninie_

♡ 13 🗨 5 ➣ 0

Liked by wooziyaa and others

Yninie_ can't believe this guy is mine now🫶

Comments

Kyeomkyeom so happy for you both🫶🫶

Mingoo hold, did I miss a chapter??

wooziyaa he better treats you right

Lee_chan can't believe I'll see this guy's often now😒👎👎

⤿ Yninie_ deal with it🫶🫶

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Here you go everyone, I'll go to sleep now, it's literally 1:44 am and I'm supposed to be sleeping rn..😞😞, also first time writing something that long I think it's bad😔

[adoredvi]

Me if you care😞😞

ANYWHO, I JUST WANT TO THANK YOU GUYS, I DID NOT EXPECT MY POSTS TO BLOW UP LIKE THAT I'M GONNA CRY, THANK YOU SO MUCHHHWHHFHWJX, THIS LITERALLY MEANS EVERYTHING TO ME😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

SERIOUSLY THOUGH, I'M REALLY GRATEFUL FOR YOU GUYS AND FOR INTERACTING WITH MY POST, I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH OMSGDWHDJ😞😞😞

[adoredvi]

My Grand Prize.

Pairings: idol!jihoon x idol!reader

Genre: crack and fluff, short smau

A/n: this was so rushed

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Finding pictures for this is so hard, like I have to find a picture that looks exactly like woozi, the guy in the pick was the closest so😭

[adoredvi]

My Grand Prize.

Pairings: idol!jihoon x idol!reader

Genre: crack and fluff, short smau

A/n: this was so rushed

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Finding pictures for this is so hard, like I have to find a picture that looks exactly like woozi, the guy in the pick was the closest so😭

[adoredvi]

What if, this post of jeongcheol—

Was a smau, and instead of jeonghan and scoups, it's woozi? 🫡 (Yep it's 1am in the morning and I had this thought so suddenly..)

[adoredvi]

Was it casual?

Pairings: idol!minghao x idol!reader

Genre: fluff, slight angst, crack, just reader wanting to confess to minghao but on public, minghao and reader are dense for each other.

A/n: ignore the view counts, likes, etc, I just randomized it..😞

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

I'm afraid that I did not eat this first time ever smau fanfic...🙏

[adoredvi]

⠀ ⠀†ྀ ꒰͡⠀angelcore　dividers⠀͡꒱ 

⠀⠀₊༘ . like/rb　if　using 𓂂𓏹℘⠀

[adoredvi]

You can love him, you can hate him, but you can't ignore him | Yoon Jeonghan

Synopsis: You’ve been butting heads with Dr. Yoon Jeonghan since he first joined Svt Med’s neurosurgery department. But does the tension between you and Dr. Yoon simply stem from your fierce workplace rivalry, or is it something else?  Pairing: Neurosurgeon! Jeonghan x Neurosurgeon fem! reader (ft. psychiatrist! Dokyeom, cameo of Ophthalmologist! Na PD) Genre: Doctor au, workplace rivalry, hurt/ comfort, fluff Word Count: 7.74k words (help ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ )) Warnings: misdiagnosis (made by dismissive doctors, and a genuine mistake by a medical resident), mental conditions and physical illnesses (dementia, hydrocephalus, brain tumors, aneurysm, narcissistic personality disorder), suggestive content (1 dirty joke), cursing, teasing, overworking oneself, misunderstandings (Jeonghan has other people’s interest at heart but the way he goes about showing it is harsh and mean.), PDA (kissing) Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. This fic contains incorrect medical information and is supposed to be taken as a work of fiction.  A/n: Inspired by Chicago med s1 ep 2 and 4. Tagging @tomodachiii 🩵. Tiny spoiler, but this fic kind of links to DK’s fic here! For the rest of the fics, return to the masterlist here. 

In all your years of existence on this planet, you’ve encountered a plethora of things and people who have infuriated you to varying degrees. 

You had a particular intolerance for washing your hands with freezing cold water during winter, people who flashed their car headlights and honked their horn for no reason, entitled people, misogynists, racists, and of course, stuck up doctors who regularly misdiagnosed patients because they carelessly and purposely dismissed their patients’ concerns. 

All things considered though, you weren’t someone who was easily irritated or prone to anger over minor issues. In fact, you built up quite the reputation for being a kind, patient, level headed surgeon in Seventeen Medical Center’s neurosurgery department. You were known to be a surgeon who could keep it together during extremely challenging surgeries, regardless of whether the surgery had taken a turn for the worse due to human error, or whether it was just one of those times when everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong. Your colleagues often turned to you to be their mediator during disagreements over treatment plans, and you were the younger medical staff’s “go to” person for any and all questions they might have. 

Certainly these examples and your almost flawless track record were undeniable proof that you weren’t easily irritated or prone to anger. 

Or so you thought until you met the newest addition to the neurosurgery department, your newest colleague, Dr. Yoon Jeonghan. 

At first, you were thrilled to have Jeonghan in your department. He was one of the country’s best neurosurgeons, with hundreds of successful surgeries under his belt. You were familiar with the dozens of insightful journal articles he published over the years, and it was always a pleasure to read his refreshing perspectives on the latest medical breakthroughs in neurosurgery. Interestingly, despite being in the same field as him, and being invited to some of the same neurosurgery conferences, you never met Jeonghan before. So you were really looking forward to working with such an established neurosurgeon. Your excitement also increased tenfold when you heard stories about his charismatic personality, his affable demeanor, his intellect, and his dashing good looks. You had no doubt you would be able to work seamlessly with Jeonghan if he was as great as everyone else made him out to be. 

Alas, when you finally met the esteemed Dr. Yoon, all the excitement you had about working with him flew right out the window. During your first meeting with him, you already foresaw yourself coming to blows with Jeonghan. While some staff members continued to swoon over him, you were completely dumbstruck. You could still respect him as a neurosurgeon, and you weren’t blind to how attractive he was with his model-esque visuals and build. But other than that, there was just something about him you found to be insufferable and infuriating. 

Perhaps it was because you heard the story of how Jeonghan shamelessly demanded a private office and all the appliances he could ever want, or else he wouldn’t move over to Seventeen Med. Perhaps it was the way Jeonghan would dominate every single surgery conference he was called to attend, and then become visibly annoyed when no one would speak up to offer their own opinions or alternative treatment plans. Perhaps it was how harshly he treated the younger medical staff, who in your opinion, didn’t deserve most of the scoldings they were given. Jeonghan, being Jeonghan, frequently passed off his neurosurgery consults to the fellows and residents, for which they soon developed a fear of him as he had zero tolerance for mistakes. Since Jeonghan joined the hospital, there were many occasions where you had to comfort the junior doctors when they were thrown out of Jeonghan’s operation room after making a tiny mistake. 

Or perhaps it was Jeonghan’s playful, unprofessional attitude which you found so off-putting. During the times when Jeonghan wasn’t off crushing dreams or actually working, one could find him either in his large, private office lounging around while eating ramen, or sleeping. If he wasn’t in his office, then he would usually be out disturbing one of his friends from medical school, Dr. Choi Seungcheol from the Emergency Department, and Dr. Joshua Hong from the Pediatric Department, usually being his prime targets. 

Wait, and how could you forget? Perhaps Jeonghan was so infuriating and insufferable because of the way he zoned in on you since the first day he joined Seventeen Med, wordlessly deciding that you, of all people, would be the chosen one to receive all the chaos and torment he could ever unleash onto someone. You just knew something was up with him that day when you saw his eyes scan through the room, completely bored and uninterested, until they landed on you. The moment you locked eyes with him, holding his gaze, you could see a mischievous spark flicker in his eyes, his mouth curling into an almost imperceptible smirk after he gave you a once over. 

Since then, getting on your nerves seemed to be Jeonghan’s little pet project, seeing that he routinely went out of his way to annoy you. Whatever you were doing, writing charts, doing research, checking in on patients, doing surgery, resting, eating, staring blankly at the sky in the courtyard… have no fear, because Jeonghan was always near. He was unusually fond of annoying you by disrupting your concentration, rambling about something unimportant, or clicking his pen repeatedly. Then on days when he was feeling extra chaotic, he would steal some of your food, start a whole debate with you over the latest neurosurgery literature, or place his cold stethoscope against your hand. 

You tried your best to be civil with Jeonghan initially by telling him to be nicer to the younger medical staff, and gently dismissing his attempts to get a rise out of you. Unfortunately, even you had your breaking point. For some inexplicable reason, your ability to keep your cool flew out the window when it came to Jeonghan. He knew exactly what buttons to push and how to push them. Your patience was eventually stretched so thin you stopped trying to be civil with him. 

Unsurprisingly, as your dislike for Jeonghan became more evident, it seemed like he thrived off your change in attitude towards him. He took it as a challenge to see how far he could push you. As Jeonghan ramped up his antics, purposely getting into your space and your face over everything and absolutely nothing at all, you matched his challenge with just as much tenacity and ferocity. For every sarcastic quip he made, every annoying action, you ensured you paid him back accordingly. What was initially a more private rivalry between you and Jeonghan, soon became a full fledged workplace rivalry. During surgery conferences and department meetings, you both debated over who should get new cases, surgery techniques, equipment, and treatment plans. Hell, once you even debated on whose bedside manners were better. Your workplace rivalry was so fierce that it was obvious to the entire hospital. 

To everyone else, your rivalry with Jeonghan was intriguing to witness. It was rare to see you lose your cool, and it was even rarer to see someone fight with Jeonghan and keep up with his antics in the same way you did. All your bosses paid little to no attention to your rivalry, instead they encouraged it. In their opinion, your rivalry with Jeonghan never interfered with the care of the patients, and ironically, it allowed you both to work together flawlessly. You even began to assist each other on particularly difficult surgeries, because as much as you both would vehemently deny it, you respected each other’s skills. There was no one else you trusted more to have your back in surgery than Jeonghan, and vice versa. 

You, nevertheless, had to admit the whole situation with Jeonghan was incredibly infuriating, though not for all the reasons you initially thought. 

A question posed to you by a friend you were venting to one day befuddled you. She didn’t work in the hospital and was unaware of the strange dynamic you and Jeonghan developed. She took in the situation, and out of genuine concern for you, she asked, “If he’s taking things this far, why don’t you just report him to HR?”

Stumped, you found yourself unable to give her a clear answer. You waved her off, stumbling over your answer, as you tried to explain that while Jeonghan’s antics were disruptive to you, it was innocent enough as there was no malice behind them. Your friend gave you a funny look, but didn’t push you further. 

Following your exchange with your friend, you couldn’t stop thinking about her question. Why didn’t you ever report Jeonghan to HR? Disregarding the fact that you now pushed back, why didn’t you write him up before that? 

You mused over those questions, and in a sleep deprived, caffeine induced haze about a week later, you were struck with the answer.

You enjoyed your rivalry with Jeonghan. Not just that, but somewhere in the past few months, you came to enjoy the time you spent with Jeonghan, and it became something you looked forward to when you went to work. You loved to hear his quick retorts, and the shocked look on his face when you said something extra witty. You enjoyed hearing about all the unimportant things he was rambling about, because it breathed some normalcy into the fast paced life you lived. You looked forward to doing surgeries with him as he made a great surgery companion. He never made mistakes and you could always count on him to ensure the patient would come out of the surgery in much better condition than when they went in. Most of all, you loved his company. You could probably even say you were close friends by this point. Albeit distracting and annoying sometimes, Jeonghan made doing mundane, repetitive things like reading journal articles, doing ward rounds, and writing charts seem all the more interesting. You especially enjoyed the time you spent with him in his office, because you could leech off all the expensive appliances he forced the hospital to purchase for him. 

You became acutely aware of what it meant for you to enjoy Jeonghan’s company. You weren’t stupid, although you certainly felt stupid. You felt like a little girl again, becoming smitten with the person who used to poke her shoulder from behind consistently and then pretend it wasn’t them. For all the tension and already heightened feelings between you two stemming from your rivalry, you also became more acutely aware of Jeonghan. 

More specifically, the undeniable possibility Jeonghan might feel the same way you did. Jeonghan was usually so dismissive of others, yet he would always make time for you. He would wave off his closest friends, nagging at them when they even tried to glance at his expensive appliances, but with you, he acted indifferent, telling you to do whatever you wanted. While his big, brown, doe eyes would narrow calculatingly or tiredly at others, they would soften and sparkle with glee in your presence. His perfectly shaped lips were often downturned disapprovingly, but they would curl into a cheeky, tender grin when he was with you. His steady surgeon’s hands, which would point towards the door as he sternly ordered others out of his operating room, would gently wave you inside, beckoning you to come as close to him as possible. 

This revelation infuriated you even further, because in all your years of existence on this planet, no one had ever infuriated you as much as Dr. Yoon Jeonghan did. Yet, try as you might, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling in love with him. 

--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–

Gingerly holding his coffee mug, Dr Lee Dokyeom, Seventeen Med’s beloved psychiatrist, carefully made his way to one of the free sofas in the doctors’ lounge. He blew slightly on the scalding liquid, before taking a much anticipated sip, savouring the taste of the bittersweet coffee. Dokyeom placed the coffee mug on the table beside him. He shut his eyes, leaning back onto the sofa to relish the feeling of sinking into the soft, plush fabric underneath him. There were others shuffling around the lounge, but he tuned out the sounds of their movements and hushed conversations. After working three consecutive shifts back to back, maybe he could finally get a moment of peace and reprieve in the doctors’ lounge. 

Slam. 

“Dokyeom?!? I still don’t understand how you can be best friends with Jeonghan.”

Dokyeom groaned at the sound of your shrill voice cutting through the peacefulness in the lounge. Peace and reprieve would have to wait. He forced himself to peel his eyes open, watching as you made your way to the coffee station to grab your own drink. Compared to the cheery mood you were in earlier in the day when he first saw you, you were obviously in an irritable mood now, probably brought on by whatever nonsense Jeonghan was up to, again. Dokyeom sighed, mentally cursing Jeonghan for being the reason his own break time was interrupted. 

You angrily stirred your drink, stomping over to plomp yourself down heavily on the armchair next to Dokyeom. Ripping off your scrub cap and kicking off your clogs, you muttered a string of curses under your breath. 

Dokyeom looked at you expectantly, “What did he do now?”

You grumbled sarcastically, “Oh you know, as always, the great Jeonghan saved lives and looked good while doing it.”

Dokyeom snorted, “I’m sure there were some who loved watching that.”

You guffawed, “I’m sure they did. I could see the hearts coming out of their eyes. It was disgusting.”

You continued, “I wish that was it, but no. The other day, we were having a really important surgery conference. The patient had a small tumor in the occipital lobe. Small tumors are easy enough to remove, but this one was sitting a little too close to the optic nerve. We needed to discuss how to remove the tumor without causing any vision loss. Just as we were getting to the important part, Jeonghan gets a page on his PDA and bolts out. Right in the middle of the conference. And he doesn’t come back. We just assumed it was an emergency down in the ED. No. It was a false alarm. When the conference was over, what do we find? Jeonghan sitting in his office watching a TV show.”

A few days ago? That was when he was set up got together with his girlfriend… Wide eyed, Dokyeom began choking on his coffee. 

Dokyeom hit his chest lightly, calming down from his coughing fit. He admitted sheepishly, “A few days ago? If you’re talking about what I think you are, sorry about that, I think it was my fault.”

You gave him a questioning look, “Okay? But that’s only part of the story. The surgery was scheduled for this morning. Jeonghan completely disregarded whatever was discussed during the conference after he left. We were going to do a partial resection of the tumor using a Neuroendoscopy because it was too risky to do a full resection. Then, Jeonghan shows up today saying we are proceeding with a full resection using MRI-guided laser ablation. He didn’t tell anyone, and went behind all of our backs to get the guardian’s consent. I know he’s the lead surgeon on the case, and surgery plans change all the time, but he could have given us a little warning. Worst of all, after the resection was done, he just walked right out. I had to finish up the surgery and deal with the many, many unhappy people in the operating theater. They always give in to whatever Jeonghan wants and then when he’s not around, they complain to me about him. I’m sick of having to deal with the fallout of Jeonghan’s actions. Do you know what it’s like having to placate people daily just because of him?”

Dokyeom chuckled, “Given you’re sitting here complaining about Jeonghan, I think I know how you feel.”

You rubbed your eyes in frustration, “Sorry, point taken. It’s really exasperating how he always does that. I swear he thinks and acts like just because he’s the best surgeon, he can do whatever he wants. One time a first year psychiatry resident asked me if Jeonghan was ever diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder.”

Dokyeom let out a snort, “First year psych residents have a tendency to be hyper aware of things which seem like symptoms of mental health conditions. Jeonghan isn’t the most subtle when it comes to flaunting his abilities, but he does not exhibit the other symptoms like the lack of empathy, manipulativeness, etc. Besides, there’s a difference between someone being cocky, and someone like Jeonghan, who is extremely self-assured and has the skills to back it up.”

Groaning, you sank further into the armchair, “I’m well-aware of that, which is what annoys me even more.” 

Dokyeom took another sip of his now, lukewarm coffee, giving you a knowing smile, “Let me guess. You’re annoyed at Jeonghan for his actions, but you’re more annoyed with yourself for not being able to get mad at him because he has the patients’ best interests at heart. And despite your rivalry, you trust Jeonghan’s judgment more than anyone else in your department.”

You draped an arm over your face, pointing at Dokyeom using your index finger to signal he was right. 

He hummed, cheekily adding on, “It also doesn’t help that you developed a big fat crush on your rival huh?”

Hearing Dokyeom’s words, you flushed, feeling the heat rush through your body. You buried your face in your hands, mumbling, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dokyeom burst out laughing at your reaction. Although he was embarrassed about how dense he was about his crush, and now girlfriend’s, feelings towards him, he was beginning to see why Soonyoung and Seungkwan enjoyed sticking their noses in his love life. Teasing you about Jeonghan was fun. 

Just as Dokyeom turned his body to face you so he could amp up the teasing, the door chime on the doctors’ lounge sounded and he could see someone making their way towards you both with a worried expression etched on their face.

You took in the new arrivals’ presence. It was one of Seventeen Med’s Ophthalmologists, Dr Na Yangseok, who was assigned to the surgery team this morning. Wondering if he was here to tell you about the patient’s eyesight, you asked, “Dr Na? What’s going on? Do you have news about the patients’ eyesight? We tried our best not to damage their optic nerve during the surgery.”

Dr Na shook his head, “No. Actually I’m here about one of your first year residents. I was going to update Jeonghan about the patient’s stable condition when I saw them run out of his office crying. Some of the other residents were saying Jeonghan told them ‘if you can’t even figure this simple thing out, I suggest you start looking for another profession because you won’t last long here’. I respect the guy but whew, he can be a dickhead.”

Your eyelids twitched. Jeonghan said what now to one of your residents? Your first year residents? Residents were here to learn, and mistakes will inevitably happen. This wasn’t the first time Jeonghan made someone cry. The irritation from the day’s earlier events, coupled with this new development caused a new rush of anger to bubble up in your chest. Crush or no crush, you were going to have words with him. You shot up from the armchair, muttering an ‘excuse me while I go destroy Jeonghan’, before storming off in the direction of Jeonghan’s office. 

Dokyeom and Dr Na watched as your figure got smaller and smaller until you left the doctors’ lounge. Dr Na shook his head, sitting down in the armchair you vacated, “Those two are always at each other's throats.”

Dokyeom chuckled, “You know I can never tell if they are fighting or flirting. Maybe both.”

Dr Na questioned incredulously, “Flirting? Those two? Together? Yea, I don’t see it. They would rip each other’s heads off.”

A thought flashed through Dokyeom’s mind. He extended his hand out for Dr Na to shake, “Want to bet on that? I know you have an extra ticket to that baseball game I wanted to attend.”

Dr Na snickered, shaking Dokyeom’s hand, “Sure, you’re on. If I win, you have to pay for the Ophthalmology department’s monthly dinner.”

Dokyeom grinned, “Fine with me, but I have a feeling I won’t be the one losing this bet.”

--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–

Meanwhile on the other side of the hospital, you were making your way to Jeonghan’s office, more furious than anyone had ever seen. Your jaw was clenched, brows furrowed, eyes blazing with fury, and you clutched a file in your hand, its edges slightly crumpled from the force you were holding it with. 

Pausing for a millisecond in front of your destination to confirm your target was actually in there, you didn’t bother to knock, and swung the door open violently. 

Jeonghan, who was sitting at his desk, jumped at the sudden intrusion. Glaring at whoever dared to enter his office without knocking, his expression quickly changed into one of curiosity and amusement when he realised it was you. He caught onto your sour mood quickly, “My my, what’s gotten your panties in a twist now?”

You ignored his blatant attempt to tease you, instead choosing to chuck the file in your hand on his desk, “You want to explain yourself?”

Jeonghan eyed the file suspiciously, nudging at it using his finger as if it was a poisonous plant. 

When he wouldn’t respond to you, you flipped the file open to the page you wanted, “Care to explain to me why you were chewing out our first year resident over this?”

Jeonghan replied tiredly, “I don’t need to explain anything. They misdiagnosed a patient, simple as that.”

Simple as that? You thought, grinding your teeth in disgust. Does he not understand why you were so mad or the consequences of his statement towards the resident? You went around his desk, stopping when you were hovering over his seated form. Jeonghan was still poking at the file, so you gripped the side of his seat and turned it so he was facing you. 

You leaned down towards him, using a finger to jab at his chest. You seethed, “Simple as that? You told the resident that if they couldn’t do this simple thing, they should look for another job because they won’t last long here at Med. You belittle them and then imply they might get fired? All this over an honest mistake. Hydrocephalus and dementia have similar symptoms. Even the most experienced neurosurgeons get mixed up between the two, which is why hydrocephalus is one of those neurological diseases which often goes undiagnosed or misdiagnosed in 80% of people suffering from it. If they can make this mistake, how do you expect a first year resident who is encountering this disease for the first time to make a correct diagnosis?”

Jeonghan opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, “I don’t want to hear you brag about how you were able to correctly diagnose all your patients even as a first year. And don’t even get me started on what happened this morning. You had the audacity to run out of a surgery conference, completely dismiss the team’s plan, and go behind our backs to get the guardian’s consent for a different surgery plan which carried even more significant risks. You truly think your plans are the best, that you’re always right?”

You pause to take in a breath before continuing with your rant, your voice increasing in volume with each sentence you spoke, “News flash Yoon Jeonghan, just because you’re the best neurosurgeon here doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want. You always impose your way onto others and then scold them for not speaking up against you. You know what? I’m so sick and tired of being the person who has to clean up after your messes. I’m the one who has to deal with the disgruntled staff when you step all over them during conferences and surgeries. I’m the one who has to comfort all the residents and fellows when you scold them over the tiniest things. Hell, I’m the one who puts up with your annoying, flat ass all the time. It’s too bad you’re so pretty because you’re such a dickhead.”

Jeonghan gazed up at you towering over him, stunned at your outburst. He inhaled sharply as an indecipherable emotion flashed through his eyes. For the few seconds Jeonghan was completely silent, an uncomfortable, heavy silence fell over the room. 

When it looked like your words finally sank in, his brows furrowed in annoyance, and he threw his hands up in exasperation, “Listen. I hold the residents, and everyone else working with me, to the same standards I hold myself to. If they cannot meet those standards, I don’t believe they should be here. As for the surgery this morning, it’s really not my fault the surgery plan was so flawed. I don’t think my plans are the best, just the ones that are the least flawed. It gives the patient the best possible outcome with a shortened recovery time, which is our main goal, in case you’ve forgotten. Perhaps you have, seeing that you were the one who signed off on the previous plan for a Neuroendoscopy. I didn’t see the need to consult a change in plans with people who couldn’t draw them up well in the first place.”

Ouch. It was one thing for Jeonghan to make such snide remarks to a first year resident, but it was another for him to direct them towards you. Out of all the things he could have said, Jeonghan hit you where it hurt. He had the audacity to imply you didn’t care for your patients. 

Your face went completely blank. In a low voice devoid of any emotion, you said, “You’re so full of yourself. Why did I even think I could come and reason with you… You’re just as insufferable and infuriating as I initially thought. I’m a fool for starting to believe you were anything else than that.”

With that, you turned on your heels and walked out of Jeonghan’s office. 

--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–

To say there was mounting tension between you and Jeonghan would be the understatement of the year. Everyone could see the rapport you built with Jeonghan crumbling under the strain of your last exchange with him. 

Over the next few weeks, you avoided Jeonghan like he was the plague. Unless you needed to be in the same vicinity as Jeonghan, you refused to be in the same space as him. You wouldn’t acknowledge his presence if you were both in the same room, and you would go as far as excusing yourself politely so you didn’t have to be near him. During the times you unfortunately could not get out of working with him, you kept the entire exchange strictly professional, only speaking to him when necessary. You might have been disappointed and pissed off by Jeonghan, but you weren’t going to let patients suffer. You weren’t going to give Jeonghan any excuse to undermine the effort you put into caring for your patients. 

You threw yourself into your work to distract yourself from the disappointment you felt from Jeonghan’s dismissiveness, and from the emptiness you felt now you were no longer spending a lot of your time with him. You chided yourself for wallowing in your own self-pity because you felt horrible for somehow managing to fall for the most self-absorbed person around. You couldn’t have fallen for someone else? Anyone else? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head as if it would help to shake away those thoughts in your mind. Reopening your eyes, you focused on stirring your drink at the counter in the doctors’ lounge. 

“When was the last time you slept?”

You groaned, instantly recognising the owner of the soft voice, “Dr Yoon, what I do, or do not do, is none of your concern. But before you can question my ability to look after patients, I slept last night.”

Jeonghan pursed his lips, “I know you’ve been sleeping in the on-call room. When was the last time you slept in your own bed? At home?”

“What are you doing? Stalking me? How do you know I haven’t been home?”

Jeonghan let out a disgruntled snort, “You’re wearing the same scrubs as yesterday, and you’re cracking your back more than normal, which is what you always do when you’re working back to back shifts at the hospital. What… I can’t be concerned for a colleague now?”

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t peg you to be the type who was concerned about anyone else but himself.”

“I didn’t know you were trying to do that to me,” Jeonghan shot back.

Grabbing your cup, you scoffed, “I don’t need to do anything of that sort to you since you already have your head so far up your ass.”

You turned to walk out of the doctors’ lounge, nodding at a Dokyeom as he passed by you.

Dokyeom paused, looking at you and then at Jeonghan. He crossed his arms, “I thought you said you were going to apologise to her.”

Jeonghan shrugged, “I was trying to, but she was being difficult.”

Dokyeom gave him a pointed look, “Don’t you want to make up with her? I thought you liked her? By the looks of things, you weren’t trying very hard.”

Jeonghan scrunched his nose, taking a long sip of the coffee he just made. Somehow, seeing you act that way towards him made the usually fragrant coffee taste sour. If he was being honest, he hadn’t been quite himself since you blew up at him. As the best neurosurgeon in the region, the pressure he felt on his shoulders was indescribable. People always expected the best from him, and he felt the need to act like he had everything together, because if he didn’t, then who could everyone else rely on?

But when he was with you, he felt different. He felt lighter. Your presence helped to lighten his mood. Regardless of what you were doing together, teasing each other, engaging in playful banter, ward rounds, surgeries, Jeonghan felt as though you were able to lift some of the burden and stress he constantly felt. During the times he spent with you, he felt more like himself. His playful, fun loving self. You, as annoyed as you were with him, endured his antics and even matched his playfulness. With you, the persona he built as “Dr Yoon Jeonghan, the best neurosurgeon in the country” could be shoved aside and ignored. With you, he could simply be, Jeonghan. It was freeing. You were freeing. 

Over the last few weeks, however, with you going out of your way to avoid him, Jeonghan felt trapped, lonely, and empty. He missed ramen and coffee time with you. He missed how the time used to fly by when he worked with you, how surgeries seemed so much easier with you watching his back. Now, when you did work together, the hours ticked on painfully. The air was heavy and stifling as your dislike for him was evident. He missed seeing your pretty smile, the joy you always brought him, your playful rivalry that ironically came with strong mutual respect. He missed the reprieve he felt and relished every time he was in your presence. He missed all of it. Most of all, he missed the happiness and glee he could bring you. He used to be able to make you laugh with a glance and a cheeky smile, but now his glances left you with nothing more than a glare or frown etched on your face.

Jeonghan missed you. He was, unfortunately, completely lost as to how he should go about doing things. He had never been in this situation before, and he didn’t know anything about making amends. But, he would be damned if he let his stupid pride and actions get in the way of making things right with you, or the possibility he could be with you. 

What good was it if he was the best of the best, when he had no one there on the top with him? 

Finally, swallowing his pride (and coffee), Jeonghan whispered, “You’re right. I need to do better. I’ll apologise to her properly. Tonight.”

--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–

You found yourself on the hospital’s rooftop later that night. From your vantage point, you had an unobstructed view of the hospital compound. Despite it already being 11pm, the hospital was still bright and teeming with life. You could see people move around the hospital, their tiny figures and shadows fluttering around them. On floors where the patient wards were located, the lights were dimmed, but there were one or two patients sitting near the windows admiring the hospital’s inner courtyard below you. You could see why they were so transfixed by it. The lamps and mood lights illuminated the triangular shaped inner courtyard, casting a subtle, warm, ethereal glow onto the hospital’s windows. 

Being so high up, you could feel the cold air prick your skin, hear the soft whistle of the wind. You exhaled as you watched your warm breath turn into a puff of cold mist before dissipating into the night. While it wasn’t as cold as other nights you had been up here, you felt chilled to the bone. Even the extraordinary view which lay before you did nothing to warm you. 

Wrapping your jacket around yourself to try to keep the cold out, you shivered at the thought of how you snapped at Jeonghan earlier. He was simply expressing his concern for you, just as your other colleagues would have. Although you believed Jeonghan deserved to be called out (for many, many things), he didn’t deserve to be snapped at like that. With a heavy heart, you hunched over the railing, staring at an ambulance which turned into the Emergency Department. You would have to return inside soon, but for now, you allowed yourself to stay here, wallowing in your own self-pity. 

As you continued to watch the people bustle around below, you heard footsteps coming from behind you, though you paid them no mind. It was the hospital’s rooftop afterall, and like you, many staff members found comfort in being up here. 

Suddenly, you jumped slightly at the sensation of a large, soft piece of fabric wrapping around your shoulders. Recognising the blanket’s familiar scent, you recomposed yourself, wrapping it around yourself more securely. 

After a pregnant pause, you spoke, addressing the newcomer on the roof, “I should be mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I’m not more mad at you. Honestly, I’m more sad and disappointed than anything else. Your actions towards everyone else, and what you said, about me not wanting for my patients… it really hurt.”

Jeonghan gazed at your side profile softly, his heart aching as he saw the pain that flashed through your eyes when you spoke about what he said to you all those weeks ago. He shuffled a bit, fiddling with the hems of his coat. 

Hoping you could hear the sincerity in his voice since you were still turned away from him, he said, “I know, and I’m sorry. You’re one of the best doctors I know, one of the only doctors I fully trust. I don’t know what came over me. No one has ever called me out like that before. I guess it threw me off, and I lashed out at you for it. I’m really sorry. For what it’s worth, I also apologised to the first year resident, and the surgery team.”

You could hear he was taking this seriously. Your head and your heart were fighting, with your heart wanting to relent and tell him everything was okay and all was forgiven, but you had put up with him for far too long. After musing over his words, you finally decided on how to proceed, with your head (the voice of reason) winning out. You sighed, addressing Jeonghan, “You know why I can’t be mad at you? It’s because you’re a huge mystery to me. You’re unpredictable and confusing. On one hand, you’re this ball of energy, so playful, so cheeky, someone who is always caught up in mischief. I’ve gotten the privilege of seeing and getting to know that Jeonghan. The Jeonghan that is tender when he wants to be, someone who is kind, gentle. On the other hand, you’re also the very embodiment of a neurosurgeon stereotype. Overly strict, mean, arrogant, someone who might even have a god complex. You act like you’re better than everyone. You put down others, dismiss their feelings, go off and do things on your own without consulting the team. Your duality infuriates me so much.”

You turn to face Jeonghan, looking intensely into his eyes as if you were searching for something deep inside of him, “I’ve come to really like that first Jeonghan. He’s frustrating to put up with, but in a good way. He treats me well, never undermines me, and best of all, he makes my days so much more exciting in the best ways possible. But every time I experience this Jeonghan, I’m harshly reminded of the uglier side of you, the second Jeonghan’s existence. And this time, he really crossed a line. So while I appreciate your apology, I think it will take some time for you to regain my trust again.”

Jeonghan held your gaze, nodding in understanding. Despite his heart practically beating out of his chest at what was practically your confession, he elected to ignore it. It was neither the time, nor the place for him to tell you that the feelings were mutual. Instead, Jeonghan focused on the hidden meaning behind your words, one which he appreciated deeply:

While I can’t forgive you right now, or forget what happened, I’m willing to try to mend my relationship, with you. 

--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take that long for you and Jeonghan to get back to the rhythm of your old rivalry slash close friendship. After a few initial weeks of trial and error, you both were back to your old antics - bickering with each other lightly, teasing each other, doing surgeries flawlessly together, ramen time in his office etc. 

You had to hand it to Jeonghan, who was really making a concerted effort to become a better version of himself. You didn’t say anything but his efforts were enough to earn himself your forgiveness some time ago. He was really trying to be a better team player, and a better superior to the younger medical staff. Old habits did die hard, and he was still as firm as ever on everyone, but he was now more fair as well. He no longer scolded anyone groundlessly, and he no longer threw people out of the operating theater. There were still times when he either slipped, resulting in him receiving a disapproving look from you, or times when he tried too hard to be nice, which resulted in him having this fake, exaggerated smile plastered on his face. All in all, however, the tension between you and Jeonghan eased significantly, and the number of complaints you received from others about Jeonghan reduced as well. You took this as a win.

The only thing you didn’t see as a win was the significant increase in the number of people who were fighting for Jeonghan’s attention and affection. Jeonghan had always been a charmer, and regardless of his upsetting behaviour in the past, there was always a consistent line of people who fell at his feet. Now, with Jeonghan’s mellowed out behaviour, it only seemed to invite new swarms of admirers. You found the very same people who would always complain to you about him to be the very same ones who would now seek you out to ask if Jeonghan had a girlfriend, or if you could put in a good word to him for them. You couldn’t even have a meal with Jeonghan in the staff canteen without someone flirting with him or approaching him for his phone number.

And so, once again, you found yourself in the doctors’ lounge during a late night shift complaining to Dokyeom about your Jeonghan woos. 

Your arms flailed around animatedly as you conveyed your frustrations to Dokyeom, “Then, they asked if Jeonghan wanted to get some lunch with them… I mean come on! I was literally right there having lunch with him, and his lunch was half eaten already. What am I? Chopped liver?”

Dokyeom doubled over, clutching his stomach laughing, “No I know how you feel. The other day our whole friend group was having a coffee at the cafe. One random middle aged person came up to Jeonghan, tapped his shoulder, and began flirting with him. 13 of us there and 12 of us became invisible as soon as they saw Jeonghan!”

You nodded empathetically, “For real. It’s as if the world fades around them as soon as they lay eyes on Jeonghan’s pretty face.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Jeonghan’s gleeful voice echoed through the lounge, cutting you off.

Your body chilled, and your motions stilled. Dokyeom wheezed at your shocked expression, quietly slipping away from his seat while you were buffering to leave you and Jeonghan alone.

Jeonghan slid into Dokyeom’s chair, a content and blissful smile etched on his face. He repeated, “So you think I’m pretty?”

Heat rushed to your face. You were sure Jeonghan could see the steam rising from the top of your head right about now. You shook your head, “I never said that.”

At your flustered expression, Jeonghan chuckled. He teased, “No no actually you said it twice. This would be the second time you called me pretty.”

Second time? A memory flashed through your head. You hid your face in your hands at the sudden recollection of how you told Jeonghan “it’s too bad you’re so pretty because you’re such a dickhead.” In your anger fueled haze, you didn’t even realise you called him pretty during your tirade. 

You felt Jeonghan shift closer to you, but you refused to remove your hands from your face. You were way too embarrassed to face him. 

Jeonghan gingerly pryed your hands away from your face, to which you didn’t put up that much resistance. 

With his face dangerously close to yours, a cheeky glint in his eye, he whispered, “hi.”

You tried to avert your eyes from him, but found yourself completely entranced by him. You always loved Jeonghan’s eyes, though seeing them this close made you love them even more. They sparkled like gems under the soft overhead lighting in the doctors’ lounge, and the moment his eyes met yours, they softened. You could spend forever gazing into his eyes. The best part? Jeonghan looked just as enamoured with you as you were with him. 

Jeonghan, taking advantage of your flustered state, was the first to break the silence, “Would this be a good time to confess something to you?”

You nodded dumbly, mind racing too much to think clearly. 

Jeonghan inched even closer to you, never breaking eye contact. He confessed, his voice warm and full of affection, “I didn’t want to say anything then, but remember that time on the roof? How you said you liked that first Jeonghan? The one that is a ball of energy, playful, cheeky, mischievous? The one who is also tender, kind, gentle? What if I told you that you are one of the only people on this planet who ever had the privilege of seeing and getting to know that Jeonghan? Because I like you too, more than you can ever imagine. It’s why I tease you, why I banter with you, why only you get to use my fancy applicances. You held my gaze the first day we met, and then proceeded to challenge me in ways I’ve never been challenged before. You saw my flaws, held me accountable to them, all while still accepting me, having my back, and teaching me how to be a better person.”

Each word Jeonghan spoke sent shivers down your back. Your heart pounded so wildly in your chest you swore you could hear it reverberate through the quiet room. 

Jeonghan liked you too. 

Overcome with emotion, you impulsively grabbed Jeonghan by his coat and crashed your lips on his. Jeonghan let out a strangled noise at your actions, but soon began kissing you back with just as much intensity. You savoured the feeling of Jeonghan’s lips against yours. The sensation was electrifying. Whatever residual tension you both had melted away completely. Jeonghan’s confession and this kiss would mark a new beginning in your relationship with Jeonghan, one which you hoped wouldn’t be as infuriating. 

Sensing that you were beginning to pull away from him, Jeonghan tugged your head closer to his, once again capturing your lips in a passionate, tender kiss. You giggled into the kiss. You could deal with the thoughts of “what comes next” in your relationship with him later. For now, you would tune the rest of the world around you out, focusing only on Jeonghan (and his pretty lips). 

Because, who cares if you were both caught making out in the doctors’ lounge? 

--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–

Unbeknownst to you, someone did catch you both making out in the doctors’ lounge, for you see, Dokyeom never fully went away after Jeonghan arrived. Dokyeom merely shifted to a far corner of the lounge to give you both some privacy. While he had a feeling today might be the day you would both confess, he didn’t expect you to immediately start sucking on each other’s faces in the middle of the night. Luckily for you, the rest of the lounge was empty or else this might cause a huge stir with Minghao HR.

Snapping out of his daze, Dokyeom sneakily took out his phone. He took a picture of you and Jeonghan, sending it to Dr Na triumphantly. 

To Dr Na (Ophthalmology): [Picture]

To Dr Na (Ophthalmology): I’d say I win, so hand over the tickets (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

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Nana tour meet cute with seventeen! | Maknae line

Synopsis: A series of meet cutes between you and seventeen when they are on vacation during Nana Tour. Pairing: Maknae line x gn! reader  Genre: Fluff | sfw Word count: 1.86k words Warnings: food, alcohol, ocean (vernon drifts away on the float), judgemental looks (mention about weird looks being given because one doesn’t speak english) Disclaimer: There will be some inaccuracies in this as I took some creative liberties. 95 line + Jun | 96 line (minus Jun) | 97 line | Maknae line

ᯓ★ Seungkwan

✰ You met Seungkwan on his morning run. You were solo traveling through Italy and happened to be in Tuscany that morning. During this trip, you couldn’t get over your jet lag as quickly as in the past. You went to bed at 8pm the previous night, and woke up at 3am. After lazing around in bed for a good few hours, you opted to get out of bed and go for a slow morning run. Since it was still early, the weather would be perfect and you could avoid the crowds. Lacing up your running shoes, you set off with no particular destination in mind.

✰ Seungkwan had the same idea. Armed with the camera the crew gave him, he ran down the path from the villa they were staying at. He relished in the calmness of the morning, the spectacular views of the rolling hills of Tuscany, and the feeling of serenity that overcame him with each breath of fresh air he took. The past few months (years even) were rough on him. Never in his life did he think he would be here, in Italy, on vacation with some of his best friends. He shook his head, still in awe and disbelief. He ran up a hill, pausing to document the moment the sun peaked out from behind the hills and clouds. Standing a short distance from him, you also had your phone out to capture the view in front of you. You swiveled around, hoping to take a selfie video to send to your loved ones, but you stopped short of doing so when you noticed someone else in the background.

✰ You lowered your phone, not wanting to intrude on what seemed like a very special, precious moment to Seungkwan. You observed him, endeared at how much he seemed to be enjoying himself. When he was done, you approached him, saying softly, “Breathtakingly beautiful isn’t it?” He spun towards you, blushing that he was seen getting so caught up in the moment. Seungkwan, nevertheless, gestured to the view, dreamily replying, “So so beautiful. Your first time here too?” You nodded, giggling to yourself over how adorable his accented English and flustered expression was.

✰ Suddenly thinking of something, you walked closer to him, flipping your phone around to show him the video you just took. Stopping the video at the moment you noticed someone else in the background, you pointed at it, muttering, “Very beautiful, and happy.” Seungkwan leaned towards your phone, covering his face shyly when he saw himself staring out at the view in the video. You weren’t talking about the view in the background, you were talking about him. You were calling him very beautiful and happy. Seungkwan swallowed thickly. He had to admit, you were right. There weren’t any signs of stress on his face, nor were there any dark shadows under his eyes. The almost imperceptible dullness in his eyes was replaced by a spark of life, as if he was truly feeling alive for the first time in a long long time. As his eyes glossed over, he managed to stutter out, “Do you mind? If I take a photo of this?” You shook your head, heart fluttering at the way he beamed at you in response, “Thank you! You are very kind. My name is Seungkwan. What’s yours?”

ᯓ★ Vernon

✰ You met Vernon when he floated away in the ocean. You were having a boat day with your extended family members after attending a relative’s wedding. It was a beautiful day to be out in the ocean. The sun was out, the sea breeze was cool, the water was calm and the perfect temperature for a dip. You idly moved about the boat, having just dried off from a brief swim in the ocean. Grabbing some water and snacks for yourself, you settled down on one of the couches located at the back of the boat. Here, you could get some shade, relax, and still enjoy the gorgeous, crystal-like shimmers from the water’s surface.

✰ Just when you got comfortable on your seat, you noticed a blue float floating towards the boat you were on. Shifting so you could get a closer look, you gasped when you saw a man lying motionless on the float. You sprang up from your seat, yelling to your family members that there was someone in trouble. As your aunt ran to the skipper to inform him about the emergency, your cousin tossed you a life buoy and you jumped into the water.

✰ While you were frantically swimming towards the float, Vernon was dead asleep on top of said float. The rest of the members were being rowdy as usual. Wanting to get away from the chaos, Vernon slipped off into the ocean on a float. He wanted to bask in the warmth of the sunshine, feel the motion of the waves underneath him. He thought he would lay there for a short while, and close his eyes to fully enjoy this sensory experience. He never thought he would drift to sleep, nor did he think he would literally drift away on the float. The next thing he knew, he heard people calling out to him. He opened his eyes, looking around in confusion when he saw he was one, now nowhere near the yacht, two, being approached by another boat consisting of some Nana Tour staff members, and three, being approached by a scared looking stranger holding a life buoy. 

✰ A wave of relief rushed over you when you saw the man get up. Swimming up closer to him with the life buoy, you called out to him, asking if he was okay. Sheepishly, he gave you a thumbs up. Vernon apologised to you for worrying you, admitted that he simply fell asleep and floated off. You waved him off, laughing that it was understandable given how beautiful the waves were today. As you turned to swim back to your own boat, and Vernon was being towed back to their yacht by the Nana tour staff, he stared in your direction longingly. Perhaps it was him still being groggy from his nap, or the way the sea breeze brushed past him carrying your laughter into his ear, but he thought you had the most melodious laugh. He regretted not being able to speak to you more and thank you for looking out for him. There might be plenty of fish in the sea (ocean?), but there was only one of you. However, later that day back at port, as Vernon was stepping off the yacht, still musing about his experience, he would get the chance he was looking for, because the boat you were on was docked right next to theirs. 

ᯓ★ Dino

✰ You met Dino during the wine tour. If you were being honest, you weren’t feeling too eager about having to spend a few hours in the afternoon going on the wine tour. Sure, you drank alcohol, but you weren’t the biggest wine drinker, so why did you sign yourself up for this wine tour again? Right, because this tour was a free add on when you booked this trip to Italy with the travel company, and you weren’t one to say no to a free experience. You shuffled along with your group, inwardly wishing you could have been by the pool at your hotel on this hot day. While you could appreciate the guide’s enthusiasm, you didn’t understand a thing she was saying. You could have used a translation app, but you didn’t want to seem impolite from staring at your phone. Instead, you simply smiled awkwardly, pausing to take a sip of wine when everyone else did. 

✰ As your guide went on to speak about the history of the winery, you spotted a group of men next to you from the corner of your eye. You found them to be much more appealing to pay attention to than the tour you were currently on. They were surrounded by a camera crew, which was unusual, and it was obvious they didn’t understand Italian either. The confused, knowing looks, the polite yet awkward nods. You snickered to yourself. It takes one to know one. Out of all of them though, one of them sparked your interest. His boyish looks and casual style made him look incredibly attractive. It was also interesting that he had the word “DINO” plastered across his shirt. Dino? You wondered if it referred to an actual dinosaur, or whether that was his nickname, because you were certain there was no one with Dinosaur as their actual name? 

✰ To your delight, when their group moved on, your group followed closely behind theirs. When your guide walked ahead to speak to his guide, and you purposely casually fell in step behind the man. You found it quite entertaining to watch him try to wrangle the rest of the men and move them along to the next destination. You couldn’t help but let out a snort when he slung his shoulders around one of them who appeared to be trying to walk in the opposite direction. Hearing this, he turned around, giving you a wide grin and saying “sorry” to you. Noticing his accent, you asked him where they were from. “Korea, have you been?” He replied proudly. You shook your head, rambling on about how you always saw pictures of Korea, and how you desperately wanted to visit but never found the opportunity to. He nodded, giving you the same awkward, polite smile he gave to the guide previously. Mentally, you facepalmed yourself. Of course, how could you forget there might be a language barrier between you. Whipping out your phone, you opened your translation app, quickly typing in what you wanted to say before translating it into Korean for him.

✰ Your actions made Dino’s heart flutter. He usually let Joshua or Vernon do the talking in English, and although he could speak the basics, he found it difficult to communicate to others in English when he was alone. Usually, that led to others giving him the side eye, but you had noted the language barrier and went out of your way to find a way you could continue communicating with him. He quickly took out his own phone, typing in his response to you. Thanks to the translation app, it was almost as if the language barrier wasn’t a barrier at all, and your conversation with Dino really progressed. You learnt “Dino” was his stage name, his real name was Chan, and that he was part of the Kpop group Seventeen, which you promised to check out later. Time flew by when you were conversing with each other. That unfortunately meant you reached the wine tasting room where you would have to part ways faster than you would have liked, but not before Dino passed you one last message. You gave him a confused look when you saw there weren’t any words on the screen, only for your confusion to turn into shock and happiness when you realised what the numbers on the screen were. 

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haven't we met? ♾️ minghao x reader.

“wherever you are in the world, i swear i'll find you again.” # day one of (the)8 days of minghao.

☆ includes: mentions of death/calamities. soulmates, body swapping, time travel, delayed ripple effect, references to chinese mythology, light angst. this is inspired by & heavily references makoto shinkai's film kimi no nawa/your name, but it's not required to have seen the film to understand the plot. word count: 9,000+

It’s a Wednesday when Minghao wakes up in a room that isn’t his.

He doesn’t immediately register it. His senses come to him slowly; the sun is warm on his face, supposedly streaking through the windows. 

But then an alarm blares, and it’s an alarm that’s decisively not his. It’s loud and oppressive. The complete opposite of the gentle tinkling of bells that he sets for his mornings. Minghao peels his eyes open before blinking blearily up at a ceiling that’s in a shade of dark green. 

Odd. His ceiling is supposed to be beige. 

Minghao finally manages to sit up, to glance around. The room he’s in is not his. It’s much more disorganized and the furniture’s a bit more old-fashioned. He lets out a slight exhale. 

A dream, he thinks wearily. I’m dreaming. 

Minghao can’t help but think that it’s a particularly realistic dream as he unsteadily gets to feet. As he pulls aside the sheets that had covered him, he notices snatches of a body that isn’t his, either. Lithe legs, painted toenails. 

I’m dreaming I’m someone else, he thinks. It happened, didn’t it? One might sometimes dream from the perspective of a stranger, a friend. 

Minghao’s attention is drawn to a half-full water carafe on the bedside table. Without much thought, he reaches for it— before smashing it onto the floor. Free will, baby. 

Except—

He feels it. The wetness lapping up at his feet. The shards of broken glass flying in all directions. Something closes up in his throat. Did he usually feel things in his dreams? Had he eaten something weird, drank something the night before, to have him dreaming like this? 

The door to the room swings open. 

A silver-haired woman stands in front of him, now, her face pinched with worry. She says a name— a name that isn’t Minghao’s— and asks, panicked, “What happened?” 

Minghao doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just stares and stares as this wrinkled woman chides him in a motherly way until he realizes, ah. This must be his mother. Not his mother, but his dream self’s mother. 

He can work with that. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. His voice is different. Not his, not his. He tries again— softer, this time— like it might change things. Like he might be able to coax his old voice to break through whatever sleepy haze he’s in. “I’m sorry. I knocked it over by accident.” 

“You’re so clumsy,” his ‘mother’ chides, but she’s already getting to her knees to wipe at the puddle of water with her apron. That snaps Minghao into action; he stumbles across the room in search of a towel. 

What a crazy dream, he thinks as he delicately gathers up the shards, as he wipes up the spilled water. I’ve never had a dream like this. 

As his ‘mother’ heads back downstairs, Minghao figures he might as well play the part. 

He follows her down for breakfast. He’s struck by how visceral, how tactile everything feels. The creeks of the old staircase. The smell of seaweed egg drop soup. The crick in Minghao’s neck.

Am I going insane? Minghao briefly wonders as he settles into the dining table, where there’s already a spread of food waiting for him. He notes that it’s a rather small table, made for only two people. It’s a stark contrast to the long tables he usually shares with twelve other boys, to the family tables he reserves with his own family.

“Why are you being so quiet?” his ‘mother’ asks as she sits across from him. “We’ll just get you a new carafe, kiddo.”

Right. That’s definitely why he was being quiet. Minghao picks up the chopsticks in front of him and goes to try some of the braised potatoes. 

He can even taste it. This was probably the most detailed dream he’s ever had.

“Aren’t I always quiet, though?” Minghao manages to ask in the voice-that-is-not-his. It’s a higher pitched voice, one that has a distinct Seoul accent. 

His ‘mother’ lets out a snort of laughter. “Yah, in what universe are you quiet?” she says with a snicker, reaching over to flick Minghao’s forehead. 

He lets out a small sound of protest. 

“That’s more like it,” his ‘mother’ notes. “Now, eat up. You’ll be late for work.”    

Work. Something like unease begins to pool at the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. Not because he hates his job, no. Minghao loved being a dancer, an idol, an artist. But— he had a feeling that wasn’t the job he should be expecting this time around.

“I— I’m not really feeling well,” he mumbles, pushing around some seaweed at the bottom of his soup. When his ‘mother’ shoots him a scrutinizing glare, he forces out a cough to sell the act. “I’m not sure if I can go in today.” 

His ‘mother’ goes from looking skeptical to concerned. She sets her own utensils down. “Do you need me to take care of you? I can take off, too—” 

“It’s okay,” Minghao says hastily. “I think I just need to stay in bed.” 

The woman across from him doesn’t look convinced, and so he presses on, “How is work, anyway?” 

It’s a polite question, one meant to wheedle out more information. His ‘mother’ takes the bait, though, and goes on to rant about bad co-workers, about impatient patrons. She’s a grocery store bagger, Minghao gleams. And when she complains about other small things— the weather making it difficult to hang laundry, the lack of delivery shifts— Minghao realizes that his ‘mother’ has an array of other side hustles. 

He listens intently. He nods in all the right places. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, but his ‘mother’ falters mid-sentence to fix him a worried look. 

“You really are so quiet today,” she repeats, reaching over to put the back of her hand against Minghao’s forehead. He feels the touch, feels the warmth of concern wash over his skin, and it makes him shiver. “You really must not be feeling well, huh?” 

Minghao thinks he’s only about to feel so much worse.

He heads back to ‘his’ bedroom, and it’s only then that he catches a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror. It’s… the face of someone he’s never met before. 

Minghao once heard that the people you see in your dreams are never strangers. They’re all faces you’ve seen at least once or twice, and in Minghao’s line of work— well, he’s seen a lot of faces. He raises a hand to pinch at his cheek, to pat at his hair. 

It all feels so real. He doesn’t dwell on that. 

Instead, he starts to explore. Walking around the cramped bedroom feels both like a museum visit and an intrusion. There’s posters peeling off the wall, shelves groaning under the weight of books, clothes that look a little worse for wear. It’s honestly such a mess that Minghao ends up killing a couple of hours just cleaning.

He lets out a snort of laughter as he does. Even in his dreams, he’s picking up over someone. 

He doesn’t know how long he spends gathering hangers and sweeping the floor, but, at one point, the silence is broken by a high-pitched ringtone. He fumbles for the shabby cellphone on the bedside table. 

It had been password-protected, which is why he couldn’t open it. Now, though, there’s an option to answer the incoming call. 

BOSS MAN 👿, it says, and Minghao nearly cracks a smile. Yeah, he can relate to that, at least. 

When he answers the call, though, any and all humor dissipates at the yelling that assaults Minghao’s ear. “WHERE ARE YOU?” ‘Boss Man’ screams on the other end. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL DAY! YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE, PUNK—” 

Minghao definitely sees now why the devil emoji was warranted. He has the urge to cut into the other man’s tirade, partly because it’s a dream where there’ll surely be little to no consequences. Something holds him back, though, as he puts some distance between his ear and the phone. 

Once the other man pauses to breathe, Minghao manages to get a word in. “I… wasn’t feeling well,” he says lamely. “Could I maybe work from home or something?” 

“WORK FROM HOME? ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT—”

At that point, Minghao just hangs up. When ‘Boss Man’ tries to call again, Minghao turns off the cellphone’s ringer and goes back to cleaning. 

He cleans until there’s not a speck of dust in the bedroom. And when that’s done, he goes to work on the grout in the bathroom, the oil stains in the kitchen. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. Occasionally, he’ll stop in the middle of a chore, wondering if it’s finally time for him to be shaken out of this mundane, long-winded dream. 

Night falls. His ‘mother’ texts about taking on an extra shift. She says something about food in the refrigerator, but Minghao can’t be bothered; he’s so exhausted that he blacks out the moment his head hits his pillow.

He doesn’t even have the energy to contemplate the mechanics of falling asleep in what’s supposed to be a dream. 

On Thursday, Minghao wakes up back in his dorm. 

When he hears the familiar chime of his morning alarm, when he opens his eyes and sees beige, he feels a wave of relief. It really had all been a dream. A very realistic one, sure. But a dream all the same. He was awake now, and he was ready to go about his Wednesday schedule— 

Except, when he checks his phone, it says that it’s already Thursday. 

Minghao blinks. How long was he out? Surely one of the boys would’ve dragged him out of bed if he’d been out of commission for twenty-four hours. 

He unlocks his phone to a dozen unread messages. Eyebrows furrowed, he decides to first go with Seungcheol’s texts. 

🍒: myungho  🍒: are you feeling better?  🐸: Hyung, hi. I think I just overslept a bit but I’m feeling ok. 

Despite the early morning, the three dots indicating that Seungcheol is typing pop up. 

🍒: are you sure???  🍒: you had us worried 🐸: Did I really sleep that long?  🍒: i mean, i don’t know how long you slept 🍒: was that the problem? were you hysterical yesterday because of lack of sleep? ㅋㅋㅋ

Suddenly, Minghao’s room feels a lot colder than earlier. Hysterical. That was the word Seungcheol had used. And yesterday— Tuesday? Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to Minghao. It was all the usual; he had practiced, eaten dinner out with Soonyougn, then went home. 

The dream had been the only unusual thing about the day prior. Minghao is jolted when Seungcheol sends another slew of texts. 

🍒: seriously 🍒: i was worried i might have to bring you to the hospital or something 🍒: but you say you’re ok now? 

Minghao can’t help it anymore. He dials Seungcheol’s number and puts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest all the while. 

Seungcheol answers on the first ring. In lieu of a greeting, Minghao jumps straight into “Was I really— hysterical, yesterday?” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Seungcheol speaks, he still sounds a touch gruff, like he’s only half-awake. “I mean, kind of. What, are you worried about it? Do you need help apologizing to Mingyu?” 

Apologizing to Mingyu? “What— is Mingyu mad at me?” 

“Uh.” There’s some sounds of shuffling on the other end, as if Seungcheol is sitting up. It’s a pretty clear giveaway of his growing concern. “You might have to ask him that. But, Hao— you sure you’re better?”

Minghao swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know where to start without sounding insane.

“I think I’m still feeling a bit off,” Minghao says weakly. “Must be the flu or something.” 

“I can come over.” 

“No, no. I think I just need some rest.” 

Seungcheol lets out a contemplative hum. “Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all too convinced. “I’ll keep the boys off your back for the day. Text me if you need anything, and maybe text Mingyu when you can.” 

“Text Mingyu,” Minghao repeats absentmindedly. “Yeah, got it.” 

The call ends without anything more. Minghao stays seated in his bed for a long moment, just staring at the call log. 

Seungcheol had called him hysterical. Mingyu was upset with him. 

Something was definitely not right. 

Minghao’s suspicion is only confirmed when he goes to check the texts he’d gotten from other members.

🐯: need to call u about choreo but preferably u dont yell at me this time 😒 let me know when’s a good time  🐱: Are u ok? Or did u actually ditch me for our dinner (bec if then, wtf)  🦖: i’ve been in the practice room for an hour now!!!!!! Where are you!!!

If Minghao wasn’t already sitting down, he might’ve collapsed. 

He yelled at Soonyoung. He ditched Jun and Chan. 

He had no memory of any of that. 

But he remembers the shattered carafe, the seaweed soup, the shrill shrieks of ‘Boss Man’ in his ear. 

For a moment, he’s convinced he’s just in another version of the same dream— except, this time, it looks a lot more like a nightmare. As Minghao finally musters up the energy to get to his feet, he notices something at the foot of his bed. 

He unfurls the folded piece of paper. The handwriting isn’t anything he’s seen before. His eyes inadvertently skip to the very bottom, and his heart nearly stops in his damn chest. Minghao drops the paper like it had physically burnt him. 

“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself as he scrambles to his feet, as he puts distance between himself and the now-discarded paper. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.” 

At the very end of the handwritten letter had been a name. 

The name that had been uttered by his dreamself’s mother. The name that ‘Boss Man’ had shrieked. A name he hadn’t heard before yesterday, before his dream— 

Minghao is finding it increasingly hard to believe that it had been a dream in the first place. Hell, he doesn’t even know what ‘yesterday’ is anymore. 

He paces his room. He does breathing exercises. He brews half a pot of tea. 

None of it helps. Hours later— with all his texts still unanswered and his tea depleted— Minghao stumbles back to the letter. 

I don’t know who you are, it starts. But I can tell you who I am. 

I’m from Umyeon-deong in Seocho. I live with my mother; my father hasn’t been in the picture for a long time. I work as an editorial assistant for a local newspaper. (It’s not exactly what I want to be doing, although that’s a story for another day.) 

For a big part of today, I thought I was dreaming. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my bedroom, but the hours have ticked by and I’m still here. Your friends keep contacting you. It’s driving me insane. I accidentally yelled at two of them because they wouldn’t stop calling. The Mingyu one got really upset about it, I think. Sorry. 

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. If this is nothing but a dream, then this shouldn’t matter. But in the 0.000000001% chance that something truly insane has happened to me and you? Well, at least now you know. 

I’m going to try and go to sleep now, although I must admit: You have some pretty nice stuff. I ate some of your tea and snacks (sorry, again). This is crazy. None of this makes sense. 

The letter unceremoniously ends there. Minghao’s eyes flick again to the signoff, to the name at the very bottom. 

Your name. 

His head is reeling. He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

This is no coincidence, no practical joke. It’s— as you’ve said— truly something insane happening. 

Minghao is struck with the realization that it just might happen again, and this time, he actually does get sick. He ends up hurling into a trash can. 

After brushing his teeth, chugging some water, and running through one too many of the chips in his pantry, Minghao gets back to the letter. 

It’s still there, in his hands. The stationary that was locked away in his drawer, bearing handwriting that is not his. 

None of the boys would pull off a prank as elaborate as this. Minghao is fairly certain he would’ve noticed if any of them snuck in, too. So, now, the only logical explanation was the one that was left. 

And Minghao really didn’t like that explanation. 

For what feels like forever, he contemplates what to do. He considers calling up Seungcheol again. He debates the merits of apologizing to Mingyu and Soonyoung; he decides against it when he realizes he wouldn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. He knows what to say to Jun and Chan at least, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How would Minghao even begin to justify himself? Hey, sorry for ditching you; I think I body swapped with a complete stranger. Let’s grab dinner tonight instead? 

There’s a headache blossoming behind Minghao’s eyes at the mere thought of putting the words out into existence. 

In the end, he does what he deems to be the easiest thing to do. He picks up a pen and writes on the other side of your letter. 

Hello, he begins. I’m The8 Myungho Minghao. 

I’m an idol who’s part of a group called SEVENTEEN. They’re the friends who keep contacting me. Mingyu is a fellow member and good friend of mine. I’ll talk to him. 

My family is in a different country. 

As Minghao goes on to write the next parts, he feels a bit foolish. He doesn’t really know what to say, though he feels like he should say something. You had given him something to work with, after all. Slivers of context. He should be able to do the same for you. 

I met your mother. She’s nice. 

I talked to your boss. He wasn’t happy. He yelled at you (me?), and I may or may not have put down the phone. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what your work was so I ended up not going at all. 

I hope you liked the tea. Feel free to have all the snacks you want. 

And you’re right. This is crazy. 

If I’m lucky, you’ll never need this letter. 

Minghao wakes up on Friday to the realization that he is decidedly unlucky.

The loud alarm is back, and the ceiling is dark green again, and Minghao once again leans over to throw up. Luckily, there’s a bedside garbage bin that comes to the rescue. 

There’s no sun this time. It’s fairly gloomy outside, the overcast skies peeking through the windows. 

Minghao immediately notices that there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to him. He unfurls it so fast that he almost tears it in half. 

This is a precaution, you start. Maybe, come tomorrow, I can just chuck this out and chalk it all up to a one-off freak incident. 

The thought of this phenomenon not being a one-off nearly has bile rising up in Minghao’s throat all over again, but he forces himself to read the rest of your words. 

First off, I guess I should thank you. My room has never been this clean in my life! And you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she saw that ‘I’ cleaned the entire apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was possessed, for the lack of better term, by someone who is a much better person than me. 

That almost makes Minghao smile. Almost, because the next part sends a pang of guilt through him. 

Secondly, though, you almost cost me my job. I can’t believe you hung up on my boss, Donghyuk. I had to do some serious damage control. I managed to get today off, just in case. 

Minghao is struck by your foresight and, adversely, his absolute lack of it. The most he had to do was appease a sulky Mingyu and message back the rest of the boys. His brain races to figure out if he has any schedules for— Friday, was it? A practice, maybe. Or a recording. 

Either way, he’s screwed. You’re screwed. 

Minghao his face in one hand and quietly prays that you know how to dance. 

He skims over the rest of your letter. 

I don’t know why this is a thing. I don’t know if it is meant to be a thing. I’m going to try and look for some answers, whether or not I wake up as you/myself. 

Wish me luck. 

A small part of Minghao feels a tug at the thought of both of you ending your letters with the concept of luck. That feeling is quickly replaced by something akin to dread, because he’s fairly convinced that this is no longer a dream. 

Minghao has woken up in a body that isn’t his. Minghao has woken up in your body— the body of a person he’s sure he’s never met.

He has to live a day in your life with nothing to go by but the notes you’ve left and a handful of context clues. 

For a moment, Minghao contemplates just going back to sleep. Maybe if the both of you just slept right now, the switch would trigger. Maybe he could just spend the whole day in bed until you have to swap again.

The latter seems like the best idea until knuckles rap against the bedroom door. 

Your mother pops her head through the crack in the door. “I’m going to leave early today. The rain isn’t looking so good,” she says with a slight grimace. 

Minghao glances out the window. It’s all he can do, really, to keep himself from not going insane then and there. 

“Take care,” he says. 

He’s suddenly acutely aware of your voice— the cadence and timbre of it. He knows what you sound like, how you write, and he wonders how the two might combine. What might be the right thing to say in this situation. 

Because your mother has that look again, that openly dubious expression. 

“Are you alright?” she asks cautiously, not quite stepping into the bedroom just yet. 

A flash of panic rises up in Minghao. What would you say? What would you do? 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His tone’s just a little haughty now. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Minghao nearly winces, but he persists. “Go on, don’t get caught in the rain.” 

Your mother lets out a huff of a laugh, mumbling something like ‘ungrateful kid’ as she retreats. Despite that, it seems to work; she takes her leave without another protest. Minghao lets out a shaky breath.  

His— your stomach, really— lets out a low grumble. A part of him wonders if you’ve been just on edge as he’s been. Unable to eat properly, losing sleep over this whole thing. 

Regardless, the least he can do is take care of you. He pads over to the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for some leftovers. All the while, he’s thinking of what he has in his own kitchen. 

Will you be hungry? You did say you liked his snacks. Would that be enough? 

The questions rattling in his head turn into considerably more stressful ones. 

Is this going to happen forever? Will he have to spend the rest of his life swapping bodies with you on a day-to-day basis?

He thinks of the group, thinks of your mother. Thinks of his demanding job and your terrible boss. 

Minghao nearly panics again. He manages to keep it together enough to make a sandwich and sip some coffee. 

He tries to meditate, even, but it’s like your body knows that it’s not a practice that you frequent. Your hands twitch in the stillness; your heart only slams harder instead of calming. You need to catch a goddamn break, Minghao thinks as he grits his teeth and tries to relax. 

Something good comes out of his attempt, at least. It comes as an epiphany of some sorts— how he suddenly remembers a portion of your letter. 

I’m going to try and look for some answers, you had written. 

He might as well do the same. 

Once he’s changed into outerwear that’s slightly more acceptable for the rainy weather, he spends a good amount of time searching for your wallet. When he goes to check it, he inadvertently lets out a grumbled “damn.”

Your wallet has nothing but a couple of loose bills. 

Minghao can’t blame you, not really, but you’re certainly giving him very little to work with. A part of him even feels kind of bad for you. Not only did you have a demon for a boss; you were also severely underpaid. He makes a mental note to bring that up in his next letter to you. 

He can’t go far with the lack of funds, though that’s not the only thing hindering his quest for answers. It’s pouring outside, the rain coming in heavy droplets. 

Minghao braves it with a raincoat and an umbrella, hoping against hope to find something. Anything. 

As luck would have it, your neighborhood has a local library. 

When he steps in, the librarian doesn’t pay him much heed. Minghao is momentarily amused by the thought. Did you not come here often? 

It’s a quaint place with a scarce collection. A lot of the novels are on the older end— published nearly a decade ago— but they remain in pristine condition. Minghao skips over the best-sellers and the manga serieses, instead opting to sift through the psychology textbooks. 

He’s not surprised when he doesn’t find anything of use there, when he spends nearly four hours reading and reading to no avail. The lack of non-fiction about a body swapping phenomenon is to be expected. This wasn’t something that just happened, after all. 

And yet it’s happening to me, Minghao thinks with frustration as he grabs at his sixth book of the afternoon. The unexpected force knocks some of the surrounding books onto the floor. 

The librarian gives him a vicious side eye. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao mumbles as he immediately gets to his knees. 

His hands close around one of the books he knocked over. It’s a heavy hardbound with a gorgeous deep red cover and metallic gold lettering. There’s a dragon featured on the front and the familiar iconography of it nearly bowls Minghao over. 

While still crouched down on the floor, Minghao flips through the pages. The images that go flashing by are not strangers to him, but there’s one in particular that he’s looking for. 

He finds it on the thirtieth page. Almost out of instinct, his fingers trace over the characters. 

月老. Yue Lao. 

Suddenly, Minghao is a child again, listening to his mother’s stories. He had been young and wide-eyed, sprawled on her lap as she talked soothingly about the god who presented himself as an old man under the moon.  

The god of marriage and love. He’s the reason why your bàba and I met, his mother would say amusedly. Yue Lao made it possible. 

How? His younger self had demanded. How did he make sure? 

His mother had laughed, then. Had stroked Minghao’s hair out of his face as she told him about the myth. The magical cord may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. 

And, oh, how Minghao had prayed back then. He prayed to Yue Lao the hardest— his eyes squeezed shut, his hands clasped to his chest. 

I hope I find love. 

It doesn’t matter when, or where, or how. 

Qǐng, Yue Lao. Please, please, please. 

“Are you going to check that out or what?” 

Minghao is dragged out of his memories at the sound of the librarian’s sharp tone. “I—” 

The words stick in his throat. Eventually, he manages a meek, “I’ll put it back.”

It’s still pouring as he leaves the library and makes the short walk back to your apartment. The rainwater pooling in the gutters has muck and grime sticking to the bottom of his— technically your— rain boots. Another thing to apologize for, Minghao thinks wryly. 

He seeks temporary shelter underneath the corner store near your apartment block. The vendor looks up expectantly. 

“The usual?” the woman croaks, and it takes a moment for Minghao to register that he’s being addressed.  

“Not today,” he responds with a tight smile. 

The vendor lets out a bark of laughter. “When have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” she says with a tut of disapproval. Before Minghao can protest, the stranger is already shuffling over to her cooking station. 

Minghao watches in silence when he realizes what’s being made. Some fruit is speared onto a bamboo skewer, then dipped into a simmering syrup. It emerges coated like a clear gemstone before it’s shoved into a bowl of ice. 

Tanghulu, Minghao thinks dazedly as he accepts the snack. “Thank you,” he says softly.

The vendor smiles. She’s already missing a couple of teeth. 

Minghao takes a tentative bite. Tanghulu was a familiar enough delicacy, but the fruit he'd been given— your ‘usual’— is something he hasn't seen in quite some time. 

The date-plum persimmon is soft and glutinous, wrapped in a thin layer of crisp sweetness. Minghao can't remember the last time he had black jujube this way. 

“You’re still the only one who likes that stuff.” There’s an edge of fondness to the vendor’s tone. A clear indicator that you have some sort of camaraderie with her, something that Minghao isn’t entirely privy to. “Do you know how hard it is to find stock of that darn fruit?” 

It seems like a rhetorical question, like something that you’d probably take in stride. But Minghao can’t bring himself to joke. His free hand is already fishing for your wallet, where he’s prepared to blow the last of your money on this dessert. 

The vendor shakes her head. “Not today,” she chirps, echoing Minghao’s words from earlier. Her gaze is fixed over his shoulder, where the downpour is relentless. 

Minghao is not quite sure what the norm is supposed to be. Do the two of you talk? Do you leave right after you’ve made your purchase? 

He doesn’t want to be rude, so he mumbles his gratitude and decides to stick around for a moment. The vendor thankfully chooses not to make conversation. 

Minghao spends a long time just standing there, making slow work of the sticky date-plum. He watches the rain that never lets up. He watches the lights of your apartment building flicker on as night falls. He watches, and he tries to commit it to memory as he finishes off his tanghulu. 

For what it’s worth, he’s glad to ‘share’ this with you— something sweet to get the both of you by. 

Come Saturday, Minghao wakes up with more questions than answers.

Your letter is within reach, resting atop his bedside table. He goes to read it despite the fact that he’s barely lucid. 

It’s shorter this time. If he strained, he could almost hear the words in your voice. A distant echo. 

I can’t believe you’re actually an idol. Have you met BIGBANG? 

That draws a surprised laugh out of him. It’s been years since he last heard of his industry seniors. The thought of you being a second gen fan is a little endearing to him. 

Anyway, I told everyone who contacted you that you were really sick. Like, throwing up levels of sick. ‘Coups-hyung’ said he would send a manager, but I assured him that you already had one on the way. You might want to corroborate that lie. 

I know I said I would look for answers, but I couldn’t really go far. I was scared of getting lost. And, man, your neighborhood is overwhelming. I’ve lived in Seoul my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the city. 

I ended up spending most of my day just reading your books. Good taste. 

The compliment puts the smallest grin on his face.   

I promise to do better research when I’m back in my own body. ‘Till then. 

As curt as your letter is, it gives him an idea he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. Better research. Back in his own body.

He fishes for your first letter, which he had kept tucked in his drawer. It’s still there, which means the past couple of days have not been a bout of psychosis. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or horrified. 

Minghao focuses instead on scanning your introduction, where you had mentioned your neighborhood. Umyeon-deong. 

While he’s in the back of the cab, Minghao texts back his members. He’s vague, still, but it’s not anything particularly new. Feeling a little better. Getting a check-up, just in case. Stop worrying. I’ll let you know how it goes. 

The heat is oppressive for July, almost beating down on Minghao’s back as he finally makes it to the district. It’s a full 180 from yesterday’s rain. He regrets the baseball cap and the hoodie, but both are necessary evils. 

He’s not entirely sure where to drop off, so he settles for one of the corners at the mouth of the neighborhood. Once he’s there, he just— begins to walk in a general direction.

Later, he realizes he probably could have pulled up Google Maps. He would have benefited from asking around, would have cut his time in half if he deigned to admit that he was lost. But, at the moment, he’s just taking it all in. 

The apartment complexes. The children’s park. The liquor store. 

Briefly, he wonders if he’ll run into you. Would you recognize him? 

Would he even want you to? 

Minghao is so busy mulling it over that he almost misses it. The streetside food stand advertising fresh tanghulu. It feels like yesterday— well, it was yesterday. His mouth is already watering at the thought of the candied date-plums as he wanders over to the stand. 

A rasping voice addresses him. He looks up from scanning the selection, realizing with a jolt that it’s the same vendor.

But it’s also— not. 

Something is off. 

Something he can’t quite place.

It almost steals the breath out of Minghao. He probably looks dumbstruck, looks stupid with his mouth hanging slightly agape, but the vendor asks again, “What do you want?”

Minghao forces an answer out of his chest. “Do you have— black jujube?”

A myriad of micro expressions flash across the seller’s face. It starts with recognition, but ends with something closer to tightness. She gives a labored grunt in response before going to make the snack. 

When she hands it over to Minghao, there’s a slight quiver in her fingers. She nearly drops it, even, but Minghao catches it just in time. 

“Sorry,” she grouses. “It’s an order that a regular of mine used to have.” 

There’s a low ringing in Minghao’s ears as he says “ah,” as he hands over his payment. The vendor busies herself with cleaning her workstation, and Minghao tries to enjoy the date-plums, but it’s not as good as he remembers it. 

Was it perhaps a difference in taste buds? 

No, he thinks. It’s the lump in his throat. It’s the seller’s words nagging at the back of his mind. 

An order that a regular of mine used to have. Used to. 

He saw her yesterday. You were supposed to have seen her yesterday. 

As he munches on the fruit, he asks almost too casually, “Is it your first time selling in this area?” 

The vendor shoots him a suspicious glare. Minghao knows he’s being a little odd with the line of his small talk so he fields his question, tries to make it come out more naturally. “I remember you used to have a spot somewhere else,” he offers. “In front of an apartment building.”

This time, it’s the seller’s turn to mumble “ah.” 

“That’s why you had that order,” she says with a humorless laugh. “You knew them, huh?” 

“Them?” 

The vendor says your name. The ringing in Minghao’s ear gets louder; his fingers, tightening around the skewer of his tanghulu. It’s the first time he’s hearing your name in his own body and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

The question is even harder to answer. Does he know you? Was he allowed to say that?---

No. No, wait. The vendor had said knew. 

The ringing reaches an almost feverish pitch. It’s a miracle that Minghao hears anything else, that he picks up the murmured words that the seller says next.  

“It’s a real shame,” she says with a voice so soft, so solemn, so small. “It’s been nine years, hasn’t it?” 

Nine years.

Nine years. 

Nine years. 

Since what? Since you? 

A lot of things haven’t made sense to Minghao in the past couple of days, but this— this is the one that baffles him the most. He saw you— he was you— yesterday. 

When Minghao finally finds his voice, it’s to ask for a favor. 

The vendor complies, albeit skeptically. She hangs a ‘be right back’ sign over her stall. It’s a short walk, not more than seven minutes. 

If Minghao’s ears had been ringing earlier, now, it’s just dead silence. A dreadful sort of quiet as he stares at the ruins of the apartment building he was staring at just the day before. 

The seller is watching his face carefully. “You didn’t know?” she prompts gently. 

Minghao realizes he has to come up with something. “We were friends. Me and—” He chokes around your name. When he finally says it out loud for the first time, he feels guilty. It feels so wrong to be saying it in this context. To have it be part of a lie. “But then—” 

He trails off. The vendor supplies, “You lost touch?” 

Sure. Minghao gives a jerky nod in response. That’s one way to put it. 

He’s not even looking for an explanation, but the seller gives him one. “The typhoon was so bad that it triggered landslides,” she says gruffly. She nods towards the direction of the mountain towering over the neighborhood. “I think the death toll was around eighteen people.” 

Minghao resists the urge to scream. If he were a lesser man, he might have fainted. Instead, he quietly says, “Nine years ago.” 

“Nine years ago,” the vendor confirms. She pauses before adding, her voice just a little sadder, “A tragedy.” 

“Tragedy,” Minghao repeats. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thinks. 

Neither of them say anything for a long time. He can feel the pity rolling off the seller in waves; still, he can’t bring himself to turn away. He stares, and he stares, and he stares at the rubble, at the derelict building. At the mere echo of what had been so loud and alive to him just yesterday.

After what feels like forever, he asks another question. “Is— is the library still around?” 

The vendor leads the way. At the door of the library, she attempts to give Minghao a reassuring smile. It’s all just gums, now. No teeth. There’s an endless refrain of nine years, nine years, nine years screeching through Minghao’s head as the seller bids him goodbye with “I’m sorry you lost your friend.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” he responds with a solemnity that doesn’t need to be feigned. 

The librarian isn’t the same one. 

This one has a calmer demeanor, a more restrained smile. Somehow, that only makes Minghao feel much worse. He knows what he’s looking for this time; he goes straight to the neighborhood records and scrolls all the way back to nine years ago. 2015. 

It’s a lot of information to digest all at once. There’s the news clippings about the heavy rainfall. The flash floods, the landslides. Class action lawsuits. Landmine threats. Government incompetence. 

Minghao feels like he’s drowning in information, but it’s still not what he’s looking for. 

He finds it in a directory. There’s two people with the same last name and Minghao nearly loses it then and there, at the thought of your mother, too— 

He focuses on you for now. His quivering finger traces the cell that contains your name, your date of birth. 1997. The same year as him. A couple of months younger, though. 

Nine years ago, Minghao had been 18. Just about to debut. 

Nine years ago, you had been an editorial assistant. Not exactly what I want to be doing, you had written in your first letter to him. There was no way for you to know that you would never have the chance to be anything more.  

Minghao’s eyes fall on the date of death. 

Except— 

It’s not nine years ago yesterday, not nine years ago today. It’s tomorrow. 

In that very moment, he understands what he’s meant to do. 

When Minghao wakes up in your body on Sunday, he knows he has only one chance. 

He had read up all about it the ‘day’ prior but the details were vague. None of the news reports mentioned when exactly the landslide would happen. The most he gleamed was that it would be due to an unstable slope from the nearby Mount Umyeon. 

A wall of mud three storeys high hit the building, one article had said. It’s the only information that Minghao has to go by as he drags himself out of bed, ignoring the blare of your obnoxious alarm. 

He goes straight for your mother’s room. She’s already awake, standing by the window. 

Outside, the storm rages on. Your mother turns to face Minghao. “It’s not looking good out there,” she says disapprovingly. “The news said it’s the heaviest rainfall in nearly a century.” 

Back in his body, Minghao had contemplated how he would go about this. He thought he might try to coax your mother, might be logical and rational in urging her to evacuate. 

In that very moment, though, he instead finds himself blurting out, “We’re going to die.” 

A beat. Your mother looks unfazed. 

“You’re always so dramatic.” 

The panic simmers in the pit of Minghao’s stomach. “We’re going to die,” he repeats, his tone on the shriller end now. 

It wasn’t like him to give in to hysteria; he was you, though, and your mother seemed nonchalant enough about it. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. “It’s just a little bit of rain,” your mother says dismissively as she squeezes past Minghao and heads towards the kitchen. 

Minghao is on her heels, his hands wringing together. “We can’t stay here,” he pleads. “We have to leave.” 

Your mother shoots Minghao— you— an exasperated look. “Where are we going to go in this weather?” 

“No. No, no. We have to go somewhere safe.” 

“We’re safe here—” 

“We’re not—”

It’s almost like a crack of thunder, the way your mother says your name. The sound shuts Minghao up immediately. It’s a familiar warning, an intonation that all mothers seem to wield over their children.

“What’s going on with you, really?” your mother questions, her hands at her hips. She’s eyeing Minghao with mild annoyance but he sees it for what it is. Concern. “You’ve been so odd these past few days. Is there something you’re not telling me?” 

And how is Minghao supposed to answer that? 

I’m not actually your child. I’ve swapped bodies with a man who lives nine years in the future. Our survival hinges on whether or not you’ll hear me out. 

When Minghao stays silent for a little too long, your mother shakes her head. “Get it together,” she says sternly. 

Maybe it’s that. Maybe that’s what finally gets Minghao to say—

“Please.” 

Your mother pauses in the middle of rifling the refrigerator. For a long, terrible moment, the only sound is the rain. 

Minghao’s hands are shaking at his side. “Please,” he repeats. He knows he sounds more like himself than you. He knows he’s being out of character, being obvious. 

But he needs your mother to understand. She’s looking at him now like he’s a stranger. 

Like you’re a stranger. And you are— at least in that moment. 

The words tumble out of Minghao before he can contain them. “I want to live.”

He doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, this rush of emotion. Your voice wavers; he pushes on. “I want to live,” he gasps out. “I want to move us to an apartment that’s not next to a damn mountain. I want to not work in this damn job. I want to live until I’m your age, until I’m even older than that, dammit—” 

Your mother crosses the room, the refrigerator long forgotten. When she raises a hand to Minghao’s face, he doesn’t even realize that some tears had escaped. 

These are all things he wants for you, he realizes.

He wants you to have a good job. He wants you and your mother to be out of harm’s way. He wants you to live a long, full life. 

“Please,” Minghao says a third time, his voice cracking around the word.

There’s a softness to your mother’s gaze; this time, her worry is undeniable. She holds Minghao’s face— no, he thinks. She’s holding your face. Her child’s face. Her child, who’s crying, who’s begging. 

That’s likely the reason why she acquiesces. “Alright,” she exhales, using her thumb to wipe away some of Minghao’s tears. “We’ll leave. We’ll go.”

That’s only half the battle, though. 

Minghao mutters something below his breath. Your mother raises her eyebrows in a silent question, and so he clears his throat before speaking louder. 

“We have to evacuate the entire building,” he mumbles. 

It takes time to convince your mother, which stresses Minghao out beyond belief. Time isn’t a luxury that he has. Not when he has no idea when the landslide will hit. Not when the rain is only worsening, making it less likely to persuade people to leave the comfort of their homes.

By some grace, he manages to get your mother on board. Sure, he had to spew odd specifics and statistics about the dangers of landslides, but it works. The two go door to door. 

They’re met with initial resistance. Minghao doesn’t care. 

He badgers the elderly. He negotiates with the children. He almost gets to his knees when a family with a baby refuses to budge. 

The entire apartment complex is bewildered. 

But when somebody is batting so hard for safety, when somebody is so desperate in what seems to be just a little more than paranoia— you listen. 

The landslide hits just as Minghao is helping the last resident out of the building. 

He’s never felt anything quite like it. He’s experienced earthquakes and their aftershocks. He’s been in stadiums that have shook with the sheer amount of people, the pulse of their music. 

This one starts with a rumble. Low and deep, like it’s coming from the very ground. He hears the trees crack, the boulders knock together. And then— 

Your mother is grabbing him by the arm. She’s screaming, screaming, screaming, the sound drowned out by the storm, by the shrieks of all the other evacuated residents, by the mud that suddenly crashes down on the complex in one fell swoop. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once. 

Minghao is soaked from head to toe. Some of the mud flies and sticks to his hair, his clothes. He can almost taste it, too. The earth. The rain. He feels the chill to his very bones.

Despite that, he laughs. Your mother is dragging him, you, away from the calamity, the tragedy, and all that Minghao can do is laugh. 

Because he made sure that no one was left in the building. 

Because he’s alive. 

You’re alive. 

Later, when everyone is gathered in an evacuation center— shivering underneath blankets, talking about how it was all such a close call— Minghao falls asleep at your mother’s side. He feels like a kid again, with his hair being stroked, with soft words being uttered to him. 

He drifts off and dreams. 

Minghao is sure that this is a dream because his surroundings take on the hazy quality of one. 

It’s just a little too bright to be real, the setting bathed in a light that feels almost like a bulb had exploded. Minghao has to put one hand over his eyes— 

It’s his hand, he realizes. He’s dreaming as himself.

His sight adjusts. He’s at a dining table. It’s a two-person dining table. Much smaller than he’s used to.

“It’s you.”

He drops his hand and braces it against the edge of the table, because your voice— he should be used to it, shouldn’t he? He had used it for a bit, formed words like sorry and thank you with a lilting tone. 

When he responds, his own words are imperceptibly soft. 

“It’s me,” he confirms. 

You’re seated across from him. He had caught glimpses of your features in reflections, in photographs, but it’s something entirely new. To be taking you in from an outsider’s perspective. He sees how you would control your body, how you were inclined to react. It makes him dizzy, just how much he had gotten wrong about your mannerisms. 

The first proper words you speak are, “You have some good friends, you know?” 

A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward. The thought of the boys constantly checking in on him seems about right. 

“And you have a good mother.” Minghao pauses. He did say he would mention the next part. “Terrible job, though. You should quit.” 

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Idol,” you shoot right back. 

He winces; you laugh. The sound has the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. A sepia of the past, the present, and whatever this moment is, all blurring into one. Minghao doesn’t want to wake up. 

“What happens now?” you ask, your own fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table between you two. 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Why—?” 

“— Did this happen in the first place?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve wondered the same thing.” 

The edges are closing in a little more now. Minghao can feel it— the familiar warmth of his bed at home, the tug of his own time. He’s already asked so much from his mother’s old gods but he lets his eyes flutter close so he can make a final plea. 

Just one more minute. Give me one more minute, please. 

“I think…” he starts slowly. His voice already sounds so distant. “It’s my fault.” 

“Your fault.” Skepticism undercuts your tone, enough to prompt Minghao to open his eyes again. 

He looks down at his hands, the ones that had folded atop the table. “I prayed for you,” he admits quietly. “Every day, back when I was a kid.” 

Confusion drips from your every word. “For me specifically?” 

He laughs. “Okay, maybe not you specifically,” he amends. “But—” 

It’s getting unbearably bright now, so much that he can only really make out the silhouette of your form. He itches to reach, to touch, just to see if you’re real. He doesn’t want to push it, though. 

Minghao settles with holding up his hand. If you squinted, if you really, really tried, you might see it, too. 

The faint glimmer of a red cord— looped around his thumb, tied to your pinky. 

Every day, back when I was a kid. 

“I prayed for this,” he repeats.

And so, in some way, he supposes you’re right. 

He had prayed for you. 

The chime of bells. 

The beige ceiling. 

Minghao is fairly sure he had dreamt, but it’s the kind of dream you forget the moment you wake up.

He blinks once, then twice. Odd. It felt like a good dream, too. 

There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his chest, though it fades just as quickly as it blooms. 

Minghao never wakes up as you again. 

The universe takes, and takes, and takes. It takes away Minghao’s memory. He’s not entirely sure what happened to him those couple of days. Seungcheol says he went to the hospital. Mingyu laments that they fought. 

Minghao borrows one of Soonyoung’s favorite words. Funk. He had been in a funk, probably. An off couple of days.

He’s back to regular programming so seamlessly that the others are forced to believe him. 

Still—

Minghao goes about the next couple of weeks feeling like something is missing. 

It annoys him to no end. It’s not any of his valuables, he’s sure. He double, triple checked everything. He turns his entire apartment upside down and puts it back together again. He goes for meals with all of his members, hoping to find the answers there. 

Nothing.

He falls into dreamless sleep every night, and wakes up every morning with that empty feeling in his chest.

It’s an unassuming Wednesday evening— one that he spends driving around with Vernon and Wonwoo— when it hits him. 

“Hey,” he says, throwing them a glance through the rearview mirror. “I could go for some dessert.”  

Vernon perks up at that. “Should we head to Myeongdeong?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Vernon throws out directions. Wonwoo queues the music. 

Minghao keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

The night market is an assault on the senses but it’s also a good cover for the three idols. They set out with their matching hoodies and half-face masks, in search of something to fulfill their cravings. 

Vernon goes to get some dragon’s beard candy. 

Wonwoo wanders off to purchase some hotteok. 

Minghao… He isn’t sure, really, which is a bit ironic. He had been the one to make the call, after all. He weaves through the crowds, his hands in his jacket pockets, as he scrutinizes the stalls. 

Kkwabaegi. Bungeoppang. Tanghulu. Dalgona. Bing—

He backs up a bit. 

“Hi,” he greets the seller. “This is a bit weird, but do you have black jujube?” 

The tanghulu vendor lets out a grunt of approval. “I think I’ve got one more stick,” she notes as he ducks to check her stock. 

What a weird craving, Minghao thinks to himself. But it’s the first thing that came to mind. 

A voice at his side addresses the seller by name.

“Got my date-plum persimmon, ahjussi?” 

It’s not a voice that Minghao has heard before, and yet—

Frantically, he tries to sort through the hundreds of fansigns and fan meetings he’s had in the past decade. Could it be that? Could that be the reason why the lilt was so damn familiar? 

As he turns to look at the source, he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s not the case.

You’re already turning away, though, grumbling about the lack of the tanghulu that you want. Minghao hadn’t even heard the vendor respond.

There’s a ringing in his ears. 

“Excuse me,” he manages.

You falter in your steps. When you look up at him, he sees the same flash of confusion. One that’s borne out of recognition. 

The ringing has gotten louder. Despite that, he pushes out three words. 

He thinks he’s yelling them; in reality, they’re barely audible over the din of the night market. 

“Haven’t we met?” he breathes. 

For one dreadful, dragging moment, he’s convinced he’ll die if you say no, even though his mind is being terribly uncooperative. He can’t place when, or where, or how he met you. He can’t say if you’re familiar because he knows you or someone like you. 

All he knows is that he can’t, won’t let you walk away.

Your response makes everything in Minghao’s head go quiet. 

“I thought so, too,” you say, and something in his chest thrums. 

It feels a lot like an answered prayer. 

[adoredvi]

Nana tour meet cute with seventeen! | 97' line

Synopsis: A series of meet cutes between you and seventeen when they are on vacation during Nana Tour. Pairing: 97 line x gn! reader Genre: Fluff | sfw Word count: 2k words Warnings: food, harmless teasing, mention of underwear (Mingyu, Seungkwan and Dino go to the wrong aisle at the store) Disclaimer: There will be some inaccuracies in this as I took some creative liberties. Minghao’s one might have some inaccuracies in Chinese? I speak it but I kind of suck so I used google translate to help… A/n: @tomodachiii your second hubby is being a loser (affectionate) 95 line + Jun | 96 line (minus Jun) | 97 line | Maknae line

ᯓ★ Dokyeom

✰ You met Dokyeom on the airplane when he lost his passport. You were going to Rome for a business trip. Once the plane landed, you sprang up from your seat at the first chance you got. You were eager to stretch your aching body after being cramped in the seat during the long flight from South Korea. As you waited in the line for disembarkation, you rolled your head, wincing when you could feel your shoulder muscles tense. Oh how you envied the people up at the front of the plane traveling by business class. 

✰ While you were shuffling along, there was absolute chaos at the front of the plane. Dokyeom was frantically turning all the seats upside down trying to find his passport. The large, wide seats actually worked against him in this instance. He went through his seat pocket, upturned the blanket, checked under all the pillows, and even looked inside the tray table compartment. Alas, his passport was nowhere to be found. The members could only look on with a mixture of amusement, exasperation, and helplessness. Of course it was Dokyeom, of all the members, to be the one to lose his passport. First he took Mingyu’s passport, thereby almost making Mingyu miss the flight, and now this. They fiddled with their seats, feeling more and more desperate as the seconds ticked by. 

✰ At about this time, you finally made it to the front of the plane. You wondered what the hold up was and why it was taking longer for everyone to disembark. Your eyes widened at the still full, business class cabin. There was a mixture of flight attendants and very good looking, albeit slightly disheveled, men. It appeared as though they were looking for something. When they spotted you standing at the back of the cabin, they moved to the side, apologising and telling you to go ahead. You awkwardly maneuvered through the crowd, scanning each seat for a glimpse as to what they might be looking for. The corner of a small, dark coloured book caught your eye. You bent down to pick it up. A passport? You turned, tapping the man nearest to you on the arm. He let out a cry of joy, taking the passport from you and cradling it as if it was a newborn baby. All of them sighed in relief, thanking you as you made your way out. 

✰ Those men were something, you thought to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief. Approaching the customs area, you checked your own passport, looking around in confusion when you saw your customs form was missing. It probably fell out as you made your way to the customs area. You made a face, slightly annoyed that you would have to redo the customs form all over again. These things were such a pain. Unbeknownst to you, a certain someone, Dokyeom, had accidentally taken your customs form, which was sticking out in between the pages of your passport, when he took his own passport out of your hands. Na PD could only give him an exasperated, empty laugh. Dokyeom rushed past the members, hoping to catch up to you before you had to redo your customs form. Fortunately, he made it in time as you were just about to begin. Reading your name off your form, Dokyeom yelled out your name. Although you were a little creeped out at first, those feelings faded away the moment you saw Dokyeom sheepishly rubbing his nape. You gave him an appreciative smile. The poor man was embarrassed enough as it is. Still, you were feeling a bit cheeky, and you couldn’t help but tease him, “So, you stole my customs form this time, will you be stealing my heart next?”

ᯓ★ Mingyu

✰ You met Mingyu when he was getting groceries at the supermarket when Seventeen was on their way to their villa in Tuscany. You were working at a restaurant in Tuscany during your summer vacation. On your way home, you remembered you were low on groceries so you made a detour to the nearest supermarket. You grabbed a cart, humming to yourself as you took your time to roam around and look at all the fresh produce. 

✰ On the other side of the supermarket, Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Dino were running around like a flock of headless chickens. They were supposed to grab all the groceries Seventeen needed for the few days they would be spending in Tuscany, and they needed to pick up other necessities such as underwear and shirts. Outwardly, Mingyu tried to stay calm, but inwardly, he was freaking out. The supermarket was much larger than he thought. It was more of a megamart like Costco rather than a small, quaint supermarket. There were so many aisles, so many things scattered across the store, and only three of them. Why didn’t he think to bring more members along, or at least Vernon or Joshua with him so they could help him ask for directions? Finally, after much hardship, they finally managed to get all of the produce they needed. Now, they just needed to look for the rest of the stuff and they could leave. But where was it?

✰ You were in the discount snack aisle located near the back of the supermarket. You grinned to yourself. You could always count on this place to have the best discounted snacks. As you were musing over whether to get chili or lime flavoured potato chips, you heard a loud, deep voice call out, “PANTIES? PANTIES?” Stunned, you looked up at the direction the voice was coming from, only to be met with an equally stunned, wide eyed Mingyu. You both stood there, motionless. If you weren’t so shocked at a large man suddenly looking for panties, you would have taken the time to admire how handsome and muscular he was. Gripping the potato chip packets tighter until you could feel some chips crack under the pressure, you squeaked, “Uhm… sorry? This is the snack aisle??” 

✰ Mingyu blushed furiously, waving his hands in front of his face frantically. He stumbled over his words, uttering rushed apologies and trying to convey that no, he wasn’t some sort of weirdo, and that he was only trying to look for male underwear and shirts for his friends. From his jumbled words and actions, you somehow managed to understand what he was looking for. You lifted your finger, indicating to him he should follow you, before leading him to the correct aisle. You left him at the aisle, though not before Mingyu’s face relaxed in relief and he thanked you profusely. This was horribly embarrassing. He could feel Seungkwan and Dino trying their best not to burst out laughing at his little “panty” accident. He groaned, knowing he would once again be the butt of Seventeen’s jokes for the rest of the night. But perhaps this incident wasn’t all bad. The next day when Seventeen was at a restaurant in Tuscany, you happened to be one of their servers. You were able to share a good laugh with them, and by the end of the night, the members were patting Mingyu on the back for his awkward charm, because Mingyu managed to walk away with a precious napkin containing a string of very important numbers. 

ᯓ★ Minghao

✰ You met Minghao the night Seventeen went to visit the Colosseum. You were in Italy for a layover before your flight onto your final destination. You booked the cheapest ticket and what do you know? That consisted of an overnight 9 hour layover in Rome. Initially, you grumbled about it because you didn’t really want to spend 9 hours in the airport or spend additional money to get a hotel room. But you had never been to Rome, and while most places would be closed by the time you got there, you might as well make the best of it. Once out of the airport, you hopped on a bus which took you to the Colosseum. You stared at it in awe. Since you had a lot of time, after taking a few mandatory commemorative photos, you whipped out your sketchbook and began sketching the scene before you. 

✰ You were so engrossed in starting your second sketch that you weren’t aware of the arrival of the Seventeen members. Finally in Rome after a long flight, the members chattered excitedly as they made their way to their first activity. Splintering off into their groups, Minghao sat down on the curb near you to let the fact he was in Rome, Italy, in front of the Colosseum sink in. Although he took several photographs, unlike the rest of the members, Minghao preferred to live in the moment, enjoy the present and what was happening as it unfolded before his eyes. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, he let his eyes drift over the entire area so he could commit the scene to memory. That was when he spotted you sitting near him, with your pencil out sketching. Despite your brows furrowed in concentration, your pencil glided over the paper almost effortlessly. 

✰ Entranced by your graceful movements, Minghao whispered, “画得好漂亮哦...” (huà dé hǎo piào liàng wó, what a beautiful drawing). Surprised that you heard someone speaking Chinese, you dropped your pencil. Your first language wasn’t Chinese, but you had taken some classes before and could speak the language fluently enough. Despite having not used it for a while, you could recognise those words. You picked your pencil up, turning your body to see who had spoken. Your eyes met Minghao’s. You flushed, averting your eyes immediately. A cute, no scratch that, very cute boy said your sketch was beautiful. Noting the recognition in your eye, Minghao asked hesitantly in Chinese, “你会说中文吗?” (nǐ huì shuō zhōngwén mā, Can you speak Chinese?) When you nodded, he lit up, literally springing out of his seat to sit next to you. Sure, he always spoke to Jun in Chinese all the time, but it was always nice to speak to others in his Mother Tongue. 

✰ Minghao asked you all sorts of questions about how you learnt Chinese, why you were here in Italy etc. While you fumbled slightly when responding to him, he was patient and nodded along as if encouraging you to take your time to speak. Out of everything he asked, he was most excited about the sketch you were working on. You felt yourself curl into a shy ball the more he expressed his love for art, and how much he loved the sketch you were currently working on. You hesitantly admitted to him that you would occasionally post your sketches on social media. Unfortunately, when Minghao was about to ask you for your social media handle, a staff member came over and told him it was time to leave. As he got up to go, you tore out the first sketch of the Colosseum you did from your sketchbook. You offered it to him shyly before running off, too embarrassed at your bold actions to face him again. Minghao held your sketch tightly in appreciation. It was a shame he couldn’t get your social media handle. That said, many days later when he was back in Korea, on a hunch he decided to search for artworks of the Colosseum. To his delight, he found one that greatly resembled the one he had framed in his room. Sliding a dm to the account, he wrote, “你好, 我们几天前在古罗马斗兽场见过面. 谢谢你给我那张图. 如果你以后有来韩国, 或许我可以带你出去吃晚饭以示感谢?” (nǐ hǎo, wǒ mén jǐ tiān qián zài gǔ luó mǎ dòu shòu chǎng jiàn guò miàn. xièxiè nǐ gěi wǒ nà zhāng tú. rú guǒ nǐ yǐ hòu yǒu lái hán guó, huò xǔ wǒ kě yǐ dài nǐ chū qù chī wǎn fàn yǐ shì gǎn xiè?) In English, that translates to “Hello, we met a few days ago at the Colosseum. Thank you for the drawing. If you ever come to Korea, maybe I could bring you out for dinner as thanks?”

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