flwrfields - Tumblr blog

flwrfields · 2 days ago

Note

Heey, how about

1. Suho

2. We are the people by Empire of the sun

3. Childhood friends to lovers

I think the song goes well because of the “i know everything about you, you know everything about me, we know everything about us” part

+ 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦

in which a summer afternoon, an old video game, and a teasing kiss turn years of friendship between Suho and her into something softer, deeper, and impossible to hide anymore.

+ 𝗔𝗛𝗡 𝗦𝗨𝗛𝗢 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

extreme fluff

The afternoon sunlight slipped lazily through Suho’s bedroom window, casting long, dappled shadows across the floor. It was the kind of summer day that moved like honey — thick, golden, and slow. The fan hummed rhythmically in the corner, stirring the soft scent of laundry and watermelon.

She was curled on his bed, sprawled out on her stomach with her chin buried into his pillow. Suho sat cross-legged on the floor, tapping idly at a stray watermelon seed stuck to the table.

It was quiet, but not in an awkward way. They’d been friends long enough to sit in silence and still feel like they were talking.

“You’re really not gonna admit you cheated?” she finally said, voice muffled by fabric.

Suho glanced over. “At what?”

“The last race we had. You boosted before the countdown even hit one.”

“That’s not cheating, that’s strategy.”

She lifted her head and threw a pillow at him. He caught it with a laugh, tossing it back onto the bed.

“Alright, alright.” He stood and stretched, shirt lifting slightly to reveal a sliver of skin. “Wanna play something?”

“You mean like, an actual game?”

“Yeah.” He walked over to the console beneath his TV. “Something we can both suck at equally.”

She grinned, rolling off the bed to sit beside him on the floor. “I don’t suck.”

“You will when I beat you.”

“You wish.”

They sat shoulder to shoulder in front of the screen, controllers in hand. The glow of the TV painted their faces in soft blues and purples as the game loaded.

“Remember when we used to do this in middle school?” she asked, nudging his arm lightly.

“Yeah,” Suho said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’d steal my snacks and rage quit every time you lost.”

“I never rage quit—”

“Liar.”

She laughed, and it echoed lightly against the walls. Suho didn’t respond. Not because he didn’t want to — but because he was too busy looking at her.

The light from the screen flickered against her features, but it was the fading sunlight spilling through the curtains that caught him. It kissed the edge of her cheek, warmed her lashes, turned her skin gold.

And for a second, she didn’t look like the girl who used to chase him with water balloons or argue over ice cream flavors.

She looked… beautiful.

And Suho felt it — that small, strange ache blooming in his chest. Like he was seeing her again for the first time, and also realizing he’d been seeing her like this all along.

He looked away quickly, heart stammering like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

But then she leaned into him just a little, trying to peek at his controller.

“You’re totally screen peeking,” she accused.

“You’re imagining things.”

They nudged each other, laughing, arms brushing now and then. And when her fingers accidentally tapped over his while trying to press a button, neither of them pulled away.

The room quieted again — but it wasn’t the same silence as before.

It was warm. Buzzing. Electric.

He didn’t know when he started glancing at her more than at the screen. She was so close. Her focus entirely on the game, lip caught gently between her teeth, lashes lowered in concentration.

His heart stuttered.

He leaned a little closer. He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first — his body just… moved. Drawn to her like a tide to the shore.

He wasn’t even thinking about kissing her. Just… maybe a light peck on the cheek. Something stupid. Friendly.

But just as he leaned in—

She turned to ask him something.

Their lips met.

For half a second, the world stopped. The game kept playing in the background, some pixelated car crashing off-screen, but neither of them noticed.

Then—

“OH MY GOD,” she gasped, jerking back.

“WHAT JUST—?!” Suho nearly threw the controller.

“I was turning!”

“I was aiming for your cheek!”

They stared at each other, wide-eyed and blushing so hard the tips of their ears were red.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO—”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO EITHER!”

A beat.

A pause.

Then Y/N made a strangled noise and buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

“Are you… laughing?” Suho blinked.

“I’m—pfft—I’m dying.”

“You just accidentally kissed me and now you’re laughing?!”

“I’m laughing because you look like your soul left your body.”

Suho huffed and turned away, cheeks still pink. “You’re evil.”

But then—her voice, softer:

“Suho…”

He glanced over.

She was looking at him — really looking.

And she was smiling.

“I didn’t hate it.”

That did it.

Something melted in his chest, then flooded it entirely. He dropped the controller, turned fully toward her, sitting face to face.

Silence took over as he processed what she just said. His fingers twitched on the carpet, unsure of what to do. His breath caught in his throat — stuck somewhere between relief and disbelief.

“I didn’t hate it,” she repeated, quieter this time. And this close, he could see the way her lashes fluttered with nerves. The little upturn of her lips, crooked and shy. She looked like she was trying not to smile too hard.

“Okay,” he finally said, blinking slowly. “Cool. That’s... cool.”

She laughed again, soft and breathy. “You’re so awkward right now.”

“Well—what do you expect?” he whispered, biting back a smile. “You just—kissed me. Technically.”

“Technically, you kissed me.”

“And now you’re blaming me?”

“You leaned in!”

“You turned your head!”

They were talking fast, words stacking on top of each other, but their voices stayed hushed — like they were afraid of breaking the moment if they got too loud.

And somewhere between bickering and smiling, they stopped.

She was watching him now, expression caught between wonder and amusement, like she was seeing something new and precious for the first time. His brows furrowed slightly, the way they always did when he was overthinking — but his eyes never left hers.

She reached out to his face, and cupped his cheeks. Suho swallowed, hands clenching.

She leaned in.

Suho's eyes closed.

She stayed like that — still and quiet, her hands cradling his face like it was something fragile and precious. He let out a shaky breath, eyes still closed, as the tips of their noses bumped just barely. Close enough to feel her giggle before he heard it.

And then—

She pulled back and burst out laughing.

Suho’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

She was already full-on cackling now, clutching her stomach like it hurt, practically folding in half. “You—you closed your eyes!”

He blinked, dumbfounded. “Wh—yeah?? Because I thought you were gonna kiss me?!”

“That was so cute, oh my god,” she giggled, wiping at her eyes. “You were just sitting there like, all ready. Eyes shut. Lips slightly puckered—”

“I wasn’t puckering!”

“You were! Like a little baby bird waiting for a worm!”

“I—okay, first of all—ew?!”

She fell back against the bed, still laughing, and Suho groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

“I hate you,” he mumbled into his palms.

“No you don’t,” she sang back, absolutely glowing with mischief.

He peeked at her through his fingers, red-faced. “You’re the worst.”

She grinned and stuck her tongue out. “You love it.”

That did it.

“Oh, that’s it,” Suho said, tossing his controller aside.

Her smile dropped in mock panic. “Wait—no—Suho—”

“Come here, you menace.”

She shrieked and tried to scramble off the bed, but he was faster. He lunged, catching her around the waist, dragging her down onto the mattress as they both tumbled into a heap of limbs and laughter.

“Apologize!” he demanded through giggles, pinning her wrists above her head with both hands.

“NEVER!” she gasped, breathless with laughter. “You were so ready for that kiss!”

“I swear—! You’re asking for it!”

“What’re you gonna do, Suho? Kiss me for real?”

He paused.

And she froze.

The room went still again, breath caught in both their throats.

They were nose to nose now, chests rising and falling against each other, his hands still loosely holding her wrists against the sheets. Her hair fanned out beneath her, eyes wide but soft, cheeks flushed from laughing. His gaze dropped to her lips — again — and this time, she noticed.

Neither of them moved. Or maybe they did, just barely.

Suho swallowed. “...Don’t tempt me.”

Her breath hitched. “What if I want to?”

That cracked something wide open in him.

He didn’t kiss her, not right away. He just stared — like she was the only real thing in the world. His grip softened, fingers threading between hers. His forehead pressed to hers again.

Then, gently, carefully — he kissed her.

And this time, neither of them pulled away.

Her lips moved against his like she’d been waiting to do this forever. Slow, soft, unsure at first — like they were both still testing the shape of this new thing between them. But it didn’t stay careful for long.

Because the second he tilted his head and kissed her again — deeper this time — something in her melted. Her hands slipped from his grip and slid up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the nape of his neck. Suho groaned, low and barely-there, like the sound slipped out before he could catch it.

She kissed him back, hungry now, matching the rhythm he set — teasing and breathless, pulling him closer with every press of her mouth. And god, he followed. Chest pressed to hers, one hand cupping her jaw while the other anchored itself beside her on the bed, keeping him steady.

Their legs tangled. The fan kept humming in the background, but it may as well have been miles away. All he could hear was the rush in his ears, the soft little sighs she made when his lips slid just barely down to the corner of her mouth — then to her jaw — then back up again.

“Suho,” she whispered between kisses, and his name never sounded like that before — like something tender and necessary.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice husky and frayed, brushing his lips along her bottom lip, just to feel her chase the contact again.

“You’re... really good at this.”

He huffed a quiet laugh against her mouth. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“Rude.”

She smiled into the kiss, and he felt it — all the warmth, all the emotion, all the years of teasing and slow-building feelings that never had a place to land. Until now.

Until this.

He pulled back just a little, hovering over her with his heart thudding loud in his ears. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess against his pillow — and she was looking at him like he’d just given her the moon.

Suho bit back a grin. “Still think I’m a baby bird?”

She smirked. “No. Now I think you’re kind of a menace.”

“I learned from the best.”

And before she could sass him back, he leaned in again, stealing another kiss — messier this time, their noses bumping, hands sliding over warm skin and fabric.

The world blurred at the edges. Time folded in on itself. The game still ran in the background — some bright little pixelated character dancing across the screen — but neither of them remembered it was even there.

It was just them.

Soft mouths and short breaths. Her fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. His palm warm and splayed across her waist. The low, unsteady laugh that left her when he kissed just below her ear.

He pressed his forehead to hers again, barely holding back the grin that kept threatening to spread.

“Okay,” he whispered. “So maybe I was puckering earlier.”

She laughed, eyes bright. “Knew it.”

“And maybe,” he added, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

And then he lunged forward and wrapped her in the tightest hug.

“Suho!” she laughed, squealing as he squeezed her like he was never letting go.

“I’m sorry. I think I have a medical condition called cuteness overload,” he groaned dramatically, burying his face in her shoulder. “You’re too adorable. I’m gonna die.”

“Stop—you're crushing me!”

“No, never. This is how I go. Death by softness. Death by best friend turned crush turned love of my life—”

“SUHO.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her again, nose scrunching from how hard he was grinning.

“I really, really like you,” he said.

She giggled, heart fluttering like a leaf in the wind. “I really, really like you too.”

Suho kept sneaking kisses to her forehead. Her shoulder. The tip of her nose. Like he couldn’t help it.

Every time she laughed, he’d grin so wide it looked like it hurt.

And when the sunlight finally dipped low enough to paint the whole room in warm amber, she sighed into his chest and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

Suho tilted his head, voice soft. “Then let’s stay like this. For as long as we want.”

And in that moment — tangled in old memories, new feelings, and a thousand unspoken promises — it really did feel like forever had already begun.

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

Let's gooo!! I finally wrote Suho! And istg this is the cutest thing!!

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@l5byrinth @m3sty @inom17 @dna-black-and-blue @mizxuqii @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @mwsrphm @maxinehufflepuffprincess @intoanothermind @cayrelyra @coolasiangal123 @mariii-0001 @susuheartsyou @ineed-myspace @ruhaniii @ohtobelovedbyanartist @princessmeowsum @itzcandy

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flwrfields · 5 days ago

Text

SCARS AND SOUVENIRS

After Su-ho falls into a coma, Si-eun is consumed by guilt and isolation, pushing everyone away—even you, the one who stayed. Yeon Si-eun x gn! Reader takes place when Su-ho fell into a coma, mild angst, hurt with comfort, slow burn, it gets lighter towards the end I swear wc: 6k+

an: Hello! This is my first time writing for whc, and I love Si-eun so much (I'm a Si-eun truther fr) anyways, this might be a little study on his psyche after the events of Su-ho, like how it affected him emotionally, physically, and socially. (So this is going to be LONGG) And it makes me wonder how he dealt with that and how someone could possibly help him. I hope you can enjoy this fic!

Edit: this turned out longer than I expected😭 each scenes are separated by a divider!!

It’s strange how guilt works. It consumes unforgivably, and it doesn't matter whether the person deserves it or not.

Si-eun was no exception as he stood transfixed, gazing at Su-ho's motionless body. The rhythmic hiss of the ventilator, the only sound breaking the silence, seemed like a cruel irony—a mechanical substitute for life, barely sustaining Su-ho's fragile existence. The mere thought that his friend might be slipping away, irretrievable, sent a chill down Si-eun's spine, filling him with an unspeakable dread.

How did it all happen so fast? He does not know. It’s beyond his knowledge. No amount of textbooks can give him the answers that he needs.

Because when he finally finds something good, something tangible, he has to be the one to watch it all crumble away.

Si-eun admits he isn’t good with friends.

God, much less a friend group that has an odd mix of people. He, the ‘human calculator’ as the others would comment, you and Beom-seok being the new transferees, and Su-ho, who has made the school his home. He’d grumble, brood, and even nearly stuff his ears with cotton because the combined noises that his three friends made were equal to an entire classroom during break time.

He clung to the memories of those chaotic moments, cherishing every second as if they had occurred yesterday. It felt like an eternity ago when he was desperately trying to keep their group from falling apart. He vividly recalled the struggles of understanding Beom-seok's motives on Young-yi, of restraining both you and Su-ho from making reckless decisions, as the situation spiraled out of control like a runaway train.

The weight of those responsibilities still lingered, making his heart heavy with the burden of what could have been.

Jealousy happened,

Secrets were made.

Punches were landed.

And kicks were delivered to the head.

Now, you and Si-eun were left with the debris of the destruction. Both left to gather the pieces, desperately trying to go back to how it was before. Even when the damage had already been done.

That would have been okay, a lesson-learned moment. Just start again, right? But as you gazed into Si-eun's eyes, you realized that he, too, was spiraling gradually, with his grip on reality being tenuous at best.

And god, how much you wanted a solution to everything. But how could you make one when even Si-eun can’t?

So now, you are here. In a classroom that has become a shell.

Sometimes, if you doze off during a lecture or if you close your eyes a little tighter, you could hear it—the cackles of laughter, the teasing, and the little calculated voice that always comes right after. You can sense it too, in the air, where something or someone is missing. And you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the empty seat next to the door.

You glance around the classroom, feeling a wave of frustration wash over you. Your gaze falls on your classmates, who are chatting and laughing with each other, completely carefree. It's as if they're oblivious to the pain and suffering you and Si-eun endured, like they're living in a different world.

The bitter, awful taste settles in your mouth, like a sour lemon drop dissolving on your tongue. You can't help but wonder how they can be so normal, so indifferent, while you're still reeling from the trauma. It's like they're pretending nothing ever happened, and that's what makes it so infuriating.

But really, it felt like you were on your own with suffering.

You look towards Si-eun, honing in on his textbooks as usual, posture slightly slouched as he takes notes, earbuds stuffed into his ears. From an outsider's view, it just looks like Si-eun being Si-eun.

But for you? There’s tension all around him. The guilt and suffering are too suffocating when you get close. What was once warm between you two has now turned cold and stale. His back faces your front, acting as a wall, and he sits there in front of you like a stranger.

And oh, how it toyed with your heart. Because this was your only friend left.

Young-yi was gone, having distanced herself from your group ever since she saw the state Su-ho was in. It makes sense to stick closer to Si-eun. To figure out a way to slowly mend things. To be there for Su-ho until he wakes up.

But no matter how much you stared, knowing that Si-eun could feel your intense gaze, he would not look back. He would not even acknowledge you.

He left you there in your world. And for the entire day, you switched between staring at the empty pages of your notebook and the empty seat beside the door.

“Si-eun.”

“Si-eun, it’s lunch time, we should get something to eat.”

He hasn’t been eating, you noticed. Like you also noticed the heavy bags under his eyes or how pale and cracked his lips have gotten. He can keep pushing you away if that’s what he wants. But you're firm. You'll wait patiently, ready to offer a lifeline when he's ready to accept it.

He does not say anything. Not even spared you a glance as he took out his earbuds and crossed his arms to lay his head down on the table.

You stood frozen, a statue of silence, as the heavy air between you hung like a challenge.

But you didn’t push. You left and came back to leave snacks on the space beside his head—a silent way of saying that you were still there, and you were going to wait for him to come to you when he was ready.

And that was it.

For weeks, you orbited his world, a constant but invisible presence. Not touching, not speaking, just silently there. And as you gazed at his back, a mix of concern and longing swirled within you, leaving you to wonder if somehow, you could absorb the weight of his guilt. To ease the pain that seemed to pull him down. To set him free.

Si-eun: “Su-ho, today felt just the same as it did weeks ago. I visited your grandmother last night. She’s okay. She told me Young-yi still calls now and then. Dropping by on the rare occasion, and she seems to be okay as well. I’m being transferred to a new school soon after finals. Thankfully, it’s not too far from here. I hope you’re doing well. Wake up soon.”

You and Si-eun would visit the hospital after school.

In reality, though, it felt more like shadowing Si-eun as you followed him. It had been a while since you walked beside him. For some reason, the closeness of that felt too much. It’s like the tension between the two of you would pop if you stayed too close. It made your hands clammy and your jaw tense while you tried to focus on matching his footsteps to ground yourself.

You’re both so painfully aware of each other that it hurts. Breathing the same oxygen, sharing the same memories—and yet he’s so close, but so far. You missed him.

Moments like these, you wished he would say something. Anything. Tell you to leave him alone, or stay, or just acknowledge that you existed in his orbit. That he can still see you.

But he was quiet.

To the hospital, and to the room where Su-ho stayed. He didn’t go inside, though. He stayed outside, typing away on his phone.

He was always like that, you noticed. You’re always the one inside. And maybe it was because the reality of Su-ho's condition was too difficult for Si-eun to confront. Maybe he forced himself to imagine his friend as usual, complaining about the unnecessary hospital stay, or pleading for some seaweed soup.

As Si-eun's thumbs danced across the screen, you suspected that he was sending messages to Su-ho, clinging to the hope that his friend would soon respond, and everything would go back to normal.

“Su-ho, look, your favorite drink was in stock this morning.” You brought Su-ho’s favorite drink this time. You hoped that the mention of it would make him wake up, say something cheesy and teasing while happily accepting the drink.

Sitting down at the cold, hard hospital chair, the drink in one hand, you took in the sight of your motionless friend.

The stillness was unnerving, and you felt an overwhelming urge to leave, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room. The antiseptic smell, a pungent mix of disinfectant and stagnation, hung heavy in the air, making your head spin.

You didn’t want to stay too long. You know Su-ho would hate that too. You also hated the stupid beeping of his heart monitor. It was supposed to be a reassurance, a sign that he was still clinging to life, but to you, it felt like a cruel taunt, a harsh reminder of his fragile state.

Your eyes turned glassy as you recounted the past few weeks. A lump forms in your throat as you tell the struggles of trying to be there for Si-eun, trying to wake him up from the guilt that he buried himself in.

A guilt and suffering so raw and all-consuming that you can feel yourself getting drowned in it too.

You squeezed the drink in your hand as you let out a sob. Your voice became shaky and jumbled. Phrases broke as you tried to make sense of everything. You felt defeated, as the world you once knew was no longer there.

And finally, you fell.

You fell on the fragile structure you made yourself stand in—the structure that you offered to Si-eun as a lifeline for both of you, and a silent plea that you would, and could, carry some of his burdens too. That you and your remaining friend can share the weight of it all.

Sobs shattered your entire body, no longer caring if Si-eun could hear you. You were so tired, so exhausted from keeping your own emotions in check so as not to overwhelm Si-eun with your desperation and weakness.

And as if the universe itself was mocking your despair, it rained hard. The thunderstorm matched the whimpers you let out as you held onto the drink.

You felt nothing. You felt like nothing but the overwhelming buzz of pain and desperation beneath your skin. Your head pounded with the rhythmic sounds of Su-ho’s heart monitor, your eyes blurring and unblurring each time you tried to wipe away the downpour of tears.

Overwhelmed with so much emotion, your mind gave control to your body as you abruptly stood up—the scrape of the chair against the hospital’s floor left unheard as your cries filled the room.

And you did the only thing your body wanted to do.

You ran.

You ran out of the room where your friend was tethered.

You ran away from Si-eun, his worried call of your name falling on deaf ears.

You ran out of the hospital, and in doing so, you abandoned the world you once knew.

The rain welcomed you like you belonged there, underneath the merciless droplets as your clothes became wet and soggy, clinging uncomfortably to your figure as you tried to quell your tears.

You held your chest tightly, trying to breathe and letting the rain wash out your tears. Your legs felt like lead, your body drained from the adrenaline rush that had left you spent.

You felt like sitting and wallowing in your puddle of despair without a care in the world, even if it would ruin your pants, and really, you didn’t mean to be dramatic, but you were just so confused; you and your friends are just a bunch of high schoolers.

The complexity of the situation seemed to mock your naivety, leaving you wondering how something so ordinary could unravel into such chaos.

Before you fell any further, the rain suddenly stopped. You no longer feel the droplets of water hitting your body, and you are left shivering in the cold. Slowly, you turned around

And he was there.

Yeon Si-eun was there. His face contorted to a mix of genuine concern and fear. His dark, doe eyes are glassy, almost begging you to tell him what’s wrong as he shakily holds out an umbrella over your head. You noticed his labored breathing, almost panting.

You wondered if he had chased after you. His clothes were damp, too, and you saw that the umbrella only protected half of his body.

In that moment, the rain-soaked world around you melted away, and all that mattered was the fragile connection between you and Si-eun.

He whispered your name, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, but before he could continue, you interrupted him. Your voice was laced with a mix of emotions—pain, sadness, and a hint of anger.

“Hey, Si-eun.” You gave him a pained smile. Your grin not reaching your eyes as a scoff escaped your lips, a sound that was both bitter and disbelieving. You weren't even sure yourself what emotion was driving it.

“Is this how you feel? Every day?” You asked the question, your voice barely above a whisper.

You stared right back at his eyes, and for once, Si-eun saw the hollowness that yours held. He didn’t reply. He just gazed, his eyes drilling into yours, searching for something, anything, that could explain the void you were carrying.

But he couldn't hold your gaze for long. His eyes wavered, dropping to the wet ground beneath his feet, as if the weight of your words had become too much to bear. Suddenly, he was aware of everything around him—the sound of rain, the feel of the cold air on his skin, the smell of wet clothes clinging to his body, and your disheveled state.

“Look at me, Si-eun.”

He doesn’t, he couldn’t. He’s trying to wrack his mind for something. Something to solve this. Something to fix every—

“I said, look at me when I’m talking to you!”

You grasped his shoulders as you let out another broken plea, the sudden action making him drop the umbrella that was protecting both of you from the rain. The material of his jacket wrinkled under your shaky grip as you looked right into him.

“Su-ho…he’s not gone. He’s still there. You know how strong he is. We both know that.” You lightly shook him as you spoke, as if trying to shake him awake while you broke down in front of him.

“But why, why do I feel like you’re the one who’s gone?”

“I’m right here–”

“No, you’re not!” You cried out in desperation.

And he finally looks. His mouth was slightly agape as he tried to find the right words to say. It was too much for him. The vulnerability that you bared for him. The pain that you held in your eyes, as he could feel every tremor of your hand on his jacket. He realized then that he can’t logic his way out of this.

Because Si-eun had always been the rational one. He solved things, Fixed things. Calculated outcomes and plotted next moves like it was all a chess game. But this..you?.. You weren’t an equation. He couldn’t use his pen. Couldn’t punch it out or bury it in a textbook behind silence. And that terrified him more than anything.

“He’s not coming back any faster, no matter how much you ignore me.”

For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of rain. No umbrellas. No pretense. Just the two of you, soaked and broken, under the weight of what had been lost and what still could be.

You said that last sentence in a whisper. Almost like an ultimatum. You were tired, spent, maybe about to get a fever from the cold and rain. You shakily let go of his shoulders. The sorrow in your eyes returned to its empty state the longer that Si-eun was silent.

Half-expecting him to walk away, you started to leave. Maybe to go back to your home, or a convenience store. You weren’t sure. You just wanted to be away from everything.

But before your second step even landed, you felt it. His hand wraps gently around your wrist, lightly squeezing as if begging you not to go. Not yet.

You hated that you stopped. Hated that part of you still wanted him to stop you. That some fragile, stubborn corner of your heart had hoped he’d reach for you. Just once. Just this once. Even after what you went through to finally get to him. This was your last prayer, whispered in silence.

And he heard it. Not in words, not even in the tremble of your breath, but in the way your wrist stilled under his touch, not pulling away. And the air between you was thick with everything you didn’t say. Every apology left unspoken. Every moment lost in hesitation. His hand was still on yours, unsure, as if he was still trying to figure out whether he had the right to hold you there. Or maybe he had already lost that right long ago.

But he held on anyway.

His hand remained on your wrist. Warm and almost grounding.

“Don’t go.” It sounded like a plea. Soft and wavering and so unlike the Si-eun you knew.

“I know I don’t deserve to ask that.” He added. Catching his breath for a moment while you silently listened. “After everything.”

Si-eun was aware of what he did when he distanced himself from you, his last friend. He can practically feel the desperation in your voice whenever you try to talk to him. Or every time you left food on his desk when lunchtime rolled around at school. He knew the turmoil that you were also quietly suffering in, and how his guilt slowly turned into your guilt, and his sorrow became your sorrow.

Your silence urged him to continue.

“I thought if I kept you away..I wouldn’t break anything more than I already had.” You can hear how much it cost him to say those words. He was hesitant; you can feel it in the way his grip on your wrist wavered. It was almost as if he wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to go. He won’t force you to stay.

And that’s what undid you.

You turned. You finally looked at him and you saw his eyes, red, puffy, and tired. His face was flushed from how freezing it was to stay in the rain. He looked like a boy. It made you realize how messed up all of this was. Both of you were too small for a world so big, and the burdens too heavy to carry for some high schoolers who were supposed to be reviewing for the next exam.

“I wasn’t asking you to fix anything, Si-eun.”

“I know. I see that now”

“What happened to Su-ho… It wasn’t your fault.”

He was stunned by that. His lips slightly quivered from the cold or your words, he wasn’t sure. It felt like a dam finally broke within him. And with it came silent tears. Not loud, not visible at first. Just the kind that slipped quietly from his eyes, mingling with the rain on his cheeks. The kind of crying that looked more like surrender than sorrow. A collapse too quiet to be noticed unless someone was looking.

You were.

The wound was still fresh on him, seeing Su-ho stuck on that bed became his daily nightmare, and what he did out of revenge didn’t make it any better.

For a moment, you pulled away from him and bent down to pick up the discarded umbrella, bringing it over both of you, even though you and Si-eun were already soaked to the bone.

“You don’t have to go through it alone, Si-eun.”

Finally, it feels like a weight has been lifted off both you and Si-eun. It wasn’t completely gone, of course. The pressure and the mark it left stayed there as both you and Si-eun went about your days. After that moment in the rain, you felt like you cracked his walls a little. Hope was renewed, and you had something new to cling to.

A silent routine fell between you. In the early mornings, you both walked to school, always meeting at an intersection before continuing up the street. Sometimes you would ask how he is or if he has eaten breakfast. He would do a one-word answer that was typical of him or just nod at what you’re saying.

It wasn’t like before when there was Su-ho, Beom-seok, or even Young-yi. The rowdiness of your once-friend group has left something peaceful. You missed all of it, of course. But change was change, and you accepted this one, albeit reluctantly.

You’d always admired him. His sharp mind, his laser-like focus, the way he could tune out the entire world for the sake of a problem set. It was impressive. Annoyingly so. He was the kind of student who made teachers beam and classmates groan.

But Jesus, did he ever stop?

Your physics teacher was deep in a monotonous rant about projectile motion, gravity, and God knows what else, his voice dragging across the room like nails on a chalkboard made of sleep deprivation. Meanwhile, you were locked in a life-or-death battle to keep your head from surrendering to gravity in the most literal sense. One more droning equation and you were going to face-plant into your desk, no hesitation.

So, naturally, your only reasonable option to stay alert and awake?

Challenge Si-eun, distract the genius. Stir the unshakable.

Si-eun, for his part, was completely focused. He took down notes as the lecture went on. Ignoring everything and everyone around him. It has been a while since the noise in his head finally settled. He started to sleep a little easier now, and he no longer felt too bitter about switching schools with you. Besides, he could still visit Su-ho as the hospital was a walking distance away from the building and—

Thwack!

A crumpled piece of paper nailed him right on the back of the head. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to derail whatever train of thought he was riding and bring it crashing into the station. The paper hit his collar, bounced, then rolled dramatically down his shoulder before falling onto the floor.

Si-eun blinked. Pen paused mid-stroke. He didn't even need to look back.

There was only one person bold enough to mess with him during a lecture like this.

You.

And God help you, you were grinning.

You were already leaning forward by the time he straightened up, chin propped lazily on your hand, an innocent expression on your face that was anything but innocent. Your eyes met the back of his head like you were waiting for him to combust. You can see it. The way his attention wavered, and he stopped drawing stupid diagrams. Days with Si-eun no longer felt cold or heavy. Things were finally starting to get better.

And there is no way in hell he is going to continue listening to how Newton just made math even more complicated.

When he didn’t turn around, you leaned in closer, voice just above a whisper. “Hey, Einstein.”

And finally, Si-eun sighed through his nose, eyes flicking toward the crumpled paper now lying sadly on the floor like a fallen soldier. He could already predict what would happen next.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you asked, blinking. “I haven’t even said anything.”

“You’re thinking loud enough.”

A grin curled at your lips, mischievous and playful. Just the fact he was entertaining you with banter was already more brownie points for you. You have him hooked. “Good. Saves me the trouble of whispering.”

Still no turn. Still scribbling notes. Classic Si-eun. So you upped the ante.

You gently tapped the back of his chair with your foot. Once. Then again. A steady rhythm before you decide to drop the greatest idea you've ever had.

“I’m bored. You’re overachieving. It’s raining. Let’s skip.”

Now he turned. Just slightly. Head tilting enough to give you the meanest side-eye to ever exist as if to question your entire being. So, you responded in kind with a raise of your brow as if challenging him. He only blinked before letting out a sigh.

“You want me to skip class. Physics, of all things. To do what exactly?”

Finally. “Convenience store run. Ramyeon, hot canned coffee, maybe strawberry milk if you’re feeling nostalgic. You, me, fluorescent lights, freedom.”

You gave him a playful wink, your fingers drumming against the desk steadily and loud enough because you were trying to distract him from the teacher’s announcement of an upcoming quiz, and you weren’t losing your progress of finally getting back your friend. The bond was a little shaky, but you decided that baby steps were better than nothing.

In reality, though, Si-eun already knew about that quiz. It was announced a week ago during a lecture where you were fast asleep on your table. Drooling.

“Tempting,” he muttered, but you caught the flicker of amusement behind his eyes.

“I know you’re hungry,” you added, nudging his chair one more time. “And don’t lie and say you’re not, because your stomach made a noise two minutes ago. It sounded like a dying bear.”

“That was your pen falling.”

“No, that was my patience falling.”

He gave you a long, exasperated look—but it didn’t reach his eyes. No, there was something else there. The smallest tug at the corner of his mouth. A softening. You could almost see the scales tipping, and it only made you grin even wider. Suddenly, you didn’t care about what was happening around you. Not when you finally find that little smile that you have been working on to bring back.

And then you said, more quietly this time, “Come on, Si-eun. Just one break. The world won’t fall apart if you breathe for forty-five minutes.”

A peaceful quiet sat between you for a second. He knew what you meant, and you didn’t have to say it. He’d been carrying too much. Always pushing and enduring. There were times he would go back to his self-wallowing, where he would still accidentally push you away, and studying has always been his escape.

But today, you were offering something else. A moment outside the pressure, the guilt, the relentless pace of trying to be okay.

He looked down at his open notebook, the half-finished diagram of an arcing projectile staring back at him like it, too, was trying to convince him to stay.

And then he exhaled. A quiet, almost imperceptible surrender, and he began packing up his things.

You blinked. Leaning over his shoulder to confirm what you were witnessing, “Wait… seriously?”

“You want to go or not?” he said, zipping up his bag without meeting your eyes. “Before I change my mind and remember I have a conscience.”

You shot up from your seat, already grabbing your bag. “You had a conscience?”

“Don’t push it.”

Thankfully, the teacher didn’t care. Si-eun was transferring, and he is an excellent student on his own.

And you..well, you’re transferring with him.

The sun slanted low through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the dusty shelves. The library was near silent, the kind of quiet that felt sacred, like even time had been asked to hold its breath as students slowly filtered out of the library until it’s just you, Si-eun, and a handful of other students who buried their noses into books.

You sat across from Si-eun at one of the back tables, your notebooks spread out in disorganized chaos, while his were stacked neatly, probably even color-coded by subject, knowing him. Between the two of you were a handful of empty candy wrappers from the snacks you'd brought. Well, mostly for yourself..Si-eun had eaten two, while you’d somehow managed six. You weren’t sure why you were keeping count.

The original plan was simple: study together, then head out to visit Su-ho at the hospital. That was the plan, anyway.

But at some point, the words on the pages had begun to blur.

Si-eun leaned back in his chair slightly, brows furrowed in focus, scribbling notes into the margin of his textbook. You were supposed to be solving a physics problem, but instead, you watched him and the way the sunlight caught in the strands of his hair, how his mouth moved just slightly when he read in his head.

Has he always looked like this?

Peaceful and just absorbed in his world, but not in a bad way. You felt some pride to see how much you and he have improved compared to a few weeks ago, and Si-eun’s resilience was one of the things you admire about him.

Until you couldn’t tell where admiration ended and something else began.

You didn’t mean to speak. It just... slipped out.

“You look peaceful like this.”

His pen paused mid-stroke.

He didn’t look up immediately. You could see his shoulders tense slightly and the way his eyes blinked once, then twice, like he’d heard something he wasn’t sure he was supposed to. Because it wasn’t one of the things he predicted you would say. Maybe another convenience run to abandon all school work. But not..this.

A long moment passed.

“I’m just studying,” he said finally, voice low, almost cautious, his words carefully picked out.

“I know. That’s what makes it weird,” you replied, a soft tease in your voice to disguise the trembling truth underneath as you continued to look at him. Like, really…look. To others, it’s creepy and a little unnerving. But for you? You were just appreciating him. His doe eyes, the long flutter of his lashes, and the gentle slope of his n—

He glanced up now, eyes catching yours, and the look there was unreadable. Careful, guarded. Like, he wasn’t sure what page you were both suddenly on. But it felt like at that moment, you were sure you knew where you wanted to be.

You leaned forward just a little, elbows on the table, fingers grazing the edge of his notes.

“You don’t let yourself rest much,” you said. “Not really. But right now… You look like you can breathe.”

Si-eun blinked, clearly thrown by the tenderness in your tone.

He opened his mouth. Maybe to change the subject, maybe to deflect with sarcasm or just deadpan at you and throw something monotonous and witty—but then he stopped. Closed it again. The moment felt too raw, too vulnerable, and he knew he wasn’t good with moments like these.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. Something new and foreign, and Si-eun doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

Hesitantly, he lets that feeling consume him.

“I don’t know how to anymore,” he admitted quietly. “Breathe, I mean. Not unless it’s for someone else’s sake.”

The words landed between you like a confession. Raw and unguarded. And you blinked slowly at him, as if trying to process the words he just said.

You let the silence settle, not awkward, but reverent. You reached forward, slowly, and placed your hand beside his on the table. Not touching. Just there. Close enough to feel the warmth that radiated off of him. Just close. Close enough to feel the quiet warmth radiating from his skin. There had been no tension before, but now it hummed softly between you, fragile and electric.

And in that moment, you knew everything between you and Si-eun was about to change.

He looked down at your hand that was beside his. He felt frozen in his place, unsure of what to do next.

“You don’t always have to hold everything alone,” you said. “I seriously meant what I said a few weeks ago. You don’t have to go through it alone, Si-eun.”

“I know.”

It was a Thursday.

Nothing remarkable about it, at least on the surface. It was the kind of day that existed simply to pass time, quietly folding itself into the end of the week.

The halls had emptied hours ago. On days like these, students tend to want to leave a lot earlier. Friday was just tomorrow, after all.

But for you and Si-eun, it was just another day closer to getting transferred. To start anew. Or even better, another day wherein both of you could stay longer in Su-ho’s room and do your homework there.

But today?

You woke up feeling different. Not your usual happy self. You figured it was just one of those days where the air felt heavy, and some things around you reminded you of the reality that you lived in. An empty seat beside the door, or the fact that you still held so much concern for Beom-seok.

It made you feel sick.

The entire day went by in a blur, and you just lay down on your crossed arms, trying to cover your ears to subtly muffle the noise around you. Even Si-eun noticed it.

He noticed you.

Your clipped and short answers. Your blank stare outside the window of the classroom. The way you barely touched your food.

So he came up with an excuse.

At the end of the class, he made you sit down with your books while he offered to guide you through your homework. Something about kinetic energy and inclined planes, but your brain was too tired to cooperate. Too full of everything else. Everything unspoken.

Everything you had been holding in was like water behind a dam. Breathing became a chore, and blinking became too tiresome.

You sat together in the corner of the classroom, desks pushed together, books open but long forgotten.

You weren’t sure what was heavier. The ache in your chest or the silence between you. But you weren’t trying to solve the problems anymore, and neither was he. His pencil had stopped moving ten minutes ago when he noticed you were no longer listening and saw the subtle quiver of your lips on his peripheral vision.

You sat in that quiet, not strained, but fragile. And you were the first to shift.

Your hand brushed his, accidentally at first. Then… not.

He didn’t move away.

His hand was warm, a little rough, as if the world had asked too much of him too young. But it grounded you. The moment you felt it, the weight and reality of it? Something inside you cracked open. You hadn’t realized how much you needed something steady until it was there. Until he was there. This... was his way of carrying your burdens, too.

You didn’t say anything.

Words felt like they’d cheapen it.

Instead, you let your body speak the truth your mouth couldn’t form. You leaned, slowly, carefully, until your head came to rest against Si-eun’s shoulder.

At first, he went still. Rigid.

He didn’t know how to do this, how to be this. A safe place. Not when he was used to being sharp edges and deadly intelligence, used to carrying his grief and guilt like armor.

But then you sighed. Barely audible, a breath more than a sound, and something in him shifted.

He let you stay.

He let himself want it.

And in doing so, he finally made peace, albeit briefly, with the storm inside him.

The vulnerability still frightened him, though. That you could see through him like this. That you knew he wasn’t always strong. That there were parts of him still bleeding, still unsure. He didn’t know what this meant, what you meant—but for the first time, he didn’t want to shut the feeling down. He didn’t want to retreat into his silence.

Because you too felt like a safe place for him amidst the trauma that you and he shared.

You made sense in a way that terrified him.

And as he sat there, your head warm against his shoulder, your breaths slowing, your fingers still close enough to find his again if you wanted to, he realized something he hadn’t dared put into words until now.

He didn’t want to let go of this.

He didn’t want to let go of you.

And it scared him more than anything, how right it all felt.

How much the two of you made sense.

Anddd that’s it! Thank you soso much for reaching the end!! My phone and laptop were lagging like crazy trying to edit this so I tried to make it as readable as possible for everyone😭 I went thru about three revisions but if there’s any wrong grammar im so sorry!! dividers by: @/uzmacchiato

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flwrfields · 6 days ago

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ᅠحبᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ▎ᅠ▋ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ🏯ᅠᅠ👩🏽‍🦳 ᅠ＼／ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤ᅠᅠᅠᅠꓺᅠᅠᅠ🛅 ᅠحبيبي

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flwrfields · 6 days ago

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˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚.📷⋆𖧧

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flwrfields · 6 days ago

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divider by; @enchanthings-a

note; I SCREAMED WHEN I SAW HIS STORY😭😭🥹🥹. HE USED SABRINA CARPENTER TOO??? EXHALE FROM THE SINGULAR ACT II ALBUM. ilovehimsomuchicantwhatthefuckonechanceplease.

#* 🦢 aiko posts !#* 🖇️ aiko's moodboard #* 🪾 jihoon #park jihoon #wanna one park jihoon #wanna one #grey moodboard #light grey moodboard #soft y2k moodboard #Spotify

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flwrfields · 6 days ago

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BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS • Y.SE

a/n: UGH I MISS WHC. i wanna rewatch it but it won't be the like the first time i watched it. i love yeon si-eun, i love park ji-hoon. idk if i used the initials right so PLEEEASE correct it if it's wrong, thank youuu!!

warnings: mediocre writing, fluff fluff, lowercase intended, kinda short, reader loves sleeping (twins)

~ he is an absolute softie when you two are alone. he would definitely smile freely whenever you do something sweet!! when you crack a joke, he lets out a few sarcastic comments and, maybe, a chuckle. if you cling onto him, he'd let you — he might even hug you if he isn't tired from studying. but, if ever he is tired, he would melt into your touch.

~ he says that he doesn't need you to treat his wounds after fights, but he actually hopes you don't listen to him and do it anyway. after he gets into a fight, he'll definitely be in need of your touch. your touch is basically medicine to him. bandages and you are the best things he can ever have after a rough beating.

~ he holds your hand under the table whenever he gets the chance. if you're close enough and nobody's paying attention to the two of you, he'd interlock your pinkies. eventually, he'll hold your hand fully, occasionally squeezing it. sometimes, if you're speaking/rambling about something, he'd squeeze your hand to show that he's listening (OH, MY HEART).

~ if you're both in an exam and you're struggling with a question, he'll sigh and trace the letter of the correct answer on his desk, making sure you can see it. when you confront him about it, he'll say that he just doesn't want to see you fail, which is true, but he just doesn't want to see you struggle on things. he says that he won't help you again, then you find him helping you the next exam.

~ he texts dry, but those dry texts of his always have a hint of emotion — depending on the situation.

| "si-eunnn, im hungry :("

| "okay."

after a few minutes or so, you'll hear your doorbell ring and see him holding a plastic bag full of food. "i got your favorite." he says, slightly holding up the bag to show you. he comes in when you let him, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter. there's familiar moments like these and are always wholesome.

~ when you're asleep on your desk, he'll secretly look at you with a stare he's never given anyone before. he tries to look away, but his eyes always revert back to you. if someone's too loud, he'd give them a glare and check if you woke up.

~ he shares his airpods with you, letting you listen along to his music. he'll listen to a playlist that you two created, so it'll be a mix of his music taste and yours.

~ on the bus ride to school, he allows you to rest your head on his shoulder, knowing that you love sleeping during rides. when you fall asleep, he tries his best to not move too much — he doesn't want to disrupt your beauty sleep. if the bus arrives at school, he wakes up in the most gentle way. he lightly shakes your shoulder, tilting his head to see your face. after you wake up, he has a faint smile on his face.

#* 🦢 aiko posts !#* 🍒 aiko's works !#* 🖋️ sieun #yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #weak hero yeon sieun #weak hero class one #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class two #weak hero class 2 #I LOVE HIM #oml hes so AHWJEHEJSH

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flwrfields · 6 days ago

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◦˚~ 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!

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flwrfields · 7 days ago

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can I request a fem reader who loves taking care of sieun? They’re in a pretty new relationship and it isn’t like she pities him but more because it’s her love language!! Gift giving and quality time.

So reader loves memorizing every little thing about sieun down to his stationary,,(yes the pens are refilled by her) would even stay up with him while studying!

She’s very used to that routine and knowing sieun he would probably still be new to the relationship so often times he isn’t able to give back to reader as much and she’s really and insists that payment would be for him to smile just a little!!

So maybe one day sieun finally does something for reader that completely takes her aback and has her falling in love with him again!!

Im so so sorry if this was long!!! But I love your whc fics so much I’m excited for more!!

the night he noticed | yeon sieun x fem!reader

summary: she's memorized every pen refill, every yawn, every page turn. But the night he tells her—in the only way he knows—that he's memorized her too, becomes the moment everything changes.

warnings: [established relationship] comfort, slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort

author's note: i don't know what to feel about this. requests ,,

there was something deeply comforting about the quiet between them. it wasn’t empty, nor was it awkward. it was the type of silence that wrapped itself around them like a soft blanket—the kind of hush that existed only between people who didn’t need to fill the air to feel seen.

she sat beside him, her legs tucked under her on the floor of his room, surrounded by books, scattered notes, and the quiet tapping of his mechanical pencil. the overhead light was dimmed, casting a gentle glow that didn’t interfere with concentration but still allowed them to see one another when they glanced up. it was late—later than most would stay up willingly—but she was used to that. used to this.

his pen clicked once, then twice. she reached over before he could do it again, switching it out for a refilled one. he blinked and looked at her, only briefly, but she saw the thanks in his eyes. he never said much, not in the beginning. words weren’t his strength, and she’d learned early that the language he spoke best was one of restraint and observation. so she’d adapted. she had learned him.

every pen refill, every extra highlighter, every back-up graph sheet tucked into his folder—those were her ways of loving him. staying up when her eyes begged for sleep, just to make sure he wasn’t alone in his intensity, was her routine. not because she had to. because she wanted to. because somewhere in the middle of library tables and coffee-fueled all-nighters, she had fallen for him. not the way people usually did. she didn’t fall for his silence, or despite it. she fell into it. and learned how to love inside it.

she didn’t expect things in return. she knew he wasn’t like her. he wasn’t wired to recognize the little things, let alone mirror them. that was okay. all she ever asked for was a smile. just a small one. and even that, she never pressed for. sometimes it happened, and when it did—it felt like the sun.

tonight, though, felt different.

he was writing, yes, focused like always. but there was something off about the way he glanced at her. more frequent. as if he were trying to say something without saying it. she didn’t comment. she only shifted, brushing a stray sticky note from his leg.

"you missed dinner," she said quietly.

he paused, then shrugged.

"you didn’t eat either," he replied.

she smiled softly. “didn’t want to leave you alone.”

he hummed, barely audible. then went back to writing.

minutes passed. maybe more. time moved strangely in their little cocoon. eventually, he closed the textbook, sliding it aside. she blinked at him, surprised.

“you done for the night?” she asked.

he didn’t answer. not directly.

instead, he stood up and disappeared briefly into the hallway. she heard faint sounds from the kitchen. her eyebrows furrowed.

when he returned, he held a small tray. a bowl of rice porridge—simple, warm, and clearly homemade. next to it, a mug of ginger tea. she stared at it, stunned.

"i didn’t know how to make much," he said, eyes down. “but i remembered you said your stomach hurts when you skip meals.”

her heart stilled.

he didn’t sit back down immediately. just stood there awkwardly, almost uncomfortable with himself. his ears were flushed, just barely.

she took the tray slowly, reverently. cradled it in her lap.

“you made this?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded. “i watched a video. checked the ingredients. made sure it wasn’t too salty.”

she blinked quickly, trying not to let tears pool in her eyes.

“i didn’t think you noticed,” she said. “about the stomachaches.”

“i notice more than i say.”

that was it. just that. but to her, it was everything.

she took a spoonful, the warmth of it somehow extending beyond the bowl and into her chest. it wasn’t perfect—but it didn’t need to be. the care in it was unmistakable.

“i memorize things too,” he said, quietly, almost defensively. “not like you. not as often. but i do.”

her throat tightened.

“i know you set out my pens by color,” he continued, eyes not meeting hers. “and that you refill them even when i don’t notice. i know you only drink that strawberry milk after 2 a.m. i know you leave your charger half-unplugged because you don’t like sparks.”

she covered her mouth with one hand, heart in her throat.

“i just don’t always know what to do with the things i notice,” he said finally. “but i’m trying.”

she put the tray aside and crawled across the space between them. he didn’t look up until her hands were cupping his face, gently.

his eyes, always so guarded, softened instantly.

“you don’t have to do anything with them,” she whispered. “just remembering is already more than enough.”

he leaned slightly into her touch. she felt him sigh—really sigh—for the first time in weeks.

“i wanted to give back,” he murmured.

“you did,” she replied, voice thick. “you are.”

she kissed his forehead, soft and slow.

that night, she stayed a little closer than usual. her head on his shoulder, his hand awkwardly but intentionally resting against hers. they didn’t speak again. they didn’t need to.

in the quiet, he noticed her. and finally, she knew—he always had.

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flwrfields · 7 days ago

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Dating Yeon Sieun Headcanons

Yeon Sieun x Female!Reader

He leaves you for Ahn Suho

yeon sieun oneshot | weak hero masterlist

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flwrfields · 9 days ago

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snoopy of the day

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flwrfields · 9 days ago

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Hii ! I'm a huge fan of your works! I really love the way u write and how every story isn't boring even if it is long 😭

Anywaysss, can you pls write a weak hero ahn suho x bullied reader? You can plan the whole story, i just really want to see that dynamic 😩😩 Thank you !

Headcanon of Ahn Su-ho as a Boyfie

Ahn Su-ho x GN!reader

"It's dangerous to love me, because I become dangerous to those who hurt you. I'm not perfect. But I'll always know where to strike if someone hurts you."- Ahn Su-ho

..................................................................................

→Prologue: A Look in Silence

You no longer remember the exact moment he started to stay.

Perhaps it was that day, when your fist was bloody and your eyes were red from holding back too many words. You didn't scream. You don't scream. You hit, you withdraw, then you collapse, ashamed to have given in to that rage again.

And him. He was there. Ahn Su-ho. He hadn't touched you. Hadn't lectured you. Hadn't looked at you like the others.

Just that silence. A silence that was neither empty nor uncomfortable. His is made of listening. Of that kind of present calm, like a tree planted in the middle of a storm. You didn't yet know what that meant.

But he stayed.

→Silent Preamble: The Gaze Before Words

He noticed you before you even realized it. Not like one notices someone charming or intriguing. Not with curiosity. No. It was something else. A form of recognition.

Ahn Su-ho has a way of looking at people without staring, but of reading them. As if he's looking for flaws, not to exploit them, but to quietly slip in some gentleness. He saw you lower your eyes one too many times. He heard the voices around you, those that sneer, those that hurt, even if you pretended not to hear them. He saw your fist clench in your pocket, your nails digging into your palm. He felt the rage. And the exhaustion. And that loneliness that sticks to your skin.

He said nothing. Not that day.

He just left a soda can on the bench for you as he left. Without looking at you. As if it were nothing. As if you were someone who deserved things to be left for them, even in silence.

→The Silences Between You

Su-ho isn't a big talker. But he speaks all the time, in other ways.

In the way he always waits for you to go through the door first, as if he knows your body has learned to tense in every hallway. In his hands that discretely close when you clench your fists, as if he wants to offer you an anchor without forcing it on you.

When you say "I can't take it anymore," he doesn't say "I understand." He says: "Come."

And sometimes, that's all. You come. You sit next to him, back against the wall or shoulder against the bench, and you say nothing. But in his silences, there is space. For your exhaustion, your shame, your hatred. He doesn't dismiss them, doesn't try to erase them. He stays. He takes it with you. He offers you his tranquility like a shelter you don't need to earn.

You didn't know it was possible to be loved like that. Without conditions. Without an instruction manual. Without mandatory healing.

→The Kind of Boy He Is

Ahn Su-ho isn't made of grand words. He's not a poet, nor a man of fiery promises. He's made of gestures. Of strong arms and silent embraces. Of chin taps on the top of your head, of hands that caress your neck when words fail. He looks at you as if he knows. As if he knows what you feel, even when you say nothing. And often, you say nothing.

He senses when things are wrong. He senses it before you do. And it eats at him.

He's the kind of boy who'd rather get hurt himself than see you fall. The one who endures, the one who laughs while masking the worry in his eyes. Su-ho always smiles, but that smile, you learn to decipher it. You see the nights when he's more tense, when his hands tremble ever so slightly when he touches you. Not out of fear. Not for him. For you.

He's tactile, Su-ho. As soon as you enter the room, he pulls you close. His hand slides naturally to your waist, his forehead rests against yours. He whispers absurd things to you, just to hear your laugh. And when you don't laugh, he insists. He doesn't give up. He doesn't like to lose, especially when it comes to making you feel better.

But sometimes, he can't win. Not against everything. Not against how you feel about yourself.

→When You Break

One evening, you come home covered in marks. The ones teachers ignore, the ones you didn't look for, but can't explain without hearing that you deserve them. You want to break everything. Your world, your own reflection, his kindness most of all.

He's there. On the edge of the bed. He was waiting for you. Not like waiting for an explanation. Like waiting for a fall.

You scream. Not at him. Not really. At yourself, at the injustice. You accuse him of staying, when he should leave. You tell him you're worthless, that you'll hurt him, that you're not sure you won't end up like them. That you're too angry. Too broken.

And he doesn't flinch. He gets up. He takes you in his arms. Tightly. Not like a caress. Like a dam. You hit his chest, just once, just enough for your shoulder to give way, and for the tears to finally come.

And you cry. And he holds you tight. And you feel that he, too, is trembling. That he, too, is afraid. Not of you. Of losing you.

→When He Learns

That day, he says nothing. You expected a scream. An explosion. You knew Su-ho doesn't accept harm coming to the people he loves.

He clenches his jaw. He lowers his eyes. He turns his head. He just says: "Is it recent?"

And you don't know what to answer. Because shame sticks in your throat.

So you brace yourself for him to say something brutal. Protective. Or foolish. You expect him to want to settle it with his fists. But he does none of that. He sits down, slowly. He sighs. He looks at you.

And he says:

— I'm sorry this is happening to you.

Not: "I'm going to beat them up." Not: "Why didn't you tell me?" Not: "You should defend yourself."

Just: "I'm sorry."

And in that sentence, there is the powerlessness of a boy who wants to remake the world, but who knows that the only thing he can give you is tenderness. And constancy.

He doesn't ask questions. But that night, he stays closer than usual. He lets you cry if you want to. Scream if you want to. Or remain silent, curled up, covered in cold rage.

He's there. And he doesn't move.

But the next day he doesn't stay there, frozen, his back straight as a taut wire. He blinks slowly. Then he gets up, without a word.

You try to hold him back. You say it's pointless. That it's not a big deal. That you can handle it. These are lies, and you both know it. You see his fists clench, his knuckles whiten.

"You're not leaving me a choice," he says. It's calm. Too calm. A storm before it strikes.

He returns later, out of breath, knuckles red. He doesn't talk about what he did. He never will. But you know. And he knows you know. He kneels before you, places his forehead against your stomach, breathes slowly. And then, he says:

"You shouldn't have endured that alone. You shouldn't have thought I would have left you like that."

→The Days After

He acts as if nothing has changed, but everything is different. You can no longer hide your anger. You can't anymore. And when it explodes, you scream. You tremble. You throw words like knives.

And him? He stays. He takes it. He doesn't flee. He doesn't retaliate.

One day, you break down after screaming. You say you're sorry. That you're broken. That you're afraid of hurting people. That you no longer believe in yourself. That you don't even believe anyone can truly love you.

He holds you against him. So tightly you think he wants to melt into your skin.

"Do you think I love you because you're nice, or pretty? No. I love you because you're real. You've survived things others couldn't have endured. You're standing. You're still fighting. You're strong in a way others will never understand."

→The Beginning: Loving Without Hurting

Su-ho isn't the type to say "I love you." At least, not with words. He has a way of gently putting down his keys when he comes home, of making space for you next to him on the couch without forcing you to sit there. He never asks: "Are you okay?" He asks: "Do you want some ramen?" And in that question, there's everything he doesn't dare to say yet.

He understood very quickly that you don't trust. Not him, not others, not even your own judgment. You observe too much. You doubt too much. You expect people to leave, or hit, or laugh. So he never forces you. He learns your map in small steps, like taming ground cracked by too many tremors.

He is patient. With a patience that isn't obvious, because it doesn't need to exist in drama. He's just there, simply. He waits for you. He doesn't flee when you scream. He doesn't recoil when you despise yourself. He stays. That's his way of loving.

→How He Loves

He kisses you without warning. When you laugh. When you cry. When you look at him without knowing why you love him so much.

He sleeps glued to you. Arm around your waist, leg thrown over yours. Sometimes he talks in his sleep. Sometimes he whispers your name.

When you have nightmares, he wakes up before you. He feels it. He pulls you against him, his chest against your back, his hand slipped against your chest to remind you that you're there. That you're alive.

He shares his favorite dish with you without complaining. And yet, God knows he eats a lot. But when you're not hungry and just need a bite, he comes close to you, spoon extended, tender gaze.

"Eat, just a little. For me."

→The Tiny Gestures That Say "I Love You"

He's the kind of guy who notices when you change shampoo but only says it a week later, as if it was a thought he kept warm for when you'd need it. He folds your clothes when you leave them lying around, but never with a disapproving look. He learns the days when you can't stand to be touched, and the ones when you need an arm around you.

He makes mental lists of everything that makes you feel good. And he offers you fragments of them, every day. A piece of sky. A specific candy. A song he didn't like, but that reminds him of your laugh.

He never says "I love you" like they do in movies. He gives it to you. In thin slices. In comforting warmth. In reassuring silences.

→When He Doubts

Sometimes he thinks he's not good enough for you. That he's only good for fighting, for being strong. Not refined enough to understand your darkest thoughts. He feels helpless in the face of your inner world.

But he never tells you directly.

You see it in his silences. In the times he looks at you without speaking, his throat tight. In those moments when he falls silent, not because he has nothing to say, but because he doesn't want to say the wrong thing.

So he does what he knows how to do. He takes your hand. He massages your shoulders. He carries you on his back when you say you're too tired to go home. He offers you his sweatshirt because he says you always look cold, even when it's hot.

And he looks at you. As if you're all that matters.

→The Fear in His Own Silence

But he has his own cracks. And you see it, sometimes. In his silences heavier than usual. In his eyes that seek a fixed point on the ground. In his gestures that slow down. He's afraid of not being enough. Not strong enough. Not good enough. Not strong enough to thwart your demons.

He smiles, but it's an apologetic smile. One that says: "I wish I could do more."

He loves you, but he doesn't always believe it's enough.

And you realize it. And that day, it's you who steps forward. You take his hand. You don't say much. But he understands.

He understands that you're staying. And that, too, is love.

→Finally, Balance: Two Tired Warriors

You don't save each other. You don't fix each other. But you stand upright, leaning against each other, in a world that often tried to make you bend.

And some evenings, you don't talk. You listen to the silence. You breathe at the same rhythm. And that's enough.

It's enough for one of you to say the next day:

— Do you want some ramen?

And for the other to reply:

— Yeah. But stay with me while it heats up.

And he stays. Always.

→The Soothing

With Su-ho, it's never perfect. He makes mistakes. Sometimes he forgets. Sometimes he talks too loudly. Sometimes he gets angry because he worries too much.

But he always comes back. Always. And he apologizes with actions. With arms that hold you so tightly you forget the world. With "I'm here" whispered over and over until your heart stops hurting.

He looks at you like a sanctuary. Like something too precious to be broken again.

And you, you learn. You learn to love yourself a little. Because he loves you enough for two. Because he believes in you even when you're down. Because he fights, not just against others, but to teach you that you deserve love.

And if one day you forget that, he reminds you. With his hands, his simple words, his presence.

With Su-ho, you never need to doubt for long.

Because he's the boy who fights. For himself. For you. For both.

→Learning "Us"

Su-ho doesn't want to change you. He wants to understand you. He wants to learn your language. Not just your words, but your silences, your blind spots, your non-verbal scars. He learns, slowly, how to comfort you without suffocating you. How to be present without overwhelming you.

He makes mistakes. He knows it. He gives you space when you want him to stay. He sometimes stays when you just wanted to be alone. But he apologizes. Always. Without drama. He learns. He grows with you, not for you.

And you, you discover that anger can melt. That you can be afraid and still move forward. You don't change. Not right away. But you take steps towards him. Towards yourself.

→The Future

You don't know what you'll become. But you know that when you look in the mirror today, you hear his voice in your head: "You're still here. And so am I. That's all that matters."

And you find yourself smiling. Not because you're healed. Because you're on your way. And someone is waiting for you on the other side.

Someone like Ahn Su-ho. The one who loves without a sound, but with all the strength in the world.

............................* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊

Moments with You":

→Between the Hours

Su-ho works late. Most nights, or almost. He takes odd jobs after school: cooking in a small restaurant, deliveries on the city's damp streets, his hands tired, his pockets rarely full. He doesn't do it for himself. He doesn't tell you, but you know he's thinking about tomorrow. About the two of you. About what you could build if the days weren't so short.

But even when he comes home late, he never comes home without a smile. Not forced. Just soft. He pushes the door open, sets his bag down, and the first thing he does is kiss you. A kiss on the forehead if you're already asleep. A long, slow kiss on the mouth if he finds you still awake. As if he'd been waiting all day for that moment.

"You're still up? Were you waiting for me?"

You nod. He rests his forehead against yours, his hand gently finding your waist. He inhales slowly. As if you are his respite.

→The Language of the Body

He's tactile. That's how he says the things he can't put into words. His way of loving you comes through his hands. When he sees you're a little tired, he runs his fingers through your hair, lies down near you, and slowly massages your scalp. Sometimes, he takes your hands and traces the lines of your palm with his thumb, as if he's reading your future and wants to write himself into it.

He kisses you often. Not always on the mouth. On your cheek, your neck, behind your ear. Quick kisses when he's running late. Lingering kisses when you're alone. When you're lying together, he always has an arm around you, a leg thrown over yours. He doesn't like distance, even in sleep.

The kisses between you have many languages. There are those given to reassure. Those given to laugh. And those that come from that silent waiting, in the evening, when you finally reunite. Those are slower, deeper. He pulls you against him, one hand on your neck, the other around your waist, and his lips brush yours until you yield, until everything else fades away.

→The Little Touches

He has his rituals. When he sees you're stressed, he cooks. Even if it's late. Even if he's exhausted. He makes you fried rice or ramyeon with an egg cracked in it, and makes you eat spoon by spoon while you watch a show you've already seen a hundred times.

When you get sick, he's worse than a worried mother. He touches your forehead every two hours, gives you your medicine with a glass of water in hand, makes sure you've eaten something. He sleeps near you, one hand always in contact with you, even lightly, even in your feverish sleep.

"You're allowed to be weak. It's okay. You have me."

And when he's feeling down? He doesn't say anything. But you see it. So you reverse roles. You place a warm towel on his neck, you have him sit between your legs and wrap your arms around him. He sighs. And he lets you. Because he knows you understand.

→Conversations Between Silences

At night, sometimes, he talks more. When it's dark, your legs are tangled, and the world seems far away, he tells you things he tells no one else. He talks about his fears. About that feeling of always having to be strong, for everyone. About the weight he carries even when he smiles. About the exhaustion that isn't physical.

"I want you to be happy. But sometimes I wonder if I'm enough for that."

You tell him yes. That he helps you breathe. That his arms are your refuge, his words your security. That even when he thinks he's just an ordinary boy, to you, he's quite the opposite.

And he falls silent. But you feel his hand gently tighten on yours. As if he's saying thank you without saying it.

→Laughter and Light

Su-ho loves to make you laugh. It's like a mission for him. He makes stupid faces, deliberately sings off-key while doing the dishes, invents absurd nicknames. He catches you by the waist to spin you around in the kitchen, kisses your nose telling you you're ugly when you pout.

"You know you're ugly when you pout? But like, cute ugly. Like... love ugly."

You laugh. A lot. Sometimes until your stomach hurts. Sometimes until you cry. Because happiness, in this house, isn't grand, but it's real. It's in the burnt rice on Tuesday, in the borrowed socks, in the arms sprawled on the couch, too tired to move, but not too tired to love.

→Simple and Sacred Intimacy

There are no fireworks in your intimacy. No need. Just shared silences, long gazes, hands seeking each other. When you kiss, it's not rushed. It's a deliberate slowness. A kiss that begins with a look, that passes through the brush of a finger on your cheek, the corner of your lips grazed, the rising warmth.

Su-ho loves long kisses. He likes to feel your breathing change, your body gently tense against his. He likes when you press against him, when you open your arms and he can completely envelop you. He covers you with small kisses afterward. On your collarbone, on your forehead, in the hollow of your wrist.

And he looks at you as if you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You have no idea how much I love you."

→An Evening Like Any Other

He comes in, phone still in one hand, delivery bag in the other. He smells of rain. He looks for you, sees you on the couch. He collapses next to you, drops everything he's carrying.

"Tell me I don't have to cook."

You show him you ordered takeout. He smiles. He sprawls out, his head on your lap. You run your fingers through his wet hair. He closes his eyes.

"You're my favorite place," he whispers.

And you believe him. Because he has never lied with his eyes.

→Tomorrow

It's not always easy. There are the schedules, the fatigue, the little arguments. But there's also this bond, this thing you've built together. Slowly. Carefully.

And when you doubt, when the world seems too big, too heavy, Su-ho is always there. Arms open. Heart already reaching out to you. A boy who fights by day, but who, in the evening, yearns only for the peace of finding you again.

With him, love is not a storm. It's a soft, constant light. A home.

A "I'm home," whispered against your lips.

............................* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊

Conclusion :

Sometimes the world slows down. Not abruptly, but as if holding its breath. There are those evenings when nothing is pressing. No work. No classes. Just the two of you. The silence between heartbeats.

He's lying beside you, head resting on your stomach, fingers drawing absent circles on your skin. You don't talk much, but everything is said. He doesn't need to look at you to know you're smiling. He feels it. Like you feel the warm wind before the rain.

"You know..." he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse with fatigue but full of burning tenderness, "...sometimes I think that even if I have nothing else, if I have this, you and me, I have everything."

He doesn't wait for an answer. It's not a question. It's a confession. A gentle prayer. A naked truth.

You curl your fingers around his. The sun sets behind the window, leaving an orange light in the room. The walls breathe with you. Nothing threatens. Nothing hurts.

That moment, that simple shared beat in the slowness of the evening, is what Su-ho calls happiness. Not the spectacular happiness of movies or dreams. But the kind you build softly, like a makeshift hut in the rain. Strong enough to protect you. Fragile enough for you to reinforce it together.

And in this home made of gestures, laughter, and secure silences, Su-ho loves you. Unconditionally. Without escape. Completely.

Tomorrow, he'll go back to work. He'll fight again. He might smile a little too broadly in front of others. But here, at home, he doesn't need to pretend. Here, he loves. He is loved.

And that's all he ever wanted.

..................................................................................

Other weak hero class fanfictions here

@mariii-0001 @mizxuqii @iiwsmr @emswirls

Sieun New headcanon

Gotak New headcanon

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flwrfields · 10 days ago

Text

❝ almost, always ❞

paring : yeon si-eun (weak hero) × gn!reader

genre : fluff, mild angst/hurt-comfort, emotional miscommunication, slow burn

warnings : mentions of emotional exhaustion/burn out, emotional whiplash but make it quiet and poetic, excessive eye contact with a emotionally constipated boy, 9/10 confession (where's the last 1, no one knows)

synopsis : Two people, both quiet in different ways, six missed chances, one almost-confession—and a love that grows in the silence between what’s said and what’s meant.

joy speaks : hi, and welcome to my first fic <3 genuinely hope you like it. don't be a silent reader!

1. The first time you met Si-eun, you were stealing Baku's snack and threatening to bite Gotak. Not seriously, of course, but with the kind of conviction that only came from a lack of shame and too little sleep.

Your mouth still tasted like instant noodles and regret. Your hair was a chaos theory. Your hoodie?—stolen from Baku, smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sweat, like a boy who lived his life in motion and never washed anything properly and also had a giant yellow pikachu on the front.

You didn't notice him at first.

No, at first you were too busy lying on the classroom floor, narrating your slow descent into madness because Gotak had, in your words, 'emotionally betrayed you' by siding with Baku over what was clearly your bag of chips. Baku, naturally, just sat on your back and told you to accept death with dignity.

Then you saw a pair of shoes. Clean, white, very still. Not fidgety like Gotak's or scuffed like Humin's.

You tilted your head up, squinting from the floor like a raccoon caught under fluorescent light, and there he was.

Expression unreadable. Face sharp in that quiet way—like something drawn in pencil and not yet colored in. Si-eun. Yeon Si-eun. You knew his name only because Gotak had once whispered it like he was talking about a ghost who might hear him.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked down at the mess on the floor, you, mostly, and blinked.

You, still on your stomach, gave a small wave.

"Hey. I swear I'm not usually like this."

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of the mouth. But you swore later, swore, that his eyes lingered for half a second too long. Like he was trying to decide whether to ignore you or classify you as some new species.

Maybe both.

That was the first time. You didn’t know yet that it would become a pattern—him appearing silently, you saying something ridiculous, the two of you orbiting each other like mismatched planets with slightly wrong gravity.

But in that moment, on the floor of a classroom you barely stayed awake in, with Baku sitting on your back and Gotak looking vaguely concerned for everyone’s sanity—

—you thought, 'huh'

He’s kind of cute when he looks confused.

◎⫘◎

2. You didn't expect to see him again. Not so soon, not without the buffer of Baku's laughter or Gotak's nervous commentary or the chaos of you being your usual, spiraling self. But there he was, outside the convenience store, earphones in, staring at the gum rack like it had personally offended him.

You stopped short. He didn't look up.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain even under emotional duress, you didn't keep walking. You hovered.

Like an idiot.

"Didn't peg you for a mint guy," you said finally, voice casual, like you hadn’t just debated crossing the street to avoid standing next to him and his inexplicably intense aura.

He looked up, slow. Blank expression unreadable. Those same pencil drawn beautiful eyes.

Then, flatly, "I'm not."

You blinked. Looked at the gum in his hand. "You've been holding that for like three minutes."

"I was spacing out."

"Oh."

Beat.

You nodded, like that explained the universe, and turned to grab a bottle of water. Behind you, you could feel his silence — not heavy, just… neutral. Like air that hadn’t decided if it was humid or cold.

"I wasn't following you, by the way," you added without being prompted, twisting the bottle cap as you rejoined him at the register. "In case your survival instincts kicked in."

Another pause. He looked at you.

"I didn't think you were."

You laughed — too loud, too fast — and instantly regretted it. "Right. Cool. Great. Just clearing that up, y'know, for the record."

"I don’t think about you that much."

And there it was.

You froze mid-step, plastic bottle crinkling in your hand. A second too slow, your brain tried to patch the damage: he didn't mean it like that. Probably. Hopefully?

"Oh," you said, smile cracking just slightly. "No offense taken. I also don't, like, catalogue your whereabouts or anything. That would be psychotic."

He gave you a look, like he was either very confused or wondering if you were having a stroke.

You both stood there, the cashier watching, deeply done with both your energies.

Si-eun finally paid for his gum. That he definitely didn’t want.

And you stood holding a bottle of water and the first bruise of misunderstanding, shaped like a boy who said things without malice but still managed to dig a little too deep.

Later that night, Baku asked why you were chewing mint gum with a dramatic sigh.

You told him it was an aesthetic choice. You didn't mention Si-eun. Not yet.

◎⫘◎

3. It happened because Gotak's mom called.

Loudly. On speaker. In the middle of the table, right as he was halfway through explaining some physics concept that sounded like witchcraft. He panicked, unplugged his charger wrong, and blew the socket.

And just like that, the lights went out in Baku's room.

Chaos. Swearing. Baku tripping over a dumbbell. You, laughing until your ribs hurt. Gotak apologizing to the socket like it had feelings. Juntae being all flustered while trying to keep the others in check.

Eventually, they both left to 'buy snacks and air out their humiliation.' You were too tired to follow.

And Si-eun didn't leave.

He stayed sitting on the floor, back against Baku’s bed frame, eyes unreadable. You weren’t sure if he didn't move because he was comfortable or because inertia had claimed him.

You sat across from him, the silence sitting with you like a third presence. It wasn't uncomfortable. It just… was.

You cleared your throat. "You always this quiet?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Then: "Do you always talk this much?"

Your jaw dropped. "Are you saying I talk too much?"

"No," he said, and blinked, slowly, "I'm saying I wasn't aware human lungs could handle this level of dialogue per minute."

You gawked at him.

He didn’t look smug. Or mean. Just… factual. As if he were reading weather data.

You threw a pillow at his face.

He caught it with both hands, unimpressed.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," you muttered, curling into a cross-legged huff.

Silence again.

You should’ve let it drop. But something in you always needed to make sense of things. Of people.

"You don't like me, do you?" you asked.

He looked up at that. Not startled. Just puzzled.

"Why would you say that?"

You mentally snorted 'I wonder why."

"I don't know. The gum comment. The lungs comment. The general 'I'm enduring your presence like a particularly inconvenient fire drill' energy."

His brows furrowed slightly.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I don’t dislike you."

"But you don't like me."

He looked at you for a moment too long.

"I don’t not like you."

It was the kind of answer that made your brain run into a wall. You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"…Wow," you said. "Poetry."

He frowned faintly, clearly confused why you sounded so sarcastic.

You didn't push it. But when Baku and Gotak returned and flopped dramatically into the room with ice cream and shame, you laughed louder than you meant to.

And you refused to meet Si-eun’s eyes for the rest of the night.

◎⫘◎

4. You were wearing another hoodie.

Not Baku's this time — a different one. Slightly too big. Worn in the elbows. Charcoal gray with a weird bleach stain near the zipper. Not your usual look.

Si-eun noticed it immediately.

He didn't say anything, of course. He just stared.

You were too busy trying to untangle Gotak's wired earphones (how did they still exist?) while sitting on the cafeteria bench, ranting about something inconsequential — probably the school vending machine robbing you again. Baku was making jokes, as usual. Gotak laughed too loudly, as usual. Juntae was swinging his legs adorably like a child waiting for his mother to provide him with candy.

Then a boy walked past. Said your name. Smiled.

You looked up. "Oh—hey. Thanks again for the hoodie."

Si-eun's gaze didn't shift. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

You caught it in the twitch of his fingers, the flick of his eyes, the way his entire body went very, very still.

Later, in the hallway, he stopped next to you. Not with you — next to. A detail you couldn’t unfeel.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asked, tone flat.

You blinked. "Who?"

"The guy. With the hoodie. The one you smiled at like he invented oxygen."

You snorted. "No. He just lent me this when I spilled coffee on my shirt this morning."

He nodded. Slowly. You waited for a follow-up. It didn’t come.

Instead, he walked away with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, that silent wall rising like it always did when he didn't understand what he was feeling.

You stared after him, eyebrows pulled together.

You weren't his. He wasn't yours.

But still, you wanted to yell down the hallway,

'I would tressure your hoodie, if you ever offered it.'

◎⫘◎

5. It was raining the way it only rains in cities—sideways, rude, unforgiving. You hadn't meant to forget your umbrella. You were just late, and your brain had been full of other things. Like him. Like the hoodie thing. Like the way he hadn't spoken to you in two days. You were treading recklessly on the thin line between friends and strangers who know each other because of their mutual friends. No matter what you tried, attempted at, maybe to bring you both closer and not be strangers or just be his friend- he would always retract. Push you away with words or build walls around his heart that were too big and impossible not to notice.

You were soaked through by the time you reached the courtyard gate. Shoes squeaking, hair clinging to your face, hoodie (not his, not anyone's) weighing you down like a wet dog sweater.

Your heavy wet eyes widened at the sight before you.

Si-eun.

Standing under a small blue umbrella like the sky had personally chosen to leave him untouched.

You stopped. He didn't wave, or smile, or call out. Just lifted the umbrella a little higher.

You stared. Your heart twisted sideways.

"…Are you offering me that?" you asked, cautious.

"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't."

You blinked. Walked over. Shoulders tense.

He didn't say anything. Just turned slightly, so the umbrella covered half of your body. His half was still mostly dry. You were dripping.

After a minute, you exhaled. "You didn’t have to wait."

"I know."

"…I thought you were mad at me."

"I'm not."

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore."

"I do."

You were quiet.

Then you whispered it. Half a joke, half a plea:

"So this is... pity, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes sharp and unreadable.

You couldn't hold the silence.

You stepped out from under the umbrella. "Forget it. I'm fine."

Rain hit your skin like needles. Cold. Fast. Real.

He didn't follow. You didn't look back. And by the time you got home, soaked to the bone and furious with yourself, it was too late to ask him what he really meant.

◎⫘◎

6. It was late.

Too late to be in the library. Too late for the lights to still hum this way, for the floor to be cold against your knee pits as you sat between shelves with your hoodie bunched up beneath you like a failed pillow.

You weren't crying.

But you were close. That tight-throated silence. That wet weight behind the eyes that made everything feel distant. The kind of sad that didn"t have a name. The kind that didn't explode — just leaked.

He found you anyway.

You didn't ask how.

Si-eun stood there, backpack still on, hair a little rumpled, shirt collar tugged loose like he'd either run or paced in circles before finding you.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just sat beside you. Close, but not close enough to touch.

After a long, long moment, he said, low,

"I'm not good at this."

You blinked. "At what?"

"This. Talking. Reading people. Knowing the right thing to say."

You looked at him, sharp, surprised. His voice didn't waver, but it wasn't calm. It was something else — strained. Steady, but brittle at the edges.

He went on, "I don't realize when I'm being too blunt, or too distant. I've… ruined a lot of things that way."

You didn’t speak.

He stared at his hands.

"I used to think it didn’t matter. Not anymore. That being quiet kept things simple. But you—"

He stopped. Swallowed. "You confuse the hell out of me."

Your breath hitched.

"You talk like your words are racing to escape you. You say things I don’t know how to answer. You make me feel like I’m always three steps behind and—and I hate it."

The silence rang.

Then, quieter:

"But I hate it more when you're not around."

You didn't move.

You didn't say anything.

Your brain tripped over itself. Every version of you — the loud one, the jokey one, the brave one — went silent. And in that stretch of hesitation, Si-eun stood.

He didn't look at you.

"I shouldn't have said that," he murmured. "I knew it would come out wrong."

He walked away before you could tell him it didn't.

Later, lying in your bed, face buried in a damp hoodie, you whispered it,

'But it didn’t come out wrong at all.'

◎⫘◎

6. It started with silence.

Not the usual kind — not Si-eun's quiet that felt full of thinking, full of weight. This was emptier. Distant. Clean, like someone had wiped the board.

He'd stopped showing up to group study sessions. Stopped responding to your messages. Left early from lunch. Didn't make eye contact in the hall.

You told yourself he was just busy. That midterms had fried his brain. That he'd drop a deadpan one-liner in your DMs any second now.

He didn't.

When you finally cornered Baku and asked what was going on, he just shrugged — unconvincingly.

And so, armed with indignation and mild sleep deprivation, you found Si-eun after school, outside the campus gates, hoodie up, hands in pockets, looking like a ghost of himself.

"You’re avoiding me," you said.

His eyes flicked up. Then away. "No, I'm not."

"You are." You laughed — humorless. "Jesus, Si-eun, at least lie with conviction."

He was quiet for a beat. He exhaled quietly, "I thought you might want space."

"From you?"

"You looked uncomfortable. Last time. When I said… all that."

You stared. Mouth open. Head buzzing.

"That’s why?" you whispered. “You thought I was uncomfortable?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. "You didn't say anything. So, I figured I'd made things weird."

You exhaled, slow. Almost a laugh. Almost a scream.

"You idiot," you said, soft.

He flinched — just slightly. Gazing up with his eyes, 'god damn his eyes, were they always this beautiful?'

You looked away before your voice could crack. "You didn't make it weird. I did. I didn't know what to say, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to say something."

He didn't answer.

The wind was cold. The sky was turning gray, like it couldn't make up its mind.

You looked at him again.

"You always do that," you said. "Assume how people feel and then act like it's confirmed data."

"It's easier than asking."

"Well, maybe next time, ask."

He looked at you then.

Like he heard you for the first time.

But still, he didn't move. And neither did you.

The moment passed like a train that didn't stop.

You both walked away feeling like you’d missed something important.

Because you had.

◎◎⫘◎◎

1. It didn't happen at some climactic hour, in some big cinematic way.

There was no rainstorm this time, no bruised hallway lighting, no tension humming between the inches of silence.

Just a classroom. Late. Empty. Gold evening light spilling sideways through the windows, dust drifting in slow motion. The kind of warmth that didn't burn — just sat in your bones like an old memory.

You hadn't meant to fall asleep.

You'd only meant to rest your eyes. Just for a second. But the warmth got to you — the sunlight, the still air, the safety of a quiet room without anyone needing anything from you. You drifted.

When you opened your eyes again, Si-eun was there.

Sitting on a chair beside the desk. Back against the wall. Book in his lap. Head tilted slightly toward you.

Not watching. Just being.

Your first instinct was to speak. Crack a joke. Break the softness with your usual deflection.

But for once, you didn't. You just looked at him. Let the quiet stretch.

He closed the book.

"Bad dream?" he asked, voice like a whisper folded in linen.

You blinked the sleep out of your eyes. "Not really. Just... weird."

A pause.

"Felt like I was floating."

He nodded. Like he understood.

You sat up slowly, wincing a little at the crick in your neck.

He reached into his bag and passed you a water bottle without a word.

You took it. Sipped.

He didn't fill the silence. He didn't shrink from it either. Just sat there with you, like he had nowhere else to be, no one else to become in that moment.

And then—"Thank you," you said.

He looked at you, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "For what?"

"For... not leaving."

It came out so softly you weren't sure it even reached him.

But his eyes held yours, steady.

You took in his eyes, his eyes were a study in contradiction — sharp in thought, but soft in shape, always watching like they were learning you in real time. Slightly wide, dark, and quietly luminous, like they held whole libraries of things left unsaid. They didn’t flicker much when he spoke — they lingered, honest in a way his voice never quite managed.

And when he looked at you, really looked, it felt like standing barefoot in the middle of something sacred.

Like silence could be tender. Like you could finally stop explaining yourself. Those eyes didn’t ask for words. They just understood.

Then he added, not quickly, but like it had been waiting:

"I wasn't going to."

Nothing more. No sudden hand grabs, no confessions, no dizzying declarations. Just that.

For the first time, there was nothing to correct. Nothing to fix.

You both stayed there. In the gold-lit quiet. In the stillness that didn't ask for answers. Just presence.

And this time — finally — you both understood.

◎◎⫘◎◎

2. It was dark by the time the rooftop emptied out.

The others had gone. Baku, Gotak, Juntae— loud footsteps, louder laughter, the crunch of snack wrappers left behind. The kind of after-school chaos that made everything feel alive. But now it was quiet. That dusky, hush-hour kind of quiet, where even the wind didn't bother to speak.

You stayed behind to clean up. He stayed behind for... something else.

Neither of you said it.

Si-eun was leaning against the railing, hood pulled halfway up, hair catching in the breeze. You were stacking drink cans into neat, metallic towers and pretending not to feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

"You always do that," he said.

You blinked. "Do what?"

"Stay behind. Fix things no one notices."

You smiled — crooked, tired. "Someone has to."

Silence again. Not heavy. Just full.

"I used to think I was fine alone," he said. Quiet. Almost to himself. "That being alone meant being safe. That silence meant control."

You straightened. Slowly.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept talking, eyes on the horizon where the sky bled orange into navy.

"But it’s not quiet when you're gone. It's louder. It’s—"

He cut himself off. Bit his lip. Exhaled sharp.

You waited.

"I don't know how to say it right," he admitted.

"You don’t have to."

"I want to," he said. "I—"

He turned then. Finally looked at you.

"I think about you. All the time. In the middle of things that don’t matter. Like math problems and weather reports and the noise in the hallway. You just show up. In my head."

Your throat tightened.

He stepped forward — one pace. No more.

"If you asked me what we are," he said, "I don't have the word. But I know what I want it to be."

You didn't breathe.

"-and if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I'll try to not think of it" His voice cracked slightly, "But I don't want to keep pretending this is nothing."

You looked at him.

"I feel it too."

He smiled.

Actually smiled.

Not the polite curl of the corners of his lips he wore in passing, but the real one, the one that came slow and reluctant, like it wasn't used to being let out. It broke across his face like sunlight through fog, fleeting and precious, the kind of thing you only caught if you were paying attention.

Now that it happened, everything softened: the edges of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the guarded quiet in his eyes. It was a smile that felt like a secret, like you’d been trusted with something he didn’t give away easily. A quiet admission that, for a moment, he let himself feel joy — and let you see it.

And in that soft rooftop dark, with cans clinking quietly in your hands and the wind threading through your sleeves, you realized something simple:

There was no misunderstanding anymore.

There was just you.

And him.

And everything you hadn’t said — finally, beautifully heard.

◎◎⫘◎◎

@mournaeve 2025, I don't allow translations or reposting of my work however reblogging is fine :)

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flwrfields · 16 days ago

Text

𓏶 Every Breath,

Since You Left ┼

ೃ࿔ Feels Like

A Waste 𓈒 ˚ †

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flwrfields · 17 days ago

Text

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ───── 연시은

IN WHICH falling in love with Yeon Sieun was imminent for you. Imminent in the same way as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.

3.4k+ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𔘓 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎gn! reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𔘓 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎event 𝑚-𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

based on req ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𔘓 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎scroll till the end for notes

I. Peach eyes and blue skies

Love is imminent.

Love is just imminent, you're bound to fall in love with someone sooner or later. Doesn't matter if it's today, tomorrow or the next day or the next next day— you're bound to fall in love with someone.

It is imminent in the same way as natural phenomena, just like how the winter is followed by spring, how the moon influences the tides and how every bud is meant to blossom into a beautiful flower.

It can happen in many ways. It might just be someone you've known for a long time and in a moment everything just shifts, you see them in a different light, in a way so different that it makes your heart pound so hard that it feels as if it is going to burst out of your ribcage and jump into their hands.

It can happen in a way that when you first lay your eyes on them you just know; that this is going to the person my world will revolve around, that this is going to be the person my heart beats for, that this is going to be the person that will plague my every waking thought & appear in my dreams, that this is going to be the person i love for the rest of my life.

It really does happen like that sometimes, that you know the person you just laid your eyes on will be the object of your affection for the foreseeable and unforeseeable future.

When you first laid your eyes on Yeon Sieun, you just knew.

It is a truth, like the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, that earth is the third planet from the sun and that universe is forever expanding till it ends.

It is the truth.

You are in love.

Your heart will chase him like the sun chases the moon or the moon chases the sun across the canvas of the beautiful sky over us all.

Your heart will chase him and beat for him.

Your heart will beat in such rhythms that will be impossible for you to ignore the loud vibrations that will soon drip into your compositions and creations.

The truth is; you are in love with the peach eyed boy.

II.

I'll be with you on your ride

The first time you meet Yeon Sieun, it is at the cultural centre Juntae and his friends are volunteering. You—Juntae’s sibling— were tasked by your mom to keep an eye on Juntae and see if his friends were any trouble.

The school had called after all, saying how Juntae had gotten into a fight near the school and the guys he had fought had not shown up at the school the next day. Which was funny because Juntae never fights.

Regardless.

The day you met him, you still remember so clearly because how could you forget?

The wind was a little chilly, the kind of chilly you enjoy when you are enveloped by the warmth of your favourite sweater. The kind of chilly, when the wind blows onto your face you feel like a weak leaf falling off the tree and dancing in the wind to the tune of nature.

The sky was blue, no clouds, just a calming presence on top of your heads as you went about your day. But, now that you look back, you think it was the same shade of blue that your wallpaper was in your childhood bedroom.

When you first walked into the room where Juntae and Sieun were, you were un-suspecting. You had walked towards Juntae, not minding his friend, after all you had no actual business with him. But when you had called out for your brother, he had turned too, and when you met his eyes the time had slowed down, sluggish in its movements around you and Sieun, time had slowed down. It was like being suspended in honey, sweet and sticky, slowly dripping down.

Sieun had looked like he had picked the most beautiful constellations in the entirety of the night sky, collected them by hand and put them in a bucket and later poured down the contents of the bucket in the pools of his eyes. The creases of his eyelids were beautiful too, though they were a little assymetrical.

For a second, you wonder if the boy in front of you feels the same thing you are feeling, did time stop for him too?

But does it matter if he feels the same?

You feel it. It is real for you. It is as real as the warmth of the sun you crave when the weather’s too cool, and it is as real as the tender flesh of the tangerines your mom peeled for you the day before.

It is real and it is love.

Love at first sight.

III.

It's on the moonlight

Artists are, well, strange creatures with the ability to make you feel things you've never experienced before, or have experienced before but are too scared to relive those moments or experiences you will never experience. But the bottom line is, artists are strange creatures of experience.

Experience is like drops of lemon juice on savoury food, something that's not a necessary ingredient to cook the food but something that enhances the experience of enjoying it.

That is what your teacher says. She says that you can always write and compose about things you might have not gone through, they might be beautiful, but the true glimmer always shines when you create a piece about something you've experienced deeply.

And now that you're finally in love, no matter what you play, there are hints of yearning.

When you play the violin, love loosens out and flows like drops of sap on a tree, it sticks onto the haunting and eerie crescendo and then with painfully slow movement, it's present in the drop that comes with the aching decrescendo.

When you play the piano, love blooms like the brightest flower that always catches your attention when you walk by its bush, it attaches itself onto the notes and glides through the air.

When you play the guitar, love coos like a cuckoo bird, the sound that you always hear when you need to, the sound that always catches your attention no matter what you're doing.

Your teacher catches onto it, she tells you to hold onto it, drown in the feeling so it sinks into your very being, so that it can be embossed into your creations.

To you, the love you've just started to feel is like a gentle caress of a mother on the face of her child after the child has fallen asleep.

It is the same faint touch of your birth mother you remember, the gentle yet warm parting hug.

It is also similar to the the firm touch of your father, not to hard, not to soft that one can mistake for a ghostly whisper.

It is also like the kiss your Mom—Ms. Seo— presses on to the top of your head, something that is meant to be felt, something that is proclaimed.

(There is a distinction between Mother and Mom.

Mother is the one who gave birth to you. Mother is the one who was with you for the first three years of your life.

Mom is Ms. Seo, the one who gave birth to Juntae. Mom is the one who was with you after the the first three years of your life.)

You somehow became a friend of Juntae’s friends, you don't go to the same school but they always invite you to hangout. That is how you ended up here; sitting in the basketball court, chatting with the guys about everything and nothing.

The amber lights shine down harshly on all of you, a colour that can be only found in Vivaldian music and for a moment you are taken aback when Sieun cracks a small smile at the antics of Juntae’s—now your—friends.

And it's the moment you saw him for the first time again, the time stopped like you were just mere beetles trapped in amber forever, you wish you were insects in amber and the time stopped on this moment forever.

That night you thought of his smile, beautiful smile, and thought:

Love is like the gentle moonlight.

IV.

How many songs I write

Your birth mother was a pianist, a talented one at that. People did know of her. One of your earliest memories is of her playing a melody on the keys of the piano, the same tune that she always sang for you to put you to sleep. A tender composition she created just for you, however, no matter how much you try to recreate it with your own hands, you simply cannot. She did not leave behind the manuscript for that specific song.

Mother had a knack for all things musical. The melody she had created just for you was very raw, it's still clear in your memory, raw like the tender flesh of a bruised heart. And the melody was light and gentle, like the sunlight that seeps into your skin during winter, light and warm enough to comfort you when the snow melts slowly. And you still remember the sickly sweetness of the melody, quite like a jar of freshly harvested honey, yellowish colour with tinges of orange like the setting sun.

Despite remembering it oh so clearly, you could never recreate it. It is there but also not.

But such is the pain of a musician, no matter how hard you try, you never capture the true essence of the actual piece in front of you, the river of time flows and smudges the colours of the intricate painting leaving you with only a faint membrane of what used to be.

Maybe that's why you chose to drown yourself in the same liquor as your Mother; music.

Maybe it was in your warm blood, the urge to just create something, to create art. Art is eternal, a river that passes yet remains, unlike your Mother. Art could never die and leave you.

Maybe it was to connect to your Mother. The child's instinct is always to look for the mother, after all. Maybe that's why you try to drown yourself in this cool river, maybe a ghost will pull you down to the depths of your mind and maybe then you will be able to finally recreate the lullaby your Mother sang you to sleep and played for you on the piano.

Deep within your mind, you are still looking for your Mother.

Looking back, you remember only three memories of your Mother.

First, where she tucks you to bed and kisses your nose and continues to hum the same lullaby. She never wrote it down on any sheets because she thought she would always be there to sing it for you.

Second, where she feeds you peaches with the softest of flesh, you can still taste them in your mouth and the way they melted and the way they had hints of sourness.

Third, where she hugs you for the last time. Her hair tickles your face as she pulls you in, she pats your back and you see her smile. And it is warm. Like the melody she always played for you.

You sigh as you fill in the notehead in front of you, scratching your pen until it's completely filled the same way your heart is filled yearning for the peach-eyed boy.

“You okay? You've been sighing a lot.” Your seat partner asks you.

“Mhm. Just thinking about him.” You answer slowly, your words roll out in a dreamy drawl, like your attention is elsewhere in the prettiest gardens of paradise.

“Him who?”

“My muse.” You say, with your eyes still focused on the sheet on your desk. The eyebrows of your partner quirk up, this is some new gossip topic. “His name has three syllables. You know what else has three syllables? ‘I love you.’”

Your seat partner looks at you strangely.

You seem to have forgotten that most Korean names are composed of three syllables. But it's still the most poetic thing to you.

You pay your seatmate no mind as you continue to fill in the staves with the dripping emotions that have latched onto your mind. Your hand reaches up to touch your sternum through your uniform to feel the quickening rhythm of your tender heart.

You'll be my sunlight

“So, are you going to tell him?” Juntae says with a soft voice, like he's treading into a territory he's not meant to, he slowly crunches leaves that have fallen down.

The weather has gone chillier, in a way that makes wisps of fog appear when you speak.

“Tell who what?” You say dumbly. You do have inkling of what your dear brother means but you're not ready to accept that he took notice of what he might say next.

“Sieun. About your feelings.” Of course he knows. This sneaky bastard. When you turn to face him finally, there's a slight smirk on his face. Was your crush so obvious?

“I don't know, man.” You sigh. You've never imagined taking your crush to that level and confessing, you cannot imagine Sieun being your boyfriend, he's better off as a muse. You kick a pebble away.

He's a sweet boy though, Yeon Sieun, he always listens to you ramble when others lose focus because of their lack of musical knowledge.

He also listens to the songs you recommend, he likes them sometimes, sometimes they're not his taste. But at least he's honest enough to accept when he likes something and when he doesn't.

He doesn't talk much, but when he speaks, he says what he means and what he wants to. This is something you admire about him.

“Mhm.” Juntae hums as he sees you get lost in your thoughts again, the smirk doesn't leave his feature though. If you can't tell Sieun about your feelings, he sure can.

𓂃

In the sky, pinks meet the orange, a soft colour is conceived, a colour that looks like peach soda. You're sitting next to Sieun. Juntae, Baku and Gotak are still playing basketball, they seem to have better stamina than Sieun.

You lose your focus, the world blurs a little, you're too deep in your thoughts, riveting in the notes ringing in your head. You've been practicing a lot, recently. Perfecting the composition you came up with, your fingers and shoulder have gone tired with the countless hours you've been pouring into your craft.

There is a certain joy that comes with perfection. When you can move people with the music that you create, you reach a state of euphoria and the hard work you put on yourself finally feels worth it.

As the music in your head slowly dissipates as it comes towards the end, you turn to look at Sieun, who is drinking water. The way his Adam's apple bobs with every gulp has you entranced, but you soon realise that you might be looking like a weirdo so you turn away.

Sieun puts the water bottle away.

Well, it's now or never, right?

With your heart beating like a wild beast that was chained inside a cage of bones, you finally gather courage.

“Sieun-ah.” You start. A crow caws in the distance and the sneakers against the ground screech.

When he turns to look at you, you're taken back to the moment where the yellowish lights of the outside court had you feeling like insects swimming in pools of honey, the moment where you wished time stopped forever because of the twinkle of Sieun’s eyes.

“Has anyone told you before that you have pretty eyes?”

You don't know if it's the sky that is casting down pinkish hues on Sieun or if he's actually blushing.

𓂃

You let out a soft sigh as you sit on the sofa, tired from a long day of practicing violin. You even have dreams of playing the specific composition, the one you've titled ‘Peach eyes’.

Your Mom pulls you close to her into a side hug. She pats you slowly, her touch is gentle and soothing.

“Don’t stress yourself too much. I know you'll do great, my child.” She speaks brightly, her words filled with nothing but love.

“Thank you. I love you.” And with that you sink yourself deeper into her embrace.

VI.

How could I not rely

On you, peach eyes?

The silence is broken by the sound of bow meeting the strings, the first touch is always gentle like a lover's kiss, it always starts slowly and builds momentum. The notes flow endlessly and beautifully into the air, with a certain warmth that comes with love.

At first, it is like rich cashmere being undone, thread by thread, slowly and painfully unravelled, something akin to accepting that you are in love and the fear that comes with it. When you accept you are in love, you're baring your soul. The sound that comes with each friction of bow and violin slowly dissolves the tension built up in the pit of your stomach. The sound is now like a knife cutting through flesh, thorough and sharp and easy. There is a sting in it, the kind felt by snow when the sun shines its rays on it harshly to melt it away, with that the fear in your mind melts away slowly too.

The unraveling is firm yet gentle, the touch is soft like water that envelopes your feet at the beach but it's firm, like the hardened bark of a tree. It feels like a lover undoing your being, slowly exposing your secrets to themselves and loving you despite.

The song builds up, it's now haunting like whispers of the past, something you can see on the back of your eyelids when you close them but something that fades away when you try to reach out for it.

The audience is completely trapped into the hypnotising performance you're putting, they're stuck in a trance like bugs caught up in sticky-trap.

There is pain in longing and you captured it perfectly in your music sheets and you've now turned it into music, the music that reverberates through your upper body, the music you made is being fed on by your heart.

The song is now turning like a tide, at first it was like expensive cloth being unstitched but now, it feels as though the seams are being sewn together again, this time better than they were before. Each note is like a torrent of brushstrokes on a canvas, each stroke building up to a precise picture.

You're pouring out every single emotion you've felt for the peach-eyed boy into this performance. Each note you play feels like a breath that brings you back to life. It now feels like a faint touch of moonlight on skin.

When you finish the melodies still linger in the air, like the whistling wind on a stormy day. The audience is quiet for a short moment, taking in the opus they just experienced but they soon break into applause.

Afterwards, you meet up with your friends after your violin solo ends. Juntae had invited his friends too, and they're all drowning you in praises. You try not to pay attention to the person that your solo was dedicated to, instead you chat with your friends as you lead them back to the hall for the next performance.

You're left alone outside the theatre hall, and you breathe out a sigh of satisfaction. You decide to go back to the artist’s lounge to pack up your things and just as you turn, Sieun appears, holding a bouquet of roses.

“You seem to be avoiding me.” He speaks with a matter-of-fact tone.

You look around and then point at yourself.

“Me? Haha, never.”

Sieun doesn't say anything else, and for a second, silence settles over both of you. You finally look into the eyes you were avoiding the entire evening, and now, you are in a trance. Like a snake being charmed by a snake charmer, you are charmed by the boy in front of you. You look into his eyes and they look soft and filled with stars like always.

Sieun hands you the bouquet, and his fingers brush against yours, you take in the rich peach and white coloured flowers to your view to ignore the loud beating of your heart and the blood rushing to your cheeks.

“The performance was beautiful.” He states.

But you are more beautiful; you want to say.

And a whisper of a smile appears on Sieun’s face.

Maybe, falling in love with you was imminent for Yeon Sieun too.

𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎( ‎whc masterlist )

woohoo! 3.4k words, that was a long ride, i hope you enjoyed! likes, reblogs & comments are appreciated.

if it wasn't clear; y/n is a music student who is juntae's step-sibling. y/n's father remarried juntae's mom! y/n's birth mother was a pianist who passed away. y/n can play three instruments—piano, violin & acoustic guitar. the final scene was them performing a violin solo they composed.

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@mariii-0001 @gacktsa @haitani-22 @pavitrata @yujiswave @svtf1lms @sadesutopia

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