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stirpulses · 7 years ago

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Boys’N’Flowers [1/3]

Jimin

Jimin lingered by a flower shop; too indecisive to come in, he hovered on the other side of the street, casually casting nervous glances at the window. Bright blooms and delicate petals, nuanced whiffs and magnificent fragrances, all looking at him and nodding with solemn solidarity. You should, you should. He agreed he should but couldn't make up his mind. He never asked what her favorite flower was.

He wanted to but never found an occasion to sneak the question into a conversation. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, know about her, tiny life trifles he would like to learn by heart and recite in his mind before going to sleep every night, his sweet private prayer, wishing to learn more, never to forget and to stay by her said forever.

He looked from one flower to another but couldn't decide which one she might like the most. He wouldn't want to disappoint her, and not giving her the very best equals failure in his book. He just pictured her upset eyes and waked a freezing wave of furious snowflakes in his stomach, twirling around in a swarm, twisting and pricking his insides. What if she didn't like flowers at all, what if she found the gift too trite, what if he was not good enough.

Jimin tried to search for a flower that resembled her the most. It should be a soft flower, its colors not too showy, a smiling flower, its petals open for an embrace, a graceful flower, its smell tugging at his heart, the most-

-Jimin-a, why are you just standing here? You remember we are meeting in our cafe in 10 minutes?

She stood by his side, an arm away, tugging at his sleeve. Her inquiring eyes reaching through his chest, his heart bare and vulnerable before the flatter of her eye lashes. Telling her the truth would be a pitiful folly, lying to her would be a gravest felony, staying silent – a screaming insult. He could never hurt her, so he walked the only path left for him.

-I was just, wondering... what are your favorite flowers.

Hoseok

Her soft palm firmly placed in his hand, fingers intertwined, her fingertips gently brushing against his chest. The touch of the summer sun was warm and nice but it still couldn't compare to the emotional euphoria her slightest touch aroused in him. Light caresses of her fingers tickled his senses and imagination. Hoseok lifted her hand up to his lips.

It was a low-key Sunday morning in a secluded spot by the river. Sheltered by the tall grass, green blades hovering protectively around them, they basked in the rare moment of uncontested privacy.

Hoseok very much liked the first stages of the relationship when each sensation felt fresh on his skin and lips, resonating through his body like a shrill high-frequency note; when he didn't yet have to think too far ahead, fully in the moment, no wreckage from the past, no plans for the future; when anything was still possible.

He pulled her closer in an embrace till her head rested on his shoulder blade and he could bury his face in her hair. He breathed in a sweet and salty smell that relaxed his whole body. Something moved inside his chest. A tiny glowing orb, a small hidden seed, earning to expand and grow, pushing out at its boundaries, opening up his heart.

She wrapped an arm around his body leaning into him even closer and talked about her week. As if in a dream, he couldn't pick out the words, he simply drank in the melody of her voice absentmindedly dunking his fingers into the soft stream of her hair. The seed in his heart shook and sprouted roots and leaves making his heart ache with the fullness he never knew before. Was it something within him that changed, was it something in her that made the difference, was it the moment itself that turned the world inside out?

He turned his head to whisper in her ear, gently brushing her locks away. She propped herself up on an elbows in surprise and looked seriously at him before a sincere smile daintily curved her lips and eyes.

-I love you too.

A rich vibrant blossom opened up inside his chest; a blossom he wanted to nurture and take care of; the blossom he would like to carry with him forever.

~UG

#bts scenarios #kpop scenarios #bts imagines #jimin scenario #jhope scenarios #jimin #bts #j-hope

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stirpulses · 8 years ago

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Off the Memory Lane (ft. B.A.P) [Day 2]

The consciousness hit him when he was lying defenseless in the crook of the couch, his left leg brushing the floor, his back aching from the unwonted softness, the clothes, creased and rumpled, biting into his flesh. The air was huffing past his lips in a fast spasmodic rhythm, his heart exerting itself to outrace it with thrice as fast a beat. The nightmare came again, repelling the pills, tricking his body into terror. This time the vision was more focused: he could distinguish a dark human-like silhouette against a huge white structure, the shadow was staring at him with starving covetous hollow eyes, gnashing its fangs with a sickening clang, closer, closer. A piercing wail erupted, crushing all other sounds and images alike. It was screaming out a name, Yongguk, calling for his friend, demanding for him to appear, a desperate cry for help. Mere bawls were not enough to conjure his friend, he knew, oh how bitterly he knew. The nightmare, that had just been dragging for an eternity, appeared for his awakened self to happen in one great convulsion like an outburst of thunder.

How much of the vision he had actually seen and how much he had been implicitly aware of, he wasn’t sure now. The dream logic had directed that odious show, turning impossibilities the wrong way out. He just wanted it to stop, why weren’t the damn pills working anymore?

Himchan slipped from the couch cursing the doctor and his prescriptions and pulling off his shirt. What was the point of the medicine that failed to serve its single use? Unbuckling his jeans he shuffled towards the bed. But what was there for him beside those pills? He gingerly swept the pillow and the toy to the floor, pulled at the sheets, added the bedclothes to the pile of the sweaty clothes he just striped off. Laundry time! Setting up the washing machine Himchan decided he shouldn’t idle either. The work was tired of waited.

He picked up the laptop from the floor, switched it on and cleared some place for it on the desk with a swift wide motion. Just as his computer welcomed him with an lively sound effect a buzz filled the room. Himchan followed the sound until there was nothing before him but a TV on a stand and a wall. Meanwhile the hum continued. He turned the TV sideways and reached behind the drawers into the dust with an inner shudder. He had never cleaned there, it was a perfect spot for new life forms to develop. Finally, a phone was vibrating in his hand. Daehyun was persistent.

-You ditched us again.

-Ha?

-Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss another rehearsal. — Lighthearted sigh. — Seriously. Enough. Are you showing up next time or what?

-I’ll try. I mean… I’ll come. Sure. — The rehearsal was the very thing, it would be a shiny day to break the rainy season.

-The mourning is officially over? Manse~! — Cough. — Sorry. Hope you’re in high spirits again. We need you, man. We do. — The laughter boomed wide and clear.

-Lend me some of this glee next time we meet, would ya? — Daehyun’s sincere laughter and forward attitude slowly lifted the weight from his heart. He involuntarily smiled.

-No shit, you need it and… can I beat it into you if it doesn’t just seep in by itself?

This time they laughed together.

-Almost forgot! — Daehyun blabbered on. — The lyrics. Have you finished them yet?

-I’m on it.

-Bring them all. Even the roughest drafts. It’s past time we start practicing the new stuff. And, do I need to mention, Youngjae and I are dying to see the lyrics! Bri~ng them.

-Rodger that.

-Cool. Gotta go.

And Daehyun was out. Wait, when should he come?! Had Daehyun simply forgotten to tell him or was he supposed to know? After Yongguk vanished his whole schedule snapped right through the middle and crumbled to an unmanageable nothingness.

The phone screen was flagged with missed calls and unread messages. Too much of them, would deal later. Work was the first item on his list. Or should he really spend a few sweet moments fiddling with the lyrics? Himchan strained his memory to recall what he was writing about. Was it love or war or roofs on fire, it made no difference: if he couldn’t remember, he could always start anew. A wave of inspiration caught him unawares, crushed down on his head, flowed over him, carrying his compliant body to the prolific shores of imagination. The delight of pouring down words, of tasting rhymes, of feeling your way through similes. The work could wait a little more. Should he sketch out a couple of lines, maybe come up with a verse, or even outline a whole song? He would relax, untangle his stupefied nerves- "When Yongguk was wroting his lyrics..." That was enough to turn his enthusiasm sour, metallic and citrus in his mouth, bile and acid in his throat. There was nothing that could bring out stronger memories of his old friend more. That was his passion, the passion for music they shared and cherished together through the years.

Work. Overload his brain with tasks, numb his senses with information, infect his system with busyness. Himchan started by pedantically checking his mail.

It was time for a coffee break. Every employee has a right for a little rest, even at times when the mind remains restless. Also, his legs and back were screaming for some action. Just a quick trip to his usual cafe and an immediate retreat back home. No prolonged stays at the table, no roundabout wanderings across the town, no attention drawn and no civilities exchanged. He would ask for a take-out and walk a couple of leisurely circles round his apartment block until he ran out of coffee. One should learn from one’s mistakes. But it seemed like he was getting all the lessons wrong recently. So should he be trying to learn after all?

Waiting in the queue Himchan surveyed the interior to distract himself. All in vain. Too many vivid memories connected this place to his friend. They used to sit here for hours jabbering about their wishful present, reminiscing about their not less blissful past and planning out their even more hopeful future, so much for that; they had lingered here over many lazy breakfasts, stolen countless quick lunches and toasted non-stop over filling hearty suppers. Sometimes they had just met in front of the cafe, late at night, to squander their youth elsewhere. Was there a table they hadn’t sat together at or hadn’t spilled some beer on?

Gazing at the neat rows of tables he caught a glance of a tousled boy with a mole on the nose bridge who was eyeing him intently through narrow eye slits, from behind a chicken sandwich. The youngster looked vaguely familiar yet he didn’t seem to belong to his usual circle. In any case, Himchan would rather leave the cafe ignored or unnoticed regardless of their degree of acquaintance. He hurriedly turned to the counter willing people to move quicker, gape less and know exactly what they want. Fat chance!

Got hold of a warm assuring paper cup he bolted out of the cafe, eyes scanning the floor, the doorway and the welcoming pavement. He was squinting at the sun when a voice halted him.

-Wait.

It just might not have been for him, he could have pretended not to hear the words in a hurry, he might have but an uncanny pull was already turning him around.

-Remember me?

He peered at the boy, straining his eyes as his brain refused to cooperate. The effort echoed through his head with tentative stabs of pain.

-About a week ago. — A moment’s hesitation. — Police station.

Right, he had seen him among the damn gang that day. Slim and ashen-faced, he had been the youngest, it seemed, still in his teens, a lonely minor in that pitiful bunch. He had been the only one to come with his parents. As well as the only one to show his fear, or was he simply the only one evolved enough to know to feel it in that shitty situation.

Two days after the search started, five days after his friend’s sister reported the disappearance, the cops found out that the missing youth was a part of a small street gang and quickly shook off their lax attitude. That must have turned up the heat under their asses a few notches. His close friends and latest acquaintances had been brought in for questioning.

-Right. That evening. Your whole… group was there.

The boy fidgeted and blurted out.

-I don’t hang out with them anymore.

-Good for you. — He nodded.

-My name is Jongup. I just- There are still no news. And I thought- Heard anything? — He cast a sidelong timid glance.

-No, same here. Nothing.

-I see. — The smirk was bitter and foul-tasting. — I should have known, there are no happy endings. You were close, right? — He didn’t wait for an answer. — Seen you coming to his place a couple of times. Well, I was his neighbor. It wasn’t that long since he moved next door but still… He was always so friendly towards me, attentive and encouraging from the day we met, even though he didn’t have to.

The boy broke the eye contact, his eyes darting between tiny cracks and other imperfections in the pavement. The moment neared, squeezing his throat, drying his mouth till the tongue rustled against the roof.

-At first I was going to join them alone but that day I just happened to bump into him at the stairwell as I was leaving. He looked so down, I realized he was more like me than I previously thought. Later he told about the expulsion, I didn’t know at that time. Seeing him that way, I don’t know, I just asked if he would want to go with me, told what I was up to. Honestly, I had no idea it was that serious. — He turned his voice down to a confessional whisper. — I was just a bit angry, wanted to belong, I needed the change and- I never wanted to get mixed up in this shit… drugs or stealing or… whatever the cops hinted at. — He turned away, uncomfortable, fingers clutching at his hair. — I mean- I only wanted to say- I’m sorry! I feel guilty and dazed and- Relieved! It was an eye-opener. I’ve never seen my life that clearly before. If it wasn’t for him, who knows… And it’s not entirely my fault. I didn’t know, I couldn’t.

There were no befitting words left inside them to share. They met strangers, they walked away feeling more distant. The only link that could have bound them together went missing, leaving a widening hollow to push them apart.

Himchan wandered back home, his legs dragged along, their steps unsure, their goal unknown. His head flared rhythmically with a hot agony of aches and qualms, mutinous thoughts chipping measly pieces off his mind with every other breath. Well-rested and ready for a new working cycle, the headache awakened from its obligatory nap, stirred up by the accidental encounter that in place of a person left a sucked out, chewed and crooked lump of numbing fatigue and prickly sensations. That boy made his heart resonate to so many notes guiding it up and down a minor scale: loathing, sympathy, discomfiture, and simple fear. Muddied speculations on the lad and their conversation were pushed out of his head as the neglected memories of his gone friend resurfaced and rushed into his conciseness.

All the anger and frustration over his friend turning off the road they had chosen together to instead slide down a treacherous slope of disgrace and degradation, resentment boiled inside him with new strength. Right, they even had a big fight on the subject in that gloomy, unkept park not long before the disappearance. They screamed, and pushed, and blamed, and desensitized, and half-awarely hurt each other with rushed words, raw and undercooked. Thankfully, the exact wordings escaped his memory yet the tightening grip around his heart, the carmine blazing voice rasping in his head, and the whole unreality of the damn thing were still with him, as palpable as back then, rancid on the nose. Was it the last time he saw Yongguk? Most likely. At least it explained why he had been drawn to the park the other day.

The monstrous gray bulk of his apartment block loomed above him. The coffee had been peacefully sloshing in the cup the entire walk, untouched. He tasted his mouth: full of chewy worries and regrets. He was full for now. He opened the lid, slowly turned the cup and watched the lukewarm liquid dissolve into dark splotches on the asphalt, so easy.

After the crisp street air the room felt stuffy, instantly sucking his T-shirt and jeans inward, gluing them to his body. He opened the window, a gust of the wind hurried a pile of scraps and papers down from the table. Should have tidied up the useless junk a long time ago, bad luck, always a day too late. A shallow sigh, his back bent over, pecking at a paper after paper, he gathered all the rubbish, even discovering several gum and candy wraps, what a treasure hunt. Standing over a trash can he briefly looked through memos and documents. One by one he tore them and scattered over empty water bottles and frozen food packages. He dazedly lingered over a small handwritten note. “Never do this again. Himchan” The first word underlined twice. So… he had written it, apparently. Why was it still with him then? Had forgotten to give it? Got it back from an angry addressee? Had no time to pass it, or the opportunity, or the courage? All three? And wait, for whom had he written it? What had he done wrong? Could it be-

The phone ripped at the silence, its jingle slammed into Himchan’s thoughts through the wall. He swiftly threw the remaining papers in the junk and scuttled to the bedroom to interrupt the out-of-place merriness of the tune.

-Hello.

-Thanks god, you’re okay and not ignoring me anymore. — Junhong’s voice beamed at him across miles of concrete and steel. A mingy light ignited inside him but it burned out quickly, too frail to withstand the harsh blows of the wind and too deep down to offer any warmth. — You’re with me?

-Sorry. Just dozing off a bit. I’m right here.

-Are you eating well? You can’t live on coffee alone for so long. — Puffy sigh. — Oh, you’re not missing your rehearsal tomorrow, are you? It’s bound to cheer you up. — A huge smile pushed its way through the speaker.

-Yeah, Daehyun called this morning. Made it clear I have little choice but to go. — He suppressed a chuckle. Would it be weird to ask? He swept up together the beggarly debris of his nonchalance. — So, it’s tomorrow then?

A silent question filled the frequency.

-Y-e-s. The contest is coming. You agreed to meet every other day and did, before- Have you changed your mind and postponed the rehearsals?

-No-no. It’s just… My mind’s a bit hazy lately. Don’t mind my ramblings.

-Is this a side-effect of that drug you've mentioned? Have you told your doctor? — Junhong’s voice leaned closer.

-Not a big deal, really. Don’t worry, I-

Statics cut trough the line, just occasional scatters of phrases breaking through from the other side, nonsensical and mysterious. The ragged buzz consumed his mind. Most terrifyingly, he couldn’t tell if it was flowing from the phone into his ear or the other way around. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and pinched his nose bridge. A wavering instant on the threshold. The reception cleared.

-… of yourself. Listening?

-Aaa-ha.

-Have the depression deepened again? It is because of that guy, in the coffee shop?

He froze, blood thickened, numbing and weighting down his limbs, lungs turned into a dumb-bell, useless for breathing and too heavy for his chest to hold on to any longer, time swirled around in slow-motion. How? He hadn’t seen Junhong there, so the boy hadn’t been there, couldn’t. It takes some exceptional skills to overlook such a lanky guy, even sitting he sticks out like a sore thumb. And if he knew of the meeting, had he heard their conversation? How much of it? Did he have a hand in the whole thing?

-Junhong, do you know that boy? — Cold sweat traversed his back in short stealthy charges, from one vertebra to another.

-No, never seen him before. So it is what threw you off balance after all!

Either he was going crazy or the world, a humorless fellow it was, was playing a dour joke on him. He was looking into things too much. God, he needed a break.

-Oops, there’s another incoming call. Work. Later.

-Sure, hyung. See-

Tall fierce waves of pain crushed against his temples with every thud of his exhausted heart, cold coils nestled in his throat and chest, entangling and twisting into unswallowable knots. Himchan gripped at the tabletop. It was clearly an overreaction, what a drama queen. That was stupid, it meant nothing, the whole day was a mucky incongruous mess. Or his life a bad dream.

He should get a hold of himself… But how did Junhong know? Icy dew of sweat trickled down his neck sending a shiver through his body.

Work. Just get to work. No need to ponder over mysteries the life was diligently throwing at him. He excelled at forgetting recently. He could use that trick once more. He revived the computer, concentrated on the glowing screen, loud music in the headphones, hands tapping at the keys, stifling a gentle tremor. The night was going to be long.

~UG

#bap scenarios #kpop scenarios #bap scenario #kpop scenario #bap

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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Off the Memory Lane (ft. B.A.P) [Day 1]

A nightmare tortured him. It wouldn’t have been half as petrifying if it hadn't felt so real. He was chased by something he never saw as he was too scared to look back, yet, without looking, he knew it was catching up with him. It was calling... for him, or maybe not. It was screaming out a name in shattering agony, over and over again.

He woke up with a jolt, all covered in sweat, his fingers still rigidly gripping the pillow, his neck stiff and throbbing from the uncomfortable twist his body whirled itself into. A bottom bed sheet got torn off from the mattress and now was tightly wrapped around him in an improvised knot, sticking to his clammy naked body. How much had he been moving in his sleep to do this?! He was too drained to ponder over it. Plus, it was already past midday, no reason to delay the life any longer. Sighing meekly he just dropped the sticky sheet to the floor in defeat. He was in no mood for laundry right now. He headed straight to the shower, the only place in the world that never failed to relax him, sly pain started creeping inside his head. Wait, when was his last headache… must have been a long time. Actually, he struggled to recall ever having a headache. The thought resonated through him with a weird ping, he preferred to shrug it off. What a trifle!

Shower didn’t live up to the expectations. To put it plainly, it sucked. The water seemed too cold one moment, too hot the next, he couldn't adjust the tap the way that wouldn't make him greet his teeth. If before the shower the world was giving him a mild fever, after it – every sprinkle of cheery sunlight hitting his retina set his blood boiling, bubbling out of his veins. Hopes are overrated.

Everything went wrong from the very waking moment, what a splendid start of the day. Who would want to find out what his fortune was saving for the rest of the day's ride? Immediately, depression stuck out its ugly face, tousled and unwelcomed, evoking memories of his closest friend. He took a picture out of the drawer. Two happily smiling guys, genuinely happy faces, carefree grins, one arm draped round the shoulder. "From Himchan to Yongguk" was written on the back and a date underneath. Four years had passed.

It seemed to be too distant a date, almost unreachable, barely recallable. Today’s reality bore an uncompromising difference: there was no Yongguk, no more, he was nowhere to be found, gone. Forever. He could pull from his memory so many details about his friend: all his favorite things, tiny habits, his most significant dates, up to his siblings’ birthdays, anything you'd want to know, just ask. Continuing to thoughtlessly pierce the picture with his eyes Himchan unconsciously started mumbling, slipping into a hypnotic state. A raspy voice suddenly snapped him back to reality, his own voice. "…turn int…” Beginning of the sentence as well as the context of the reverie escaped his mind, escaped his grip. Head still spinning, he glanced up at the wall clock. Had he just spent half an hour staring at a single picture, really? As if it was enchanted. Himchan smirked at the silly thought, it was not unlike a remark his friend might have made. If he were still here to share thoughts with.

Anyhow, he had spent enough time in the clouds for today. No doubt this was his system asking for some fresh air and some coffee, definitely coffee.

He walked out of his apartment keeping to a lazy stroll. It was not that far from the place he frequented. Sitting himself down at his usual table in a coffee shop – so familiar it hurt – Himchan ordered one large Americano. Should he have asked for two cups right away? Few minutes later he was admiring its strong scent, warming his hands in its reassuring aura, calming his nerves. Then he made a lasting, tentative sip. Hot coffee coated his throat making it harder to breathe for a moment. It tasted wrong, stale and bitter. He stared, muzzy and spacey, at the cup wondering if barista had messed up his drink. He should have given it more time to cool off and bring out beans’ rich flavor.

-Hyung! Long time no see. – A tall, smiley boy seated himself across the table, naked happiness and relief spread thick all over his face. – You are okay?

Yongguk is dead. Came an unbidden thought but aloud he said:

-Okay, sure, I’m okay. It’s, hem, been a while, right?

-I haven’t heard from you for almost a week! It’s so not like you. I’ve started worrying. A lot, kinda. – Junhong face turned gloomy. A cloud passed as suddenly as it appeared. – Why haven’t you been picking up your phone?

-I… I’ve lost my cell phone. – He sounded guilty. Had he really? He could swear he didn’t remember where he left it. Did it count?

-Have you lost your home phone as well? – The boy raised an eyebrow.

-I… – He looked around for answers: confused; for a gateway: cornered. – No, I haven’t.

-That question was intended to be rhetorical. – He kept on pinning his senior down with a questioning gaze.

-It’s just… – Sigh. – I haven’t heard it. I guess.

-Not even once?!

-I’ve been out. A lot

-Were you out at, let’s say… 4 am? You are usually working at this hour!

Nervousness was lurking in the corners of his mind from the moment Junhong joined him at the table. Now he felt a full-blown panic thrashing against the walls. He also felt unnaturally, groundlessly guilty. And why did he even have to placidly sit through this absurd examination, readily providing answers? If one wanted his testimony, he might as well take him to court.

-I was sleeping. – He snapped appearing icier than he planned to.

-Sleeping. Through all the calls?

-I have some… troubles… sleeping of late. – He averted his eyes, staring vacantly at nothing in particular. – I’m taking those pills to knock myself out. Reality can’t get me for the next 7 or 8 hours.

Junhong fell silent, pupils shaking, mouth gaping. His friend bit his lower lip pitying the boy. Had he said something wrong again?

-Hyung, you should have just told me. Earlier. – His eyes started shining again, probably a bit glittery with tears or coated with hope, or both. Compassionate smile embracing his face, Junhong held his arm out toward his friend, then turned it palm down and laid his hand on the tabletop. – How serious is it? Have you seen a doctor? If there’s anything, you know, just ask me, I’ll…

-It’s okay. – His voice boomed through the small, cozy coffee shop, uneven and cracked. He breathed in slowly to calm himself. – I’m coping. I’m okay.

Junhong’s eyes were finally full with tears, lower eyelid about to spill them. That made his eyes visually pop out of the sockets giving his face an ambiguous expression, half-afraid and half-surprised. But Himchan, without a moment's thought, interpreted it as terror. Was the boy afraid for him or, possibly, of him? Gotta get away from here, quick.

He abruptly stood up from the table bumping into the down side of the tabletop with his knee, pushing away the chair with his calves.

-I'll get going now. I have to leave. Sorry. – He absently felt his pocket for some cash, pulled out a note without a glance, should be enough for a cup of coffee. – Sorry... – It was true, at least partly so. He had a bad conscience for running away, turning down the help, not explaining himself, for everything. – Ehm, it was nice to see you. – And he was out, seen off by Junhong’s desolate, clueless eyes.

He was tracing circles round the southmost part of the town, legs aching from a long walk, mind still an utmost bedlam. He walked around purposelessly, there was not much to see in the area anyway. The neighborhood was notorious for welcoming unsavvy passers-by with stray mongrels barking, street lights striking over health and safety issues, litter carpeting the roads, homes gaping windowlessly and unfriendly; in a word, not an eye candy.

His mind came out of its maze as he reached the gates, National Park of Harmony and Serenity. The name was engraved in a rotund florid cursive, painted gold and had faded already. Apparently, the label was meant to compensate for the surrounding disarray. The park would have been worth a visit if it could deliver on its promises but that was more than unlikely.

He tightly gripped iron bars, thick and cold under the constant touches of the insensitive wind. Though, the chill on his fingers was a welcome companion after the feverish, chaotic day full of unanswered questions. He moved closer, his forehead leaning against the fence, eyes drinking in the calm of the uncut grass and fallen leaves, rustling and howling intertwining into soothing music. He considered taking a short walk in the lone park and promptly thought better of it. It was late fall, the dusk was an early comer so it would be wiser to start for home, the sooner the better. He kicked a pebble out of the way and marched off.

He took a bus and was unlocking his apartment door half an hour later. Sending the keys flying to the nightstand Himchan sunk into the dark-beige leather couch. Head in his palms, fingers rubbing the fatigue out of his temples, upper arms resting on his knees, a flickering shadow rather than a flesh-and-bone body. Exhaustion was overpowering. He could as well finish all the work tomorrow, no burning deadlines. For now sleep was his best friend, his savior, his judge and his tormentor. The pills and water were close at hand as usual. He was just one gulp away from the…

~UG

#bap scenarios #kpop scenarios #bap scenario #kpop scenario #bap

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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Imagine Taehyung absentmindedly listening to you blabbering

“I don’t care what you are saying just don’t stop. I love hearing your voice”

#bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts scenario #kpop scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts #taehyung #imagines

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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Imagine Yongguk waiting for you to join him in bed

“Surprised? I already fell asleep twice while waiting for you. Now, come here, give this old bear a big, long hug and then...”

#bap imagines #bap scenarios #kpop imagines #yongguk scenarios #bap scenario #kpop scenario #yongguk #bap #imagines

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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Imagine JR seeing you with another guy

“And what does he have that I don’t?”

#jr scenarios #got7 scenarios #got7 scenario #kpop scenarios #got7 imagines #imagines #jr #got7

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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Thank you for the link!! I've already watched it like five times 🙈

Jackson approves! :D

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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Imagine suddenly walking into Daehyun rehearsing his confession to you

“Oh shit.../eternal crisis and mental breakdown/ I guess mmm the good is I don’t have to say it now /hysterical laugh/ Do you want to go to the amusement park together?”

#bap scenarios #bap scenario #kpop scenarios #daehyun scenarios #bap imagines #bap #imagines #Daehyun

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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Imagine Himchan drawing your attention to shy Zelo

HC: Oh, hi, we are glad to see you! Especially Junhong and now I have to go. /pushes the maknae towards you/ Thank me later.

Zelo: HALP

#bap scenarios #bap scenario #zelo scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #imagines #zelo #bap

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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hello! in the last imagine you posted, there was a gif of Jackson in a tiara saying darling, I was wondering if you knew what video that might be from? It was so cute!! thank you for your writing! 😊💖

Hello! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

Thank you so much for the compliment ^^

And yes, I happen to know where the tiara Jackson is from! That princess is from “Feel So Goods” ep.2 ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahbPO7DdtLw (around 3.55). There are subtitled videos on youtube in case you wanna watch :)

-ACE

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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Top of the hill (ft. BTS) [epilogue]

Yoongi didn’t know how much time had passed but it was already dark and cold. His face, knees, hands and shirt felt clammy and dirty. He gingerly uncurled himself, all his limbs numb, joints cracking protestingly with every little movement. Simply opening his eyes required immense effort. It was pitch-black, trees further obscuring the light of the young slim crescent and distant stars. Yoongi propped himself up on palms and knees, struggling to balance himself. His head was twirling; even the indiscernible darkness seemed to be shaking all around him. The stomach felt like a deep, screeching pit. The boy had no strength to get upright, his legs wobbling uncontrollably. It took Yoongi quite a while to drag himself to a nearby oak and lean on it. By the time he rested his back against the tree his breathing grew short and shallow.

The touch of the cool rough trunk helped him to calm his head and straighten his thoughts. Memories of the day before began flooding into his mind. Yet, unexpectedly, no terror or anxiety came with the grisly visions, passed events seeming to be simple plain facts, unyielding and unchangeable. Tales of the days long gone, long forgotten.

His breathing evened, arms stopped trembling but he still didn't feel strong enough to go anywhere. Did he even have where to go? Oh, right, there were kids left alone in the camp, scared and hungry, all of them boys younger then him. Now he is the sole person responsible for them. He knew what he had to do.

Yoongi approached the camp as the strip of the sunrise was unwinding in all its crimson glory. A small shadow detached itself from the nearest bungalow and hurried to welcome the exhausted boy back home.

-Yoongi! – Jimin stopped in front of the boy, trying to catch his breath, palms resting on his knees. – What took you so long? We were all worried sick. You got the pigs? You got them, right?! By the way, why haven't the others come with you? Ah, are they carrying the meat? – The kid jumped excitedly.

-No, not exactly. – Yoongi's face was stone.

-Is... is something wrong? – Jimin asked frowning, biting on his lower lip.

Yoongi abruptly changed his expression, a gleeful smile stretching his face.

-You have nothing to worry about. We got the meat, I got the meat. – He tousled boy's hair. – I'm going to roast it for you all right now.

-Really!!!? Oh, can I help? I'm super good at it, promise. Used to help my dad a lot when we were having barbecues. – A proud grin shining brighter than the morning sun.

-No, no need. I'll do everything myself. – His left eye twitched. – I'll manage just fine. Go back to sleep. And in a couple of hours I'm gonna wake you up with a tempting breakfast smell.

-You sure? You look... tired.

-Absolutely. None of you will need to worry about a thing from now on. I'm going to take care of everything. Everything.

-THE END-

~UG

#bts scenarios #kpop scenarios #bts scenario #kpop scenario #bts #suga

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stirpulses · 9 years ago

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Top of the hill (ft. BTS) [part 5]

The sun was planning to take a little nap as it was tiredly sliding down the sky, about to let all that lived under its light to rest from the merciless heat. Meanwhile Namjoon was happily scampering down the path. His heart was beating excitedly in the same fast-paced rhythm that played in his head as a tune was starting to take shape in there. His part of the hunt went perfect, much better than he expected, was expecting all the time he was trying to sneak behind the herd. Minute after minute spent in a nervous agitation, grim anticipation of the upcoming failure and acceptance of its eminence. Literally a moment after he made all the orders and left the sight of his friends he began to doubt his capability to successfully pull his part. He was picturing how he would lead the pigs to the wrong direction and then after a long way back would have to face Hoseok's disappointed face and Yoongi's spiteful remarks. Moreover, the kids at the camp had been waiting a whole day for them to bring a tasty filling meal. He couldn't imagine how they could return to them empty-handed.

But now all the worries seemed bleak and unimportant. Namjoon succeeded. He completed his mission, fulfilled his friends' expectations. His steps were light and confident. He hadn't stumbled even once on his way back despite the numerous traitorous roots and his ever-present clumsiness. The boy was now visualizing a completely different picture. He was thinking of how he would enter the clearing welcomed by his friends, their cheerful shouts and bright faces. They'd share their stories: Namjoon – of his dangerous and daring marsh through the forest on his own, other boys – of their brave and victorious fight with the wild pigs. Hoseok would surely mention that it was, for the most part, Namjoon's smart plan that allowed them to add the tasty meat into their poor regular diet. Well, what could he do. Namjoon would just have to laugh modestly and shrug the praise off. No-no, we were all great, each of us played his part perfectly, and even though I wasn't here, I still can clearly see your skillful thrust of the spear as if I've seen it with my own eyes, and...

Namjoon quietly giggled to himself. The day was not so bad after all. Actually, it was an amazing day! Their enforced stay on the island might even be not a stroke of bad luck as he thought before but a fortunate chance, hidden opportunity.

At home Namjoon felt as if he was not really fitting anywhere no matter what he set to do, he was desperately trying to find his place and failing repeatedly. He even volunteered to become a class leader. However, it turned out it be different from what he had expected – no significant decisions or meaningful changes, just tedious talks on trivial matters and uncomprehending eyes – so he got bored with it pretty soon. He went over every subject in turn vigorously but, even though he exceeded in almost all of them, none could hold his attention for long. He ended up taking up a foreign language. That was one of the most pleasing pastimes. Namjoon could daily assess his progress as he acquired new words and grammar structures, could quickly see the results of his struggles as he chatted with other youngsters around the globe or read foreign books.

Actually, his favorite way to pass the evening was to curl up on the windowsill staring at the familiarly close lights of the street and indifferently far lights of the stars, humming quietly to himself, accompanying his measured breaths with a simple beat he was drumming on his thighs with both hands. At the same time he couldn't stand idling! He wanted to make a difference in the world. In his dreams he saw himself influencing the nation's discussions, reaching people's hearts, inspiring others by his daring example. Now his whole world shrank to the size of a small uninhibited island. Now, it felt like his own domain. These jungles, that just an hour ago seemed to be dominating and threatening, presently felt like a tamed mustang responsive under his guiding hand. The green undergrowth, that seemed hostile and vicious not long ago this morning, was poetic and majestic in his eyes at the moment.

He sensed some special connection with this land. He planned for shelters to be built, and shacks were put up. He indicated the necessity of drinking water, and leaf-cups were kept full at all times. He wanted the hunt to commence, and weapons were crafted. He wished for the pigs to fall into his trap, and they obeyed. By his design the life of their tiny community was taking shape, so soft and supple in his hands.

As Namjoon was hurrying down the path, his head high in the clouds, he hadn't noticed the thing that was resting on the track. He managed to catch just a glimpse of it as it leaped into the nearby bushes. Namjoon stopped on the spot dubious about the safety of the further passage. He cautiously proceeded forward trying to cause as little rustling and shuffling as possible. Nevertheless, all his efforts appeared to have no effect. The closer he approached the thing, the more it looked like a shoe. Then he saw a leg that belonged to the shoe, then a tousled crown, and finally an entire boy. How startled Namjoon was when he recognized the boy. What was Yoongi doing here away from the clearing, why would he be prostrated on the ground face down, where is their hard-earned meat, just why? He stood mutely for a while, towering over his friend, unsure about what to say, uncertain about the reality of the scene. The frown between his eyes was getting deeper, casting an increasingly darker shadow that started to creep over his field of vision.

-Yoongi? Is that you? – His voice cracked twice even though the sentence was short. He couldn't tell where this strain in his throat came from: was it a consequence of a tiring day full of climbing and walking, was it nervousness accumulated over the days misspent on this island, was it fear sneaking up on him out of a pit he'd never known existed.

-...not, not my... – The boy was whispering confidentially to the wet silent ground and to the dead fallen leaves withered under the blows of fate.

-What?! I can't hear you. Tell me what's wrong. Are you alright? – Namjoon slowly leaned toward his crouched friend, extending his arm to pat the boy’s shoulder, hoping to help him with this simple gesture of care and support, knowing nothing of problems that cannot be mended by friendly laughter alone, expecting nothing worse than a skinned knee. He was forming Yoongi's name again when suddenly his body instinctively pulled him back, a sharp inhale whistling through his dry lips as Yoongi turned his haunted, blood-drained face to him.

-What are you mumbling about, Yoongi? – Namjoon started stuttering, his eyes wavering, realizing that he was unable to look the other boy straight in the eyes, that he was purposefully avoiding it. All the answers were written there, hastily scribbled in boy's piercing stare, encrypted on the very bottom of his screaming soul. One careless glance into these eyes would be enough to fathom their depth and read between the lines of the silence. Just one glance and Namjoon wouldn't be able to keep pretending that no adversity could have ever happened to them.

-Hoseok... where... – His voice cracked under the pressure of unbidden tears that were gathering in the corners of his eyes. He blinked rapidly forcing the knot of saliva down his tensed throat, watching as the light of sanity was slowly flowing back into Yoongi's eyes. – Where is Hoseok?

-We–

Yoongi abruptly broke off. Hadn't been refilled for so long, his lounges screamed for oxygen, a single word squeezing out the last drops of his breath, fast and haggard staccato of inhales, colors returning to his sunken cheeks, his stare turning razor.

-Those gigantic pigs, they just crushed into us. – Stopping his explanation short Yoongi sternly, resentfully bit his lower lip daring anyone to question him further.

-Is he hurt? Where is he!?

-He was stamped on. Many times.

It was too late for birds' twirling, so the rustling and howling of the wind was clearly heard all around them.

-Y-y-you mean, he's dead?

-Probably is by now. – Yoongi whispered lifelessly.

Namjoon could just stare dumbfoundedly in response.

-He was all bloody, messed up, he hardly breathed! – Yoongi’s voice was getting louder, almost ringing by the end.

Namjoon's numbness cracked.

-What? So he did breathe, was still alive, maybe, still is, lying helplessly back there. And you simply left him! How could you?! You should have helped him!

-Helped?! How!! Oh for God's sake, please, tell me how! Do you have a bullet to mercifully send through his head?

Namjoon's face contorted in a painful expression, all his features crawled across his face to gather in the center. A mere thought of... How could he say such cruel things so easily? They were civilized boys. He knew it, he saw them behave properly at school. They came from a civilized world. They were there just a few days ago and were hoping to return to their homes soon. Yoongi’s track of thought was above his understanding.

-A bullet? He was our friend. He was your friend!

-What's your suggestion then, smartass? What would have you done? Standing over the broken body of, your friend. – He forcefully poked the other boy's chest with an index finger, staggering Namjoon, strength-drained legs unable to guard him from this minor assault.

-I... I don't know. – Namjoon was in a haze, his head resonating and throbbing, hands shaking listlessly, sweat glistening on his forehead. He thought he was going to throw up. Why did his answer matter anyway? – But I'm dead sure I'd have never abandoned him on his own there. Isn't it the same as murdering him? Would you have left him to bleed to death if we were still home?

-Funny you'd say that. – He smirked. – Haven't it ever crossed your narrow mind that it was a whole lot different back there. There were doctors and hospitals. I was just one phone call away from a specialist. But here, we are like, in the middle of the freaking jungles. And you seem to forget about it a-a-all the time! Let's face it, sooner or later, we're all gonna die here! – Grievance sizzling in his eyes, spit flying out of his mouth, Yoongi clenched his fists even tighter.

Namjoon stayed frozen for a while. The words and accusations came at him like a slap. The thoughts kept on slipping from his grip. It was all their fault, the fault of the stupid parents who arranged for their little “harmless” trip, of the intolerable heat radiating throughout the tiring long-running day, of the bitter tears summoned by Yoongi’s malice, of the unfair eccentricity of our lives.

-Say whatever you want, but I… I disagree with you. Nonsense, it's all nonsense! You're just stressed, that's all it is... right. It will be better soon, maybe even tomorrow, you'll see, it's just like a nightmare, this island, it will be over soon, we simply need to wake up, someone has to shake us awake, needs to hurry… We'll escape from this island, mark my word, I know, there’s no other way, just the sight of home will heal you, the illness will be out of us in an instant, you–

-Stop it! That's gibberish. You're going crazy, I'm going crazy. Not a sane person left on this damn island. – He hesitated briefly listening to Namjoon's heavy breathing. – You know, when it happened for the first time, to Jin, I got scared, really terrified. I couldn't grasp the meaning of the world in which there was no him, in which there will be no me. Then it happened again. – Yoongi looked up, squinting at the poor patches of the sky barely visible through the rich canopy, its blue clarity out of sight, and out of reach. – I felt almost nothing when we were burying Taehyung. The moment seemed perversely familiar, almost like a déjà vu. And now, once more, for the third time... No, it doesn't get under my skin any longer. It's just numbers now, numbers that are getting bigger. I always hated math.

The catatonic silence floated around them, it wasn't uniting, wasn’t reconciling, wasn't reassuring, it wasn’t even awkward. The sudden quietude was full of unspoken remarks, criticisms and questions. The lull – of the surging electricity of the impending.

-Is it an excuse? Are you trying to justify your exceptional cold-heartedness at the peril of your friend by the mere fact that people die from time to time? Have you ever stopped to think of how many people on Earth had passed away up until today? The number is beyond any understanding! But how can it diminish the death of our friend? Does it really change a thing? What about this persistent gnawing pain, this irreversible loss? Doesn’t it ache when an occasional thought comes, of all the problems we will never share, mischiefs we'll never commit together, inside jokes we'll never come up with? An enormous rip has just been torn through my life. How can it be belittled by the holes gaping around it? The new chasm is still there. I can feel it! Your spiteful words and pitiful denial can’t take it from me. The emptiness won't allow me to forget, to trick myself into oblivion. Don't you feel it? How much different can it be for you? – Namjoon softly pushed at Yoongi's chest with his right palm. The shove was gentle, the boy didn't budge an inch, he wasn't moved, it only made him fasten his stance. – It hasn't even been a week yet for us and you've already lost touch with your civilized self. Was it that easy? What have changed you? Why?! What was that force that suppressed your inner inclinations before, taming a confused savage inside you, diverting the center of your attention to something other than yourself? Shouldn’t it still be inside you, under your control? Tell me, was it liberating to–

-Shut up! To hell with your overly-civilized bullshit! You don’t understand, you never understood. Even back at school you were an unbearable bore but now… – He felt on the verge of blacking out, his breathing getting ragged, inky, deformed, funny splotches blurring his vision, jaw stiffening painfully. Was it his body protesting to what he was about to say, could it had known what was to come? Yet, the boy was oblivious. A single sensation was keeping him preoccupied: cold hands twisting his guts. – Guaah, you just can’t get enough of yourself parading all over the place on that high horse of yours, can you? Always moral, so earnest, oh so right about everything, smart enough to judge but not to understand, our own common sense on legs. Do you know what other boys were saying about you at school? You must have heard a couple of snatches here and there. Still want to return to your beloved civilization?! Or are you planning to express build another one right here, in your own image maybe? You seem to weight a ton more here, on this God forgotten island. Those poor, scared middle-schoolers eager to eat up all your. Totally! Ingenious! Ideas!!

The rustle of the forest resonated with a new, higher wave of silence. The last loud shrieks, full of Yoongi’s bitterness, were stuck in boys’ ears, turning them both deaf to the serene whimper of the wind, to the dulling drone of the forest, to the sound voice of the reason.

-I don't believe you've said this... I feel sick. I'm sure that's not what you actually think... Hope we return to the camp soon. It's like you haven't heard a single word. Don't you see?! We won't stay on this island forever, the world hasn't ended. There are our lives out there, waiting to be picked up and thrust forward. When we return to the civilization...

-I warned you once…

-…how would you bear to…

-...to keep your mouth...

-...face the reality...

-Not a word more! You...

The words stopped working at once. Yoongi launched himself at the other boy. He was going to grip Namjoon, burying his fingers into his skin, and bring him to the ground, down, down from his stupid clouds, down to the cruel reality, down to where he was now, lying beside the wretched, turned inside-out body of his former good fiend, right next to Hoseok. It seemed to Yoongi like he would never be able to get up from that sunless clearing, pinned down by those inquiring eyes, or more like, the lack of them.

Namjoon's face suddenly contorted in a pained, disconcerted grimace, his hands grabbing sleeves of Yoongi’s shirt and instantly weakening, sliding down, hanging limply at his sides, pulling the weight of the boy backwards, his eyes rolled back, following the direction of the body. Yoongi wasn’t ready for this sudden retreat, the inertia pulling him further, closer to the ground, as he desired, almost as he desired, just one thing he neglected to take into account. Not enough time to let out a single gasp. Two boys hit the ground hard, one on top of the other, the point of the spear emerging from Namjoon’s back, scraping the dirt.

Yoongi gaped at the shaft of the spear he was still desperately clinging to, at this wooden bond that was now connecting one boy to the other, a link Yoongi would never be able to sever. He tried to let go of the cursed weapon, a mere toy of overgrown children, so he could back away from the terrifying body, that was already losing its heat, turning pale and rigid, could diminish his responsibility for the damned accident. But all his fingers turned numb, bone-white in the knuckles. He couldn't loosen the grip, the hand refusing to obey, his own arm seeming distant, sentient, and alien. His mouth was also, probably, taking on a life of its own because he didn’t remember when the screaming started. The awful, forlorn sounds trapped inside of him from the day they were hurled on this island, growing furtively, rooting doggedly, spreading relentlessly, never stopping to reap the harvests of doubt. They were free now to bend boy’s body and soul into any shape they saw fit. So he curled up into a sobbing, trembling ball, legs bent all the way up, face sheltered behind the knees, hands around the shins, fingers leaving deep marks in the flesh, tears and snot dripping into the wilted leaves.

That was it, that was the end. He could not run away from here, from them. They were all around him now. One who simply died before his very eyes, one who died because he didn’t keep an eye on him, one who died because he didn’t lend him a hand when it mattered most, and the last who simply died by his hand. Five of them lay together like reunited brothers, four of them resting on the margins guarding the one huddled up in the center. He was losing it: too scared to get up and stumble upon one of them, too fearful to open his eyes and find one of them staring back at him, too terrified to breathe or stir and wake one of them up. All he could do is lie perfectly still pretending to be one of them. Slowly, reluctantly, sleep took over him.

~UG

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