#I really just chose the worst possible moment to re-enter fan space with this being the semester I'm supposed to get my BA done 💀

[skibasyndrome]

Oh I really can't wait to have a free-ish weekend soon so I can do some catching up on the wilmon fanfic canon!

What would you say are some big fandom classics?

[monoguk]

unsteady

We don’t belong here. Go back.

FEATURING - jeon jungkook CATEGORY - drama . triggering WORD COUNT - 2000+

It pierces into the deafening silence; the first crack.

You hold your hands over your ears, blocking out the sound, but even the breaking penetrates through your hands, your ear plugs, your resistance.

Tears brimmed at your waterline, rendering you of your clear view. You see one last glimpse of a dream before sadness goes ahead and drapes a cloak all over the lieu. It was an apartment, modern and pristine, wide and obviously for two-spacers. The sunlight gracefully enters the abode, illuminating further the unit and emphasizing it’s cream walls. His clothes scattered everywhere, and in the midst of the crumpled materials were snippets of your shirts or shorts or underwear or beanies. For a moment, before your vision blurs, you see him walk out the door.

Every corner of the unit once sang to your joyous lullabies. But as the door resounded a bang, heinous whispers reach your hearing. What once were tinkling laughter were inaudible happiness. What once were romantic moaning were fading love.

Come back.

Who said that? You? Him? Somebody else?

Who needed to come back? Who needed to stay away?

Who needed to indulge in this addiction? Who is willing to withdraw?

Come back. It whispers, taunting you. A voice familiar though you can’t pin-point whose it is.

You’ve had enough of the horrors this empty living room has brought to you. Despite finding the worst nightmare in your shared bedroom, you still trudged forward with wobbly knees. Had you always been this weak, fragile, sickly?

You lay down on the sheets, so fragrant of the passionate sin the two of you had committed all night, so fragrant of his musky scent and of his natural boyish smell. You bury your face in the pillows, seeing glimpses of his smile covered by this exact pillow when he greets you a good morning, seeing ghosts of his lithe figure standing by the closet doors without a shirt on as he decides what to wear for the day (though in the end he settles with his trusty white shirt).

Drip. Salty water wets a tiny spot on the vast sheets, the liquid dispersing into a bigger radius. And suddenly, the tears won’t stop. The room turns gray; the room you once colored enthusiastically with him: Your polaroid mural turns monochrome, while your unkempt clothes becomes gray scale. Panting erratically, you reach for your phone, shaking fingers typing up a password that is very much related to him.

J. Jjk. Kook. 1997. Him. Never you. Never anybody else. Just, him.

Crack. Your hand taps at the screen. Each gesture increasing the volume of horrible sounds. Then, words enter your vision and suddenly everything is fine: colors returns, sadness retrieves its fine cloak, his clothes reappear, memoirs of you and his adventures fill your vision, the apartment lights up; all that’s left is him.

Crack. Crack. So, you tap ahead, colorful words swirling in your mind; scenarios overloaded in a confined space. A period later, you hear the door open. You hear his distinct footsteps approaching. You hear the smile painted across his face when he opens the door and rushes to you.

He was the sunshine. A god climbing down his throne to be with an insignificant mortal like you. Yet, you indulge in his words, whispering encouragements that you’d be the only one for him, that he fell for you and that it would never change. He smiled as if he never left just a while ago, as if it was a nightmare - a vivid bad dream - that happened in your subconscious.

“I’m back.” He whispers, peppering kisses along your neck and along your earlobes. He knew you loved his lips there as well, he knew just how to open and suck his mouth to coax a moan out of you. Almost as if he read your mind.

“You are.” You sigh, but the next moment you gasp.

He didn’t smell like him.

He didn’t wear white shirts like him.

He didn’t feel warm to the touch anymore.

No, he seemed to be nothing, an illusion floating on air - transparent but still there. Still goddamn there smiling at you like you were his sun. “What’s happened to you?”.

“You can’t come back.” And it all confuses you. Come back to where? You were already home, but home began to fade with that ever-bright smile still present. “Let go, let go.”

Involuntarily, your hands loosened. It was then that you realized you still held your phone. But your mind whirred slowly as you watched the device break into pieces on the floor, debris not even hurting your bare feet although they were in the way of danger. Where was the blood, the agonized scream, the caring questions from him?

You stared in horror, as the white ceilings dripped color from above, the white walls losing it’s luminosity to a grim gray.

Crack. There, you see, on the corner of the wall, a small crack, harmless and fixable. But he kept fading away, and still you couldn’t grasp him.

Stay.

Crack. Crack. The walls around you shows horrible destruction, cement dust accumulating with its breaking. Crack.

“Go back.” He says again, but he comes closer and the next thing you knew were the faint feel of his lips on you. “We don’t belong here. Go back.”

But this was your home. Where did you belong? No one would understand.

“Thank you for keeping me alive.” His final words triggered the whole building to collapse, and the first one to break were the glass windows.

But you weren’t dead.

You were on the bed, physique so different from before. The walls that surrounded you were neither gray nor pristine white but of a girlish pink hue. The polaroids were no more and were instead posters containing clusters of ridiculously-eyelinered people.

Stretching your muscles, your fingers gripped onto something, and when you turned to look at it, it was your phone, bare from the cracks you remembered it nursed.

Automatically, you opened it. But the password was wrong. It wasn’t j or jjk or kook or 1997 or something about him. He didn’t occupy your screen just like you remembered. He didn’t leave messages, though your friends did. You skimmed at their texts which showed that they were seemingly outraged at something.

As you sat up, you saw him, on the wall, confined in the dimensions of a glossy paper while a big print of ‘BTS’ laid across the center bottom of the poster.

Jeon Jungkook wore an elegant nightwear in the photo, though you specifically remembered him wearing his lovable white shirt just a while ago.

“It’s time to eat!”

Slipping away from the clutches of sleep, you regain your sense.

The kpop-fanatic room you were in made sense; this was yours as you were an avid fan, particularly of a certain maknae from a certain group.

The phone in your hand made sense; you fell asleep in the midst of you writing up a new fan-fic, featuring him, your bias.

Still, you promised it’d be your last book; but you’ve broken it for multiple times, drowning you completely in an abyss. Every time.

Nobody would understand. The crack that you hear at the back of your mind as your subconscious imagines new scenarios for a story starring Jeon Jungkook and some female lead or just the 'reader’ in a second person’s point of view.

Nobody would understand the addiction, the euphoria, of reading and writing alternate universes of your favorite group; the thrill of showing the world how you saw your idols would be if they weren’t famous.

Nobody would understand. Not even your fellow-army best-friends. Because humans are selfish and always thirsty for what they want for themselves.

You went ahead and stared at the jar on a cabinet across your room, tons of multicolored special paper and copper coins filling it to almost the brim. It took one year for you to make that possible - one year of instant lunch and of putting things in it with a positive hope; one year of not really being in a relationship with anyone - but it seems that your effort was just for nothing.

“Hey, come on. Food’s ready and class starts in an hour.” Your roommate peeks her head inside your room, catching you staring blankly at your impressive jar. “I’m sorry about that; i kind of heard from my sister, and she’s in a far worse mood than yours. If it makes you feel better, I cooked kimchi pancakes?”

You smiled faintly, finger automatically finding your phone. The device screamed at you, taunting you to bring back his glorious face, to re-copy his amazing songs, to set him as your pass-code. But, you had to move on. Because when reality met the shoreline you were sleeping on, it over weighed the feeling of the idea of him drowning you. So, you woke up, and realized the cruelty of the world beyond yours.

Indeed, humans were selfish, and you were no different.

You received the news a few weeks ago, the possibility behind it piercing a sharp arrow into your poor fangirl heart. It depressed you for a very short while,though you weren’t sure if it was one of those episodes when you’d have a drastic mood swing or you were just overreacting and jumping into conclusions too soon.

However, where there’s hope, misfortune lingers.

But you were smart, and tired; being sad was tiring, and drowning in coffee just to stay up all night to raise your GPA was offering no help. So, you resorted to what you did best in: write about him. Just him, nobody else. It blinded you of the reality crashing down on you, but you chose this path anyway; and unconsciously it added more weight to your muddled thoughts.

It is time to say goodbye. Because you didn’t belong there; he didn’t too. He was just a figment of your imagination: a boyish man you thought him to be.

Was he actually a dorky boy? A hidden playboy? A skillful gamer? A shy maknae? An aspiring police officer if he never became an idol? An intelligent student? A strong man when situation calls for it?

Or was he just a golden idol; nothing more, nothing less?

You indulge in the possibilities, but they were never enough. You praise every part of him with the best of your vocabulary, but was it too much or was it lacking?

“Thanks, I’ll be right out. Just gonna plug my phone.”

Your roommate heads out, leaving you to tend to your business.

The empty notepad sheet stares back at your from your phone screen, tempting you to write, write, write; promises of it being the last one acting as an irresistible invitation.

Indeed, you were weak, hands failing to control themselves, finger finding solace in the smooth surface of your phone’s screen. Then they tap away again, and as 'Jeon Jungkook’ is written, a smile appears on your face.

Crack. It’s fainter as it is louder. The dream returns, but this time you were yet to fall in love with him, this time he was a normal college guy who bought extra tickets to a concert to impress another girl he was trying to woo but he got rejected and it somehow came to you having the ticket because you were a fan. And, as the strobe light hits your face, and the crowd drowns out your shouts, he began to fall for you, you did to Jungkook a few months later.

You would always end up in that pristine apartment unit, always end up living in with him, always end up witnessing the sight of your messy clothes decorating the tiled floor, always reminiscing sinful adventures in every nook and cranny of the space, always end up being with him tangled in sheets - naked or not.

You ignore the messages spamming your inbox, ignore the weight of the reality they held, ignored the distress of your friends. Because you were selfish as much as they were.

 —  i can’t believe this! BTS concert is happening during our finals!!!!!!! Like, who does that????????????  —  hey, we’re in this together! how could you leave me alone?????  —  bff, i need u  —  lol, not lol, idk, i’m sad. halp me ;-;  —  i guess you just don’t understand :(((((((( come on, we’ve been saving up for this con for a year :((((((((((

Crack. You stand up, and save the finished scenario on you notepad, robotically reaching for your doorknob with an endorphic smile.

Because you were human, and you are selfish. Because you want, at least in your recorded fantasies. Crack. Crack.

And so, the apartment collapses; two entangled corpses buried beneath not sturdy cemented debris.

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