#chen poet au

[tornrose24]

TGAMM Aladdin AU ideas part 1

Was thinking of those TGAMM Aladdin AU doodles I made and thought of adding more details to that AU:

-This version of Agrabah used to be ruled by a tyrant (the Chairman) with an iron fist until the Chen family overthrew and disposed of him. While Reuben and Esther are far more benevolent in comparison as rulers, the kingdom is still slowly recovering and is a shadow of what it once was.

-Jinx liked how things were ran under the old ruler and wants to overthrow the Chen family and claim the throne. This is where her need to find the lamp would come in.

-The McGees aren’t poor, but they are just barely getting by. Pete desires to restore the kingdom to its glory days and he and Sharon do whatever they can to make money. Molly is the same way. Darryl is still getting into shady stuff to make money the easy way, but tends to get cheated out of whatever he makes.

-Esther and Reuben are seeking potential future brides for their son and to form a political alliance that could help the kingdom. Ollie would rather focus on restoring the kingdom without resorting to that. June is more of an inventor who keeps to herself and has no interest in getting married off either.

-Molly and Libby are still good friends, and Libby’s mother is also barely getting by as a bookseller and poet for hire. Especially after her husband abandoned their family.

-Andrea is one of the potential brides who doesn’t make the cut. (She’s secretly relieved because she already has her eye on someone else).

-I did not assign anyone to Dalia’s role, because I’m leaving that spot open for anyone’s self-insert/oc.

-The way Molly and Ollie meet up would be like in the 2019 film, which would also involve trying to get her brother out of trouble. (Again.) Like in the 2019 film, she would sneak into the palace to meet up with Ollie, who is trying to pass himself off as a servant. Molly is aided by her brother and Libby in sneaking into the palace.

-The two bond over wanting to help the kingdom's people and to restore it back to what it used to be.

-Molly sneaking into the palace is what gets Jinx’s attention. The woman has Molly, Libby, and Darryle captured and claims that she will only let them go without being reported on IF Molly enters the Cave of Wonders. She doesn’t bother mentioning the real identity of the boy Molly visited since its a waste of her time.

-The trio do find a magic carpet.

–Molly finds the lamp. However Darryl is the one who tries to take some treasure for himself, which triggers the collapse.

-While the magic carpet gets Darryl and Libby out of the cave, Molly gets knocked off at one point and becomes trapped. The carpet leaves so fast that Jinx doesn’t see it happen and assumes that her efforts were all for nothing.

-So yeah, no surprise–Scratch is the genie of the lamp. And he is NOT happy that his new master is a very excited young girl who is delighted to have made a new friend who has magic.

-She still manages to trick him into getting her out of the cave and back home though.

-So desperate to get rid of Molly, Scratch tells her about the three wishes and fully intends to screw her over with each one. Except there’s 2 problems. One is that Molly realizes that she has way too many wishes (mostly to better her kingdom) and cannot narrow them down to save her life. The other is that she doesn’t want to lose Scratch THAT fast and refuses to actually make any wishes until she knows for sure what she wants.

-Naturally, he is NOT HAPPY ABOUT THIS.

-Scratch has a much easier time granting wishes of Molly’s very shocked, but also delighted family, though they quickly wise up to the fact that he’s screwing them over on a few.

-He has even less luck with Libby who is VERY genre savvy about genies. She has to coach Molly on how to approach the matter when she is ready.

-Eventually Molly remembers Ollie and tries to go see him, only to find out that he is in fact the crown prince. She is crushed since she hasn’t seen him since before the cave, but there’s no way she can see him if she’s not even a child of nobility.

-However she knows that he cares about the kingdom as much as she does, and decides upon a wish that can do a lot of good. One that can be both selfless AND selfish.

-Molly tells Scratch that she wants him to turn her into a princess. One wealthy enough to gift the kingdom with enough money and goods to keep it going for a decade or two. If she gets the royal family’s attention, she can visit Ollie once more. Scratch is not entirely impressed with the plan, especially after realizing Molly has a crush on the boy, but hey she’s finally making a wish.

-Molly then makes an offer–since she’s had a hard time coming up with wishes, she will use her final wish for Scratch. Whatever he truly wants, she will wish it for him. He admits that he doesn’t exactly enjoy being forced to grant others wishes and wants to be freed from the job. He’s surprised at Molly’s offer, though he’s sure it won’t come to pass.

-However what he does NOT tell Molly is that if he is freed from the lamp, he will be reduced to a powerless mortal capable of dying and without a place to call home, and that idea terrifies him.

-So Scratch grants Molly’s first wish, even if he’s pretty sure its not entirely going to end well. He turns himself into a human and passes himself off as her advisor to keep an eye on things (and to get a front-row seat because this is BOUND to be somewhat entertaining). Libby also wants in and is made Molly’s handmaiden since she doesn’t want a large role that also forces her into the spotlight.

As for what happens next… well, keep an eye out for part 2.

[wyntersecret-a]

Main muse

Landon Bartholomew Wynter. journalist. het. fc: penn badgley 30-34 main. 32-36 film. 22-26 college. nights poet verse. beast boi verse. vamp verse. paranormal investigator verse. royal au. twin au.

Secondary Muse

Lance Tyberius Wynter. architect. het. fc: penn badgley 30-34 twin au.

Hub + Connection Muses

Veronica Allen. model. 33. bi. fc: teyonah parris

Daniel Baker. adult flm star. 32. gay. fc: david anders - @stvrlyte

Dawn Black. adult film star. former model. 31. gay. fc: kristen stewart

Kurt Burrows. historian & genealogist. 33. bi. fc: andrew west unknown half brother of Landon Wynter

Claudia Chen. actress. 32. het. fc: gemma chan

Lavinia Cortez. horror host. producer of toxic talk. actress. 27. bi. fc: sofia carson

Esmeralda Domingo. executive of diamond casino. 33. bi. fc: shay mitchell default gf of Landon in non ship verses

Emeline Entwistle. actress. 31. het. fc: blake lively

Tobias Fairchild. producer. majestic studios. 38. bi. fc: ed speleers

Holland Frost. dr of tech sciences, robotics & dna engineering. frost synthetics. 46. bi. fc: sarah paulson

Harold Graves. psychiatrist. 41. demi. fc: hugh dancy. Landon Wynter's therapist

Natalie Hill. lipstick gossip. tabloid journalist. 31. bi. fc: zoe kravitz former best friend of Jade Winthrope.

Susan Horowitz. ruby casino. businesswoman. 31. bi. fc: carlson young

Ophelia Keal. aspiring actress. socialite. 26. het. fc: tilly keeper

Mark Lansing. news anchor. film agent (hollywood verse only) 31. het. fc: chace crawford

Gloria Mancini. assistant exec. lipstick gossip. 30. het. fc: dakota johnson close friend of Natalie Hill

Cassandra Porter. boutique fresh cosmetics. influencer. yt beauty guru. 36. bi. fc: zazie beetz

Maxwell Rainier. town council. Rainier Farm. 54. bi. fc: michael sheen. father of Marley Jane Rainier Cypress Falls Resident @xwildheart

Miranda Royce. fashion designer. 29. bi. fc: nicola peltz daughter of Holland Frost - @godccmplex

Marigold Sinclaire. failed starlet. waitress. 34. bicurious. fc: amanda seyfried - american money plot @xwildheart

Brooke Stevens. kroq radio station. 24. bi. fc: joey king Cypress Falls Resident

Brett Sutton. radio dj. true crime podcaster. 31. bi. fc: jack quaid

Maya Tran. production assistant. cosmic vault. 35-40. bi. fc: maggie q

Jade Winthrope. forensic tech. 30. het. fc: shailene woodley

Florence Anton Wynter. novelist. freelance web writer. 56. bi. fc: michelle gomez

Request Muses

Joe Goldberg. bookstore manager. 31. het. fc: penn badgley - canon divergent in areas

Camilla Luna. oceanographer. ocean ways institute. 28. fc: lindsey morgan fiancée of Lance Wynter in twin au. (all interactions take place prior to her accidental drowning )

Hub & Connection muses are for established importance to Landon in his particular verses and/or have established things with other writers. Request muses are low activity but would love to see interaction. Only one is a canon but I write it my way and diverge. The other is deceased but still available for prior plots involving Lance.

[stainandscribble]

Beyond Words(III)

Let Me Hold You Tight

Pairing: Jongdae (EXO Chen) X Reader

Genre: Jongdae Poet AU; angst; fluff

Summary: A poet reminiscences about his old lover and their relationship in his new anthology, reminding himself of the importance of sincerity, and that love words are just as important spoken aloud as they are printed on paper.

Word Count: 5935

PART 1    PART 2     PART 3

A/N: Love is a blessing everyone is deserving of, and Jongdae has been blessed twice: with someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and a child, who he himself referred to as a blessing. I wish him all the best. In light of this, I will be concluding this short series in the next part. I will not be writing for him anymore. (I know its march but this is set in December because it fits the timeline and plot)

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Space was the nothingness between two things, an unspoken barrier, a limitation that kept you from him. You had told him you needed space. You needed time. Jongdae respected that. He didn’t push you. He had given you as much space as you wanted. You didn’t move back into your shared apartment for three months, until November. You didn’t sleep in your shared bed until December began knocking on your windows with frosty fingers and chilly drafts. He didn’t push, and he hoped he didn’t seem uninterested. In truth, Jongdae was captivated. He had thanked the universe every time you walked out of your bedroom to have breakfast together. He had thanked whichever deities looked down on him every time he could hold you in his arms. The soft hues of his eyes never strayed from you. Since you had told him you still loved him you had watched in glee and relief the way his publisher glared at you. This time, you noticed Jongdae had put a lot of effort into making it work. He sat with you at dinner and indulged in your hobbies, not having you indulge in his. He tried painting with you, and you had hung the pieces above the couch; your piece, drawn and painted with skilled hands and sharp eyes, his with the enthusiasm of a beginner. 

“I think this looks quite good, don’t you?” He asked, brown eyes twinkling as he looked over his masterpiece, although incomparable in skill to your own, still in his eyes, it was an achievement. To Jongdae it was a physical manifestation of the fact he was trying, and you had accepted his hard work. He turned his gaze to look at you, lips curled into a Cheshire-like grin, eyes following the trail of yellow paint smeared over your forehead and the pastel pink colouring your right cheek. 

“You should go into abstract painting.” You turned to look at him, lips mimicking his grin as your eyes trailed his clear face, bare of the paint you ended up covered in. He turned away from your wandering eyes.

“What do you want to watch now?” Jongdae turned on the TV and started flicking through the channels. There was a lightness in his tone; one that you had noticed only recently, since you moved your things back into the shared bedroom. It was clear he was happy. You would have been lying if you said you were not sharing in his happiness. 

“It’s winter sports season. I wanted to watch figure skating championships.” You answered, turning your back to the bright paintings that now decorated your living room. The only other decoration this bright in your home was a vase of purple hyacinths standing on the kitchen island. Since you moved back in, Jongdae had brought you a bouquet every fortnight. You appreciated the gesture, but you were also fed up of the unspoken apology. Your eyes fell on his hand curled around the tv remote, free from any stains. Since he apologised you had never seen him with any ink staining his fingers. 

It was something you wanted when you were breaking up because those stains reminded you that you were cast aside and disregarded in favour of his publisher and a pad of paper. It was no longer the case. His clean hand curled around the remote, flicking through channels for what you wanted to watch, and you no longer felt disregarded. You hoped he felt the same way; hoped that he was as happy as you were. 

“They are on today?” He asked, walking over to sit on the couch. 

“Yeah.” You went to sit on the couch beside him, as he sprawled out, leaning against the armrest. Some moments still felt new, as if your relationship was only beginning, and you supposed in some way it was. It was a new start, a chance to fix previous mistakes, give each other a chance to be better. In some respects, after being away from him for so long, you felt a little shy. That was why you sat a space away from him now. 

“Do we have a sport’s channel?” He asked, still flicking through the channels before he handed you the remote in frustration. 

“We should have. I was in our deal.” You told him, looking through the channel guide to find the sports channel. When you finally found it the competition was starting, and the first skater was about to go on the ice. Their dress was beautiful, embroidered with gems and sequins on the delicate fabric, and their routine was breath-taking, along with the scrape of blades against the ice rink. 

Jongdae motioned for you to move closer, his hand outstretched in your direction, intertwining his slender fingers with yours. With his encouragement, you moved closer, comfortably pressing yourself into his side as his other hand reached for a blanket under the coffee table. He wrapped the fuzzy thing around the two of you, keeping you warm and cosy. 

“It’s so pretty.” Jongdae whispered when the skater landed a triple axel. The soft instrumental music in the background was broken by the profound sound of her metal skates hitting the ice. You flinched, and Jongdae smiled, wrapping an arm tighter around you. 

“And terrifying.” You whispered, making him chuckle. 

The two of you continued watching, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, and you wrapped your arms around him, enjoying his warmth, and the smell of his cologne. For a moment, you were completely at peace, right where you belong. In Jongdae’s arms. 

You were so comfortable in Jongdae’s arms, at one point your cheek fell from his shoulder to his chest, his heart beating steadily in your ear. As the warmth completely consumed you, the last thing you remembered was being wrapped up in Jongdae’s arms as the announcer called out a double salchow. You did not remember going back to bed, nor Jongdae carrying you to bed.

I asked you what love is

And you answered,

That love is many things,

And that I must find love for myself.

Because love to me,

May not be love to you.

During December it had been cold and dreary, having you both in low spirits as you counted the days down to Christmas. Over the holiday period, he wrote all notes and lists with glitter gel pens and stuck them around the kitchen. You thought it was endearing, he thought it was hilarious. For the first week of December, the strange process of waking up beside another person was awkward. Sometimes you woke up on opposites sides of the bed, as far away as the bed would allow. Other times, you woke up in a tangle of limbs with your bodies twisted unnaturally, necks and backs aching for the rest of the day. It was pleasant A change you both welcomed because it meant moving forward, and the pace was irrelevant to the goal you sought out in the end.

Today was one of those days you woke up twisted, sweaty from the thick duvet and body heat. Last night you had fallen asleep on the couch, and now you were waking up in your bed, face pressed into the crook of Jongdae’s neck. 

“Mornin’” You muttered. Your eyes, still blurry from sleep, made out the deep brown of Jongdae’s eyes looking down at you, a small content smile curling his lips. 

“Good morning.” He answered, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

Jongdae woke up, the soft rays of cool winter sunlight streamed through the window, kissing your face as he watched. Soon, you stirred awake, eyes half-closed as you murmured a greeting. He kissed your forehead, pressing himself closer. 

“I love you.” He murmured into your skin, the confession hung in the air unanswered and heavy as he watched you tentatively, seeing sunlight reflect in your eyes and the morning flush bloom on your cheeks. The split-seconds it took you to answer seemed like an eternity for him, a sweet eternity he was willing to wait every time. 

When you answered, there was no hesitance in your voice, and Jongdae thought he was willing to wait an eternity if it meant that at the end he could hear you say it again.

“I love you too.”

The words rattled his bones, like the shaking of reverberating thunder. He had always thought you were a storm. You had always proven him correct. He wanted to stay like this forever, in this moment, and his fingers ached to feel you against them. He stroked your hair, pulling it out from your eyes, giving him a clearer view of your face. His fingers ached for pen and paper too, and it was almost painful not reaching over for it, lying just on the bedside table. He refrained. 

You began moving, getting ready to stand up, and he followed you, sitting up, letting the duvet fall.

“What do you want for breakfast?” You asked, getting out of bed.

“Cereal.” Jongdae mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he got up. You walked out into the kitchen, leaving him to make the bed. His eyes kept falling on the notebook and paper lying on the bedside table, his desire too strong to ignore, and before he knew it he was sitting on the freshly made sheets, writing away, the pen gliding effortlessly guided by his hand. The words formed on their own, and he didn’t see you walk in, ready to call him over, before you stopped in the doorway, watching with fond eyes as he bent his back over the low surface. Maybe if he had seen you there would be less guilt eating at him later. Maybe if he saw you, you would be able to reassure him. He was not meant to fit into your mould. You were meant to learn to fit together, each a separate piece of a puzzle that together would form a picture. Jongdae had learned from his mistakes, but he had yet to find the balance necessary for both of you.

--------------

Once he emerged from the bedroom, he avoided your gaze, and you could not help but feel the need to talk. And so, you did. You too had learned from your mistakes and knew that you had to make your desires clear, more forceful.

“Jongdae,” You called , and he turned his head away from his cereal to look at you.

“Yes?” He gave you a small smile, his brown eyes gazing at you softly as he played with the softened cereal in his bowl.

“You don’t have to hide away and wait until I’m gone.” You told him, referring to the incident that had transpired moments before. 

The spoon he was playing with fell from his fingers. You could see the dark ink on his fingers, small smudges decorating his hands like constellations. A smile formed on your lips, tight-lipped and rueful, but still, it was a smile, and you were both learning a balance and compromise all over again. 

“Just remember you have a life too, outside of pen and paper.” You watched his stare at you with wide eyes, part astonishment and part fear swirling in the kaleidoscope of browns. He leaned back in his chair; the soft smile he wore now replaced with concern. 

“I never asked you to stop writing. I asked you to talk to me.” You reminded him, voice firm but soft, as you gazed at his hands as he fidgeted with his fingers, rubbing against the ink-stained skin. 

“I feel like that was all I used to do.” He confessed, looking down at his hands. You walked up to him and leaned against the table.

“You are a poet. That’s not going to change. I don’t want it to change.” You took hold of his hands, stopping him from rubbing away at his skin. You could tell he was nervous; you did the same thing when you were. You manoeuvred yourself to sit in his lap and he let you, hands grasping firmly to your sides, thumbs massaging soothing circles on your waist. 

“Keep the ink stains.”

His heart leapt in his chest, the strange feeling of guilt, as if he had done something wrong, began to vanish, and with every caress, it lessened as if washed away by water. You pressed a kiss into his hair, murmuring the same thing as before. He reciprocated your affection in kind, kissing you with a newfound enthusiasm as happy tears burned the back of your eyes. 

“Keep the ink stains.”

So, I decided to find it for myself,

What made my heart race,

- beating against my ribs like the bars of a cage. 

What made my breath shake,

- hitch in my throat and never reach its home in my lungs.

What made my mind reel,

- play the film of you frame by frame like old cinema.

Later that day, as evening settled upon the bustling city, Jongdae busied himself pulling out the contents of your storage space. Behind the hoover and various bits and bobs, you had put away all your Christmas decorations, and now it was the time of year again from Jongdae to make a mess in the corridor by taking them out. He succeeded eventually, and you helped him put everything back in its spot. You two had gone out earlier to get a Christmas tree, a small living one that fir in the corner of the living room. 

Jongdae put on the multicoloured fairy lights, as you began putting on various baubles. Some were plastic, others were made of glass, and reflected the light like little mirrors. 

Once you were finished, you lit up scented candles and curled up with a mug of hot chocolate on the sofa. Jongdae sat on the opposite end, typing away at his keyboard as he sent out work emails and drafts. 

He just finished working on a short story for a Christmas special anthology by his publishing company, along with multiple other writers. Despite the workload, he still baked cookies and helped out around the house and went out on multiple errands like the grocery shop and the post office.

In the background, soft instrumentals played through your speaker. After about an hour, the peaceful atmosphere was broken by the sound Jongdae’s laptop falling to the floor. You rose from the couch and picked it up, making sure nothing had happened to it. Taking a glance at Jongdae, you noticed his closed eyes and even breathing. He had fallen asleep with his laptop on his lap, and it had fallen once he started moving in his sleep.

You put the laptop on the coffee table and pulled out the fluffy blanket from underneath, draping in over Jongdae as he slept. You tried positioning him so that he would lay down fully on the sofa. 

“Goodnight.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead before extinguishing the lit candle and walking back to your bedroom to get ready for sleep.

Once you emerged from the bathroom, you were greeted by the sight of Jongdae smiling sleepily at you as he finished putting on his pyjamas. 

“Goodnight Y/N.” was the last thing he said before climbing into bed. You did the same, curling onto your side, allowing Jongdae to drape his arm over your middle and thread his fingers through yours.

I found what made my heart ache, 

- the look in your eyes when you spoke about the things you love.

What made my breath hitch

- the way your fingers ghosted over my own before your hand found its way into mine. 

What made my mind come to a standstill.

- when the film ended and you walked away, and the flowers on the windowsill withered away. 

A week passed, and Christmas was coming fast upon the two of you. No real plans have been made, and Jongdae’s parents were insisting you both to visit over the holidays. Your parents said nothing, and since they had never explicitly invited Jongdae to visit with you for Christmas, still being stand-offish towards him. You understood them, and he didn’t push to visit them with you. 

Hence why you were now sitting by the table, eating your breakfast and looking over your calendar.

“Are we going to go separately?” Jongdae asked. It was time to decide what you were going to do, as time was ticking, and your parents, both yours and Jongdae’s, had been pestering you for answers.

“I haven’t thought about that.” You spoke, munching on your second bowl of cereal. 

“My parents have been asking if I’m taking you.” He told you, pouring himself milk in his first bowl of cereal. He had just rolled out of bed, hair a mess and coffee in hand. You watched him, the winter sun, bathing him in light, making him look ethereal. His features appeared sharper; a morning blush flushed his cheeks. He smiled softly at you as you watched him. He enjoyed having your eyes on him and the feel of your eyes scanning over him, invisible fingers caressing paths over his features. 

“My parents didn’t ask.” He heard you whisper, and his heart tightened listening to your hushed voice. He smiled at you, trying to lighten your spirits.

“They still don’t like me?” He asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Watching me live at home for half a year wasn’t pleasant.”

“Maybe we can split it up? One day with your parents. Then one day with mine.” Jongdae reasoned, sipping on his coffee. You nodded, watching him, eyes scanning over his face, falling on his Adam’s apple. 

“I’m all yours. No need to stare.” He smiled at you, and you smirked, leaning over the table to peck his lips. 

“Have you gotten presents for your mother yet?” You asked him, returning to your breakfast. 

“No.” He answered, reaching over to fill his bowl with another helping of cereal. You passed him the milk standing on your side of the table.

“Me neither.” You told him. “What were you going to get her?” You asked, wondering whether you should bring a gift of your own if you were going to split your time between both sets of parents. 

“Perfume, chocolates. That is what she likes.” He answered between spoonfuls of cereal. 

“What perfume are you going to get her?” You asked, wondering about your humble gift to your mum.

“She likes Chanel, and I know she is about to finish one of her bottles.” He just shrugged; eyes turned to look at you. Your shoulders were hunched as you rested your head in your hands.

“My mum wanted a new electric mixer. One of the fancy ones, since her one is living out it's last days.” You told him, and he nodded, promising to take you to a store that sells kitchen utensils.

----------

Later that day, he walked around with you, sipping on bubble tea as you browsed through the shopping centre, electric whisk in a bag hanging off your arm as you looked for a perfume shop that carried the fragrance Jongdae wanted.

At one point, he left you alone, telling you to go get cake, as he disappeared in the mass of people doing last minute Christmas shopping.

You were left in a Starbucks, finishing your bubble tea and a slice of cake you ordered. 

-----------

 Jongdae walked away, leaving you in Starbucks as he rushed through the crowd of people towards the jeweller. Once he got into the quiet store, he was greeted by the worker, who happily showed him what he was looking for, before packing it in a pretty box. 

Jongdae thanked her, before tucking the box away into his bag, hiding it so that you would not find it.

With a smile on his lips that caused them to turn up at the corners, and turn his eyes into slits, he walked back to where you were waiting, finishing your cake and tea.

You waved at him, ushering him to your table, allowing him to sit down before asking your questions.

“Where did you go?”

“I needed to check if I was getting the right perfume. I didn’t want to get the same one dad was getting her.” He told you, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. His heart skipped a beat when you nodded your head and picked up your bags. You didn’t question him any further, and he was thankful for that.

“Come, we still need to get her present.”

It was all you. 

How could you say that what is love to you,

May not be love to me,

When my love

Is you.

Christmas eve rolled around, and the next day you were going to spend Christmas day with Jongdae’s parents. Tonight, you were with your parents. Jongdae was slowly making amends with your mother, as your parents accepted that he was back in your life, and you hoped that this time it was for good. 

“Jongdae, would you like some hot cocoa?” You asked, peeking out from the kitchen, watching him set the table as your dad did the last-minute hoovering. 

“Yes please.” He called back, setting another crystal glass in front of one of the four chairs.

You helped your mum, taking the dishes to the table, giving her time to change into more appropriate clothes, before your parents and Jongdae and you sat down.  

The dinner went by smoothly, the conversation flew by, about your illustrations featured in a magazine and about the nomination of your artwork for some type of award; at one point your mother even commended Jongdae for a literary nomination in the poetry section of a country-wide award. You did not expect her to as civil knowing that she could hold grudges, but then again so could you. 

“The spiced cake is lovely.” Jongdae turned to your mother, finishing his last sip of hot chocolate. Your mum smiled at him, turning to look at you, and Jongdae’s arm that draped over the back of your chair, thumb running circles over your shoulder. 

“Y/N is a good baker.” She replied and you hid the blush. Baking was something you could always do, and you had been pretty proud of that. 

“She is.” Jongdae commended, giving you a small smile, eyes twinkling in the bright light, the multicoloured fairy lights of the Christmas tree reflected in his dark irises. Without thinking, you smiled back, oblivious to the fond look your father had been giving you all evening. 

“You are going to your parents’ tomorrow morning?” Your father spoke, and you turned your attention to him, smiling brightly.

“Yes.” Jongdae answered, his arm falling from the back of your chair as he rested it in his lap. 

“Wish them a Merry Christmas from us.” Your dad instructed, and you could see the playful glint in his eyes, making you smile. 

“I will. Thank you.” Jongdae replied, a small polite smile plastered on his lips. 

“Thank you for the flowers. They are lovely.” Your mum turned to him before her gaze fell on the vase standing on the top of the chest of drawers under the tv. It was a bouquet of mixed edelweiss, bluebells and honeysuckle. Silent; Jongdae had told your mother he loved you, and it had brought a smile to your lips every time you thought about it.

“And thank you for the wine.” Your dad added, gesturing to the bottle of red dessert wine standing on the dining table. 

“Why don’t we open it tonight, seeing as you are leaving tomorrow?” he asked, and Jongdae turned to you, silently asking if it was okay.

“Sure.” You nodded, going to get a corkscrew from the kitchen.

 The rest of the evening went by smoothly, with you ending up in Jongdae’s embrace at the end of the night, warm under your blankets in your old room.

And yet, you were right.

Love to me was unspoken

Love to me was a subtle breeze.

Love to you was something obvious.

  Morning came, and neither of you wanted to move. Still, he was the first to get up and shower, and you left to help your mum set up breakfast. Once you finished, you went to shower yourself, leaving Jongdae to talk to your dad over the morning news. 

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An hour later it was time to leave, and after a heartfelt goodbye and your parents fretting over if you took everything, you were off on the road, travelling to the next town over where Jongdae’s parents lived. 

“Do you think they will be happy to see me?” You asked, looking over at Jongdae as he focused on the road. You were greeted with a white Christmas this year, and so he was being extra careful whilst driving. Snow was everywhere, and you were thankful the roads were cleared out before you got in the car late in the morning. 

“They call you daughter in law. Why wouldn’t they be happy to see you.” He answered, a smile tugging at his lips, and you gave him a small smile back, on instinct, despite the fact he never saw it. 

The rest of the three-hour journey was peaceful. Jongdae sang along to the Christmas song on the radio, encouraging you to sing along with him as he gave you cheeky smiles and stole little glances your way, doing his best to focus on the road. 

It was a miracle you were not stuck in traffic between towns, so you arrived at his parents’ house around one thirty. 

“We’re here.” Jongdae announced, pulling into the driveway of his childhood home. His mother was the first to get out of the house to greet him, his father following close behind. You stepped out of the car the same time Jongdae did. Almost immediately he was engulfed by his mother’s arms, caught in a hug so tight you could imagine him turning red.

“There you two are!” His mother exclaimed as she let your boyfriend go, giving you a warm smile in greeting. Despite your relationship with Jongdae being repaired, you doubted you would feel comfortable with his mother embracing you, and so you were thankful for her keeping distance. You came to stand by Jongdae, his hand finding yours in split seconds as he threaded your fingers together.

“Don’t they look lovely together?” His mother asked, eyes falling to your joined hands. You blushed lightly, letting Jongdae lead you into his parents’ house.

“Come in, how about some lunch?” His mother asked, leading the two of you to the already set dining table. Jongdae’s dad was already bringing out the tureen for soups. His mum went and got side dishes from the kitchen, motioning for you to sit down.

“I don’t want to bother.” You responded, trying to politely decline, despite the fact you already knew it was useless. 

“Nonsense.” She waved a dismissing hand and went to place the dishes on the table. 

“Sit down.” Jongdae’s dad gave you a reassuring smile as Jongdae motioned for you to sit beside him, his arm draped over the chair you were meant to sit in. You had poured yourself a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup, and so did Jongdae. The soup was delicious, so much so that Jongdae ended up having seconds. Once the food was done, you helped Jongdae unpack your things from the car, and then went to help his mother cooking. The house was spotless, and the only other thing to be done was Christmas dinner.  

You cut up carrots and parsnips as Jongdae peeled and cut potatoes. His mother busied herself with baking a pie.

“I’m glad you two are back together.” She commented over her shoulder as she rolled out pastry. You stopped what you were doing, choosing to let go of the knife in your hand. Jongdae gave you a worried look. He had not told his parents about why you two broke up, figuring that Christmas was not the best time to tell them everything. He had not seen them in a while, seeing as they were away from the country for the last six months because of work. You had agreed to keep your metaphorical dirty laundry private for now.

 “I don’t understand why you two broke up in the first place.” Jongdae pursed his lips, giving you a small smile as he looked at his mum.

 “We thought we needed some time alone to think things through.” You answered for him. Technically it was not a lie, you had done a lot of thinking during the time you spent apart, and you believed, as did Jongdae, that it had done the two a lot of good. it had given you a much-needed break, and it also released a lot of tension between you.

 “I’m glad it all turned out alright in the end.” His mother smiled at Jongdae, and then at you, and you returned the smile, a little less enthusiastically.

 “Mum lets leave this topic for a day other than Christmas.” Jongdae butted in before his mother said anything else. The kitchen fell silent as he resumed peeling potatoes, and you managed to give his free hand a gentle squeeze. 

------------

Night came quickly after that, and soon you were sitting at the dinner table, dressed in one of your better dresses. The dinner had been peaceful, you walked away stuffed and smiling, eyes falling onto Jongdae every once in a while, admiring the golden tone of his skin under the candlelight.

You walked to the lounge; the large living Christmas tree stood in the corner. It was decorated with opulent ornaments and the fairy lights glowed a brilliant red and gold in the dim lights.

“It’s time for presents.” Jongdae’s mother exclaimed once everyone sat comfortably in the lounge. An old copy of The Nutcracker lay on his father's lap, open to the first page.

His mother pulled out some gifts from under the tree, giving the first one to her son.

“Here you go, darling.” She passed over the colourful package. 

“And you too, you are family too.” She said, giving you a serious look as she handed you a small box wrapped in red.  

“Thank you.” You told her, looking over at Jongdae as he went behind his father's armchair, pulling out two boxes and a bottle of wine.

"Here you go." He handed his gift to his mother and passed over the bottle to his father.

"What's the third one?" His father asked, setting the bottle aside.

"Y/N thought you would like this, to put up on the picture wall." He handed the box to his father, and he pried it open, revealing a frame with the magazine article featuring Jongdae and his anthology. It was back from a month or so ago, after he received a nomination for the national poetry award.

"Oh, it's lovely." His mother said, picking the frame up.

"She thought it would be nice for you to have a memento of my first success." Jongdae explained, squeezing you hand as you pressed yourself closer to his side. His mother looked at you, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiled, murmuring a silent thank you. She proceeded to put the frame up on the chest of drawers below the wall covered in family photographs.

------------

Once you were alone in Jongdae's room, you relaxed a little, unaware until now of how much stress this evening caused you.

Seeing your slumped figure, Jongdae smiled, moving closer, until he was right behind you. He could feel the warmth of your skin and smell your favourite perfume. His heart beat faster, straining against its lining in an attempt to escape the confines of his ribs. He hoped you didn't hear the erratic beating, nor the deep breath he took before speaking. Jongdae summoned all his courage, bracing himself against the storm that you were.

“I have another present.” He whispered, arms wrapping around your middle from behind. You threaded your fingers through his, running your thumbs in circles over the backs of his hands, enjoying the comfort of the moment. Jongdae was warm and solid behind you, his presence allowed you to relax as your shoulders fell. 

“Another one?” You asked, and he hummed in confirmation, the vibrations tickling your ear.

“You’ll like it.” He promised, and you could feel the hind of a smile in his voice. He let you go, and you turned around to face him. Jongdae pulled out a small velvet box out of the pocket of his suit trousers.

“Jongdae-” Your breath hitched, but he stopped you before you could say anything more.

“Be mine.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me. Not if you don’t want to.” He told you, close enough you could feel his warmth, could imagine the erratic beating of his heart. Or was it simply the echo of your own heart?

“I’m asking you to stay with me.” Jongdae looked you in the eye, his dark orbs smouldering with intensity like ardent flames. 

“During the last year I have learnt many things, I learnt that I need to be more attentive, and find a healthier way to come with negative emotions.” He told you, voice gentle as he spoke, your eyes never leaving his.

“I’ve also learnt that I can live without you.” Neither of you flinched or reacted when he said that you both smiled, ruefully, but it was still a smile. 

“But I also found that I don’t want to. I want to stay by your side indefinitely. I can live without you, and you can live without me, but I don't want to. I want you. I love you.” He told you, opening the little box he was still holding, revealing the thin band of gold among the dark cushion. A single brilliant pearl sat in the middle of the band, like a moon against the night sky.

You thought back to his anthology, mind catching onto the significance of the ring he was holding. 

“I cannot water you anymore,

And pearls, like dew 

I cannot give you.”

You remembered the passage from his poem, and tears swelled at the back of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

He had finally given you the pearl he always wanted, finally fulfilling his self-made promise. 

“Our love is an inkwell, and I promise to never let it dry again.” He promised, and before you could continue, you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was sloppy, nothing like the ones on screen, your teeth clashed, and your neck hurt, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the man in your arms; the man who had decided he loved you more than ink-stained fingers, who had kept his promises. It was the man whose ink-stained fingers you learned to love, the same one who brought you flowers and compared you to spring and flowers and the sun, and made you feel like you were all of those and more. You loved him, and you didn’t want to live without him either.

“I love you too, Kim Jongdae.” You broke the kiss, whispering those words against his lips like a prayer.

“I love all of you.” You told him, eyes looking into his own as you let his fingers, stained a deep blue, slide the ring onto your ring finger as your hands wrapped around his neck, keeping his body close to yours. 

Is this obvious enough?

Loud enough?

Eternal enough?

I hope it is,

because you are. 

[sehunniepotwrites]

i’ll send all my loving to you | jh.s

💌  part of the OF FIRST SNOWS AND SOULMATES collaboration with @ppangjae​, @smoll-tangerine​, and @jeongvision​ 

💌 SYNOPSIS: When your collection of unsent love letters and heart-wrenching poems becomes a best-seller, you are left with the pressure of releasing another collection that is better than the last. In search of inspiration, you return home for the holidays only to run into Johnny Suh– the very man who broke your heart, and discover a variety of letters convincing you to change your fate.

So, riddle me this: if you had a chance to change your fate, would you take it?

💌 WORD COUNT: 24.8k+ 💌 GENRE: holidays!au, college!au, soulmate!au, friends-with-benefits!au,  friends-to-lovers!au, romance, angst, fluff, humor, slow burn 💌 PAIRING: photographer!johnny suh x (female) poet!reader

💌 WARNINGS: cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex and divorce, odd references to sci-fi shows and movies

💌 PLAYLIST. lover by taylor swift • for life - english version by exo • unless it’s with you by christina aguilera • i don’t wanna see you cryin’ anymore by adam melchor • love letters by juris • sick of losing soulmates by dodie clark • best friend by jason chen • popo (how deep is our love?) by yerin baek • sun&moon by nct 127 • i’ll like you so much you’ll know it by wan junqi • if by juris • anyone else by joshua bassett • hate everything by golden

💌  a love letter to my readers.

hello, soulmates! welcome to the first fic of this special spin-off collab based on ppangjae’s seven letters. this collab has been in the works since november and we’re so excited for you all to read our four fics! now, i hold this story close to my heart because all the poems included are my original work (so please don’t steal them!) 

it’s also related to this johnny drabble i wrote a while back: “you turned him into poetry because you can’t have him any other way.” (not necessary to read but it’s less thatn 500 words.)

and without further ado, here’s the first of four letters!

signed, @sehunniepotwrites​

From your large bedroom window, you could see a picture perfect day. The winter sun peered through the large clouds, the rays casting an illuminating glow on the freshly fallen snow. A slight breeze made its way through the air, causing tree branches and your blackout curtains to rustle with the winds. Looking down below, you saw children and adults alike playing in the soft snow. Shrieks of laughter were heard as people threw snowballs, built lopsided snowmen, and pressed angels’ silhouettes into the ground. You saw bundled up couples making their way down the streets with interlocked hands and cups of steaming drinks to keep them warm.

It was as perfect as a beautiful winter’s day would ever be— if only you could write about it!

BAM.

You slammed your hands against your desk by the open window, letting out a frustrated scream. It was loud enough to alarm the people playing below, causing them to look up at you with widened eyes. You shut your window with a bang and yanked your curtains closed with more force than needed.

The door to your room flung open to reveal your frazzled roommate and best friend, Donghyuck. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” he yelled as he entered your room with widened eyes. 

You could only groan back as you belly-flopped onto your bed, lower legs hanging off the sides. “Everything. Absolutely everything is wrong.” You pressed your head into a pillow, hoping the soft cotton would drown you and take you away from your misery. 

“And what exactly does everything include?” your roommate implored. He took a seat beside you, the mattress sinking down into the springs of your bed frame as he did so. Donghyuck awkwardly patted your upper back as you continued to moan into your pillowcase.

You didn’t give him an answer. Instead, you looked up from your pillow and glared intensely at him. “This is all your fault.”

He drew back his hand and placed it on his chest. “My fault?” Donghyuck asked dramatically with a scoff. “How could this be my fault? I don’t even know what your problem is!”

You sat up with a pout, arms crossed against your chest. “I’m stuck.” 

“You’re stuck,” he repeated with a deadpan expression. “Now, what in the flying fuck is that supposed to mean and how is it my fault?”

Grabbing your pillow by its corner, you gathered the fluff before beating your roommate with it. You struck him on the head, his sides, and on his stomach with huge whacks, leaving him to squirm on your bed. 

“You had to go and send my work to a publisher without my consent and. Look. Where. It. Got. Me!” you screeched, your last few words being enunciated with a strike to your best friend’s stomach.

He grabbed hold of your hitting arm before you could make another attack. “Young, rich, and famous?” he suggested cheekily with a hesitant grin. “New York Times Best Selling Poet, Sunny Blume?”

At the sound of your pen name, you jerked your hand away from his grip and went into another hitting fit. “Correction: I am a struggling English Lit senior who happens to be a New York Times Best Seller with the biggest case of writer’s block, you dumbfuck!”

Donghyuck bit your writing hand, or the money maker as he called it, causing you to yelp in pain. You clutched your throbbing hand and pouted, “Ow!”

“That’s what you get for blaming me!” He stuck out his tongue before pulling you into his hold. He kept you in a loose headlock and sat you on his lap. “Now, what’s this talk about writer’s block, buttercup?” 

You sighed against his hold, your head rolling back onto the crook of his neck. “I haven’t written anything in two months,” you blankly stated as you stared up at the ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. They seemed a bit childish when you first hung them up but they were nostalgic and kept you grounded when you needed them most. 

“Ah,” your roommate simply replied, allowing you to continue.

“And according to my agent, they want a draft of my next collection by the end of January,” you lamented. You both glanced at the calendar hanging by your desk— it was already the 1st of December. 

His plump lips thinned out in an awkward smile. Donghyuck brought a hand to your shoulder, patting it in defeated consolation. “Wow, that’s rough, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes before sliding off his lap. You dragged your body towards your messy desk, shuffling the crumpled wads around before grasping a stack of papers to hand over to your friend. “This is literally all I could come up with.”

He snatched them out of your grip, brown eyes skimming over your messy scrawl. With raised eyebrows, he read the top poem out loud. “Roses are red, violets are blue; I can’t write shit, so boo hoo hoo.”

Just hearing those poorly written words made you want to bang your head across on your desk or throw your refurbished typewriter off your table— scratch that last thought. That typewriter was a prized possession and a precious gift interlaced with a special memory, you could never part with it. 

“These are—” he began to say, his dry hands skimming through the pile of crumpled paper.

“Don’t say it,” you countered. You already knew his answer. 

“—complete utter shit,” he finished his thought. 

You pulled out your swiveling chair from under your desk and flopped onto it. Dropping your head down, you faced your friend with a cheek squished onto the cold surface of your desk.

“I know,” You sighed defeatedly. “I just— I don’t know, dude. I don’t have anything to write about!”

“Well, what happened to Miss Romantic Sunny Blume that wrote all those love letters and sappy poetry?”

“Excuse me, Miss Sunny actually had someone to write about back then!” you fiercely snapped back. “I don’t have anyone or anything to inspire me now!” 

It was true. When Donghyuck secretly sent your first round of writings to a publisher, you had a muse and he was beautiful— almond eyes, a perfectly sloped nose, a kittenish smile paired with a sweet voice and an even sweeter personality. He was a poet’s dream boy and even better, he was your best friend.

His name was John Suh but you called him Johnny. Just saying his name brought a lovesick smile to your lips.

When you were with him, your words painted pictures of childhood innocence, of laughter flowing in with the flowers and the trees. You grew up attached at the hip, conquering the big old world with your hand engulfed in his, and many stories poured out of your adventures. You wrote of moments that you cherished and wanted to preserve through the art of the written word. 

The ones you mostly wrote about, though, were the times he made your heart skip a beat. Johnny used to grab your hand and pull you away from the end of the sidewalk to stay on the safer side, causing you to flush with appreciation. You scribbled about the times he would push back your hair with a smile, press a kiss to your temple, or he would look at you as if you held the whole world in your eyes. 

“Hey!” A rough shove to your side brought you out of your thoughts and onto the hard wooden floors. You let out a whine, rubbing the shoulder that made contact with the ground. 

“Sorry,” Donghyuck replied unabashedly. “You were doing it again.”

Again meaning spacing out and thinking of the one person that held your precious heart in his hands before snapping it in two. As much as Johnny had been your muse in the verses of love, he was equally responsible for the prose and poems touching on heartache. 

Johnny was the sole inspiration for your unexpected Best Seller, letters left unsent. As hard as you tried within the past three years to find another, no one could ever stir up your heart with a fountain of words as Johnny did.

In other words, you were so fucking screwed.

When one cannot think of what to do, there was only one thing you could do: when in doubt, call your—

“Mooooom,” you whined, pressing your phone against your ear with your shoulder. You juggled a mug in one hand and a steaming pot of tea in another. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sweetie,” you heard your mother sigh into the phone. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Why not?” you argued back like a child, a louder whine leaving your lips. “You’re my mother, aren’t you supposed to know everything?”

“Oh honey, don’t be like that,” your mother chuckled. “I’m not a writer. I don’t know how to use my words as well as you do.”

“Well then, I’m at a complete, utter loss.” Taking a sip of your hot tea, you hissed as the temperature burned your tongue, “Ack, too hot!”

Setting your tea down onto your living room coffee table, you slid onto the couch in a weird slouch, where you’ve camped out for the past few nights. Your last bullet journal was filled to the brim with no blank pages left, jam packed with scribbles, rips, and stains of either coffee or tea. It held poems, yes, but they weren’t good enough to publish— they were dry. Beyond dry, even. Devoid of emotion. Just words on a page. 

“Nothing from your old notebooks?”

“Nothing that I haven’t already published in print or online,” you complained. “I guess I could probably pull a couple but not a whole bunch.”

Your mother called your name just as you placed the phone on speaker and you responded with a crushed hum. “You’re on break now, yes?”

“Yeah,” you replied back. You and Donghyuck had just finished your first semester of your senior year, with break beginning at the start of December. You had been tucked in your small apartment, away from the blistering cold of winter ever since. 

“Would a change of environment help?” she suggested kindly.

“I’ve tried that already— I’ve gone to coffee shops and libraries. I’ve people-watched in the park. Went out with friends. And still, absolutely nothing,” you moaned. You were just about ready to give up.

“Ah, no. That’s not what I meant, dear,” she said a bit apprehensively.

“Huh?” was all you could give back.

While you grabbed your mug to take another sip of tea, you could hear your mother suck in a deep breath through the speaker. “Why don’t you come home for the holidays?” she uttered suddenly, throwing you in for a loop.

You froze in place in shock, the mug almost slipping from your hand. Your fingers gripped onto the handle tighter than necessary, the cup shaking in your hold. 

Your mother, more than anyone else in the world, knew that going home for the break was off-limits to you.  You hadn’t been back home for the holidays for the past three years, the memories of your heartbreak four years ago still living fresh in your mind. Although you had never told her the full story, one look at your shaken face and she knew that something had happened— call it a mother’s intuition. She held you in your arms while you cried and watched over you as you leaned over your desk, maniacally typing away on your typewriter. When the following break came around, you refused to go back home. So instead, your family came to you.

Placing the tea back on a messy paper stack that replaced a coaster, you exhaled loudly, your breath blowing through the mic of your phone. “Mom, w-why would you even say that?”

“Sweetie, I still don’t know what exactly happened between you two but you can’t keep running away from home. Or your problems,” she advised, her tone morphing into the ‘know-it-all’ mom voice that you hated. You grumbled but didn’t say a word. “Besides, when you were home, all you could do was write— coming home could help you tremendously.”

She paused, as if the dull moment in her words would help you think. “And if you need any more convincing, John hasn’t been home in three years either, honey. I doubt you would run into him here.”

“I guess,” you responded, voice teetering. 

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

Days after speaking to your mother, you forced yourself out of your shared apartment like a man on a mission. You went to the movies and to the theatre, hoping you could pull ideas from existing plot lines. Your feet took you to record shops and more cafes to find inspiration. You went on drives and rode buses while staring out through the window, hoping for words to just hit you. You did anything and everything to call upon your creative juices but nothing helped.

“Honey, I’m home!” you jokingly shouted as the squeaky door to your apartment swung wide open. You winced, you really needed to get that checked out. Throwing your keys into the bowl on top of your shoe rack, you shuffled your way to the kitchen to brew some coffee.

“Yo,” Donghyuck greeted, his lithe body sprawled over the couch. His arms were outstretched to hold his phone over his head, a finger scrolling through the feed. “Any luck today, Rupi Kaur?”

“Nope.”

“Sucks to suck, Lang Leav.”

“Oh, fuck you too,” you retorted as you poured some sugar and creamer into your cup. You inhaled the heavenly scent as you whacked your roommate’s legs off the couch. Taking a sip, you sighed. 

“This is the best part of my day right here,” you said as you drank a mouthful of caffeine. It immediately dispersed warmth down your hands and throat, like magic.

“Really? I thought it was wandering through the cold weather in search of ideas and failing at it,” Donhyuck threw back. You smacked his arm and he yelped, murmuring something about always being your punching bag but you paid no attention to his words.

You took another long sip of your coffee, eyes glaring at your sassy roommate.

“Maybe you should listen to your mom, you know?” he proposed, running a finger through his long brown locks. 

“Hyuck,” you started.

He interrupted you as he sat up in his seat and gave you a pointed look. “Listen, she said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hasn’t been home in years. So why not go home?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look, you could even search through your old notebooks and maybe you’ll find ones that haven’t published yet,” the boy pushed, “or you could even revamp or write responses to your old work.” 

That was true—many people have done that before. 

“I’ll even go with you for moral support if you want me, too,” Donghyuck lightly suggested, testing the waters. As much as he sassed you, your best friend never wanted you to be uncomfortable.

“You would do that for me?” you pouted with sparkling eyes. You coiled your arm around his, playfully rubbing your cheek against the sleeve of his shirt. “You growing soft on me, Hyuck?”

“Ew, I’m never soft,” he reacted, his face contorting with fake disgust. He wiggled his arm out of your ridiculously tight grasp to give you a noogie, knuckles digging deep through your hair and on your scalp. “Come on, we have some packing to do.”

Okay, so you were doing this. 

And so came the dreaded day— December 7th, the day you planned to drive home. Luckily, your university was only an hour and fifteen minutes away from your hometown so it wasn’t much of a drive. Donghyuck waited downstairs in the packed car as you did your last minute checks around the apartment. After checking everything was either turned off or unplugged, you swiftly slipped on your boots and outerwear. You opened the door to reveal your postman with a package in hand. You jumped at his sudden appearance, not expecting it at all, and he had the audacity to laugh at your skittish self. 

“Oh, just in time!” he chuckled. He read off your name, “Is that you?”

“Yes, sir,” you answered him. He grinned at your polite answer, handing you a clipboard to sign off on. You quickly scribble your name in exchange for the small package and whisper a distracted ‘thanks,’ shaking the box once it was snug in your hand. 

The postman laughed again before leaving you to make more deliveries.

Heavy boots pounded on the steps of the staircase as you curiously eyed the package. You continued to stare suspiciously at it as you entered the passenger’s seat of your car with your friend in the driver’s seat.

“Retail therapy?” Donghyuck teased as he glanced at the mysterious box. You shook your head, hair swaying with movement as you buckled your seatbelt. He set off onto the icy street and suddenly, you were on the open road, heading back to your childhood home for Christmas. 

“No, everything I ordered already arrived,” you answered with furrowed brows digging deep into your face, “but it’s addressed to me.”

The driver shrugged, still keeping his eye on the road. He was driving slower than usual due to the condition of the pathway. It would probably take you two hours to get home rather than the usual hour and fifteen. 

“Maybe one of the warehouses made a mistake and sent you two sets of things instead of one, it happens a lot this time of year,” he said nonchalantly. That was a valid point.

Using your keys as a dull blade, you cut through the tape. Hands dug through the bubble wrap to find a brand new Moleskine journal and a fancy fountain pen. The cover was black and made of leather. The book itself was pocket sized, a perfect notebook to slip into a purse or a slit in a coat. 

“So, what is it?” Donghyuck tried to look over curiously and you scolded him, telling him to keep his wandering eyes on the traffic-clad highway. 

“It’s a brand new journal and pen,” you said, describing the items to him. “Funny, I never ordered this, though.”

Flipping through the pages, you found them to be dotted— exactly how you liked them. Your hand turned to the first page, surprised to see lines of neat cursive scribbled jotted on the bright surface.

“Huh.” You blinked. Why would someone send you a used notebook? That was odd.

Another odd thing about this whole mysterious package was how familiar the handwriting looked— the way this person dotted their I’s and crossed their T’s. You recognized the loops of their L’s and their F’s.

It looked awfully similar to the way you did it but how could that be possible? 

The cursive read:

My dear,

It will be December 7th by the time you get this package. I know you’ve been wanting to purchase a new journal, I am you from the future after all.

You’ll be needing this. A beautiful muse will appear in front of you soon. I will not tell you who or when— you’ll know who it is right away. Call it a little bump in the right direction by the Fates.

After you meet him, find the yellow Moleskine journal tucked under your bed. I have placed another note for you in there.

Sincerely,

the sunflower who misses her sun 

Quickly shutting the notebook, you threw it into your purse before chucking your bag to the back of your roommate’s car. You slapped the side of your head, trying to take away whatever wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey bullshit you just read. What in the space-time continuum was this crap?

“Dude, are you okay?” Donghyuck asked, clearly concerned.

“Let’s talk about something else!” you demanded, still shaken from the words you just read. 

“Whatever you want, buttercup,” he went along with your suggestion, immediately shooting into stories of him with his crazy high school friends and his current partner. His absurd stories throughout the ride cracked you up and they reminded you of all the old shenanigans you and Johnny used to get into. Funny how your thoughts always traveled back to him.

You hoped that once you meet your new muse, your thoughts of your childhood friend would disappear. 

Donghyuck gently called your name and you turned to face him with a slight smile.

“I don’t think you ever told me,” he started.

“Told you what?”

“Why you chose Sunny as your pen name,” he finished, glancing over at you for a second. 

“Oh, that?” you answered, leaning your head against the car window. You crossed your arms as you began to explain, “Johnny used to call me sunflower, you know.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you almost giggled, “thought I was a bundle of positivity, always looking for the bright side in everything. Guess it just stuck with me.”

Donghyuck hummed, “And were you? Seems a little different from the you that got her heart broken.”

“I guess I was,” you answered wistfully thinking of the day he gave you that nickname, “but really, I was just a sunflower looking up at someone she thought was the sun.”

i wonder how long  i have to look at you like a sunflower gazing up at the bright sun before you shine  your rays down on me and only me

Memories of one specific Fall day with him came to mind. 

It was four years ago— the day was hot, not a single cloud in the sky and yet, there you two were at a pumpkin patch. You were gleaming with both sweat and excitement while your tall best friend who had been there before watched you with amused eyes.

While it was your first Fall Semester in university, it was Johnny’s second Fall quarter away from home. When Johnny moved away to study photography at a prestigious university, you remembered how sad you were to not have your partner-in-crime by your side but all was well when he made the forty-five minute drive home on weekends. Those days were the times you were glad he didn’t wander too far.

You chose a well-known university that had an amazing English program. An hour and fifteen away from home but also only twenty minutes from where Johnny was, meaning college courses couldn’t separate your strong bond; that was how you ended up running through corn mazes and haystacks. 

He had his favorite camera on him that day, strapped around his neck. You could remember exactly what he was wearing, too; that image of him lived forever in your mind. He sported an oversized striped button-up tucked into a sleek pair of blue skinnies and adorned his classic Converse. Round glasses sat on the edge of his nose with his hair parted and styled immaculately. Johnny just looked like the Fine Arts major everyone fantasized about. 

You could still picture all the people stopping to stare at him but he paid no attention to them, his hands and eyes too busy fiddling with his camera. 

You were admiring the field of sunflowers in front of you when Johnny yelled your name. You turned towards him with a curious smile, a hand touching the stem of a flower before a flash went off. 

He took pictures of you, the loud noise of fast shutters going off, and you rolled your eyes before he waved you over to come check out the shots. Johnny leaned down as you peered over his arm, his finger navigating through the quick shots he took. He stopped on one particular photo and grinned.  

Johnny caught you mid spin, your head turned over your shoulder as you clutched the flower in your hand. Your eyes bled both wide-eyed curiosity at him calling your name but also admiration for the flowers behind you. The mustard yellow of your shirt stood out against the green stems and there was a small smile gracing your lips highlighted by your favorite fall-colored stain. 

In other words, it was the perfect shot. 

“Look, you fit right in with them,” he said, smiling down at you with a certain fondness in his voice. It was soft, not like his usual teasing voice.  “My little sunflower.”

You scrunched your nose at his cheesy comment, although it made a weird feeling hatch in the pit of your stomach. It felt odd and fluttery but you shook it off to lightly shove his buff arm.

“Oh shut up, you giant,” you remembered saying before smiling up at the man who was too busy admiring the picture. If anything, he looked proud of the shot— his eyes shining in a certain way. Or maybe it was something else, you just couldn’t put your finger on it. 

Your eyes flickered around his face, admiring the way the glasses and his black hair framed his face so perfectly. Maybe your eyes lingered a little too long because the next thing you recalled was him saying, “Are you done staring at my gorgeous face? I wanna take pictures of you being a basic bitch by the pumpkins.”

And then, the teasing returned. 

“Ugh, evaporate, tall person,” you pretended to groan as you made your way to the pumpkins. 

“Eh, can’t— who would drive you home?” he called out cheekily, using his long legs to catch up with you. Johnny elbowed your arm and you dug yours into his side, leaving him to moan painfully until he asked for mercy. 

The boy took so many other pictures of you and the scenery that day. The next time you visited his dorm, you stole a glance at his wall of favorite shots. Right there on the bottom of the wall was that picture of you, unedited.

You remember biting back the biggest smile. You held it in until you got home, your mind relishing in the feeling when pen hit paper. You wrote your first poem about him that day and three years later, it became one of your most famous pieces.

first coat of white hits the ground and i forever think of you angel of snow, do you think of me, too?

Not even two days of being home and your mother had already sent you on an errand run. Usually, you would moan and groan for being sent outside with a to-do list but today was the exception as it was the first snowfall in your hometown.

“Hurry up and unlock the car, I’m freezing!” Donghyuck called, his hands yanking on the handle of the passenger’s door. You stuck your tongue out at him and pressed a button on your keys before taking in the feeling of fresh snow hitting your skin for a moment more. You followed him into the car, buckling your seatbelt before driving off on a familiar pathway. Driving through your neighborhood with the snow raining from the sky made you sigh happily.

The first snowfall of the season was always special to a romantic because of its significance. People believed that a confession to a crush made on the first snowfall would always be reciprocated. 

Just as so, the first snowfall was special to you. Not because of crushes and confession or anything of that sort. The very first fall of snow was special because it brought Johnny to you. 

You remembered being just shy of five years old, excited about the first snow day of the year. Quickly dressing yourself in your outerwear, you ran around in front of your house with snow dropping down from the sky. Your family laughed at your hyper antics, watching you from the window as you began to play by yourself. A snowman dressed in your best winter beanie and scarf set kept you company as you decorated the yard with snow angels. 

Just as you were getting up from making your last snow angel, a dark shadow blocked your view. You made out a pair of dinosaur snow boots facing you, then your eyes tracked up to see a happy boy wearing a matching dinosaur winter jacket and beanie. His puffy lips smiled brightly at you from above and you looked up at him with a pout, not recognizing him.

“Who are you?” you asked as you dusted snow off your pants.

“Hi, I’m John and I’m six! I just moved here!” the boy beamed, his almond eyes closing as he gave you another cute smile. 

You replied shyly with your own name while moving onto another spot in the snow. You sat down, ready to make another snow angel. 

“I live there now,” John pointed to the house across the street, his dinosaur mittens peeking through his sweater paws. You nodded while he told you this. You remembered thinking he talked a lot. His mother watched not too far from him on the sidewalk with a fond smile. Your parents came out to greet her, the adults striking up a small conversation while they kept their eyes on you.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m making snow angels, duh,” you gestured to all your markings on the floor. “See, those are wings right there.”

“Can I make them with you?” John questioned, sitting on the cold ground next to you. You nodded enthusiastically, happy to have another playmate. He flopped onto the snow and you followed suit with a loud giggles.

“I like you, Johnny— you’re fun,” you blurted out with a beaming smile.

“That’s not my name! My name is John, not Johnny,” he insisted with a small frown. Your grin slowly flipped upside down, saddened by the rejection from your new playmate.

Seeing the tears building in your eyes, the boy panicked. “But it’s okay— you can call me Johnny!” he quickly blurted to put an end to your waterworks. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, cause I like you, too. You’re pretty,” Johnny hugged you, his small arms wrapping around your tiny waist and you did the same in return. Johnny’s father was quick to snap a photo of the hug with his camera, successfully capturing your first picture and memory together as friends. 

Time passed quickly as you dragged your bodies onto the snow while your parents observed the new friendship in the making. They predicted the start of a long-lasting friendship; they just failed to predict the ending. 

Regardless of the tragic end, the first snowfall of the season was still something you cherished. It reminded you of shy introductions in dinosaur outerwear, laughter, and a billion angels surrounding the white dusted floor. You just hoped that when the next person came along, they would learn to love snow angels as much as you did. 

You exited through the doors of the grocery store while hugging a paper bag to your chest. The items were piled up a mile high, obscuring your view of the parking lot. Donghyuck noticed your struggle and asked if you needed help but you shrugged him off— your car wasn’t parked that far from the entrance. It was just a few more steps away.

The snow was still falling from the sky, the cold nipping at your exposed skin. Your friend walked ahead with the keys, determined to return to take advantage of your car’s heater. He left you struggling to see and a strong gust of wind threw you off balance. You stumbled with one hand clutching the bag to your chest and the other pushing down on the items on top of your pile. Too focused on not letting your items touch the ground, you failed to see the couple walking straight towards you and crashed right into what felt like a brick wall. 

You fell back with force, arms flailing around. You closed your eyes as your back came in contact with the icy ground. You groaned— that was definitely going to bruise.

“Oh my god, Miss. Are you okay?” a gentle female voice panicked. 

“Ah, I’ll be okay. A little bump won’t kill me,” you awkwardly laughed. You scrambled to get up but the icy road was preventing you from doing so. 

“Baby, help her up!” the woman scolded her partner as she started to gather your belongings. 

“Oh no, it’s okay. You really don’t have to do that.” 

Where was Hyuck when you needed him?

“Nah, it was my fault anyways. Here, let me,” a friendly male voice replied as a strong arm pulled you up with ease. 

You froze in place, feet glued to the ground because you knew that voice. Oh god, how you knew that voice. You heard it so many times throughout your life, it was hard not to recognize it. How could you forget the voice that was so prominent in your childhood and teenage memories? That voice was ever so present in your first year of college, laughter echoing through dumb phone calls and moans resonating through your thin bedroom walls.

How could you ever forget the voice that lived in your mind and heart?

“Miss?” he called again as you refused to look up, your hands curled into tight fists. Instead, you stared at the ground, watching the snowflakes hit the floor. You weren’t ready to see him but when he spoke once more, you realized there was no use denying the inevitable. 

“Y-yes?” you coughed, glancing up at him with a self-conscious smile. Your eyes met his russet brown orbs and you prayed to whatever higher power was out there that he wouldn’t recognize your frazzled self. Being your best friend for so long, Johnny knew who you were at first glance. His gaze widened and his grip loosened around your wrist.

There was a deep contrast between him and the white falling snow but even with a wide-eyed gaze, the man before you was more beautiful than ever. The dark hair that was imprinted in your memory was now dyed a honey blonde. His strands were a little bit longer now and his face a tad bit thinner. The little upturns of his lips and his defined cupid’s bow were still the same. He wore that plaid winter coat you gifted him and Johnny still looked like an angel amongst men.

A pretty angel. Your snow angel. 

Johnny whispered your name, sending this warm surge throughout your body. You suddenly felt way too hot in all your layers. You muttered a tiny ‘hi’ back accompanied with your unnecessary finger guns. The woman with him handed you back your groceries with a kind smile and you returned it with a forced one. 

“John, do you know her?” she turned to him, her pretty hand clutching onto his bicep.

“Yeah,” Johnny breathed out, still a bit awe-struck that you were right in front of him again. “This is my, um, childhood best friend. You know the one I’m always talking about?”

“Yup, that’s me,” you managed to spit out, rocking on the balls of your feet. 

Where in the hell was Lee Donghyuck? How come he hasn’t checked on you yet?

“Oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” the girl relayed. 

“You have?” you asked, shooting your former best friend an odd look. He gave you a slight smile back, just one corner of his chapped lips curling up. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t heard much about you.”

She playfully slapped Johnny’s arm. “Well, introduce me, silly goose!”

“Right, this is Alice, my—” he paused to clear his throat, “my girlfriend.” 

“Great to meet you,” she stuck out a hand. 

You lifted your bag of retrieved items as an excuse not to shake it. “Right back at you,” you reciprocated, doing your best to hide the pieces of your broken heart. 

You gave them a tense smile. You needed to get out of there right away before your heart fell out of your chest. “Sorry to cut this meeting short but I do have someone waiting in the car. He’s been in there for a while now, so if you’ll just excuse me.” 

Before they could answer, you shifted on your heels and power walked without looking back. Quickly tossing the items haphazardly into the back, you slipped into the driver’s seat and drove away. The car went right past them, Johnny watching you as you sped into the street.

Donghyuck sat quietly for a minute but ended the silence when you began to bang on your steering wheel at a stoplight. “What the fuck happened out there? Did I miss something?”

“Hyuck, of all the things that could happen to me out here, what was I so afraid of?” you screamed at him, knuckles turning white as you tightly gripped the wheel. 

“Um, I don’t know. I can’t read your mind.”

“Think, Donghyuck, think! It’s really not that hard to use that little brain of yours!” 

When he couldn’t think of a possible answer, you groaned. How did this idiot call himself your best friend?

“I bumped into the last person I wanted to see and I couldn’t just be rude,” you screeched as your car dashed along the street. 

“I bumped into Johnny-fucking-Suh, can you—” You stopped mid-sentence, your thoughts going back to the note in the journal.

You’ll know who it is right away. Call it a little bump in the right direction by the Fates.

Bumped. You bumped into him. 

You wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. There you were, ecstatic at the possibility of finding a new muse when in reality, nothing had changed.

Johnny Suh was your muse— always had been and always will be.

And of course, you met him again during the first snowfall of the season. Of-fucking-course. 

Screw the Fates.

Driving home at record-breaking speed, you scared Donghyuck half to death. There was this frantic look in your eyes as you turned onto your street corner and into your driveway. You rushed out of your car and swung your front door open, leaving your friend to bring the groceries in— a bit rude to make your guest do the work but your mind was running wild at that point. There were so many questions floating amuck in your brain and you desperately needed answers.

Throwing yourself by your bedside, you dug into the drawers of your bed frame, hands flying through your old belongings. They pushed through your special treasure box filled with trinkets, your polaroid albums, and a stack of journals crowded with your old thoughts and musings from your high school days until you found it. 

There it sat— your yellow Moleskine journal. Just grazing your hand over the book brought back so many emotions. You grazed over it with a far-off smile, hand fiddling with the elastic that held it shut. It was worn-out unlike the other ones in your drawer of miscellaneous things because that journal was well-loved. The cover was far beyond clean, stained with ink marks and dirt that came from who knows where. 

You opened it slowly, delicately as if it was made of glass. In some way, it was because this was your life for a year, all trapped into one small notebook. It was your raw emotions and the whispers of your heart during your first year of college. The very journal you held in your hands was the original draft of letters left unsent. 

There were poems and notes and letters far too personal to publish, words for only one other person to see. You remember typing up the better ones on your typewriter and leaving them on your college apartment desk and those were what Donghyuck found and sent. 

But the rest of the words in this journal remained a secret, hidden underneath your childhood bed and from the rest of the world. 

Your hands gently turned through the pages, looking for anything out of the ordinary and you found nothing within the bindings. Just as you were about to give up on finding that supposed letter tucked into this notebook, you caught a glimpse of a pink envelope sticking out of the back cover’s file pocket. 

Tugging it out, you were astonished to see your name so carefully crafted on it. It was written in the most beautiful calligraphy, the gold of the ink picking up specks of light and glittering like the stars in the sky. With a trembling hand, you turned it over and broke the wax seal to pull out another letter.

It read:

Hi again,

You must be feeling extremely overwhelmed. I remember I was when I saw Johnny again. Was he still as handsome as you remembered? 

If you haven’t realized by now, Johnny Suh is your muse. Some things change but that never will. 

Seeing him again ignited that little light I lost all those years ago but my mistake was that I never acted on it.

Do me a favor— pick up that pen I gave you and start writing. I know there are so many thoughts bustling through your head. Don’t let them get away; they could be your next best seller. I can’t let you be a one-hit wonder like I was. 

There was another mistake I made and I’m writing to you so you won’t do the same. 

The next line you read left you speechless. It hit you like a tow truck— hard. You dropped the letter, the page fluttering to the floor.

This was creepy. Beyond wild. How did this piece of paper even get here? This was improbable. Impossible.

You had watched and read almost every sort of time-traveling science fiction available to mankind and this did not make sense because like you said, that was fiction. You were living in the real world— a place of fact. 

You wracked your brain for any sort of explanation but none came to mind. No science could explain this. Gathering your courage, you picked up the fallen paper and continued to read.

Johnny Suh is your soulmate and my biggest mistake was letting him go. 

Imagine living a life without the person you are destined to be with. I’ve lived a miserable life without him as he lives one with his Alice and I cannot let you suffer through the same fate.

He may be in love with Alice in the future but in your present time, you have a chance to stop their love from blooming even further. You have the chance to make it right. 

So, my dear self, let me ask you this—  if you had the chance to change your fate, would you take it? 

With love, 🌻

You scoffed, disbelief raking through your features. Where was your Doc Brown  or your trusty Eleventh Doctor with a TARDIS to help you out of this conundrum? Wouldn’t this alter the space time continuum?  

You had no one to guide you. You were essentially Marty McFly or Amy Pond, just Doctor-less. 

What in the hell were you supposed to do? 

You sighed, combing your fingers through your hair before pulling out that small journal from out of your coat. You flipped to the first blank page you could find. Climbing onto your bed, you leaned against the back of the headrest until you felt comfortable.

Click. The tip of your fountain pen popped out from its hiding and just as your future self commanded you to, you began to glide your pen onto the paper. 

The room was only filled with the sounds of scribbles as you started to write for the first time in three years. 

Donghyuck grumbled his way up your staircase, a menacing glare and the deepest frown gracing his soft features. With the guise of scolding you for leaving him with the groceries, he roughly opened the door to your room and opened his mouth to yell. Your roommate was quick to clamp it shut when he saw you. The mug of your mom’s famous hot chocolate he held in his hands almost spilled at his abrupt stop but that didn’t matter at the moment. 

What mattered was that you had your back facing him, body hunched over at your childhood desk. Your fingers frantically met with the tops of the keyboard, the sounds of clicks ringing loudly in your room. He watched as your head turned back and forth between your notebook and the keys. 

Donghyuck’s frown turned into a smile, happy you found inspiration again, and quietly placed the cup of hot cocoa on your desk. So deep into the zone, you didn’t even notice your friend’s action. He chuckled at your dedication to your craft. His eyes quickly flitted to the piece you were currently working on, and he hummed in approval. Knowing how you shut everything else out, he decided to leave the room before you yelled at him for disrupting you in your hardworking state.

“Did you scold her for me?” your mother laughed as she saw your best friend descend down the steps. 

“Didn’t have a chance to,” Donghyuck replied. She gave him a look, her eyebrows arched in question. She handed him his own hot cocoa, top filled to the brim with whipped cream, and he happily took a sip. The cream made its place on his top lip and he licked it up with a satisfied hum, “She was too busy typing away. Hadn’t seen her like that in years.”

“What?” your mother gasped with a hand on top of her heart. “Did something happen?”

Donghyuck took another long sip, almost groaning at how sweet the treat he held in his hands was. “Oh yeah,” he choked, almost forgetting to relay an important part. He wiped his lips with his sleeve and your mom made a noise of disapproval. 

“She ran into John,” he stated, “he’s back in town.”

“Well, isn’t that something?” she said to herself, bringing her hot cocoa to her lips.

After hearing that Johnny was home, your mother immediately contacted his and suddenly, the tradition of Sunday brunch at your house was revived. There were slight differences, those being three things:

You and Johnny could finally drink mimosas with your parents

Johnny’s parents were both present at the brunch even after their divorce (they hated to break the tradition)

And lastly, two extra settings were placed on the table because Donghyuck and Alice were there.

You should have been more prepared to see Johnny in your home after a third letter warned you but meeting him in all his blond glory made your heart stop. Seeing him smiling with a pretty girl wrapped around his arm made that fragile muscle break once more, the pain much deeper than the first time he broke it, and it hurt like a bitch.

The brunch despite the new additions went as smoothly as it possibly could. Donghyuck, being a hyper and playful soul he was, got along well with the adults.  He tried to hide his distaste for Johnny and Alice as per your request, but the snark came out every now and then. You elbowed him a couple of times to stop it from going any further and your mother shot warning looks, silently telling you to behave.

Alice, on the other hand, was on the shy side. She was kind but she seemed nervous at the new environment and loudness of the dining table. If you were in her position, there was no doubt you would feel the same; you never did feel comfortable around strangers. Your families couldn’t help it though— they were as wild as you and Johnny were.

“So, John,” your mother called for your former best friend’s attention.

He looked up from his mimosa. “Yes, Auntie?”

“How long have you two been dating? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

Not wanting to hear the details of their relationship, you squeezed her thigh under the table and she pinched your hand back. You flinched at the contact.

Johnny smiled over at Alice, grabbing hold of her hand. “We’ve been together for almost three years now.”

Alice, with her gorgeous smile and sharp eyes, interlocked her smaller fingers with his. “We got together in February after testing the waters. How a Photography major found a Lit major like me, I have no clue,” she laughed.

Three years. He started dating her right after breaking it off with you. You wanted to cry but all you could do was push down the tight feeling in your throat with another swig of your mimosa.

“Lit? Are you an English major?” your mother asked her.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied politely.

“Just like my dear here! You two should talk about this after brunch,” your mom suggested to which Alice wholeheartedly agreed with. Donghyuck gave you a look of pity.

“Of course,” you nodded, remembering the letter that had just arrived. As everyone assisted in cleaning up the table, you excused yourself and hid in the guest bathroom to catch a breath. Putting the seat cover down, you quickly took a seat and held your head in your hands.

You yanked the letter out of your pocket to read over it once more before heading out there with a determined face. You couldn’t let your future self down.

Sweetie,

Remember this day: December 15th. The Suh’s will be over with Alice for Sunday brunch and believe me, it will hurt seeing him with her.

It will pain you to even talk to her but you have to— you must. You and Donghyuck, bless his soul for being there for you, will notice that she is very similar to you. I am sure this is not a coincidence. If my letters ever work, please ask Johnny about that.

She is a big fan of the poet, Sunny Blume. Funny, isn’t it? She will gush about her work, not knowing the poet she adores is standing right in front of her.

She’ll tell you that she’s trying to convince Johnny to read it. He’ll fight back and I want you to say— “I think you should give it a shot, Johnny.”

The moment you call him by his name, he jolted in his seat.

“I think you should give it a shot, Johnny.” 

It was so weird to hear your voice after three years. Even weirder to hear you call him by his name in three years but for some odd reason, it made his heart skip a beat. His blond locks covered one of his eyes as his gaze locked onto yours. He saw you smile a polite one, one that didn’t scrunch up your cheeks in the way he adored. 

From what Johnny could see, you looked good. You were dressed in a simple outfit: just a knit sweater and jeans but you were still able to catch his eye. It hurt, though, to see you grin widely at your new best friend, Donghyuck, when that grin used to be aimed towards him. You still got along well with his family after all those years of being apart, which only warmed his heart.

First time seeing you in how long and it was all his fault. He missed you terribly but he couldn’t blame you for shutting him out. Thinking back to the day you last talked, he would’ve reacted in the same way, too. 

“Johnny?” Alice queried, stealing a glance at his frozen body. “I thought you didn’t like being called Johnny.” 

It was true—  he did hate it when people called him that because that was a name reserved for one person and one person only.

He felt someone touch his bicep and he turned to see a wrinkled hand clasping onto his sleeve. His mother’s teasing grin graced her older features as she said, “My love John, he hated being called Johnny. He thought it was too childish.”

She walked over to you with a motherly smile, her small hand patting yours lovingly. “He only let her call him that.”

Johnny watched as you took her hand in yours to give it a tight squeeze, “I’ve missed you, Mama Suh.”

His mom took your cheek in between her index and thumb, pinching it just as a mother would to her own child. “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. We’ll catch up later, alright?” 

He loved seeing his mother act so comfortably with you. It always warmed his heart to see his two favorite women together. Stealing a glance at his girlfriend, he wondered why his mom never acted that closely with Alice.

“Wait, hold on,” he said, shaking away his thoughts. “What exactly am I giving a shot?”

“Were you even listening to what we were talking about?” Alice huffed. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with him sometimes.” She scrunched her nose in fake distaste.

“Trust me, I’ve dealt with that all my life and I still don’t know what to do with him,” the words flew out of your mouth before you could stop them. You felt Donghyuck snort from beside you as the back of your head rested against his shoulder. You were both seated on the loveseat, his larger body squished into a corner while yours was spread out on the couch, calves resting on the arm rest.

Johnny and Alice sat adjacent from you on the bigger sofa, her tiny build snuggled into his. “We were talking about Sunny Blume, that poet I keep obsessing over.”

He only blinked at her words. He clearly did not know what she was talking about. You held back a chuckle— Johnny was never into books and poetry the way you were. Some things never changed.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” he shrugged. 

“I mean, I’m not really into poetry and shit but even I read it,” Donghyuck added to the conversation. “It was really good.”

“Right?” Alice fired back. You had to hide the grin that was beginning to curl. 

“Surprisingly, a super easy read but some of those poems hurt like a bitch. It felt like someone ripped out their broken heart and just laid it out on the table for you to read, you know?” 

You whispered a small ‘thank you’ to him, low enough so that no one else could hear. Donghyuck muttered back an even lower ‘you’re welcome,’ causing you to stick out your tongue at him.

“Blume’s work isn’t my favorite but—” you started to say, gaining the attention of both Alice and Johnny. Alice appeared as if she was going to fight you on your opinion while your best friend just waited for what you were going to say next. 

“—to release a full collection of unsent love letters and poems written for one person, must’ve been some muse,” you continued on, your gaze suddenly meeting Johnny’s curious stare from across the room. His dark brown eyes always had a way of sucking you in. You felt yourself falling, falling, falling down the rabbit hole all over again. 

“Blume poured her heart out in it. You could almost feel the raw emotions bleeding off the page. You really shouldn’t miss it.” As much as you despised talking about your work, your future self told you to really sell it.

“Exactly! It’s like you took the words out of my mouth!” Alice agreed, her finger pointing towards you. “Her poem about sunflowers was my favorite.”

You hummed, still not losing eye contact with him. “It’s one of my favorites, too.”

He blinked, breaking off the staring contest you were holding. “I guess I’ll check it out.”

Behind your back, you pumped your first in celebration for your first success in changing the supposed future. There was another task you had to do— it was the bigger of the two. You were scared beyond belief, hoping that your nervousness wouldn’t mess up the script that was pre-planned for you.

Here comes the harder part. Johnny will approach you and ask— “Can we talk in private for a little bit?”

Lead him outside to the porch. It’ll spark up some memories. 

Ever the gentleman, Johnny brushed off the snow on your front steps and gestured for you to take a seat. He placed himself right next to you, his thicker thigh rubbing against your tinier leg. His gaze focused on the falling snow and his hand reached out to catch a couple of flakes in his palm.

“Remember when Frozen came out? All you wanted to do is build a snowman,” he babbled.

Of course, you remembered. Who could forget a tall male teen belting out Let It Go with you in the middle of a snow storm? 

“How could I ever forget that?”

It will be silent for a while. I guess he was trying to find his words. He’ll say something along the lines of— “I know this is practically years too late but I’m sorry for how things ended.”

Your heart will flare up with a rage of emotions, like a hurricane is stirring up inside you. This is the apology you’ve been waiting for. My mistake was brushing it off. I told him that it was nothing but a small crush and that everything was water under the bridge.

I need you to talk about it. Be open with him even though you’re scared to. I want you to say— “You really hurt me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

I’m sure all the words will flow from there.

“No, I don’t think you do know, John,” you fired back with a voice that rendered him silent. He shrunk into himself, never experiencing the receiving side of your wrath before.

Before you continued on the rant that was bubbling inside you, he cut you off. “Johnny.”

“What?”

“I don’t like when you call me John,” he murmured so quietly, his words almost getting lost with the winter breeze. “It’s always been Johnny to you.”

You coughed, not expecting that little outburst from your best friend. “Right. Johnny.”

Shifting your body to face him, your knees knocked into his. Gone were the days when you could easily fit into one step. You were squished against him. 

Let it all out. Don’t leave anything unsaid.

“But you need to know. I was a wreck when you left me,” your voice broke, suddenly recalling how you fell into this hole of depression. Donghyuck and your mother were barely able to fish you out. 

“Just— Just imagine this for me, okay?” 

He agreed silently.

“Imagine falling for the person you trusted most in the world, yeah? The person who was like your guiding light home, who could make you feel better with just one touch,” you set the scene with your words, voice cracking at the resurfacing pain. Your throat felt tight and your heart even tighter. This was always a hard memory to recall. 

“Picture telling that person that you loved them in that romantic, ‘I want to be more than friends, hold my hand and never let me go’ type of way.”

You peeked at him to see him gulped at how emotional you were getting. He always hated to see you in that manner. Your words were affecting him the same way they were affecting you. The desperation in your speech was seeping through— it clung onto each word, each syllable, and lingered in every breath of air you took. 

“Imagine telling the person who promised to never hurt you that you are in love with them and then they just tell you ‘no.’ Can you picture that in your head, Johnny? You give them your everything and then they tell you one simple word that just tears you apart?” 

He cleared his throat. He heard you loud and clear.

“I miss you so fucking much, you don’t understand.”

He jumped up at your confession, “I’ve missed yo—”

“I’m not finished,” you interrupted him, bringing a finger to his face. Johnny’s shoulders fell, making him appear like that little boy that forever lived in your mind through the fondest of memories. 

“I’ve missed you and I appreciate your apology but in no way can I forgive you right away. That amount of hurt needs a lifetime to heal completely,” you relayed to him, your voice firm as a rock. Strong and unwavering. 

“You may have not wanted to turn our whole friends-with-benefits relationship into something more and I get that now. But you have to understand, Johnny,” you paused, the words choking up in your throat. 

“You, you— God, you left me all alone to deal with that heartbreak! You just— you just threw me away like a crumpled piece of paper on the damn floor, you couldn’t even pick me up and— and place me in the trash,” you stuttered through your rant but you didn’t care. You became a spitfire, spewing whatever came to mind. 

You watched him lick and sink his teeth into his bottom lip as he wracked his brain for something to say to make it up to you. Johnny’s fingers worked their way through his bangs and he held them back for a second before releasing them. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say except that I’m just really sorry. I didn’t know.” 

Feeling yourself getting all worked up, you took a deep breath. You grounded yourself, feet digging into the wooden step and hardened snow. Your fingers curled into fists, sharp nails marking the skin of your palm as you shook in place. 

You nod frantically at his answer, “I know, Johnny. I can see that. If anything, please just understand that I not only lost a love I thought I had that day but my best friend in the whole entire world, okay?”

“Yeah,” was all that came out of his mouth for just a moment. “Okay. I understand.”

There was another brief period of stillness as the words sunk into your heads. Did that really just happen? Did you really just say that and did he just acknowledge your feelings?

You peeped a glance at Johnny’s eyes and he just appeared to be so shaken by your confession. You didn’t mean to startle him to the point where he couldn’t speak— you just had to get it out just as your future self advised. You had to console him somehow.

“But,” you said softly. Raising your head to look up at his crestfallen face, you lifted his chin with a shaking hand.

Whatever you do or say, make sure to tell him this— “I would be so happy to have you back in my life, Johnny.”

Love, 

a sunflower that aches for the sunlight

“But...I would be so happy to have you back in my life, Johnny. That is, if you’ll have me.” Your hand rested on his chin and suddenly, a flurry of emotions raced through the boy’s head.

The blond was relieved that you were talking to him. Beyond happy that you were willing to rekindle the friendship, Johnny was determined to win back his best friend no matter how long it would take for you to fully forgive him. Excited that you seemed to get along with his girlfriend. 

But there was this weird feeling that came over his heart when you said his name with that certain softness in your voice. The way you held his chin with the lightest of touches sent tingles down his spine.

Johnny ignored the fluttering in his chest and pulled you into his arms. He felt you sigh happily, your smaller build sinking into his comforting hold. 

His chin rested against the top of your head. “Of course, flower,” the nickname slipped out naturally. “I’m just happy to have my best friend back,” he muttered.

And when you looked up at him with glittering eyes that looked like the snow falling from the sky, he swore his heart leapt out of his chest. “Me too.”

The transition from friends to something more that occurred four years ago didn’t happen abruptly. The build up was slow, stemming from your many first-year adventures. The large campus was new, uncharted territory for you—  abnormally large to what you were used to and filled to the brim with people. You skirted on the more introverted side as a first year in university, barely reaching out to your classmates and hallmates unless they initiated the interactions first. There were other casual friends, however, Donghyuck was one of the only people you truly felt comfortable with but even then, you still searched for that sense of home.

You found that in the days you spent with Johnny. During the days where it was harder to adjust to your new life, you made that twenty minute drive to Johnny’s campus instead of trekking that hour and fifteen home. He would take you in with open arms, distracting you with your favorite things or introducing you to new places. The first two months of university were tough but you made it through with his support.

Johnny eased you into kickbacks and college parties, always making sure that you were okay. In new environments, his hand always lingered on the small of your back or grazed against the exposed skin of your shoulder. He would hide you in his hold when boys would approach you, an evident and overprotective glare emitting from his sharp eyes and somehow an attraction bloomed inside of you. You kept your budding crush to yourself for a while, wanting to linger in the fresh feeling bubbling in your chest. 

You couldn’t keep it in though, not after that day at the pumpkin patch. His deep, soothing voice calling you ‘sunflower’ released that cage of butterflies trapped in your stomach and they fluttered freely each time he looked at you. 

Every moment spent with him sent your fingertips flying over the keys of the typewriter Johnny gifted you for your eighteenth birthday. You heard so many dings from the machine that year, a hand quickly coming up to push and roll a paper back in place. That beaten yellow journal that sat on your desk was quickly consumed with an endless flow of words that flew off the pages.

Every time Johnny would place his hand in yours, he had you under his spell. The enchantment he casted on you grew stronger the night of the Causeway Classic. 

Your separate universities always had this sense of friendly rivalry. With each year came the annual blood drive that led to the famous football game to uphold the competition. The location switched every autumn and Johnny’s university was in charge of hosting that year. Unlike Johnny, you weren’t much into sports but you were into grilled food and free alcohol which ushered the pair of you to attend your first tailgate with his college friends. If it wasn’t Johnny taking care of you, his roommate Doyoung was there to make sure you were okay. 

You remembered starting early that day, the tailgate party starting at noon when the game didn’t kick off until three hours later. A cold glass bottle of beer in one hand and a fresh hot dog in the other, you sat on the edge of Johnny’s truck bed with your legs dangling below. You were dressed in your school’s signature green and gold while his close group of friends surrounding you drowned in their navy and yellow. 

You took a swig of your drink, feeling the cooling liquid rush down your throat, and let out a loud hiss of satisfaction. Misjudging the height from where you were sitting to the ground, your legs wavered as you jumped down from the truck. Your center of balance was lost, pushing you to lean your drunk body against Johnny’s. 

Noticing how incoherent you were, a buzzed Johnny decided to cut you off and call an Uber so you could rest easily in the comfort of his apartment. You barely recalled him tossing his keys to Doyoung, who was forced to be the designated driver of the night, before taking you home.

The only thing you remembered was the way your body flushed with heat as you pressed your weight against him in the car. Your head snuggled into the crook of his neck while his toned arm draped against your shoulder. Johnny rubbed soothing circles onto your exposed skin and the feeling littered goosebumps all over your body. You sighed, your warm breath hitting his neck and through your slightly closed eyes, you caught him looking at you with an unfamiliar gaze.

Johnny effortlessly carried you in his arms and into his empty apartment, your head perched against his shoulder. He handed you a clean set of clothes to change into and you stripped yourself of your sweaty outfit and makeup before making yourself comfortable on his twin sized bed. He placed a glass of water and painkillers by his bedside before heading out, his mind set on crashing on the couch. 

Somehow in your tired and drunk state, your hand shot up to grab at his wrist. “Stay with me?” you asked with a raspy voice.

“I was just going to crash in the living room,” he told you.

“You hate sleeping on the couch, you always complain about how it hurts your back,” you argued. “Just stay here, it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

The bed dipped when his body slipped under the covers and being the touchy drunk you were, you easily slipped your hands under his arms and wrapped them around his torso to cuddle into his strong chest. You shifted a couple of minutes in, trying to find a more comfortable position and the movement caused the shirt to bunch up at your waist. A heavy arm slung around your own waistline, driving you closer to him. His fingers somehow found their way to your revealed skin and brushed over the spot to soothe you to sleep.

Instead of lulling you to a peaceful slumber, Johnny’s light strokes shifted something in the air. The atmosphere in the room grew thicker and more tense with every touch.

You moved your head away from his chest to gaze up at him. Your eyes met his hooded ones giving you a look you hadn’t seen before. It was darker and heavier, his brown orbs almost digging into your soul and you couldn’t look away. Gripping his arm when his head moved closer to glance at your lips, your heartbeat increased and almost skyrocketed to the roof. 

“I don’t think I’m in my right mind right now,” he whispered with a strain. 

“I’m not either,” you cut him off, unconsciously licking your bottom lip. 

Johnny’s gaze never wavered, his eyes planted on you as he inched even closer, “Just tell me when to stop and I will.”

You never did. 

And when you woke up the next day with a sole sheet pressed onto your body, marks coloring your skin, and Johnny staring down at you with the fondest smile, you knew something had changed between the two of you. 

There was a moment when he escaped the room to grab breakfast, you quickly reached for your phone and typed up a new set of words in your notes inspired by the dazzling grin that was aimed at you. 

i may not be in love with you i may just be in like but i love the way you look at me  like i may be your light

is it bad that  sometimes i miss staining your lips with my boldest  shade of red and showering you with a load of a thousand kisses  — those red stains represented how deeply i loved you

The friends-with-benefits relationship was established that same day and continued to drag on throughout the semester. It was heavy on the friendship, even heavier on the benefits. Every single meet up from fall to winter ended up with limbs tangled on top of bed sheets, marks staining your skin, and words written on a page. You remembered Donghyuck warning you to be careful, not liking where all the uncertainty was leading to and you brushed it off with a simple statement that was so unbelievably wrong: “Stop worrying. Johnny would never hurt me.”

It all came crashing down during your first winter break from university. Prior to the falling out, your time at home was juggled between catching up with your mom, a couple of high school friends, and the Suh family if Johnny wasn’t there to preoccupy you. 

Christmas Day came along and as tradition followed, you spent the holiday across the street at the Suh residence. The house was decorated with lights and bows, the Christmas tree you and Johnny picked out standing tall in the corner of the family room. The opened presents sat at the foot of the tree, except for one— a single box wrapped so neatly in white and accented with the prettiest red bow. 

“Johnny,” you tugged on his sleeve, head gesturing to the front door. 

Thinking you wanted to sneak off for a kiss, his lips curled into that kittenish grin with a small dimple indenting the plump of his cheek. The tall boy stepped out first, leaving the door slightly open. You followed him shortly after and closed the door behind you. 

Your grip tightened around the small parcel in your hand upon seeing him leaning against the border of his porch, absentmindedly fiddling with his phone. He was dressed in a knit turtleneck sweater, tight jeans, and a pair of stylish boots, his dark brown hair slightly brushing over the eyes you adored.

God, you liked him so much it was almost gross— absolutely smitten as a kitten for the boy with the catlike smile. 

You jabbed his side before joining him against the fence, hiding your gift behind your back, “Hey.”

Johnny quickly pivoted to trap you between his arms, both hands resting on the porch lining. “Hey yourself,” he returned, his warm breath clouding in the small space between. You felt your cheeks grow hotter, clearly flustered at the sudden action and flirty tone of his voice.

“Don’t move,” he commands abruptly. The camera swinging around his neck was brought up to his eye level and he swiftly snapped a photo of your ruffled state. You gave him a shy smile as he revealed the shot to you— your wide-eyed look and crimson lipstick standing out against the white snow in the background. 

“Pretty,” you remember him saying with a proud glance, happy to have captured you in the moment. “The prettiest little sunflower.”

“Oh, shut up,” you brushed him off, shoving the camera away from your face. 

“No, really,” he pushed, adjusting the camera strap so the device rested against his hip and no longer in the way.

“Stop lying.” You never knew how to take a compliment. 

“I’m not,” he leaned in closer, arms pushing him lower to your line of sight. “Definitely pretty enough to kiss.”

“Really now?” you bit back a grin. 

“Need me to prove it to you?” he challenged, his dark brown eyes ghosting around your facial features with a cocky grin.

“And how are you going to do that?” you flirted back with your heart thrashing violently against your ribcage. It was beating so loud, much like the clashes of a little drummer boy. 

“Like this.” He briskly closed the distance, his head angled to kiss you deeply. His firm body depressed against yours, the corners of the gift and the porch lining digging into your back and arms. One of his large hands moved to cup the side of your neck with a thumb rubbing the end of your soft cheek. 

It was a little different from the rushed kisses he gave you behind closed doors. It was slower and out in the open, anyone could have caught sight of it if they were to walk out. Your right hand made its way up to his chest to grip onto the knit of his sweater, cherishing the way he held you so gently. 

You broke away first with a huff. “Wait, that’s not why I told you to come out here,” you pointed out, staring up at his now stained lips. You thumbed at the plump top lip, trying to rid his skin of the red you transferred onto him. 

“Seemed like you enjoyed it, though,” he nodded at the tight grip on his sweater. You quickly released it causing him to laugh loudly.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” he sprung back without missing a beat.

You hesitated before answering, voice dropping a little lower, “Yeah, right.”

Johnny jumped up to sit on the railing, arms spread out to keep him steady. “So, what’s up?”

This was the time to let it all out and you were tongue-tied— you didn’t even know where to start. There was a reason why you liked writing more than speaking; it gave you a chance to arrange and rearrange the words in your head. No matter how hard you rehearsed your upcoming confession, nothing prepared for what was going to come.

“I— um,” you began to stutter under his presence, even though you weren’t even directly facing him. 

He turned his head to face you. “Are you nervous? You really shouldn’t be— it’s just me, flower.”

“Just you?” you laughed apprehensively, “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m nervous. It’s you. Out of all the people in the world, it had to be you.”

He whispered your name with furrowed brows, confused at your ramble.

“Johnny, listen, I don’t know if you felt the change between us but I can’t really ignore this any longer.”

He cocked his head to the side, his brows now digging even deeper into his face. “What are you talking about?”

“This—” your hand flapped, gesturing to the both of you. “What we have going on here, it doesn’t seem like we’re just fooling around anymore.”

“Then, what does it seem like?” he fired back with confusion.

“It seems like— I don’t know,” you started to say.

“Yes, you do know,” Johnny countered, “you just don’t want to say it. You’re stalling.”

“Okay, okay. It seems like…” you gulped, looking him dead in the eye, “you like me as much as I like you.”

He went rigid at your confession, appearing completely dumbfounded. His eyes were widened with astonishment. His mouth opened like he was about to say something but then closed shut. They were pursed as he tried to process your words as you stood there, antsy at the lack of an answer. “Can you just say something? Anything?” 

He ran his fingers through his hair and held back his bangs, something he always did when he was lost in thought.

“Johnny?”

“Hmm, yeah,” he said, still lost in thought.

“Just say something, please,” you practically begged, the neatly wrapped parcel in your hand feeling like a deadweight. 

“Y— you like me?” his voice wavered.

“Yeah,” you looked away from him. “I honestly think that I— um, love you.” Your voice became so soft towards the end, your words almost getting lost in the wind. 

“Love,” he repeated.

“Can you say anything else besides repeating my words? This was hard enough as is, you know,” you managed to spit out. The more he stalled with giving you an answer, the more choked up you felt. The tight feeling was building up in your throat, fighting its way up.

“I—” He stopped before he could even start. 

“Johnny, I like you. A lot, okay? I just want to know if you like me too? ‘Cause unless I’ve been reading it wrong, it seems like you feel the same,” you prattled on, mouth running at the speed of light.

He hesitated before answering with a simple, “N-no.”

“No?” you almost cried back.

“This— this was supposed to be a ‘no strings attached’ thing,” he blundered. 

“I know but can you honestly tell me that you felt nothing when you kissed me just now? Because that didn’t feel like a ‘no strings attached’ type of thing! No strings means ‘no emotions involved, just physical’ and clearly, there were some emotions present!”

He avoided your question. “We’re just— just friends, flower.”

“Johnny, how often do you wake up naked with your other friends?!” you shout hysterically. You winced; you hoped your parents weren’t listening in. “Do you go around and steal kisses with Doyoung or Yeri or anyone else in your friend group?”

He couldn’t answer those questions, either. 

“We’re just friends,” he said a little more firmly, like he was trying to convince himself. “That’s what we are and that’s what we’ll always be. Nothing less, no— nothing more.”

“Really?” you disputed through the free-falling tears. You sniffled and wiped the drops off your face, not caring if it messed up your makeup. 

“Just friends,” Johnny said once again, his voice almost breaking at the sight of you in tears. He stood in front of you now, a hand reaching out to dry your eyes.

“No, don’t touch me,” you called out, backing your way out of the front porch with a shaking head. “You don’t get to touch me like you used to if all we are is just friends.” 

Johnny walked down the steps to follow you, the sole of his boots crunching against the hard snow. You stopped him with an extension of your hand, palm fanned out towards him. You continued to walk backwards, red painted nails ripping the wrapping of your present to reveal the worn-out yellow cover of your personal journal.

“That’s where you were wrong though,” you started, “about being nothing less than friends.”

“Sunflower,” he tried to persuade you otherwise. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve been repressing this for so long, I-I don’t think I can just ignore it and hold it in anymore,” you confessed, clearly distraught. “Every time I see you walk through a door, my heart beats so fast for you and I can’t make it stop. So if I can’t have your love, I don’t think I can stand just being your friend.”

“What are you saying?”

You took a deep breath, “I don’t think I can be around you right now. I need space.”

“You don’t mean that, bubs,” he reasoned.

“How do you know what I feel?” you yelled. “I told you I practically love you and you couldn’t even answer. You can either have all of me or none of me, Johnny. There’s no in between.”

He said nothing.

“I gotta—I have to go.” You roughly dragged the sleeve of your jacket against your eyes. 

“Please don’t go,” Johnny begged.

“If our parents are looking for me, just tell them I wasn’t feeling well.”

He shouted your name as you began to cross the street. You turned back around for a short moment, “Oh and John?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Merry fucking Christmas.” With that, you ran into your house, the door slamming shut behind you. That was the last you saw of him until your unexpected reunion that day in the snow.

Some writers painted heartbreak as this beautiful concept that closed the chapter on one end and opened another. They drowned themselves in the heartbreak, allowing the feelings to take over and extract the a mouthful of words that ended up being masterpieces. They loved the heartbreak because it pulled out emotions they would otherwise never experience.

But, how could you love the heartbreak when Johnny was the one you loved?

Another Christmas tradition your families upheld was picking out Christmas trees together. Seeing as how both you and Johnny were home, your parents forced you to go without their help, choosing to just sit the day out to catch up. They trusted the two of you enough to pick out the best trees since you had been done it throughout your childhood. Donghyuck (the traitor) and Alice had already left to spend Christmas Day and New Years with their families, leaving you to go tree hunting at the farm with Johnny as your only company. 

You looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck you were seated in, still in disbelief that Johnny Suh was back in your life. He had his right hand on the steering while his left rested against the window, brown eyes focused on the road. His long, blond hair was pushed back by a black ball cap and was paired with a yellow oversized t-shirt that matched the shade of your winter coat. His plaid green puffy jacket was thrown haphazardly in the backseat of his car. His soft, melodic voice sang along to the carols playing on the local radio, blessing both your eyes and your ears.

“So blond, huh?” you broke the silence. 

“Yeah,” his free hand reached up to quickly flip his cap over, the bill now facing backwards. “I think it suits me.”

You scoffed, “Who do you think you are—Jesse McCartney?” 

“Well, I do want you and your beautiful soul,” he answered back with the smuggest smirk. 

“You’re an idiot,” you chuckled, turning to look out the window. You drove down the familiar highway, passing places that were so prominent in your childhood. Memories of you and Johnny walking to the movie theater and having ice cream at the skate park ran your head. It felt good being home.

A flurry of loud text tones went off, disrupting the calm atmosphere in the car. “Sorry,” you grimaced, quickly moving to lower the volume of your ringer. You let out a laugh while you scrolled through the long list of notifications, causing Johnny to turn his attention to you.

“Everything good?” he questioned. “That’s a lot of texts.”

Your fingers worked on your touchscreen, rapidly replying to your roommate’s dramatic texts. “Oh, everything’s fine. Hyuck’s just being dramatic. He just got home and his family is driving him insane.”

Johnny hummed. He hesitated before asking the next question, “Does Donghyuck treat you well?”

His inquiry made you pause in your seat, thumbs resting right above the screen. “What?”

Johnny cleared his throat before pushing further, “Is he a good boyfriend?”

A deep snort escaped your nose and you brought up a hand to cover your quivering mouth. You couldn’t hide your amusement, your ear-splitting laughter reverberating throughout the walls of the truck. Tears made their way down your face and you had to clutch onto the door handle to catch your breath. “Oh my god, Johnny!”

“What? It’s a valid question!” 

“He’s not— Hyuck’s not my boyfriend,” you shook your head, still reeling at his question. 

“He’s not?” he pressed for confirmation. Why he was insisting on this topic, you really didn’t know.

“Oh my god, no. He’s just my roommate,” you swore, “Besides, I would never get in between Hyuck and his partner.”

“His partner?”

You nodded, lips upturning with the widest grin. “Renjun— they’re really cute together even though they argue half the time.”

“I see.”

One of your favorite Christmas songs came on the radio and you immediately increased the volume to sing along. Johnny joined you, his voice mixing along with yours. It eased up whatever tension that lingered in the car, his broad smile mirroring yours as he continued on the path to the Christmas tree farm.

“I actually read that Sunny Blume book, by the way,” Johnny brought up, your pen name immediately catching your attention. “Alice had her copy with her so she let me borrow it.”

You sat up straighter in your seat, shoulders pushed back and head turned to face him completely. “Yeah? What did you think of it?” 

Preparing your heart for the worst, your hand fisted a part of your mustard yellow overcoat, the material rubbing against the skin of your palm.

“I didn’t think I would like it,” he admitted, “but I actually really enjoyed reading through it.”

You perked up, letting go of your coat at the positive reaction. “Really now?” 

“Yeah. I mean, the way she writes is so simple but her words still get to you. It’s so personal and heart-wrenching, I had to stop at times,” his compliments ran off the mouth, leaving your heart to swell with joy. 

“I get what you mean, some were painful,” you chimed in.

“But the others, wow,” he continued almost breathlessly. He shook his head with admiration. “You could just sense the love and adoration in her words. Whoever her muse was, dude, what a lucky person.”

“Why do you say that?” 

“To have someone love you so much that they write about you and immortalize it in a book— who wouldn’t want that?” Your heart pounded rapidly at his sweet words; it was like music to your ears. He loved the poems you wrote about him. Now, if only you could admit that they were for him. 

“Do you have a favorite?” you posed a question, curious to hear the answer.

Johnny hummed positively. He stole a glance at you, eyes lingering a little bit longer than normal. “The one about sunflowers.”

When his gaze shifted back to the icy road, you responded with, “Yeah, that’s mine, too.”

You picked the perfect weekday to visit the Christmas tree farm. There was a small bunch of visitors picking out their trees and participating in the other offerings but not enough to crowd the farm, making it easy to wander around. Johnny quietly followed behind you as you made your way around the farm with a reusable bag slung around your shoulder. He was amused by the way you would pause to pick up fallen pine branches to stuff in your bag.

“What are you going to do with those?” he asked, gesturing to the pine leaves sticking out of your hold. 

“Oh, I’m going to fill up some vases with them and place them around the house,” you conversed with a smile. “I did this all the years I didn’t come for Christmas. I wanted the smell of fresh pine in my apartment but I didn’t have room for a tree, so I just did this.” He watched you as you took a whiff of a piece of fresh pine before placing it in your bag.

“That’s a smart idea,” Johnny said to himself.

“You learn to be more creative as a broke college student,” you commented with a shrug, still moving through the aisles of trees. 

“Did you enjoy it?” The snow crunched beneath his boots.

“Enjoy what?” you mused, attention focused more on the trees surrounding you than your friend lingering at your back. Your fingers skirted the ends of the trees, the pine tickling the tips as you passed them. Johnny let you take the reins on picking the tree this year, only there to give you a second opinion. He always loved coming to the tree farm with you— your face never failed to light up like the bright lights decorating the shop and fences.

“Spending the Christmas holiday at school,” he replied, curious to hear your answer.

“I mean, it was different, that’s for sure,” you told him. 

Johnny tilted his head, sensing the hesitation in your tone. “But?”

“It really didn’t feel like Christmas without you there,” came your low reply. You didn’t turn to face him but if you did, you would’ve been able to capture a shot of a flustered Johnny. His face was as bright as Santa’s signature suit, the color spreading all the way to his ears. He felt hot at your words and that weird skittish sensation in his stomach made him feel uneasy and confused. It flipped around and he felt something flapping rapidly in time with his quickening heartbeats. 

He brushed the feeling off before placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. He squeezed you through the fabric of your coat, “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Your head turned to look up at him, “That you are.”

“Don’t you run away from me again,” he sputtered out. Where did that come from?

“Then, you better not let me go this time,” you replied wittily with the brightest smile that rivaled the North Star. Twisting in your spot, you turned your attention back to the trees and focused on the perfect ones to take home. Questions about the trees were thrown Johnny’s way but he was too distracted by sight of you in front of him. Your mustard yellow overcoat and matching beret made you stand out from the evergreen of the trees and he couldn’t help but stare at the breathtaking sight.

Johnny inwardly cursed, wishing he had his camera on his person. He settled for his phone, pulling it out of his jacket pocket to sneak some candid pictures of you enjoying your time at the farm. He captured you patting the horses that pulled the sleigh around the area, shuffling through the many handmade decorations of sale, and you mindlessly wandering through endless aisles of green.

Johnny swiped through the pictures as you pointed out two full trees to a farm worker. His finger lingered on the picture amongst the trees— yellow and green standing out against the white snow covering the floor. 

A sunflower in the midst of winter.

Johnny halted, his brain short-circuiting for a moment, a hand shooting to his other coat pocket. Something that sounded like paper crinkled against his touch. Just as he was going to reach in, you yelled his name. He snapped out of his daze to see you gesturing to a pair freshly cut trees, ready to be wheeled away to his truck.

“You’re not going to make me push these to the car, are you?” you joked. “I mean, I’ve gotten stronger since I’ve last seen you but still.” 

He approached you, bringing his large hand to your head to ruffle your beret around. “I’m sure you have, flower, but let me do it.” 

You giggle at the nickname, the noise sounding like jingle bells. “Alright, Johnny, lead the way.”

The fourth letter arrived the day before Christmas Eve, the envelope pressed snugly against the wall of your mailbox. Forgetting to check the mail the day prior to the holiday, you only saw it Christmas Eve morning. You rushed to open it, back leaning against the front door as you did so. A shaky breath left your lips as you read the letter’s contents with clammy hands. Cold sweat spread throughout your body as the information sank in. 

What I am about to tell you is a pivotal moment in changing the future, so please pay attention, love. 

On Christmas Eve, Johnny will show up at your doorstep and he will appear extremely disgruntled and confused. Just like so many times before, he will look to you to be his saving grace. You were always the first one he would run to. 

The doorbell rang and you peeped through the whole to see your best friend pacing back and forth along your porch.

He rang the doorbell one more time and you gave yourself a pep talk before twisting the doorknob.

“I need to talk to you,” he sputtered out with a panicked look.

“Alright,” you said, doing your best to stay calm. Shutting the door behind you, a hand shoved the letter in your back pocket and jumped up onto the porch ledge. He followed suit, his hand almost touching yours as you steadied yourself on the thin piece of wood. “Talk away, Johnny.”

You didn’t dare face him as he revealed the reason for his disheveled state. “Should I propose to Alice?” he asked a bit too quietly.

He is thinking of proposing to Alice but he is starting to have second thoughts. I was stupid and I told him to go for it. 

Your heart ached at the thought of him getting down on one knee for someone other than you. The image of his smiling face shining up at her with his mother’s engagement ring hurt you in ways you couldn’t explain. 

You avoided the question. “Didn’t think you were the type to get tied down so soon.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” he laughed a little dejectedly. You had to agree with that statement. “But I should, right?” 

You peeked over at him and the smile he wore didn’t reach his eyes. Johnny’s brows were pressed deep into his face and his pink lips were thinned out in a line. 

“Why are you asking me?” you questioned, wanting to dig a little deeper into his head. “I barely know her. And you—I don’t know, you could’ve changed within the last three years. Shouldn’t you ask Doyoung or your mom instead?” 

His hand blindly found yours and the touch ignited the fire in your heart. “I’m asking you because you’re still the first person I think of when I need help. Not Mom, not Doyoung—you.”

Oh. That was something to unpack. 

Clearing your throat at that unexpected confession, you prompted, “And you need help with the proposal?” 

He sighed deeply, “Not exactly.”

“I’m not getting where this conversation is going, Johnny,” That was a fat lie but it was meant to get him to talk. 

Another sigh left Johnny’s lips. “Alice and I, we’ve been together for three years. I’ve graduated and I have several jobs lined up for me at different studios. She’s almost done with her last year. I don’t know, shouldn’t it be time for me to propose and settle down?” 

“If you feel ready for it, then yes.”

“But what if I’m not ready? What if I’m just feeling lost over this? I don’t know what to do.”

He will express how confused and pressured he feels. There are a million decisions he has to make and it will weigh him down. Johnny won’t know what to do. 

I want you to pose two questions.

You lift yourself off the ledge, spinning around to face Johnny. The frown lines in his face were so prominent, you had to fight the urge to smooth them away.

“Close your eyes.” He followed your direction, eyelids fluttering to a close. You smiled fondly at the way his long lashes hit his reddening cheeks.

First—“Picture your dream future,” you instructed, “can you see it?” 

“As clear as day.”

“Describe it to me.”

Johnny ran off at the mouth, speaking of gaining experience as a photographer. His grin expanded as he spoke about eventually owning a studio. He mentioned his dream about living on the outskirts of the city, close enough to all the drama but far enough to make a quick escape if needed. His voice went up in volume as he rattled on about owning a dog, maybe a black labrador, and having it grow up with his future wife and children. 

You commanded him to open his eyes and they met yours, orbs buzzing with delight.

And second—“Now tell me, John, do you see Alice in it?”

You observed as the look in his eyes shifted into one of perplexity. He looked so lost in thought, you almost pitied the poor man.

If he hesitates, I hope to god it’s because he is thinking about you. 

Good luck, 🌻

When he couldn’t give you a solid answer after a minute, you shot him a tired smile. “Well then, there’s your answer.”

Just as you were about to leave him with his sudden revelation, he stopped you with a hand to your wrist. “Yes?”

He released his grip on your arm, bringing his hand to brush his hair back. You caught a glimpse of the wrinkles in between his brows. “Do you have an idea about what your future looks like?” Johnny asked, curiosity lingering in his voice.

You only laughed in return, “We’ll talk about it another day, okay? I think you have a couple of things to sort out yourself.”

“what does your future look like? do you have an idea?”

“i’m not quite certain as of yet but darling i think it looks a lot like you.”

Struck with a sudden realization, Johnny barely made it across the street and into his truck. His hand shook as he tried to put the keys into the ignition. He stole a glance at his phone and saw a missed call from Alice. He definitely couldn’t call her back at the moment. He couldn’t face his mother either because she would ask about his girlfriend. He couldn’t go home and head straight into his bedroom— his head was too busy reeling with an overwhelming epiphany. 

As he drove around the neighborhood with no particular destination in mind, he fiddled with his car’s touchscreen to call his closest college friend. They answer on the third ring.

“Help,” Johnny said once the call connects.

“Wow. No, ‘Hi, Doyoung. Merry Christmas, Doyoung.’ Some friend you are,” his friend greeted back, snark oozing from his voice. Johnny could practically sense his eyes rolling.  “Just straight to the point as always.”

“Hi, Doyoung. Merry Christmas, happy holidays. I hope you’re doing well,” the blond quickly reiterated. “Now, please help me.”

Johnny heard Doyoung’s deep sigh, his breath heavily hitting the microphone. He picked up chattering in the background and the shuffling of clothes before the sound of a door closing echoes through the speakers. “What’s going on? Last time I checked, you were visiting home with Alice. Everything good?”

“No, my mind is going fucking insane right now,” Johnny proclaimed, his voice increasing in volume.

“John, calm down. Where are you right now?” Doyoung’s calming voice questioned.

“I’m in my car just driving around my neighborhood at the moment.”

“And Alice?”

“She’s back in her hometown spending Christmas with her family,” Johnny answered.

Doyoung paused, “I don’t really see a problem here. Is it because she’s not spending the holidays with you?”

Johnny took a deep breath before relaying the next piece of information, “Doyoung, Flower is back in town.”

He was able to make out his friend clicking his tongue, “Ah.” 

Johnny made a rolling stop at a stop sign before continuing his loop around the neighborhood. “That’s all you have to say?”

“No, actually I have a lot to say but I want to hear the end of this story first, so I’ll hold off for now,” Doyoung replied and Johnny flinched. Knowing him long enough, he could hear Doyoung holding back his criticism. 

“It’s the first time she’s come home in three years, too. We’ve made up—”

“Shocking,” Doyoung interrupted. 

“— after a long talk and decided to ease into the friendship again.”

“Is that so?” 

“Can you not judge me until I finish?” Johnny nagged with the roll of his eyes.

“It’ll be a bit hard for me but I’ll try.”

“She met Alice and they got along okay.” He heard Doyoung click his tongue again, most likely biting back a comment.

“And...” Johnny stalled, his eyes drifting to your house as he passed the familiar front porch. 

“And?” Doyoung repeated, fishing for his friend’s next sentence.

“I asked for Flower’s opinion on proposing to Alice,” The sound of his former roommate’s scoff filled the car. 

“John,” Doyoung’s voice called over the speaker. He hummed back a soft reply, afraid of what his friend was going to say.

“Riddle me this, okay?” There was a beat of silence, causing Johnny to tighten his grip on the steering wheel. “Why does her opinion on marrying Alice matter to you?”

“Because— because she’s my best friend and I used to go to her for everything,” he stammered out with no confidence whatsoever.

Doyoung almost laughed into the phone. “Do you know how stupid you sound right now?”

Feeling this conversation turning up in heat, Johnny quickly pulled into the empty parking lot of the local park. His eyes scanned the park, childhood memories spent with you in that park flashing through his mind. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Doyoung disregarded his question. “What did she say?”

“What?” 

“What did she say about the proposal?”

Johnny’s lips pursed into a pout and his brows sunk near his eyes as he recalled your words. “She asked me if I could see Alice in my dream future.”

“And what did you tell her?” Doyoung pushed for his answer.

“For some reason,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “I— I couldn’t answer her.”

“You couldn’t or you wouldn’t?” The question hit him hard. 

“Again, Doyoung, what the fucking hell is that supposed to mean?” Johnny challenged, not liking where this conversation was going. His heart raced against his chest and he felt the blood pumping through his veins.

“God, you really are a fucking idiot, aren’t you? Do I have to spell it out for you?” Doyoung shouted into the phone.

Johnny fought back, “Since I am an idiot, please! Go right ahead!”

His friend sighed in disappointment. “John, you were a wreck after your falling out four years ago. Anyone with eyes could see it. I had to watch you drag your ass out of bed everyday and then suddenly, you started dating Alice and everything was all better?”

“Yeah, that’s because I loved Alice!” Johnny yelled.

“Bullshit,” Doyoung retaliated. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Think about it, Alice is a Lit major who loves poetry. She was shy at first but then she opened up to you. You felt the need to protect her all the time. Does any of this ring a bell?”

“What does her being a Lit major have to do anything with this?”

“I really do have to tell it to you straight, don’t I?” Doyoung muttered to himself before relaying the hard truth, “John, you started dating Alice because she reminded you of her! Don’t you get it?”

“That’s not true,” Johnny whispered. 

“Okay, if it’s not true, then you can easily answer this for me. Were you able to see a clear future with Alice?”

“...No,” Johnny answered after a beat of silence. 

“Were you able to see someone else?” Doyoung asked with a softer voice.

“I…”

His friend’s tone dropped, taking a more mellow approach when telling him the next bit. He just discovered something big after all. “John, if you saw her in your future, it’s because you were never really able to let her go in the first place. She’s always been the person who mattered most to you.”

It instantly became too hot in his car. He rolled the windows down as sweat started dripping down his face. Johnny rolled up his sleeves and fanned himself with his hands before turning up the air condition. He gulped, attempting to get rid of the sudden thirst that came out of nowhere. He reached for his water bottle but remembered he forgot to grab it on his rush to leave the neighborhood.

“Okay,” Doyoung began, “one last thing. In between the time you weren’t talking to her and before you met Alice, what did you get a tattoo of?”

Johnny immediately looked to his forearm and a bright imprint of sunflower stared back at him. “A sunflower,” he muttered back.

“Why did you choose a sunflower, John?”

“Because...sunflowers mean positivity. I wanted it so I could look at it whenever I had a hard time,” he said, running a finger against the ink on his skin.

Doyoung hummed, “Is that the only reason? Tell the truth.”

“No,”  he whispered. Johnny took a deep breath before admitting, “I got it because this was the only way I could keep her with me after I lost her.”

Doyoung stayed silent, allowing Johnny to sit with his thoughts for a few moments. He continued to thumb his tattoo, his mind flickering to the girl who left him on his porch years ago. He thought about your lingering touches and stares, the way he would feel better in your presence. He pictured your smile and how it rivaled the light from the sun, how brightly you shined when you wore the vibrant shade of yellow. 

“I’m happy to have her back,” he stated. “I don’t think I can lose her again.”

“Are you okay with losing someone else, though?” Doyoung posed, “Because there’s something you have to do. It can’t go on any longer.” 

You shut your laptop closed, so seemingly done with the publisher you were working with. Your agent had been pestering you with progress reports on your latest collection and you did your best to reassure them that you indeed had some drafts in the making. The pocket journal from your future self was filled up halfway with your innermost thoughts and sat on top of the typed versions of the poems you deemed worthy for publication.

You glanced at the small calendar sitting on your desk and brushed your fingers against the glossy paper. The month of December was marked with an abundance of plans and reminders. You took note of every single important date mentioned in the past letters you received, those days circled with a bright red sharpie. The latest mark glared back at you, its vivid color reminding you of how significant it was.

Hey you, December 27th will be a big day so remember it. 

This one will be hard for you but trust me, I wish I had done this years ago. 

At times, you felt like a sitting duck. You knew what was going to happen and how to respond but you never knew when it would occur. Whenever your mother walked past your room, you would enter your fight or flight mode, complete with sweaty palms and a panic-filled mind. Your thoughts raced through all of the possible situations that could result from your future self’s suggestion.

This impending moment would be the one to change the game.

Just as your mind was about to spiral into a million different possibilities, a loud knock resounded throughout your room. You took a long and loud breath, shaking your arms to rid yourself of the nerves before opening the door.

Johnny will come into your room to talk...

You pretended to be confused when the door revealed a disheartened Johnny. His usually neat hair was a disheveled mess and he had prominent bags under his red and irritated eyes. His pressed clothes were swapped for a wrinkled top that was messily tucked into his pants. 

“Oh my god, Johnny,” you said as you stepped aside to let him in.

“Hey,” he greeted almost lifelessly.

“I thought you were spending a couple of days with Alice and her family. At least, that’s what Mama Suh told me,” You motioned for him to take a seat on your desk chair. “Did you just get back?”

He plopped himself down, head in his hands. “Yeah, but let’s not talk about that right now.”

...and he’ll spot the typewriter he gave you.

Just as your letter predicted, Johnny turned his head to see your refurbished typewriter sitting on your desk. The machine’s older, vintage appearance stood out against the more modern and minimalistic design of your room. He pressed down on a couple of keys, filling the room with the sound of its clicking. 

“I’m surprised you still have this old thing,” he remarked. 

You moved closer to him to roll a new sheet of paper into the machine before allowing him to play around with the device. A few loose strands of your hair brushed against his face and he caught a whiff of your favorite shampoo scent. It smelled so familiar and comforting, taking Johnny back to the intimate moments where he used to hold you in his arms.

“I could never part with it,” you answered as you leaned back to take a seat on your bed. You watched him continue to type a fluffy of lines. “It was the first present you got me with your own money.”

Johnny stopped typing, his hands lingering over the keys. “You make it sound so special. It wasn’t that big of a deal, you know.” 

He caught your eyes and you make sure your voice doesn’t waver when you say the next line, “Well, it was special to me.” 

Johnny broke away first, sporting that ridiculous grin he always bore when embarrassed. You saw his cheeks turn color underneath the long blond strands and you stifled a laugh. He coughed into his hand to hide his flustered state before shifting back to face the typewriter.

“So have you written anything with this old baby since?” he posed, his voice overpowering the sound of the keyboard clicks.

He’ll ask if you have written anything since the break in your friendship. I made the mistake of saying “no,” but you, my dear, have the chance to change that.

“I took a break for a bit,” you answered honestly with a shrug of your shoulders, “but yeah I have a few journals filled, not a lot though. Typed out the best ones— they’re around here somewhere.” 

“Have any to share?”

Pivoting away from him, your body shook as you bent down to reach into your drawers. A hand trembled in time with your racing heart when you spotted the familiar leather-bound journal, the dirtied yellow practically screaming your name. You grabbed hold of it with a solid grip, nails imprinting crescent moons on the cover. 

You pressed the book against your chest and the beating of your fragile heart was so strong, you thought it was going to break through your ribcage and thrash against the journal itself. The book you held in your hands was your most prized possession: your blood, sweat, and tears all within its binding. It was the secret to your success and the secret to your heart. 

His name was so neatly written on that first page, starting off an unsent love letter to him and there he was, in your room, about to receive everything you had caged behind a fake name. 

I want you to hand him your journal, you know the one, and tell him— “Read it if you ever have some time on your hands.”

Johnny accepted it with a smile. He tapped the book cover heartily before tucking it under his arm. “I’ll always have time for you and your work.”

“Be careful with that— that particular journal is really important to me.”

“I will.” Johnny paused, just observing the way your eyes would flicker nervously from the notebook and then back to him. 

“Did you ever write with someone in mind?” he questioned, his puffy eyes gleaming with curiosity.

You gulped before giving him a nervous smile, “I’m sure you’ll find the answer to that in there somewhere.”

I feel as if this is our last chance in changing the future. Let’s pray the Fates are in our favor this time. Best of wishes and an abundance of happiness to you, love.

I hope this works.

signed,

the sunflower without her sun

Johnny read through your journal the minute he got home. Locking himself in his childhood bedroom, he changed into a pair of comfortable clothes and dived right in. He was terribly exhausted from his long drive back from Alice’s place, the trip both mentally and physically draining. He read with the intention of taking a break from the raging waves inside his head but instead, it turned his mind into a tsunami— the thoughts crashing along each other and causing him to drown in the harsh waters of his brain. He read the book from cover to cover, leaving no page unturned. 

You gave him this odd request and although weird, he wanted to follow through for you. You had asked him to read the book in its entirety before flipping back to the very first page.

Your words floated off the page and they touched him in ways he never knew. Johnny soaked in every scribble, every word you wrote. He felt every instance of love and heartbreak within its binding and wondered who made you feel this way. His heart swelled at every lovesick poem you wrote and dropped at every sad picture you painted with your verses.

Some of your writings sounded awfully familiar to Johnny but he shrugged it off, thinking you had shown him your old work in passing. 

It wasn’t until he reached a certain poem that everything came crashing down on him. You wrote a short poem, one that barely filled the page, about a sunflower that longed for the light of the sun and it hit him all at once. 

Johnny frantically sprung up from his bed to search for a certain book. Practically running to his desk, he shoved everything aside and down fell a pile of paper, prints, and polaroids. He shuffled through endless piles of junk until he found what he was looking for: Sunny Blume’s letters left unsent.

He flipped and flipped and flipped through pages, his heart doing cartwheels inside his chest as Johnny so desperately foraged for that particular set of words. His eyes skimmed through Sunny’s published book before turning back to find the same words written in your neat handwriting.

It was one and the same.

He rifled through the pages of Sunny’s book until he reached the dedication, eyes taking in every word.

these are my unsent letters to you, my muse

i hope they get to you someday because no matter when we are or where you are or with whom you’re with— it always has been and always will be you, you, you

His mind was sent into a loop when he shifted his attention back to your worn-out yellow journal. Johnny’s large hands move on their own, working to find the first page. He handled the pages so roughly, the papers ripping at the seams, until he reached his destination. The tall man lost his balance, body falling to the floor when he read an identical dedication. The only difference was the opening line.

these are my unsent letters to you, johnny— 

The next few days passed by in a daze, Johnny’s head still filled with thoughts of you and the poems you secretly addressed to him. The blond didn’t dare meet you in person, his mind still muffled with confusion. Instead, he just stared outside of his bedroom window, his line of sight directed towards your window. He stared blankly for days, watching the lights flicker on and off every now and then. His heart pushed against his chest, beating erratically when he caught a glimpse of you leaving your house to run an errand for your mom but would hide behind his blinds when you would look his way.

He shook with every text you sent him, but you never touched on the topic of your journal. Johnny refused to reply to you, scared of running off at the mouth with the wrong words. 

His mother, being the intuitive person she was, noticed his behavior right away but didn’t approach him until New Year’s Eve.

She knocked on his door and he let her in, his thoughts still elsewhere. Taking a seat on his bed, Johnny easily followed suit, body gravitating towards his mother’s in his time of need. His mom cupped his cheek and stroked it gently, “My love, what is going on with you, hm?”

He turned his head away from her, almost ashamed of his feelings, and crossed his arms against his chest to protect himself. “Nothing.”

She chuckled in that motherly way, hands moving to comb through her son’s blond hair. “Now, you and I both know this isn’t nothing if you have been holed up in your room for days.”

When he doesn’t reply, his mother pushed in a way that would definitely elicit an answer, “She’s been asking about you, you know? Seemed pretty worried that you weren’t answering her.”

“Mom,” Johnny started off, looking at her with a confused expression. He was bewildered by everything he had discovered recently, he didn’t even know how to start laying it out. 

“These past few years, I thought I was in love with Alice but,” he shook his head, almost in disbelief, “turns out I wasn’t after all.”

Her wrinkled hand slid down his arm to grab hold of his hand. She squeezed it with all the love and support in her heart, urging her son to continue. 

“I talked to Flower and she made me realize I wasn’t. I never saw Alice in my future and Doyoung made me realize I had always pictured someone else.” His mother followed Johnny’s far-off gaze only to find it focusing on your window. He continued to stare at it as you opened the glass doors to let in some cold air, your arms stretching outward to catch the falling snow. 

“And is that someone else your best friend?” she posed the question with a knowing smile. 

Johnny’s answer was caught in his throat, struggling to come out. It was hard for him to admit but he felt the need to. He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat and his pride before finally spewing out the answer he had been denying for the past few years. “Yeah, it’s always been her.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, Johnny felt the weight in his chest disappear. He stole a glance at a framed picture on his desk and the biggest smile spread along his lips. It was a picture of you and him in the middle of the sunflower field from years ago. He initially sent it to his mother and she took the liberty of framing it and placing it in his room. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes zeroed in on you in that bright yellow shirt. 

“Somehow, her mom and I always knew you would fall for each other,” his mother pointed out, snapping him out of his daze. Her statement ripped the fond smile off his face.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Johnny almost whispered.

“Of what, John?” Her eyes searched for his face and he refused to meet her gaze.

It took him a minute to reply. “Of losing her, like how you lost dad. You guys were best friends too, you know.”

Johnny never liked talking about the divorce, the split still living too fresh in his mind. It hurt him too much to even think about, so he shunned the feelings away. The boy grew up with an abundance of love stories, from his mother being spoiled with flowers to the sweetest proposal. Like you and him, his parents grew up as childhood friends that turned into more. When everything fell apart, it tore him apart in ways one could never explain.

“Oh, my love,” his mother sighed. Although her build was much smaller in comparison to his, she pulled her son into her arms and he immediately curled into her hold. He rested his head against his mom’s chest and she worked her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. 

“Your father, as loving and sweet as he is, wasn’t my soulmate. We discovered this way too late in life but I loved him all the same,” she began to say. He shifted in her loving hold, still not ready to discuss the split.

“Yes, we didn’t work out but I’m so glad to have him in my life because he made me who I am today and,” she took a second to lift her son’s chin with a gentle finger, “he gave me the most precious gift of all— you.”

Johnny smiled up at his mother with tears rimming his eyes and she wiped them away with the tip of her manicured finger. “You are the light of my life, my dear, and you are so deserving of love.”

“Mom,” he muttered through a sniffle. His heart always grew soft at his mother’s words.

“And I know she is the one who will give it to you,” she finished sweetly, tapping his cheek. “She always looked at you like you were the sun.”

“You think so?”

His mom’s laughter fills the room with delight, “John, if you only saw things from our eyes. I saw it and so did her mother and your father. You looked at her the exact same way.”

She broke the embrace first to place a comforting hand on his broad shoulder. “I know you’re scared, everyone is at some point but you’ll never know until you try, darling. That’s how life works.”

Johnny could only nod at his mother’s advice and she squished his cheeks lovingly in return. She stood up from her seat to stretch before slapping him lightly on his bicep. He flinched at the sudden contact, shooting his mother a shocked surprised look. 

“Enough of this, we have a New Year’s party to get ready for. You need to look nice tonight,” she playfully scolded her son. She shuffled through his closet before pulling out a thin black turtleneck and a beige trench coat to match.

Right before she walked out the room, his mother turned on her heel to say, “By the way, John. You got a letter in the mail. I set it on the counter for you.”

The New Year’s celebration was in full swing at your humble childhood house, the living room and kitchen decorated with the shiniest shades of gold and silver. The numbers of the upcoming year were pasted on the wall where your makeshift photo booth was located, a couple of childhood friends shoving their bodies together to fit into the frame of the ring light and the camera. They drunkenly called your name, hands reaching for you to join them, but you waved them off and shook your glass in the air. You needed a refill.

Balloons littered the floor, making it hard to walk across the crowded room filled with your mother’s friends and their families. You wiggled your way until you reached your kitchen, quickly pouring yourself another flute of champagne. Three flutes of bubbly and two shots of rum deep into your night but you still wanted more. 

You felt your phone vibrate in your skirt pocket and you blindly palmed your thigh until you found it. “Hmm, hello?” you mumbled.

“Hey, buttercup,” Donhyuck’s voice almost screamed into the phone. His side sounded rowdier than yours. “Happy almost New Year!”

You removed the phone from your ear to check the time, thirty minutes until midnight. “Right back at ya, you doof!”

“Did you find someone to ring in the New Year with yet?” 

“Ha, funny for you to assume I was looking,” you heartily laughed.

“That’s no fun.” You could practically picture Donghyuck’s pout in your head. “Johnny Boy hasn’t talked to you yet?”

“No,” you groaned. You informed your friend about handing the journal over a couple of days ago and he was hanging onto your every word, hoping your mutual stupidity and pining for each other would end soon. He knew everything that had occurred since he left, everything except the letters. 

“Is he there?” 

“Yes and he looks like Adonis in that tight turtleneck of his,” you moaned into your flute, the alcohol you consumed finally bringing out your hidden thoughts. “He hasn’t talked to me yet, though.”

“Then, why don’t you approach him first?” Donghyuck suggested.

“Aren’t you too invested in this? Shouldn’t you be on your way to Junnie?” you shot back with another glimpse at the time. The clock was ticking closer to midnight. 

Your mind short-circuited as you caught a glimpse of your childhood friend across the room. He locked eyes with you, the deep brown you loved so much shining in the lowlight from afar. You watch him down his flute of champagne in one go before slowly making his way over to you. Johnny’s lengthy body twisted and turned while fighting the crowd, the tight shirt hugging every defined curve and line of his torso. His styled blond hair fell to frame his handsome face and his brows were furrowed with determination.

“Hyuck, oh my god, I take it back. He’s heading over here,” you whispered harshly into the phone. His quick steps across the floor matched the beating of your heart.

“I’ll talk to you later, sweetie,” your roommate teased before ending the call. “Happy New Year!”

“Hyuck!” you shouted but it was too late.

It didn’t take long for Johnny to reach you. You tried to ignore the butterflies but they increased as he stood in front of you with only the kitchen island separating your bodies. He leaned against the counter, looking so effortlessly handsome, you almost fell to your knees. 

“Go outside with me?” were his first words to you in days. “We should talk.”

“Sure, let me just—” You cut yourself off to chug your freshly poured glass of champagne, the bubbly substance tickling your throat. Johnny gave you an amused look but you ignored it, rushing towards the front door with a coat in hand.

He opened the door for you as you shuffled into your jacket, motioning for you to step out first with a dazzling grin. He followed right after, leaving the door slightly ajar before leaning against the wall. 

In your tipsied state, you struggled to jump onto the ledge of your porch. You frowned at the seemingly easy task and gasped in surprise when you felt two strong arms lift you at the waist and your shivering hands flew to grasp his biceps to steady yourself. Johnny had the audacity to smirk at your flustered state and you scoffed at his confidence. 

“You wanted to talk,” you tried to match his confidence but you failed once he leaned against the railing, bringing his handsome face closer to yours. He was so close, you could see the length of his eyelashes, the shadow of his freshly shaved facial hair, and the pores on the apples of his cheeks. “So, let’s talk.”

Without missing a beat, he jumped right in, “You’re Sunny Blume.” You closed your eyes shut at his accusation and took a deep breath, clearly not ready to hear Johnny call you by your pen name.

“Yup, that’s me,” you admitted, tugging on a loose strand of hair out of nervousness.

Before diving any deeper into the conversation, he asked, “Why that name?”

“Because I’m your sunflower, that’s why,” you pushed yourself to say. He chuckled with the shake of his head, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Sunny for obvious reasons. ‘Blume’ meaning ‘flower’ in German. It was obvious to those who knew what they were looking at, but to others, it was just a simple name. Everything about that poem collection always tied back to Johnny Suh.

“Did you really mean everything that you wrote?” was his next question. There was this hopeful gleam in his eyes as he stared at you, lips pursed out as he waited for your revealing answer.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” 

You squeezed his arm, “When have I ever lied to you about something as serious as this?”

He hummed in return. 

“I turned you into poetry because I couldn’t have you any other way.”

You release your hold on him, bringing your hands to rub against your stocking-clad legs. Your short coat cut off at mid-thigh, leaving your legs exposed to the cold winter air. Noticing your shivering body, Johnny quickly shimmied out of his trench coat to drape it over your smaller figure. 

Your face flushed with heat as his familiar scent flooded your nose and thanked him for his kind gesture. Slipping your arms through the sleeves of his coat, you giggled at the size difference. One of his hands lingered on your shoulder, slowly riding up to rub at the base of your neck. “Do you— do you still feel the same way about me?”

Your hand reached up to take his larger one in yours. Your fingers skirted along his skin as his hand moved to thumb at your cheek. It was a very intimate gesture, causing that tickling feeling in your stomach to return. You hummed at the warmth of his touch, “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.”

You pick up the sound of him breathing heavily at your confession. 

You laid your cards on the table. It was his turn to make a move. 

“The question is, Johnny, do you feel the same?” You exhaled, the puff of hot air hitting his face. “Do you love me, too?”

“I’m pretty sure I always have,” he replied with the softest look. Johnny drank the sight of you in: the haze in your bright eyes, the rise and fall of your chest, the blinding smile that you were trying so hard to conceal.

He straightened up and stepped closer to you, your knees now hitting the tops of his thighs. Johnny leaned down, transferring his weight to one arm, as he brought his face closer to yours. “I was always so scared of losing you that I couldn’t admit how I felt.”

“Are you scared now?” You found yourself subconsciously moving towards him, your body automatically gravitating to the warmth he was executing. 

“A little bit, yeah,” Johnny confessed. His fingers reached up to play with a loose strand of your hair. He tenderly tucked it behind your ear, his skin grazing against a sensitive spot on your neck. You fluttered at his soft touch, your heart now dancing along your chest. “But I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“And Alice?”

“I broke it off with her the day I came into your room.” That explained why he looked so out of sorts that day, you thought to yourself. Taking a moment to let that information sink in, you realized that the Johnny standing in front of you was single and willing to try with you. 

It worked. The letters that your future self sent you, they worked. 

The countdown for the New Year began in the background, the excited yelling ringing throughout your house. 

10! 9! 8! 7!

“Is that right?”

6! 5! 4! 

You would forever remember the moment your childhood best friend, Johnny Suh, stole your heart for good. He looked you dead in the eye and with the deepest voice, he repeated your own written poem back to you, “It has always been and always will be you.”

3!

He kissed your left cheek first.

“You.”

Then, your right.

2!

“You.”

1!

The clock struck twelve and without a moment’s hesitation, Johnny captured your crimson-painted lips with his own to ring in the New Year. Catching you off guard, the force of the kiss almost sent you backward but he was quick to wrap a tight arm around your waist. Your legs opened to give him room to slide in between your thighs, allowing him to press you even closer. His free hand slid its way to your hair, holding your head in place as he deepened the kiss. Your head titled in time with his as you grabbed at his neck to hold him down.

Your neck was starting to strain at the awkward positioning and you pulled away to catch your breath. Still longing to taste you, Johnny tugged you back into another heated lip-lock and tapped at your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist, enjoying the way his larger figure molded with yours. He walked backward and turned to push you against the wall.

He broke away to nibble at the base of your neck, peppering fleeting kisses on the expanse of your exposed skin as you thumbed through his hair. 

“Hey,” you mumbled low enough to catch his attention. He tore away from your neck, placing his head on your shoulder. “Happy New Year, Johnny.”

When he looked up at you with all the love and adoration you had only dreamed about, an overwhelming feeling of happiness took over your entire being. “Happy New Year, sunflower.” 

He slowly let you down from his hold before interlocking your fingers. “Now, wanna get outta here?” He gestured to his empty house across the street.

“And why would I do that?” you teased with a scrunch of your nose. 

He sent you a smirk that sent shivers down your spine, “To make up for lost time, of course.”

You yanked him down for a short but fervid kiss. “Well, we have four years to make up for. Better get started.” With a tug of his arm, you giggled your way down the street as he fiddled around to find his keys. 

It was the first time in four years where Johnny woke up with you by his side. The rays of the winter sun peeped through the small gap of curtain, illuminating part of his room. He arose to clothes scattered along the wooden floor and a tiny breeze blowing through the vent above his bed. He turned over to find you pressing your bare self into his exposed chest with a whine, searching for a source of warmth in your sleepy state. He smiled fondly, heart thrashing wildly at the sight of you under the covers next to him. 

Johnny reached over to his bedside table in search of his phone but ran across two envelopes piled on top of each other. He opened the first one, eyes glazing over a recognizable font.

John,

You might think this handwriting looks familiar and that’s because it is— it’s yours. I’m you from the future and I’m writing to you because I need you to do something for me. 

I know you’re skeptical about this, just as you always are with the supernatural so I’m here to prove it to you. 

By the time you receive this letter, you should be home for Christmas for the first time in three years. On the day you go to the Christmas Tree Farm, you’ll find a sunflower and it will be beautiful. 

A sunflower in winter, sounds impossible, right? Believe me— it’s not. You’ll understand soon enough.

But promise me, once you see that flower, keep it in your grasp. Don’t let it go.

Sincerely, JS

A soft chuckle built up in his chest, the vibrations shaking your slumber away. He gently placed the paper back on the table only to feel a feathery touch rub against the bright ink of his sunflower tattoo. 

“A sunflower in winter, huh?” he said to himself.

“What did you say, Johnny?” you asked, voice hoarse from sleep and the activities from the night before. You pressed a kiss onto his forearm, smiling against the tattooed print that forever reminded him of you.

“Nothing, baby,” he shook his head, hand leaving his side to stroke the side of your face. “Go back to sleep.” You hummed at his command, eyes immediately fluttering to a close. You sighed happily as Johnny wrapped an arm around your waist and you tangled your legs with his to bring him flush against you.

Just as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, he decided that he was never going to let you go. 

The new year passed with the blink of an eye. Within the twelve months, you graduated summa cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in English Literature and moved into a small two bedroom apartment with Johnny. His many pictures decorated the walls of your new home, smiles found all around your apartment. One bedroom was converted to an office with two desks, one for him and an even bigger one for you. On top of your desk sat your beloved typewriter, your trusty laptop, and a few of your journals. A dried arrangement of sunflowers and red roses hung right by your desk, never failing to bring you inspiration when your mind ran dry.

On a random day, you found yourself grinning from ear to ear in your living room, waiting for your boyfriend to come home from his photography studio. You killed time on the couch, flipping through channels and scrolling through your phone, toes wiggling in anticipation.

What felt like hours later, you heard the rustling of keys and the wobbling of your doorknob. You turned just in time to see Johnny appear with that kittenish grin curled on his lips. You jumped up at the chance to greet him, arms wrapping around his torso and legs coiling around his waist to give him a kiss. He dropped his backpack in astonishment, not expecting that eager of a greeting before pressing back into you. 

An arm pushed against the small of your back to keep you steady as he broke away, walking your bodies further into the apartment. “Hey to you, too,” he laughed into your hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m just really happy today,” you beamed up at him, the upturns of your mouth almost meeting the tips of your ears.

Johnny set you down gently as he grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. “Because it’s date night?”

“Well, that too,” you replied before quickly running to the coffee table. Picking up an item, you hid it behind your back before approaching him with the widest smile. “But it’s because I have a surprise for you!”

He immediately closed his eyes, arms extended out as his fingers opened and closed playfully against his palm. You placed the item in his hands as the tall man bounced on his heels, his eyelids fluttering open to find a hardcover book in his hold.

“Is this what I think it is?” Johnny questioned softly, fingers trailing against the spine of the book.

You refused to answer and just silently motioned for him to open it but it was exactly what he thought it was— the proof of your new poem collection, all my loving. A surge of pride rushed through you as you saw your beloved hold your book in his hands; it felt amazing to finally have another book under your name.

He opened the hardcover hastily, excited to read your work. As much as he pestered you for a peek for the past year, you always denied his requests, telling him to wait until the collection was complete.

Johnny turned to the first page and you watched him with all the love and adoration in your heart as he soaked your book’s dedication.

That collection was far from perfect but it was yours as much as it was his. With that book and your first year together almost complete, you couldn’t wait to start all over with new verses and prose filling your heart and soul but more importantly, you couldn’t wait to do it all over again with him.

Johnny looked up from the page, completely enamored by your musings. Tears threatened to cascade down his rounded cheeks as he smiled down at you. “The perfect gift from the perfect girl,” he said, his fingers finding their way to the belt loops of your jeans to tug you closer.

“Nothing can beat this gift, huh?” You stared up at him with the brightest eyes he had ever seen. It was then he realized you were brighter than the yellow flowers that became your namesake. You were the sun itself.

“I’m pretty sure I can think of something that could top this, sunshine,” Johnny chuckled, lightly touching his forehead to yours. 

You placed a tender kiss at the side of his mouth before asking, “And what would that be?”

You didn’t receive an answer, you just felt the warmth of his body leave yours as he took a step back with the shyest smile. You watched him with wrinkled brows and a curious look as his trembling hands left your hips and slid up to grab hold of your hands. His palms were sweaty, you noted, as his grip tensed around yours. 

“I, um, planned on doing this at dinner tonight but I don’t think I can wait any longer,” Johnny started to say with a shaky voice. Feeling the nervous energy in the air and the slight shaking of his body, you put two and two together.

“Oh my god,” you let out an unsteady breath. Your heart was fighting a battle with your ribcage, screaming to be let out as another quivering chuckle escaped his lips.

You felt his thumb rubbing against the back of your left hand before it moved up to ghost against your ring finger. “Now, I can’t phrase things like you but I’ll do my very best,” he quipped. There was a tremble in his voice and you wanted to kiss it away but you decided to stay quiet and just live in the moment as he poured his heart out to you.

“A bit over a year ago, something incredible happened: I got these weird letters in the mail—”

Wait, letters?

“—and they led me back to you. They said something about finding a sunflower in the middle of winter and I thought that it was the dumbest prank someone could ever pull but way later down the line, I realized the letter was talking about you.” 

He got letters, too?

“When you asked me about my dream future,” Johnny continued, “the only person I could picture was you and I was so angry at myself for not figuring it out sooner.” Your eyes flickered up to stare into his adoring gaze. His brown eyes dripped of honey and candy and everything sweet in the world. 

“That— that’s okay,” you laughed through your tears. “We have all the time in the world now.”

He nodded; that you did.

“And your poems are like something sent from the heavens, you are something sent from the heavens, and I don’t think I can ever let go of your hand ever again,” he squeezed your hand and you pressed back with double the strength. 

For once, you couldn’t find the words to speak. Johnny Suh, your winter angel and the sun of your sky, had rendered you speechless.

The only sound that left your lips was the genuine gasp you let out once your eyes caught sight of the small jewelry box that he pulled out from his back pocket. Johnny struggled to one-handedly open the case, refusing to let go of your left hand. “I’m simply the Earth that revolves around you.” 

An immense heat rushed to your face as Johnny went down on one knee, his brown eyes wide and shining just for you. “You’re the light of my life, my most precious flower and person, so please,” he paused to press a kiss to your knuckles before looking you in the eyes, “please marry me.”

Overwhelmed by his proposal, you squeaked out a “yes” before Johnny pulled you down to his level for the most earth-shattering kiss you had ever experienced. You were spinning, mind reeling as he kissed you over and over again, leaving no spot on your face untouched. You giggled and cried at his actions and his words, feeling nothing but loved.  

When Johnny slipped that beautiful diamond ring on your finger, you realized that the most impossible dreams had a possibility of coming true. 

“I love you,” you sobbed as you admired the new piece decorating your hand. The sparkle of the jewel shone brilliantly but it could never compare to the twinkle in your love’s eyes.  

“I love you too, soulmate,” he answered, nudging your nose with his. 

Soulmates— that’s what you were and what you always will be. You wondered if your future self would be happy with how everything turned out; she probably would.

And to think, you laughed to yourself, it all started and ended with a couple of love letters.

for my most precious person,  the sun to my flower, johnny—

you’re in every song i sing every gift i string  everything  just brings me back to you

in every note i write every candle i light degree fahrenheit  my heart burns nothing but true

and so i say in this letter new i’ll send all my loving to you

💌   © sehunniepotwrites, 2020

[ppangjae]

of first snows and soulmates | collab masterlist

Would you rewrite the future if you were given the opportunity to?

💌  dear soulmate: of first snows and soulmates, a special collaboration with four spin-offs of the fic seven letters. are you ready to rewrite the future? if so, proceed with caution!

RELEASE DATE: January/February 2021

💌 i’ll send all my loving to you | jh.s ​| OPEN HERE

written by @sehunniepotwrites​ 

SYNOPSIS: When your collection of unsent love letters and heart-wrenching poems becomes a best-seller, you are left with the pressure of releasing another collection that is better than the last. In search of inspiration, you return home for the holidays only to run into Johnny Suh-- the very man who broke your heart, and discover a variety of letters convincing you to change your fate.

So, riddle me this: if you had a chance to change your fate, would you take it?

WORD COUNT: 24,832

GENRE: holidays!au, college!au, soulmate!au, friends-with-benefits!au,  friends-to-lovers!au, romance, angst, fluff, humor, slow burn

PAIRING: photographer!johnny suh x (female) poet!reader

WARNINGS: cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex and divorce 

PLAYLIST. lover by taylor swift • for life - english version by exo • unless it’s with you by christina aguilera • i don’t wanna see you cryin’ anymore by adam melchor • love letters by juris • sick of losing soulmates by dodie clark • best friend by jason chen • popo (how deep is our love?) by yerin baek • sun&moon by nct 127 • i’ll like you so much you’ll know it by wan junqi • if by juris • anyone else by joshua bassett • hate everything by golden

💌 la douleur exquise | t.l | OPEN HERE

written by @jeongvision​ 

SYNOPSIS: Taeyong was met with an unfortunate accident before his life could start out. There’s so much that the world has to offer and he’s not ready to die yet. And so fate decides to give him a second chance at life under one condition: save someone’s life within 14 days, or else he goes to the Great Beyond. And perhaps these letters could clue in on who his mission is. But what happens when he encounters you, his ex, in the midst of his task? Would he spend his last days with you to salvage his regrets, or would he leave you behind forever just to live again? Tell me darling, is all this living worth dying for?

♡ la douleur exquise is a french phrase that literally translates to exquisite pain; refers to the pain you feel for wanting someone you can’t have.

WORD COUNT: more than 1k, that’s for sure LMFAO 

GENRE: fluff, angst, slice of life, soulmate! au, exes to lovers! au, afterlife! au (?), soul! au (ish)

PAIRING: lee taeyong x fem!reader

WARNINGS: cursing, drinking, character death(s) (no one dies, sort of.), implications of depression, implications of attempted suicide (to be updated along the way)

PLAYLIST. do you feel like you have no one to turn to? by yayyoung • right here by keshi • lovelovelove by yerin baek • bandaids by keshi • before our spring by jonghyun • be the light by one ok rock • skeletons by keshi • you were beautiful by day6 • let us go by crush • give you my heart by iu

💌 a promise of infinity | d.s | OPEN HERE

written by @smoll-tangerine​ 

SYNOPSIS: Denying your feelings has always been a talent of yours. It is a mindset that helped you stay clear of any unwanted trouble. Ultimately, you’re the only one who knows what is best for yourself. But when you stumble upon a diary from your future self that goes against all sense of logic and your frame of mind, you have to wonder whether you should listen to those messages in order to secure your happily ever after, or ignore them to keep the status quo. But in the end, aren’t you the one who you should know yourself best?

WORD COUNT: Probably like 10k or 20k, there is no in-between 

GENRE: soulmate!au, slice of life, romance, slight angst??, fluff

PAIRING: winwin x (female) reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS: to be updated along the way

PLAYLIST. dream launch by wayv • mirrors by justin timberlake • i’m with you by avril lavigne • pandora’s box by nct 127 • love again by baekhyun • love by f(x) • fine by taeyeon • time and fallen leaves by akmu • roman holiday by halsey • love me the same by jessica • need you now by lady antebellum

💌 LA VIE EN ROSE | m.l | OPEN HERE

written by @ppangjae​ 

SYNOPSIS: How do you ruin your ex-girlfriend’s (whom you’re still irrevocably in love with) wedding that you helped her plan for almost a year? Yeah… Mark’s not too sure either. But funny enough, these letters from said ‘future self’ know exactly how. 

WORD COUNT: 15k+ 

GENRE: spin-off of seven letters! | soulmate!au | ex!au | wedding planner!au | fluff | angst

PAIRING: wedding planner!mark x reader (female)

WARNINGS: lots of swearing!

PLAYLIST. ivy by frank ocean • dear april by frank ocean • never not by lauv • pluto projector by rex orange county • get to you again by mac ayres • frozen by sabrina claudio • focus by h.e.r • no song without you by honne • edition by rex orange county

[julieandthefandoms]

More Fanfiction Links

So, apparently I hit a link limit on my previous post about fanfic links, and in order to remedy that, I’ll be creating this separate list in order to link more fanfics. I’ll also be continuing to add to this current list until I hit the 100 link limit again (because clearly I don’t learn), so it’ll change relatively often. 

If you haven’t seen it already, the first post is here, and has a little under 100 fanfics, and I apologize if there are any repeats. I will be relinking my own fics and the ongoing ones for any of you are interested, so yeah.

I will also be marking AUs by putting the AU they’re set in parenthesis, and marking one-shots or chaptered fics by placing an asterisk (*) by the chaptered ones. In unspecified sections, the ships/characters involved in the tory will be listed in italic. Side note, all of the following fics besides the ones in the Pine With Me section are completed, so there’s no need to worry about the completion status of the fics. Now, I have read all of these, so if anyone wants to scream about any of these with me, I got you ;)

(Fair warning, the majority of these are TDA/TLH fics... mostly because I’m rereading TDA and drowning in feelings.) 

Matthew Angst

Entreat me not to leave thee by thelandunderthehilll

https://thelandunderthehilll.tumblr.com/post/625697713695195136/entreat-me-not-to-leave-thee

Runaway by themostawesomehuman/chris-top-her-lightwood

https://chris-top-her-lightwood.tumblr.com/post/626088077139509248/runaway-first-draft

Untitled Matthew Fanfic by lily-chen-deserves-better

https://lily-chen-deserves-better.tumblr.com/post/626711184724426752/matthew-x-happiness-im-glad-to-see-you-again

The Boy and the Door by themostawesomehuman Math and Owen

https://themostawesomehuman.tumblr.com/post/627139370040885248/the-boy-and-the-door-owen-herondale-and-matthew

Blackdale/Thorndale/Jesse x Lucie/Whatever You Call Them

Untitled Blackdale by zzoyalantsov

https://zzoyalantsov.tumblr.com/post/625576347383857152/hey-prompt-6-for-blackdale

“Don’t Ask Me How I’ve Been” by lily-chen-deserves-better

https://lily-chen-deserves-better.tumblr.com/post/625442487221338112/for-ghostjessesgirl-this-is-a-train-wreck-and

Explorations in cooking and kissing by UpsideDownCats

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427817

Untitled Blackdale by sparow

 https://sparow.tumblr.com/post/619823878129221632/3-9-10-angst-lucie-and-jesse-gooo-if-you-can

Platonic Family Shenanigans/Fluff

“Let me guess, there’s a dead body in the closet” by lily-chen-deserves-better Thomas and Lucie

https://lily-chen-deserves-better.tumblr.com/post/624804827849949185/a-shipfriendshipcharacter-a-quote-for-a

Parental Differences by affectionatelyyy Jessa family

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431358 or here 

Max and Rafe QSA Fic by ti-bae-rius Max and Rafe

https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/187093686941/rafael-and-max-qsa-fic

Paralleled by immortal-enemies Ash and Kit

https://immortal-enemies.tumblr.com/post/626282235354562560/paralleled

Untitled Heronchild by lucieblckthorn Matthew and James

https://lucieblckthorn.tumblr.com/post/626560434501287936/can-i-plz-hv-prompt-2-heronchild-again

Be Wise Enough to Wonder. Be brave and let it go. By Ineedadrinkorsleep Mark and Helen 

https://ineedadrinkorsleep.tumblr.com/post/626662185866756096/be-wise-enough-to-wonder-be-brave-and-let-it-go

Jordelia

“You Smell Nice” by lucieblckthorn

https://lucieblckthorn.tumblr.com/post/625604991095324672/congrats-on-ur-milestone-jordelia-prompt-22

The Worst Things in Life Come Free to Us by zzoyalantsov

https://zzoyalantsov.tumblr.com/post/627532126978506752/the-worst-things-in-life-come-free-to-us

Matthew/Cordelia

Untitled Math/Cordelia by thelandunderthehilll

https://thelandunderthehilll.tumblr.com/post/624882185411919873/cringe-cliche-angst-fan-fic-for-a-change-lmao-idk

Untitled Math/Cordelia by emablckthorn

https://emablckthrn.tumblr.com/post/624950180429561856/i-wrote-another-fanfic-this-one-is-about-matthew

Wait before you go by immyownghostwriter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25199353

Thomastair 

Untitled Thomastair by ti-bae-rius

https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/624000112834854912/thomastair-prompt

Untitled Thomastair by cordeliacarstairs1989writesstuff (Linking chapter 2; chapter 1 is linked in the post)

https://cordeliacarstairs1989writesstuff.tumblr.com/post/626392908711542785/thomstair-part-2

Braver by mysilverwords/thomaslightwood

https://mysilverwords.tumblr.com/post/627905053589651456/braver-thomas-lightwood-with-a-special-guest

Arianna

Untitled Arianna by shadowhuntersshadow-world

https://shadowhuntersshadow-world.tumblr.com/post/626412484132208640/my-first-fanfic

Herongraystairs

Poets by ashesandhoney

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070181

Gabrily

Untitled Gabrily Fic by Inej-in-the-shadows

https://inej-in-the-shadows.tumblr.com/post/627789466399080448/gabrily-fanfic

Sizzy

”Imagine Muse B of your OTP buying Grand Theft Auto 5 and playing it every single day. Muse A doesn’t like all the violence and swearing, but after playing online with a couple of other friends, gets hooked too” by ti-bae-rius 

https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/163260667541/imagine-muse-b-of-your-otp-buying-grand-theft

Many-A-Ships

As Long As I’m With You by fieryfantasybooklover Haline, Kitty, and Jemma

https://fieryfantasybooklover.tumblr.com/post/625457184103350272/as-long-as-im-with-you-a-haline-jemma-and

To Love by lily-chen-deserves-better Assorted TDA Ships (Fun Story: This Was Made To Piss Off a Homophobe) 

https://lily-chen-deserves-better.tumblr.com/post/621412716168577024/to-love

Not Unlike a Fairy Tale by fieryfantasybooklover Thomastair, Cordelia, Arianna

https://fieryfantasybooklover.tumblr.com/post/626484597104033793/not-unlike-a-fairy-take-a-thomastair-arianna

Kierartina

*Untitled Kierartina by thelandunderthehilll (chapters 1-4 listed at the bottom of the post)

https://thelandunderthehilll.tumblr.com/post/625518921255141376/fan-fic-characters-from-the-dark-artifices-by

Untitled Kierartina by thelandunderthehilll

https://thelandunderthehilll.tumblr.com/post/625062005221490688/tadaaa-fanfic-in-faerie-as-i-promised-lovee

The Lucky Ones by Ineedadrinkorsleep 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432540

Sweet Dreams by thelandunderthehilll

https://thelandunderthehilll.tumblr.com/post/625868019312295936/sweet-dreams

Untitled Kierartina (Mark’s POV of why he left to save Kieran) by thelandunderthehilll

https://thelandunderthehilll.tumblr.com/post/626548752988143616/fan-fic-characters-from-the-dark-artifices-by

Kitty

Hold Me Tight While You Wait by heronthxrns

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763507

*all my broken heartbeats by laylacarstairs

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24493021/chapters/59121295

Kitty and Vine References by tsc-living

https://tsc-living.tumblr.com/post/184716251806/kitty-and-vine-references

I loved you before you even came into this world by lihtwood

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24303286

Thinkin’ about you by lihtwood

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504664

I don’t miss you at all by lihtwood

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022441

Begin Again by bobmcjoe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151506

Kit Herondale: Medium Extraordinarie by rosesareredvioletsareblue

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294493

Wherever I go, you bring me home by booksandbeanbags

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431358

There’s nothing to be afraid of by Ineedadrinkorsleep

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808431

Ty’s letter to Kit during TWP by Ineedadrinkorsleep

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20697002

The one thing you can never do by Ineedadrinkorsleep 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319315

When No one’s watching by Ineedadrinkorsleep

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23427664

Blanket Forts and Bad Days by ti-bae-rius

https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/165685000001/blanket-forts-and-bad-days-kitty

*Chance Encounter by ti-bae-rius

https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/185651968861/chance-encounters-part-12

*I’m In Love Without You by bluesxrgent 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008965

you make it easy by thankyouforexisting

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460615

The Bet (or: Team Rosales-Blackthorn are losers) (or: Disregard the previous statement; Team Carstairs-Blackthorn is the worst) by KallistoGray

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940314

Follow my Lead by HPfanonezillion

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13329480

aut inveniam viam aut faciam by helenblqckthorn

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144537

Challenge the Default by elliptical

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265393

Helpless by RoseHerondale

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923886

Fire and Flood by fairchild-squad

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20914937

(A Kitty AU Subsection because this is getting too long)

I wonder if you look both ways before you cross my mind by lihtwood (Kit Never Left AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18234149

Listen To Your Heart by tyherondaletrash (Quarantine AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986390 or here 

Wayward Presence by Adoravel_Fenomeno (High School AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530167

“I told my sister I have a boyfriend so she’d stop trying to set me up with people but now she’s coming to visit and I’m in too deep and I need a fake boyf ASAP” by ti-bae-rius (Modern AU)

https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/175509991201/kitty-au-i-told-my-sister-i-have-a-boyfriend-so

*Soulmate AU by ti-bae-rius (Soulmate AU)

Part 1: https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/179216171251/soulmate-au-kitty-part-1-of-2-based-on-the

Part 2: https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/179216179081/soulmate-au-kitty-part-2-of-2

Highschool Kitty AU by ti-bae-rius (High School AU)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13268350/1/High-School-AU-Kitty

Living out a life of royalty by Adoravel_Fenomeno (Kitty Faerie AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862785

Eyes are the Windows to the Soul by orphan_account (Soulmate AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9375944

Summertime by Adoravel_Fenomeno (Childhood Friends AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25936528

On the wheel that winds on forever by Adoravel_Fenomeno (Fallen Angel AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994482

The art of letting go by Adoravel_Fenomeno (Artist/Muse Fake Dating AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070262

Haline

Like I’m Gonna Lose You by lily-chen-deserves-better

https://lily-chen-deserves-better.tumblr.com/post/623086630335627264/like-im-going-to-lose-you

“It’s 3 in the morning” by Thomastair

https://thomastair.tumblr.com/post/617963730194628608/could-you-please-do-3-for-haline

Don’t let those basterds get you down by Ineedadrinkorsleep

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19747804

“I tried to rescue you from being mugged but instead I got knocked out and you had to take me to the hospital after having your wallet stolen” by ti-bae-rius (Modern AU)

https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/178764126786/haline-au-i-tried-to-rescue-you-from-being

Diana/Gwyn

Dance with me? by ti-bae-rius

https://ti-bae-rius.tumblr.com/post/165303275646/gwynburn-dance-with-me

Pine With Me (Ongoing Fics)

*You’re my rock, my colorado by lihtwood (Brooklyn 99 Kitty AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505048

*Popsicle Stick Homes and Construction Paper Hearts by GinnyRose (Thomastair Modern AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132592/chapters/58103440

*A Last Chance by CrimzieLightwood (Thomastair)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24149710/chapters/58151143

*time to dance on sorrows by fairchild-squad (Time Travel AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842437/chapters/60093769

*new blooms by fairchild-squad (Blackdale Flower Shop AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24830689

*The Sibling Matchmakers Club by affectionatelyyy (A Herongraystairs Parent Trap AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25601440 or here

Extremely Well Written Pieces That Make My Heart Hurt

For better or for worse, I am alive by Ineedadrinkorsleep Kit Herondale

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740581

I used to say there’s no such thing as we by Ineedadrinkorsleep Ty Blackthorn

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935322

Some Of My Own Work 

If Crazy=Genius, The Herondales, Fairchilds, Blackthorns, and Carstairs Would Have 162 IQ by TimeToTravel Jordelia, Thomastair, Jessa, and Blackdale

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194744

What Is And What Should Never Be by TimeToTravel Jordelia and Thomastair

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272336

Maybe There’s Something There That Wasn’t There Before by TimeToTravel Jordelia and Thomastair

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439985

Days Past: Paris 1902 by TimeToTravel Thomastair

Either: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015850 or here

Bring Back What Once Was Mine by TimeToTravel Blackdale

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042889

Heaven and Hell by TimeToTravel Grace and Christopher

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24192601 or here

Free To Be You And Me by TimeToTravel Arianna

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466879 or here

We’ll Meet Again by TimeToTravel (Herongraystairs Supernatural and TSC epic crossover) 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621490

Breeding Cannibal Ducks by TimeToTravel Platonic Heronstairs

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24761302 or here

Idris Weekly: The Millionaire Murder by TimeToTravel and LivingInTheNever (Blackdale Detective AU) 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24898957

A Perfect Day by TimeToTravel Blackdale

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919912 or here

Best Day of Our Lives by TimeToTravel Kitty, Heline, Kierartine, and Jemma

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737559 or here

This was quite long, so I’m just going to leave the key here again:

* = multi-chaptered fics 

(Parenthesis) = AU

If in a non ship subsection: 

Italics = ships/characters in story

[youtiaoshutiao]

i got to the epic poetry recital scene in ep 27 of Joy of Life and ahhhh i love it so!!! i’m an uncultured swine that can only recite maybe 5 chinese poems lolol but still, goosebumps all over. it was done so well!

- fan xian prefaces it by saying he memorised these poems from a 仙境 /paradise. “and you’re telling me you memorised all of them?” guo senior taunts. “you don’t know, that period of memories are carved into my mind as if by knives and axes. every word i saw and every book i read i remember to the most precise detail vividly.”

sounds badass. but the domestic Chinese audience watching it knows that he’s referring to the gaokao/college entrance exam where memorising tons of these poems are required HAHAHA

- true enough wang juan the scriptwriter did choose only poems that are required for gaokao. this way it stands true to the plot point of fan xian being considered a literary genius in qingguo because he’s a modern person who benefits from being taught all these literary works through the 9 yr education pathway. and it also resonates with the audience as they too have memorised the same poems before.

- zhang ruoyun’s line delivery was AMAZING. i got so excited and emotional the moment he threw the vat of wine aside and began reciting 将进酒 as he stumbled around drunk but at the same time voice and expression so sure and full of conviction.

- some of the poems fan xian recites apart from being legends in their own right also speak of his loneliness and how alone he is, in a land that is not his own, in a time period that is not his own. 水调歌头 written by su dongpo when he was sent to an appointment far away about his longing for his brother. ending off with chen zi ang’s 前不见古人 后不见来者 念天地之悠悠 独怆然而涕下 “i see no ancestors before me, i see no descendants behind me, thinking of how vast and limitless the universe is, alone and sorrowful i weep” (ok v loose translation lol excuse this!!!) but yet while he stands solitary, an outsider in every aspect in this AU, he is at the same time not alone as he recites poetry that came from all the poet greats throughout chinese history. thousands of years of culture stand with him as well.

- and after reciting over a hundred poems and making zhuang mohan vomit blood (literally), he falls to the ground and right before he passes out drunk goes “ 我醉欲眠卿且去。。。。。。去nmd。” basically a “I’m drunk and want to sleep, you may go [up to this point an actual poem]... go f*** yourself.” 

the best conclusion to the best poetry recital 庆国 is ever gonna see!

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

Index Post (updated 11.12.20)

So, I feel like some housekeeping is in order. Hence: an Index Post!

I have this organized into three main categories: Tolkien, The Untamed, and Other (film, art, books, games, life, etc.). Items are ordered from oldest to newest. The number of asterisks indicates length. “[reblog+]” indicates that the original post is not my own, but I added thoughts with a reblog (because I’m bad with Tumblr etiquette). Ultra short pieces are grouped near the bottom of each section.

Post links below the cut.

Additionally! I also have almost 100 in-progress posts in my drafts. I need to finish some, but I think at this point I need some guidance on where to go next, once I finish project 1 and write 3 more prompt ficlets. This is where you come in! I’d like to open my ask box up to reader suggestions on what to work on next. Go to THIS POST for a list of upcoming posts to choose from.

Tolkien Meta

"The Magic Ring” (On my favorite piece at Maker of Middle-earth) *

Reckoning Nothing of Wizardry or War (On my favorite line in LotR) *

Tolkien and the Far Tree (thoughts on Letter #96) *

Whom Morgoth Made (on the first mention of Sauron in the Primary World) *

When the Far Tree Becomes Near [reblog+] *

How to Destroy Your Enemies and Influence People (more Sauron, this time regarding Numenor) **

The Inverted Mountain (On the moment Frodo claims the Ring. Sauron-centric) *

IANAL but... (on Parma Eldalamberon 17) *

Fixation and Attachment Can Lead to Missing Fingers *

J.R.R.T.: A Film Portrait of J.R.R. Tolkien *

Sauron’s Canonically Pretty Handwriting [reblog+] *

The Little House of Lost Play **

The Changing Depictions of Sauron in Tolkien Art *

The Whole Damn Thing Is Fallen (The Problem of Evil; also Tolkien) **

The Whole Damn Thing Is Fallen: part 2 (same as above plus cosmology) ***

Ordering Reality (How Sauron and Tolkien were both Conlangers) *

Subcreative Aspects As Split Between the Ainur [reblog+] *

Valie Evolution, Varda and Nienna, and Marian Imagery [reblog+] ***

The Ring of Barahir and Snake Imagery [reblog+] *

Gandalf, Perspective, Humor, and Humility [reblog+] ***

General Tolkien Tidbits: Verlyn Fleiger video | March 25th and End of the Wolf Hunt | Forging Rings [reblog+] | Tolkien Oral History Project | We All Know Barad-dur was Brutalist | Tolkien’s Metaphysical Tension [reblog+] | Veryln Fleiger on Change [reblog+] | “His Right Name” [reblog+] | Thuringwethil [reblog+] | Tolkien Biopic Grumpiness | Sauron as Jeremy Bentham [reblog+] | Sauron Messes With the Numenoreans | Ancient Elvish Aliens | RIP Christopher | Christopher Recounts the Tear Story | Christopher and Maps | Babel Builders | Kocher and The Road Goes Ever On | John Garth on the Catholic Culture Podcast | Tolkien Experience Podcast | Edith Bratt Article | Sauron’s Bureaucratic Reform Plans [reblog+] | Mordor Flies | Tolkien and George McDonald | More Bentham!Sauron | Tolkien Blame Shifts 

LotR on Prime Tidbits: 1 | 2 

25 Year Reread: 1 | 2 | 3

The Untamed (Chen Qing Ling/Mo Dao Zu Shi) Meta

But Whose Deontology? (early thoughts about moral tension between wangxian while first watching The Untamed) ***

Episode 45: Image and the Second Flutist *

Jiang Cheng, Golden Cores, and Goodness [reblog+] **

LWJ and WWX in Love [reblog+] **

Feels, Feels, Feels (thoughts on LWJ, WWX, and The Song) **

WWX, Drinking, and Consent [reblog+] **

Sharing Your Childhood (personal recollections on why WWX showing LWJ around Lotus Pier spears me through the heart) *

It’s a Hard World for Good Things (thoughts on goodness, metaphysics, and epistemology in the world of CQL/MDZS) ***

More About WWX and Image [reblog+] *

Immortal Together? *

CQL and Flowers [reblog+] **

Replacement Scenes [reblog+] *

Oblivious (personal reflections on one of the reasons I identify so much with Wei Wuxian) *

Lotus Seed Pod Bouquet *

How LWJ Got His Broken Leg *

MDZS/CQL RPG Thoughts ***

WWX and Wen Yuan: Orphans in Yiling *

What if Mo Xuanyu knew Wangxian?**

Untamed Tidbits: Episode 46: WWX and JC | Is Benevolence Arrogance | LSZ is a Good Boi | Censorship and Fan Ethics | Emperor’s Smile [reblog+] | MDZS ch99 | Yi City | CQL vs MDZS actors | On the Most Impractical Way of Carrying Your Sword | In Love [reblog+] | LQR Qi-deviates | Villainous Friends | Ethical/Sexual Tension | Lan Clan Principles Swap [reblog+] | Backwards and in Heels | Masks | Voice Actors [reblog+] | An Untamed Carol {reblog+] | CSSR, LQR, Mothers and sons [reblog+] | That Bed Carving [reblog+] | The Undead Are a Fact of Life | LWJ’s Self-branding [reblog+] | Wangxian Lullaby 

Untamed/MDZS Art and Fic

50 Kisses Prompt 1 (ficlet)

50 Kisses Prompt 2 (ficlet/portion of larger unfinished 1929 Untamed AU)

50 Kisses Prompt 3 (ficlet)

1929 Untamed AU art: Drawing | WIP color

Drawtober 2020: single post compilation | all posts

Wangxian Lotus picking art: WIP Sketch for painting

Other Stuff About Life and Loves

The Poet of Prague (a short summary of the life and work of my favorite photographer, Joseph Sudek) *

The Five Toys I Never Had (Christmas silliness and nostalgia) **

The New Motive Power (the strangest moment in Spiritualism) **

Wrighting, Writing, and Righting *

In Her Honor (on how my grandmother gave me a precious gift) **

The Magnus Archives ep 116: Automata *

Automata Again *

On Indescribable Wow (thoughts on the moments when the world-machine is exposed) *

The Feast of the Annunciation at 35,000ft (musings on panic disorder, x-men/Phoenix, Tolkien: Maker of Middle-earth, and the power of stories) ****

Gazing Past The Valacirca: Happy Birthday Hubble **

Tidbits: Portrait of Adele [reblog+] | Things My Husband Has Said to Me: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Met Opera Grumpiness | It’s a Hard World for Little Things | Grosseteste’s De Luce |

[shadowofthemoth]

Friar Laurence and Prince Escalus for the ask meme XD

Hello and thanks, wahah, now that’s what I call a perfect ask! 

Friar Laurence (or Lorenzo, as I like to call him):

favorite thing about them: his general goodness. I love that he is a benign and good-natured character, very understanding and willing to help. 

least favorite thing about them: he really should have thought of telling someone ahem, the Prince, ahem about the whole “secret marriage and fake death” affair instead of just keeping it all secret like a little boy playing spy. So many problems could’ve been avoided, but no. (But I still love the man).

favorite line: all of them! And in particular, this part of “J’Sais Plus”:

La vie était facileIl suffisait d'aimerMais l'encre des EvangilesDans mon coeur a séchéOh, Dieu de tous les hommesToi qui sait tout sur toutEcoute la voix d'un hommeQui te dit à genouxQu'il devient fou

brOTP: Romeo, in a way, especially if you think of the new Italian Lorenzo. They’re such good bros there! xD

OTP: Prince Escalus (obviously).

nOTP: everyone but Escalus? xD Idk, I just don’t really ship him with anyone else… 

random headcanon: 1) in a modern setting, Lorenzo is a surgeon; 2) when it comes to escalawrence, Escalus is the one to fall in love first, but it is Lorenzo who confesses first. 

unpopular opinion: as opposed to the way he’s portrayed in many versions, Lorenzo is actually not that old, 40 years maximum. I’d even say 36 to 38. 

song i associate with them: “Angel” by Poets of the Fall. 

favorite picture of them: all credit goes to Julien Vachon and my dear Rubick Chen.

Prince Escalus:

favorite thing about them: I admit that these features may be more of a headcanon than not, but I love the man’s strength and determination. He’s immensely charismatic, for sure; but it’s a character whom I - first of all - respect and admire because of how strong and resilient he is. Even based on the La Vengeance scene after the duel, it’s clear to me that Escalus hides his emotions well. He seems calm on the surface, but on the inside, there is a storm that no one is meant to ever catch a glimpse of. And being calm and rational and fair, all the while hiding that storm inside you… that takes immense strength. And that aura of strength-despite-all-the-pain was what drew me to him in the first place; and it’s still my favourite aspect of this character.

least favorite thing about them: this is more about the way he’s shown in some versions, thanks to the Le Pouvoir thing (a grateful shoutout to the Austrian and the Hungarian versions for leaving it out). I don’t like this lust for power he’s shown to have, so I invented a separate explanation for this, because I love the song itself, I only don’t like what it does to the whole image of the character. 

favorite line: guys, honestly, come on, it’s “favourite lineS”. 

1) Austrian: 

Willkommen in der Stadt! 

(”Verona”. Iconic, fucking iconic, man).

Ich als Fürst hatt’ hier die Macht,Der Hass hat mich um sie gebracht.Nur der Friede war mein Ziel,Bis meine Welt zerfiel.…Viva Verona, dunkles Verona.

(”Verona II”).

2) French:

On m'envie mais de quoi?On dit lui en parlant de moiOn me craint on me croitPour qu'ils aient chaud j'ai froid…Le pouvoir ça brûle en vousLe pouvoir ça vous rend fouLe pouvoir on s'y cramponneEt quand il vous abandonneOn en meurt!

(”Le Pouvoir”)

brOTP: idk… I headcanon that he has a close relationship with his nephews (Mercutio and Valentine), but that’s not a brOTP. I also headcanon that he was best friends with his younger sister Beatrice, his nephews’ mother, in their childhood and youth and up until her demise. Guess it counts as a brOTP? 

OTP: Lorenzo, Queen Mab, der Tod, Juliet (in various AUs). Benvolio, if it’s the Hungarian version where Escalus is younger than everywhere else. Mercutio, if they’re not related by blood (and only in the Italian version). Also I now have a headcanon that (in some AUs of mine, especially in the modern AU) he was married once but his wife died very tragically, together with their child (either unborn or still very young), well before his sister died and left her children in Escalus’s care… and I’ve yet to come up with his wife’s name, yeah.

nOTP: pretty much everyone else.

random headcanon: 1) Escalus sings really well and can play more than one musical instrument. 2) in the modern AU, Escalus works in the police. Bonus round, because I feel like it: Escalus and Lorenzo have matching tattoos which depict two intertwined snakes. Escalus’s is on his left bicep, covering an old scar he got on an operation. Lorenzo was the one to patch him up afterwards; and that was when Lorenzo couldn’t hide his feelings for Escalus anymore, and they’ve been a couple ever since.

unpopular opinion: more of a headcanon rather than of an unpopular opinion, but oh well, Escalus is afraid of spiders.

song i associate with them:“My Dark Disquiet” by Poets of the Fall.   

favorite picture of them: can’t find my all-time favourite atm, so I’ll post a sketch I drew based on it, ok? 

Whoa, that took long! Hope you enjoy this monsterpost, my lovely anon! :3

[exot12ficrec]

baekhyun’s birthday list part 1

🎇 glissandi | chanyeol / baekhyun | upside down au | 18.2k | lababoreine

Chanyeol might be able to hop the border; he might be able to defy gravity, but he can’t run away forever. 

🎇 hobson’s choice | chen / baekhyun | magic au | pg | 7.3k | henqiguai

Prince Baekhyun learns that being a prince does not always mean one is on the giving end of orders. 

🎇 imperial affliction | kai / baekhyun | mama au | nc17 | 12.5k | daestruct

When Jongin is five years old, he receives a necklace with a star pendant. When Jongin is eighteen, he learns another boy had received a necklace with a triangle, the inside spinning. When Jongin is nineteen, he has the chance to correct his past mistake. 

🎇 in for the kill | kris / baekhyun | wolf au, smut | nc17 | 5.5k | inkin_brushes

Baekhyun knew his pack was in trouble when they found the bleeding tree.

🎇 in the territory of the dragon king | kyungsoo / baekhyun | jeju au, drama, slice of life | 121k | curledupkitten

there are so many ghosts on this island. maybe that’s why do kyungsoo has come: so his personal ghosts can get lost among them. 

🎇 all the king’s warships and all the king’s men | lay / baekhyun | space au, romance, humor | r | 7.4k | alesserrain

Baekhyun is a warship whisperer and Yixing is his military detail. There’s a problem about boners but it’s not actually as funny as it sounds. 

🎇 pre-champ | luhan / baekhyun | ballroom dance au | nc17 | 10.2k | foundoasis

this is baekhyun’s year to win his first gold on the collegiate latin circuit, and hell if he’s going to let some grad student newcomer from his own damn school waltz in and steal his medal.

🎇 as the poets say | sehun / baekhyun | kingdom au, action | 20k | byunnstar

born from the cruelty of men and the greed of gods, prince sehun chooses baekhyun to accompany him on the quest to fulfil his destiny. 

🎇 pretty boy blues | suho / baekhyun | radio host au | pg13 | 9.2k | bespokenboy

It would take Baekhyun some convincing to believe that Jongdae isn’t the villain in all of this. 

🎇 who’ll stop the rain | tao / baekhyun | hs au | pg13 | 5.6k | sexyvanillatiger

Baekhyun doesn’t know his name, or where he comes from, or how long he’s been here. All he knows for certain is that this guy doesn’t go to his school. 

🎇 some feelings (they can travel too) | xiumin / baekhyun | royalty au, arranged marriage au, fluff | 9.4k | suluism

Prince Baekhyun is born into a royal title and an arranged marriage.

this is part 1 of baekhyun’s birthday celebration fic list, and consists of my favorite fic for each baekhyun / exo member pairing that has been previously recommended on this blog. part 2 will contain my favorites for each pairing not yet recc’ed here.

[fyeahchenfics]

Title: The Art of Purple Prose Author: cairistiona13 Pairing: Chanyeol/Chen Rating: PG-15 Status: completed Length: one-shot; 6.5k Genre: Cafe!AU, College!AU, Friendship, Romance, Fluff, Humor

Summary: Chanyeol is a starving poet. Jongdae likes to pretend that he isn’t a fan, because it does no good to his street cred. After all, Chanyeol’s poetry is dire. (Who’s he kidding? Jongdae has no street cred anyway.)

[l0-f1g0dd3ss3s]

Throughout November and December, “Lo-Fi Goddesses” had five new editions, which aired on ResonanceEXTRA. You can hear the original pieces on my bandcamp and the full mixes on my mixcloud. Here are the five playlists (in order of airdate):

November 7, 2016 - #1 - “Recurring Dreams”

“Heirloom” by Bjork  //distortions

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, BATHTUB

“Airmale” by Yoko Ono + “Groove Is in The Heart” by Deee-Lite 

“Rug” by Chen Yi

“Lub Dupe” by Liquid Liquid

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, i think im feeling sick/im so tired/i'm hungry too 

“Toy lot” by Microsoft saint

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, Exposure/Communication

“Aire de Lunacy” by Bora Yoon

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, BATHTUB, again

“Alien Observer by Grouper”

"Take a smell at the spray” by Judith Juillerat

“Dalek I Love You (Destiny)” by Dalek I

“Lovefingers” by Silver Apples

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, Annabel Lee, water never dies + “II. Stromkirche or Terminale” by Valerio Tricoli)

“Good Times” by Sam Cooke

“Hangin’ Out” by Betty Davis

“zoe (it was in xartes)” by American Watercolor Movement) + “Thing In Your Eye” by LITHICS

“Musk” by X-Ray Pop

“Moonchanges” by Sunwatchers

November 14, 2016 - #2 - “As If She Knew”

“Ballade Pluie” by Madame Patate

“Let’s Go Swimming” by Arthur Russell

“Elders at Work” by Klein

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, grown woman in the sun

“Cozy Apartment” by John Morrison

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, dancing in my head, redux (feat. Raincoats)

“Wishing” by Daytime Viewing

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, table hockey (feat. David Byrne)

“Patchwork” by Laurie Spiegel

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, skin (feat. Fraternal Twin & christof migone)

“Star power” by Sonic Youth

“Volleyrama” by Dumb Wolves

“Ceaucescu Meiner Seele!” by BAADER

“Systeme Rasten Ein, Ich Raste Aus!” by Klick & Aus

“Keroøàcidu Suäväk” by Binga Miocórpio

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, as if she knew what it meant to lose myself

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, virtual mythos & reality (feat. Elza Soares)

“Little Nothing” by Gudrun gut

“I want my birthday back” by Jee jee band

“polly’s crystal” by guerilla toss

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, nobody ever said to van gogh (feat. shonen (boy) by Mariah)

“Big brain” by phat trophies

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, I was just thinking about you

“f = (2.4)” by carter tutti void//with jumps into the void

SOMETHING ORIGINAL, & then i burned the note

“the pattern emerges” by delia derbyshire//broken stereo

November 21, 2016 - #3 - "Cruel Optimism"

Original mix – “Cruel Optimism” // “Candlelight”// “This is of course a metaphor”

“Birthday” by Sugarcubes

“Salut les salauds” by Interview

Original mix – start with F# and A# chord (noise underneath)), then play F, D#, C#, A# // “how long”// “putting thoughts together thru keys…”

“Frou Frou Foxes in Midsummer Fires” by Cocteau Twins

“We All Stand” by New Order

“Guitar Trio” by Rhys Chatham/Glenn Branca/Nina Canal/Wharton Tiers

Original mix – “NY City girl” // “for the show” // “old ‘crepit New Yorker”

“Chega de Saudade” by Stan Getz / Gilberto Gil

“Hoagy’s Groove” by Soldier Kane

“Stahlwerkrequiem” by Die Krupps

Original mix – “he held me…”// “transmutation” // “bold brutal beautiful”

“I’m On Fire” by Malportado Kids

November 28, 2016 - #4 - “Awkward goodbyes” 

Original: Awkward Goodbyes feat. bedframe blues; Reading “The Infra-Ordinary” by Georges Perec

“Bo Mi Phi Thi Isan” by Hongthong Dao-udon 

“Birdcalls” by Louise Lawler

“I Left My Heart But I Don’t Know Where” by Jeri Rossi

“Alarm Call” by Bjork

“Sing sing sing (Sing sing)” by Tape-beatles

Nan Goldin speaking about “Ballad of Sexual Dependency”“I only have eyes for you” by The Flamingos//distortions“Sin Redad” by Fadoul//distortions

“Bikini Weather / Corazon en Africa” by Princess Nokia

“RAGE” (remix of Le1f) (to reject quietness and passivity)

(for the next twenty minutes, Lauren Lesko’s “Thirst” lies underneath everything)

“What am I?” – words by Nathanial Mackey, Alison Saar, and Etta James“Making Up & Breaking Up” by Sharon Jones + “The Atom & Eve of Destruction” by Bradley Eros

“Payola” by Lizzy Mercier Descloux

“Everything” by Neneh Cherry

“TWO SONGS FOR TAPE BOW VIOLIN: ETHICS IS THE ESTHETICS OF THE FEW-TURE (Lenin) SONG FOR JUANITA” by Laurie Anderson

Original: Awkward Goodbyes feat. voicemails

“Throat Power” by Henri Chopin

“#12’30” by Cecil Taylor // “are you mine” by kim deal

“bruise and bite” by aki onda + “name” by Altocumulus ( + voicemails )

December 5, 2016 - #5 - “Ten Pounds of Muscle”

“Lightworks” by Raymond Scott

“Moonbeams” by Brenda Ray

“Let It Take You There” by Maximum Joy

original feat. aida/casey : Psychological Damage

“Suis je normale” by Nini Raviolette

original feat. sam : 10 lbs of muscle, this vision

“Mean Machine Chant / Mean Machine” by The Last Poets

“AND BREEDING” by PRIESTS

original : your footsteps [submerging]

"Day By Day” by Dolly Mixture

“Try” by Delta 5

original: interlude (I’d love to do this…)

“Home Before Dark” by Nora Guthrie

“1953 blue buggie children” by Sonny & Linda Sharrock

“My My Metrocard” by Le Tigre

"No Golden Throat” by Lizzy Mercier Descloux

"Glymistry” by Alain Nikolais

"There Are Many Things I Have to Tell You” by Odeya Nini

Original - october mix

“Intestines” by Guts Club

“Adrift” by Helen Thorington

"Horses” by Patti Smith

"New Age Thriller” by U.S. Girls

original - w u

[stainandscribble]

Beyond Words (I)

A Not So Beautiful Goodbye

Pairing: Jongdae (EXO Chen)  x Reader

Genre: Jongdae Poet AU, angst, quartet? 

Summary: A poet reminiscences about his old lover and their relationship in his new anthology, reminding himself of the importance of sincerity, and that love words are just as important spoken aloud as they are printed on paper. 

PART 1  PART 2  PART 3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: since Jongdae’s Barista AU has been doing so well, I decided to switch the roles, so that Jongdae is now the poet. Also, April and a Flower is art in its purest form. So excited for Dear My Dear

Word Count: 4169

Jongdae walked out of his publisher’s office, his brand new book clutched by his side. His knuckles turning white with the force of his grip on the hardback copy - the very first printed one.

His fingers felt the rough green material cover, focusing on its imperfections. The book felt heavier than it was; rougher. He could feel the effort with which he bled ink into paper, and he could hear the clicking of the computer keys like a ghost of an echo in his ears. This was the heaviest book he had written. Not because physical weight, nor the number of pages that had ended up in the final print. No, it was a different type of weight. The weight of a heavy heart; crushing his chest, beating despite the damage. It was the weight of emotional baggage he had spilled- the printing ink might as well have been made out of his tears

I spilled all my love for you

As ink on paper

How could I forget

To fill you up first.

Yes, this anthology was born of pain, and regret; and somewhat bitterly, he thought it was best one he had ever written. It was heavy, and so damn hard to write he had spent many a sleepless night staring at the lined paper of his notepad, locked away in his office. Alone. 

It had been a long time since Jongdae had been this hollow, a cavern carved out of his chest, the inflamed tissue now a home for despair rather than a heart. 

He had only himself to blame. Jongdae did not shy away from admitting his wrongs. The least he could do was admit them and leave behind any self-pity festering in his broken heart like an infection. 

Instead he did what he knew how to do best; he spilled all his sorrows and apologies as ink onto paper. 

Ironically, that ability, this dysfunctional coping mechanism, was the very reason he was in the predicament in the first place.

Your love for me was like an inkwell; never drying

And I, 

I was like a pen,

Which drew from you forever.

I did not notice,

How you dried up in silence,

Blinded by the illusion of your infinity.

Sometimes the best things in your life; the best people, leave. Sometimes you leave them. It is all a vicious cycle of life. A part of life he had recently became intimate with. Nothing lasts forever. All is finite. All good things must come to an end. 

Still Jongdae’s biggest regret of all, was the fact you didn’t have to be finite. 

If only he had paid more attention to you, instead of drowning in ink and pretty words, he could have continued on. With you by his side.

He had left the building of his publishing company, glancing up at the sky. The heavens were heavy this morning, overcast with clouds so dark and looming day had taken on the look of night. There was no rain yet, but Jongdae was sure that at some point the clouds would be unable to hold their weight, and the rain would come in a violent storm. Like any other summer.

The inkwell is empty and when the pen immerses

It comes back dry,

Leaving the words I wanted to write,

To remain a whim.

The ride back to his apartment was quiet, the sky still ominous, but Jongdae knew that the calmness, and the stillness were bad omens. The calm before the storm. The only question that bugged him was when the sky would open, pouring its tears onto the ground from the sky in a hail of bullets. 

He wondered how loud the heavens would roar as it happened. Would it feel as if the windows were shaking? Would he be able to feel it in his bones, despite tucking himself away in his apartment? 

Would it shake him the same way you leaving him did?

He doubted that- nature didn’t have the same kind of power. A storm was not a woman; although it was eerily similar in its magnitude.

He flicked through the anthology, finally taking the time to appreciate the work and effort put into its creation. The cream coloured pages stared at him with hundreds of ink eyes.  Their looks were accusing, and among the black letters, he saw you. Your eyes, clear and sparkling in the way they looked at you, your smile bright. He reminisced the adoration with which he looked at you those the last few years, eyes wide and sparkling at everything you did. The corners of his lips quirked upwards in a cat-like smile at the happy memories.

Finally, after the present settled over him again, pulling him out of the happy daydream, his smile fell, and the light feeling in his chest, and the way his heart beat a little faster at the memory of your soft lips against his left him too. It left him cold and aching despite being hidden away safely within his home, His heart nestled safely in in his chest, protected by the cage of his ribs.

Light brown eyes moved to look out the window, the world outside brightened by flashes of lightning. On the table before him, the vase of red tulips was wilting, the petals falling gracelessly against the windowsill, no longer their vibrant red, but rather a burgundy colour fading into brown.

Like flowers on the windowsill,

I forgot that unlike the ones growing wild in meadows,

The rain shall not come water you,

And that dew shall not condense on you like the pearls, 

Which I never gave you.

You sat in your old room, surveying its blank walls. When you moved out, your parents took down all the posters, and drawings you stuck on the pastel green paint. It was the decision you made at thirteen, and the decision you cursed all your Uni years. A decision you had accepted over time. Now you found the colour soothing and familiar, and in a world where you were always moving, you were glad for the little comfort it brought you. It was still your room. 

Now, with the turn of events, you moved back, and you were ready to reclaim your space; the tubes and frames at your feet were the beginning. 

One photo was staring at you, of you, a little younger, smiling along with the man beside you. You were in a meadow filled with wild flowers you had frequented with you mother when you were little. You remembered the raspberry bushes you used to pick fruit from, and you remember making flower crowns from the chamomile growing there. 

You had taken that man there. Showed him all your favourite things; the meadow, the raspberry bushes, the sketchbook filled with gouache paintings. He showed you the ink splattered notebooks and the small coffee shop at the end of the street. 

But the sunny days were over. The storm raged outside, thunder clashing in the darkness. And the raspberry bushes were gone too, and concrete blocks had taken their place. 

And the man no longer showed you the world with ink stained fingers either.

But he had not showed you anything for a long time now, even before you left your shared apartment. So you left him. It had felt like he had left you a long time before you did. 

Your mother’s voice broke you from your musings, and you left your room surprised to see her standing in the corridor with a brown package. She handed it to you wordlessly and disappeared into the kitchen. The look she gave you was piercing, and there was a certain amount of concern floating behind her soft eyes. You tightened the grip on the flimsy paper that wrapped around the object, and you could already feel that it was book.

For a moment you didn’t understand why it came; you certainly didn’t order one, but the look in your mothers eyes was enough to tell you who it was from.

“So he did finish.” You murmured, hands tearing at the paper in desperation, giving way to the soft green of the cover.

 Flowers in April

The golden lettering was delicate and beautiful, and you wondered why he mailed it to you. You were no longer together. You walked out months ago. You were moving on.

Opening the book, your attention was caught by the handwritten note on the front page, the black pen standing in stark contrast against the off-white paper.

 “To my muse.

I thought it would only be fair to give this to you, after all you had suffered because of it. You should at least know why you were suffering.

I’m sorry for all my shortcomings.

-      Jongdae”

 Your eyes followed the trail of the pen, his handwriting familiar from the little notes he used to leave for you, and the shopping lists that were stuck to your fridge.

The ache of your heart was familiar too, familiar from all the nights he ignored you, and every time you sat at the dinner table alone with only the tv to keep you company. The heart in your chest ached for your loneliness, but it also ached for the home that was long gone, the home you did not wish to return to and the man who occupied it now. This time, he was the one eating dinner at the empty table, sleeping in bed alone and you had no pity for him left.

But you are not a flower, 

You were a woman.

You are a woman.

And I, 

was not a pen,

But a man.

Jongdae listened to the thunder raging outside, shaking his windows, turning his day into night with anger. 

That was one of the ways You and the storm were different. You did not shout, you were not like the storm, shaking the windows in their frames and destroying things in the wake of your rage. You had left quietly, given back the keys to your shared home, and before he could protest, make an excuse for his absence, you had left without a word, leaving no trace behind but the cracks in his heart. 

7 months ago

You came back from work, ready to order takeaway and watch films with your boyfriend. The weariness in your bones weighed you down as you made your way up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to climb under a blanket in the living room, wrapped in Jongdae’s arms. 

The door opened, and you caught the sight of him at the kitchen counter, his phone in hand, calling someone. 

“Jongdae, do you want pizza?” You asked, looking up at the leaflet you had stuck on the fridge. You turned to face him, weariness leaving your bones at the hope of spending the evening in peace. The lightness does not last long, and he crushes it in his hands, unknowingly, without a thought.

“I’m busy.” The words leave you heavy. You know them too well now it seems. Jongdae had been like this for a while, more preoccupied with phone calls and writing than sparing you a moment. Just like you, he seems tired, but for a different reason. One you do not know, and one is not willing to share. 

“What about watching a film later?” You try again, hoping. Being foolish. Deep down you know the answer already, feel the rejection before it comes. Your heart has been breaking recently. The cracks started growing deeper, and you don’t know how to mend them.

“I don’t know.” He tells you, his soft voice cold and indifferent, eyes not looking at you when he speaks, and with another crack, you realise he hadn’t looked at you since you arrived.

PRESENT 

You had walked out of your office, your hands now empty as you left your portfolio and necessary documents with the client. You had finalised the designs this week and everything was ready for editing. 

You were given the task of illustrating a reprint of a popular book series recently, and you had been very proud of your work. So far it was one of the biggest projects you have done. It seemed you were riding the lucky wave. Your boss had given you a slight raise as you moved to a better position at the company. This project had been a success, and the company was contracted for another project, and the clients had requested you. 

It was time to celebrate. 

You had invited your friends out for a few drinks later that night. 

The bar had a chic vibe to it. Everything was made of sleek wood and toned down colours, coupled with the dim lighting and pretty chandeliers, it was a perfect place for you to unwind and gloat your success. You didn’t get to do it every day. 

You were sipping on you third cocktail, your three friends laughing at some work gossip. It had been a pleasant night so far. That is, until you caught the eyes of Jongdae’s publisher. The woman had averted her eyes when she saw you looking, but you could still make out the displeased look on her face, and the sour curl of her red lips. 

The black dress she was wearing was fancy. Fancier than what you wore, but it did not bother you. not until your eyes found the one person you hoped not to see that night. 

It was not that you hated him. It was not that you loathed him. It was that you resented him. For how he had treated you; spent the last months of your relationship ignoring you. As if you didn’t live right there with him. As if you didn’t share his bed. As if you were not irrevocably in love with him. 

Your heart broke all over again, seeing him here, with the beautiful woman opposite him, when he had said he was too busy to come here with you. 

His eyes caught yours. Their soft brown drawing you in with their warmth. He was still familiar, he still looked too much like home to you. And in your slightly intoxicated state, you saw the regret and remorse bubbling behind the kaleidoscope of browns in his irises. Or maybe you just wished to see it. 

You didn’t want to find out. 

“He’s here.” You turned to your friends, and the moment they realised who you were talking about, they had made their way to the bar.

“Can we get a tequila?” Your friend asked, bringing over a whole bottle of the alcohol, along with four shot glasses.

“What’s that for?” You asked, surveying the glass wearily.

“For the fun of it.” She told you, the cheeky smile that formed on her lips matched the flame in her eyes.

“You are beautiful. Never forget that.” She told you as you took your first shot.

Only when I had lost you, I realised 

That you, like an inkwell

Needed to be filled.

And like a flower,

Needed to be watered;

With words of love,

Looks of awe,

With warmth.

6 months ago

“I’m eating with the editors.” Jongdae told you as he fixed his tie in the hallway mirror, barely sparing you a glance into the kitchen. You had spent the last hour making his favourite, hoping against hope he would stay for dinner. Turned out you were trying in vain.

“I thought we could eat together.” You told him, your voice small, barely above a whisper as the hope fuelled elation left your body.

“Not today.” Jongdae said, his voice softer, sounding resigned as his shoulders hunched a little. He had been feeling tired lately, bored. For now, he wanted to leave. Get out of the familiar four walls, breathe in some fresh air.

Dinner with the editors was a good reason to leave. Besides, he was in the process of writing his third anthology, and it was an important meeting he had to attend. Jongdae needed everything to go smoothly.

His hands fell to his sides when he stopped fixing his tie, and you barely heard the quiet goodbye that left his lips. Or maybe you just imagined he said it. Lately, you couldn’t figure out which it was.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, but you didn’t let any spill. Outside, Jongdae had put his head in his hands breathing deeply, before getting in the car and driving away.

You felt him climb into bed late in the night, but he never moved closer. He used to brush your hair back and kiss your forehead before falling asleep, but now he stayed far away, and you had been colder in your bed with him than you would feel with a stranger. 

And your heart broke.

PRESENT

Jongdae found your form in between the tables, eyes glued to the side of your face, feeling more like a spectre than a man. His heart roared in his chest, beating against his ribs the way an animal beat at the bars of their cage. The way it had not done in months. For a moment, the moment that lasted a split second when your eyes met, he felt more alive than the last few months. 

His anthology had been a success, and he had come in to celebrate that. Still, the biggest celebration, better than wine and better than gin, was the sight of you. 

His publisher had seen it, the way his eyes fell on you, again and again. Jongdae, for the life of him, could not understand the way her lips curled when she caught your eyes. He was too preoccupied with stealing glances your way to pay attention to her. 

Everything about you called to him, reminding him of his love for you. Reviving the passion you had shared, setting his whole body aflame. The sight of you flowed over him like water, cold and refreshing. He was awake. For the first time in forever he felt lucid. 

“Well done Jongdae. Your anthology had just become a bestseller.” His publisher told him, reaching over the table to hold his hand. He brought it back instantly as if it burned. 

Over the course of the last months he had figured out what he done wrong. He had admitted his shortcomings. And he had promised himself to be better, for you. He was not going to ruin it tonight. 

Sitting among your friends, you were glowing. Dressed in your best dress, eyes sparkling as laughter bubbled from your chest. It was a warming sight, like watching flowers unravelling in the spring. And his heart wretched when he realised, he wasn’t the reason for your joy any longer.

Now, you, like a wildflower,

Are experiencing spring again,

After a harsh winter.

You are spreading your petals,

And green leaves.

And I, like a fool,

Stare at the empty windowsill,

Not seeing you.

I cannot water you anymore,

And pearls, like dew

I cannot give you.

He watched you stand up and make your way to the exit, and without a moment of hesitation, he was out of his chair too, making a bee line to you, heart pounding at the idea of you. 

He caught you by the elbow as you turned away from the bar.

“Jongdae.” You warned him, voice low as you stared right into his eyes. Jongdae’s eyes were soft when he looked at you, and you could make out their glassy sheen of tears in the darkness.

“I know what I did wrong.” He told you, sincerity lacing his voice, thick with remorse and deeper than usual. You could feel the desperation rolling off of him like waves.

He was wearing a nice suit today. A deep grey with a bluish tinge, and a white button up underneath. His fringe was parted, exposing his forehead and the straight brows that furrowed as he looked into your eyes, searching for something. Whatever it was; forgiveness or hate, he didn’t find it.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“That is how I find out?” You spat. He knew you were talking about the anthology. 

“You didn’t call.” You accuse him, poking a finger against his chest, and he lets you.

“I wrote it.” He tells you, silently begging for you to understand. But you won’t. Not this time. You had told him already; tell me what happened, tell me why you didn’t talk to me. 

Instead, he wrote an anthology, spilling all of it on paper. Just like he always did. Just like you suspected he always would. And you had grown tired of that. He spilled all his emotions onto paper, dressed hem up in pretty words and rhymes. Devoted his time into doing so. By doing that he left you alone, and as he spilled all the love he had for you somewhere else, you were left to give him your love. Over the last months of yoir relationship, all the little acts of love had ceased to exist. There was no notes left on the fridge, there was no flowers on the vase on the table.

“You did.” You tell him, disappointment rolling off your tongue, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

The whole world now knew you broke his heart. The whole world knew you left him without a word. But did the world know how he had left you, months before you left him? How you had sat at dinner alone and slept alone. Did they know that? Did Jongdae tell them that? Did he write about his faults? 

You didn’t know, and you didn’t know if you wanted to find out.

“Y/N.” He starts, but there is nothing that comes out of his mouth, and you shake your head. Desperately wanting him to understand. Because despite everything, you still love him, but you cannot live like this, like a stranger that shares his bed at night.

“I don’t think you figured it out quite yet.” You tell him when he stays silent, not knowing what to say. You find it amusing. A poet lost for words.

“I didn’t pay attention.” He confesses, looking defeated.

“I locked myself away and tried to run from you.” He tells you, walking closer, his wide eyes looking straight into your own.

“I was too proud to say something was wrong. Too proud to admit that I was doing something wrong.” He admitted, hands balled into fists. For a moment he averts his gaze, looking everywhere but you, before bringing it back to you, eyes red with unshed tears, shoulders shaking with frustration.

“I wasn’t sincere. I should have told you then, that I love you, instead of keeping it to myself. I thought you knew, but no one can read minds.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, and you know he is apologising for his actions. All but the writing. You could see the ink stains on his fingers even now. You had accepted him writing, locking himself up for a week and coming out a dying man. You have accepted that. But you have not accepted the way he treated you then, and you were not going to accept ever again.

“I’m not ready to accept your apology.” You tell him, voice even, and you seem calm as he looks at you with the hopeful spark fading from his eyes.

“Why didn’t you just,” You begin, searching for the right words, “Why didn’t you tell me then?” You finally ask, referring to the poems in the anthology. Love poems- all directed at you, written from the very beginning of your relationship.

“I didn’t know how.” He admits, wrapping his arms around you, burying his nose in your hair.

“You should have done this earlier.” You tell him, hugging him back, feeling like you have come back home for the first time in months.

“I know.” He whispers, caressing your hair, bringing you closer by the shoulders, until he envelops you.

“I know.” He mumbles again, and you listen to his heart beating out of his chest.

You move away, letting him go, before giving him one last look.

“I’m glad you know. Goodbye Jongdae.” You tell him, your voice soft, without any hint of malice. You seem content. You feel content. This was you leaving on your own terms. You loved him. of course you loved him. Sometimes though, you think, love is not enough. It does not keep you warm at night, or less lonely. Sometimes love is not given equally as it should. So you leave, walk away without turning back, knowing now where it was that he had spilled all his love- into words. You thought, that maybe, just maybe- Jongdae loved his words more than he loved you.

Jongdae followed your retreating figure walking back to your friends, glowing like the sun. As he was left in the dark night outside the bar, alone.

I’ve lost my privilege to love you

I can only apologize to you,

For being winter,

When I should have been endless spring;

How you were, 

My infinite happiness.

- The Beautiful goodbye I could not give you.

[stainandscribble]

STAIN&SCRIBBLE MASTERLIST

JUNMYEON (SUHO)

Soulmate AU: PRONOIA   PART 1;    PART 2 ;    PART 3  

Barista AU: ESPRESS

Poseidon AU: Our Love is a Tempest

MINSEOK(XIUMIN)

Vampire AU: RUBRUM

YIXING(LAY)

Barista AU: AMERICANO

Greek God au: DRIPPING HONEY PART 1

BAEKHYUN

Barista AU: CAFE AU LAIT 

Witch AU: REVENANT   PART 1;    PART 2;     PART 3 ;   PART 4;   PART 5;   PART 6;   Part 7

Moulin Rouge AU: Moulin Rouge sous le Ciel Bleu

JONGDAE(CHEN)

Barista AU: MOCHA

Historical Royalty AU: A HEART FULL OF LOVE CAN’T BE HIDDEN

Poet AU: BEYOND WORDS:

A NOT SO BEAUTIFUL GOODBYE

WITH WORDS OF LOVE

LET ME HOLD YOU TIGHT

MY DEAR, GOOD NIGHT

CHANYEOL

NOTHING YET

KYUNGSOO(D.O)

Barista AU: CAPPUCCINO

JONGIN(KAI)

Barista AU: VIENNA

Moulin Rouge AU:  fleurs blanches au moulin rouge

SEHUN

Barista AU: BREVE

                                             NOT EXO:

SEVENTEEN WONWOO: Soulmate AU: Flower, Falling in Love

[stainandscribble]

Beyond Words (II)

With Words Of Love

Pairing: Jongdae (EXO Chen)  x Reader

Genre: Jongdae Poet AU, angst, 

Summary: A poet reminiscences about his old lover and their relationship in his new anthology, reminding himself of the importance of sincerity, and that love words are just as important spoken aloud as they are printed on paper. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  Dear My Dear is beautiful.

PART 1      PART 2      PART 3

Word Count: 3203

Jongdae followed your retreating figure walking back to your friends, glowing like the sun. As he is left outside the bar, alone. All hope extinguished, he returned to his table, eyes scanning the sour expression of his publisher, her nails tapping on the table, less like human hands and more like claws. He could not understand why her mood had soured so, when it was him who had had his heart torn to pieces.

He threw back the whiskey on the rocks he ordered, savouring the way it burned down his throat. His publisher avoided his gaze, which had been warm and welcoming minutes ago, but now was cold and cut like steel with its intensity.

He didn’t steal any more glances at you that night. Instead, he gave you space as he pondered over your words, about how he still didn’t understand.

He did write it out, spilled his feelings onto paper rather than spilling them to you. He knew now, that he should have told you first, that he loved you, and that he should have done it months ago. Before your relationship had been on the rocks, before you left. He should have told you, and he felt, at this moment, that he still hadn’t told you. 

I fill a thousand pages

With the words of love

I never spoke out loud

And hope like a fool

That you will read

The love words

I have bled thinking of you

A few drinks later, he watched you and your friends leave, laughing and smiling among yourselves. Still, he thought you were glowing. Still, his heart beat a little faster when you caught his eyes, and there was no anger in them, but there was no joy either, at least not any aimed towards him. 

You passed, and he threw back his last drink of the night, before getting up.

His publisher followed suit, smiling at him sweetly, but the smile he reciprocated was only half-hearted. Jongdae’s head spun a little, and a pink blush formed on his cheeks as the whiskey warmed him up from the inside. Once he was outside, the chilly night air blew against him, rattling his jacket and blowing his hair away from his eyes. Still warm from the whiskey, and from the memory of the way you looked tonight- happy and radiant like sunshine, he didn’t feel the night chill, and as he walked home- to the apartment you two used to share, all he could think of way the fact that you no longer shared it.

I love you

I have never stopped

 The night had been pleasant for the most part. You enjoyed the company of your friends, and the burn of tequila in your throat. Still, you enjoyed the way you caught Jongdae’s eyes at the end of the night the most. He was still looking at you. And to your horror, or to your satisfaction, you were the only woman he had his eyes on, and you still were the only woman who could bring him into a stupor. The only woman who could make him down his whiskey the way he had done all night. Tonight, not even his publisher could catch his attention. It had been satisfying to watch Jongdae unable to move on from you, as you moved on from him.

Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you still loved him, as irrevocably as you have done for the last five years. It could be that you just wanted him to admit his wrongs, to understand and apologize, to do better.

Tonight, he had understood, at least in part, what you were mad about. All but the writing.

“I’s always the goddamned writing.” You muttered, the alcohol catching up with you in your home, as you tucked yourself into the couch. Your friend turned to you, motioning for you to lay your head on her shoulder.

“What did you say to him.” She asked once the two of you settled down, hugging a pillow to her chest. The quiet buzz of the TV made the perfect background noise. Neither of you paid attention, but the lack of silence is comforting.

“I told him he still didn’t get it.” You muttered, thinking back to the way he stared at you all evening until you told him you didn’t accept his apology; remembering the way hope faded from his eyes when you did. You remembered it still burning in his steely gaze when you were leaving. Against any judgement you had right now, you knew that once Jongdae decides on something, he does not let that go. Like a fool, you hoped he didn’t give up on you yet, because you still hadn’t given up on him. Not quite.

“Did he really not get it?” She asked you, and you sighed, knowing that the words he spoke were the truth, but not the complete truth, and that his apology was unsatisfactory, or maybe he didn’t realise what he needed to apologise for. You directed your anger at his writing, but his writing was merely a place to channel the anger you were feeling for something else. You knew that. Knew that writing was not the problem, that the problem was too complicated to be angry about. Your anger managed to find the perfect scapegoat in the ink stains on his fingers.

The poems you once adored, and the ink stains that covered his hands that once were so endearing, had become too much for you, something that instead of bringing Jongdae towards you, was pushing him away. You hated it.

“Partially.”

“Compromise and hard work make good relationships.” She told you, and you felt like a child under her gaze, and for a moment you forgot that you are not in fact, a child. You are a woman, and no one, no matter how important to you, was allowed to lecture you like that.

“I know that.” Alcohol made you a little braver, pulled the courage out of you, and you almost spat the words at her.

“We compromised, we let each other do the things we wanted to do. But there are times you stop compromising. You start letting yourself be trampled over. That is when compromising ends.” You told her, thinking about all the times you sat at dinner alone and went to bed alone, and you were never going to stand for it again.

“Did the two of you put in the hard work, at the end?”

“I did my best.” It felt like your words are falling on deaf ears, and it angered you.

“But he didn’t.”

There is silence, and you friend doesn’t quite know how to quell your anger.

“He should have tried harder.” She agreed, and you nodded, remembering the way he looked at you, and the steely gaze that he aimed at the publisher this time, and not at you. Your anger turned to resignation. And the resignation turned to tears.

“I still love him.” You whimper, for the first time after you left, you’re left crying.

“I know.” She held you closer, hugging you in an attempt to comfort you, and it helped, just a little bit, because you stopped crying, and watched the TV instead, too tired to think about your feelings. 

Winter had come for us

But not even winter can last forever

And must give way to spring

And we will meet again

When the flowers of April

Bloom again

Their fragrance will lead

Me back to you

And you to me

The anthology lay abandoned on the coffee table, right where Jongdae left it that one stormy evening. The messy notes and pens that littered his apartment were more of a nuisance now that he was drunk than when he was sober, and they seemed to be stabbing at him now that he talked to you.

“I don’t think you figured it out quite yet.”

Your words echoed through his head, but you are wrong, he thinks. He knew. He didn’t know at the start of the night, but he knew now, the look in your eyes had told him everything he needed to know.

He knew you still loved him. And that was enough. Enough hope to get him through the night, and maybe enough hope to get him through the rest of his life until he is able to ask for your forgiveness, until he is worthy of your acceptance.

Jongdae cleared out all the scattered pieces of paper, puts them in a box, shoved beside the tv, hides all the pens in the drawer of his night stand. He kept only the most important notes.

 He stuck the poem about eternity onto the mirror in the hallway, stuck the poems that did not make the cut into his anthology on the fridge. He kept only the ones about spring and sunshine- the ones that make you appear like a goddess or a queen.

 He remembered the days were his poems were your favourite, rather than a cause for your misery, and wondered how it got to this point, where his poems were more important than you were.  

He knew that there was never a time like that. That the last few months were him thinking too much about you, instead of too little, and he knew that it did not seem that way.

 He wanted to explain himself, but again, like a coward or a fool- or maybe both all at once, he lacks the words to tell you, lacks the bravery to tell you, too. He wanted to hide behind the pen and paper- but it is too late to hide.

Now, more than ever, Jongdae wanted to be brave.

This time, he promises himself, he will be.

I love you

I have never stopped

A week passed, and you wondered whether Jongdae had truly left you alone, or whether he would actually truly consider what it was that you were still so angry at him for. In the silence of your bedroom, you admitted to yourself that you have not given up on him yet. That is why his apology was so important to you. If it wasn’t, you would not care for him. Jongdae’s indifference still hurt, and the only reason it still hurt was because you love him, you knew that. You hoped he loved you too, and as you thought about how you have suffered in the hands of his indifference, your eyes passed over the green book laying on your desk, untouched but for the little note he left you.

Looking at it felt like stabbing yourself in the back, it was letting go of your resolve, and your pride. The circumstances in which it was created had deterred you from reading even a line of Jongdae’s poetry. It had been your friends, who told you they had all been love poems. It had been your mother who told you they were all written to you, like love letters lost to time, and found again years later, sent to you all at once. They were the confessions of a man in love. A love letter, years in the making, that had just been completed; but had been completed too late. It was the physical manifestation of his love, and you were bitter it had not come sooner.

Tentatively, you picked it up, flipped it to a random page, and saw the ink, equal in multitude to your tears, staring at you with hundreds of eyes.

As if by fate, the first words you read were “I love you.” and a bitter chuckle ripped through you, because those words have reached you only now, when they should have reached you long ago.

It made you want to read the rest of it though, and you flipped through the pages, oddly content with the simple fact that he had admitted his wrongs, even here, in the final print, you could feel the remorse with which he wrote them. 

You stopped again at another one of his poems, addressed “A Not So Beautiful Goodbye”, and felt the tears prick at your eyes, because he had admitted his wrongs, because he still loved you. You didn’t give him a beautiful goodbye either, you thought, realising that neither of you wanted a goodbye in the first place.

  So I will throw away

the withered red tulips

And fill the vase of my heart

With purple hyacinths,

Waiting for the sweet release of spring.

  The withered tulips still stood on the table, dried up and no longer their vibrant selves. Looking at them, Jongdae saw himself, no longer glowing in bright colours, but rather a dried up shell of a man. His throat hurt, and so did his head as the hungover settled in, another one since you refused his apology.  His soft brown eyes scanned the tulips again, hands combing through the stray locks of his hair, before he got up from the couch and walked over to the open kitchen. 

He picked up a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, drinking it desperately, eyes never leaving the flowers on the table.

when he was done, he went to pick up the vase, before chucking it in the bin, flowers and all. 

At the opposite end of the street to your favourite coffee shop, there was a florist, and Jongdae had made his way there the moment he was dressed.

The pretty flower shop was quiet when he entered, filled with bright reds and oranges and brimming with soft pastels.

The florist had come over to him, her smile too bright to be genuine, as she asked him if he needed any help.

“Can I get a bunch of purple hyacinths?” He asked, looking around the shop, eyes falling onto the flowers he wanted. The flowers were a beautiful vibrant colour, standing in stark contrast among the smaller pastel flowers.

“That’s very specific.” The florist told him, her curious eyes roaming over Jongdae’s face, surveying his clothing. He could feel the way their burned into him. A coy smile formed on the woman’s lips. Jongdae had come in a pristine white dress shirt and a pair of black suit trousers. He smelled of cologne and shampoo, and the hard expression that graced his features was an outward reflection of the way his shoulders tensed, and the way his heart beat a little faster at the prospect of seeing you again.  

“Yes, it is.” He answered, soft voice reverberating around the empty shop, as he kept his eyes on the flowers, ignoring the smiling florist.

“Who are you apologising to?” She asked, and Jongdae could not help but think about the way you would have laughed at her, calling her nosy, telling her to mind her own business. Sometimes, Jongdae was too polite, you had told him so yourself, and it felt like one of these moments again, where he was too polite. This time, he decided he wouldn’t be.

“Someone important.” The curt reply was short, left no room for further questions, and the florist, put off by his cold courtesy, left him alone, simply giving him the bouquet he asked for.

He paid, bid the woman farewell, and left, rushing to your parents’ home, and to you.

 I will hope

That wherever you may be

You will see,

The apology in my heart,

And the budding tulips,

That have yet to bloom again.

  You got up from the couch, the doorbell rang through the house, and your parents looked up at you from the other end of the couch, the hum of a sitcom playing in the background. 

When you opened the door, the first thing you saw is the bright purple flowers, and then the man holding them. This time, you noticed, his hands did not have blue stains marring the tan skin, and the eyes that looked down on you are no longer blank. The kaleidoscope of brows was vivid, shining, and behind the elation, you could feel the desperation in them.

Jongdae stood at your door, holding purple hyacinths, and looking at you expectedly, waiting for you to turn him away. 

You didn’t.

Instead, you went out to meet him, closing the door behind you, so that your parents were unable to pry on you. 

“What do you want?” You asked despite the fact that you knew it already. He wanted to apologise again. The purple hyacinths were proof enough of that. His clean hands were proof enough of that.

“Forgiveness.” He told you, his voice deep and soft, but quiet. 

“And you.” He said, moving closer, the flowers now at his side, and there was nothing separating you now. 

There was nothing between you, and you could feel the heat from his body, and see the resolve in his eyes. You did not move away, partially because you didn’t want to. This was the first time you were standing so close in a while, and you did not resent him. You wanted to move closer, to feel his arms around you, and you didn’t doubt he wanted the same from you, but you did not give in. Your eyes surveyed him, and although you did not resent him anymore and have accepted his apology, you didn’t know if you wanted to be with him again.

Sometimes love wasn’t enough to keep people together.

“I want you. I love you. And I am not walking away from here unless you don’t love me.” Jongdae said, eyes boring into your own, and he did not falter. Not this time. He held your gaze with equal intensity.

Sometimes love was enough.

 “I love you.” Your voice rang through the air, clear as lightning and loud like thunder.

Like the storm shaking the glass of windows, the words shook him.

Jongdae was left stunned. For a moment you were a storm.

“So don’t leave.” You said, and a smile broke through Jongdae, like the sun breaks through the clouds. It was a warm thing, filled with hope, and love. His eyes didn’t dare leave you, afraid that you will disappear if he blinks.

He fell into you, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“I love you.” He whispered when you break apart for air.

“I love you.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you in his arms.

“This does not mean I’m coming back.” You told him. There was no easy solution to your problems, and you needed time to love him when you are apart without the bitter feeling of resentment and guilt in between you. And he did too.

“I know.” He said, pressing more kisses onto your temple and into your hair, elated at the way you feel in his arms, before letting you go. The flowers were still in his hands, and he gave them to you before he leaves.

You watched him walk away, watched as he turned back to look at you, saw the love in his eyes before walking back into your home.

“I love you.” The words echoed through your mind, and this time, Jongdae was just on time.

When April comes,

I will love you.

I will never stop.

[stainandscribble]

Mocha

Pairing: Jongdae (EXO Chen) X Reader feat. EXO

Genre: Coffee Shop AU, fluff, one shot, 

Summary: Two years ago you published your first poetry anthology, and since then your publisher and editor have been pestering you for another one. Forced to work towards a deadline, you find a nice little coffee shop, and just as you set off to write your second masterpiece, a certain barista catches your eye, or rather the book he is reading does. Will inspiration find you among the coffee foam?

A/N: Excuse my poor attempts at poetry. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4426

You sat in front of the desk in the cluttered office, your editor’s work space littered with manuscripts and unsigned contracts.

The editor sat at the desk, looking through her computer, ready to whine about your lack of submissions recently.

The publishing company had asked for you to complete another anthology after the first one had turned out to be a hit. But that was two years ago, and they were rather impatient for your second book. You wanted to give them another anthology. Truly. But there was just one problem. You had no idea what to write about. You had finished your literature degree last year and proceeded to work full time as a journalist, reviewing books and reporting on other writers. Your name had faded from the spotlight shortly after the first book. Now you worked behind the scenes, pushing forward other writers, helping them to not fade the way you did.

But that was not satisfactory for your editor, who had encouraged you several times to pick up the pen. You just could not make yourself do it. No words spilled from your fingers. This time, the inkwell had run out, and you were in desperate need of inspiration and motivation.

Ironic, since you had spent every waking moment focused on writers and writing.

“Y/N,” Susan looked at you pointedly, “Just thirty poems.” She was practically begging, but you knew that she was your biggest support right now, so you kept quiet.

“Don’t you have anything at all?” She asked once more, and you cowered slightly under her intense gaze. The problem was not that you didn’t have anything, it was that you didn’t have anything that was appropriate for publication. Sure, poets are supposed to bare their soul for everyone to see in their work, but you wanted to be comfortable with what you put out. After two years, you wanted to come back like a breath of fresh air, the cool yet fragrant breeze of spring.

“I have a few.” You finally surrendered, thinking about the three poems that were acceptable enough to be made public.

“We can make those work. Just make up the number.” Susan’s mood instantly brightened at the news.

“How much time would you give me?” You asked, much more positive than when your editor was glaring daggers at you from the other side of the desk. Sometimes vising Susan’s office was on par with visiting the headmaster, if not worse. 

“Four months. That is the most I can offer you.” The dark-haired woman looked at you over her specs, her whole body showing she was back to talking business.

“I can try.” You reassured her, but it felt more like reassuring yourself. It had been two years. You sincerely doubted any one who once liked your poetry had long since moved on and would not even recognise your name on the book cover.

“Fine. Go.” Susan stood up and urged you out of her office. “Go. Find some inspiration while you’re at it. Go out, get drunk. Do something.” She insisted, waving goodbye as you disappeared down the corridor.

“Can I get a cappuccino?” You asked the smiling barista, who happened to be incredibly handsome, with soft features, full cheeks and cat-like eyes. His eyes were shining brightly when he saw you.

“Sure.” He smiled a bright smile before he turned to his work station.  The café was quiet, the only noises were the soft instrumental music in the background and the tinkering of the barista.

“Thanks.” You muttered when the barista set the coffee in front of you. You managed to get a look at his nametag and made the conscious effort to remember his name: Minseok.  

You took it to an empty table and sat down in one of the plush sofas, surrounding yourself with the variety of cushions. Everything in this coffee shop had a beige-brown aesthetic going on, broken at times by the lush green of the plants the baristas were cultivating. You could see various ferns, a few Christmas cactuses were in fool bloom, as well as a couple of azaleas. Despite the cold and harsh winter outside, the flowering plants had made the inside of the quiet coffee shop feel like spring, and you felt right at home in the calm and inviting atmosphere. After sipping on some of the coffee you ordered, you got to work, bringing out your laptop and a scrap notebook you used for ideas.

Three coffees later, you had gotten about two poems in, and they weren’t even that good. Mostly, your time in Black Pearl had consisted of staring at a blank notebook and stealing glances at the other patron sitting in the coffee table next to yours.

“Are you okay? You have sat here for five hours now.” He turned to you, breaking you out of your own thoughts.

“Is that a problem?” You asked, and your voice held a little too much attitude.

“No. It’s just a little unusual.” He answered, smiling, the corners of his lips turning upwards. His straight brows accentuated the unwavering gaze that rested on you. This man looked like he could have sonnets silently calling out his name, whatever it was. His golden skin reminded you of all the poems you have read about the sun, golden and glistening.

“What is that, a thesis?” He pointed out the blank word file on your laptop, one of his eyebrows had risen to accentuate the question that fell from his lips.

“No. I’m not a student.” You answered, his voice cutting your thoughts short.

“Work?” The handsome stranger leaned a little closer towards you. To be quite honest, you were enjoying the break he was giving you from ogling at the blank screen in a feeble attempt to come up with some ideas.

“Yeah. Second job.” You told him, and his demeanour changed from playfulness to pity. He looked at you apologetically, probably thinking that this job was a nightmare, since you were sitting, working for a solid five hours on a Sunday. He would not be far off. With the deadline looming over you, it felt like you were a part of some thriller.

“Tough” He shook his head, looking at you in disbelief, with a hint of awe in his warm brown eyes, glistening in the soft light. All you could do is compare them to the bindings of old books, the kind you hold gently in your hands, the kind you run the tips of your fingers over, feeling the soft material that has preserved the words inside for far longer than you had been on this blue little planet.

“You have no idea.” You muttered, still lost in the depths of his eyes, found again only when he looked away.

He returned to his book, and as you turned to your coffee cup, you almost did a double take. There, this handsome man had hidden himself behind a book you were far too familiar with.

“Leaving and Returning” The tittle read, and your name screamed at you like a painful reminder of the blue ink that had once stained your fingers. Your first anthology.  

“Hey Jongdae! Want another coffee?” You watch as Minseok calls out into the almost empty shop, and the man that had just spoken to you lifts his eyes from the pages and smiles brightly at the barista.

“Make me a mocha!” he calls out, and the two exchange smiles before returning to their tasks.

A few more hours pass by, and its has long since turned dark outside. You gather your things, ready to return to your home and call it quits for today.

“You’re leaving?” The man, Jongdae, has asked, rising one eyebrow in question.

“Yeah, I have to catch the bus home. Bye.” You give him a little wave and a small smile, which he reciprocates with a grin.

“Bye!” he calls out behind you just before the door closes.

Jongdae watches as you leave, smiling to himself. Today had been a nice day. There were very few customers that passed through the shop today, and he had the pleasure of reading his favourite book whilst sipping on Minseok’s coffee, which by all means could be called divine. There was only one thing that puzzled him about you; the way you had sneaked glances at the book he was reading, and the fact that he could swear he saw you scowl at it at one point. Did you really hate the poet so much? What did the poor college student do to you? 

It has been about a week since you had visited the coffee shop, and within that time you had allowed your publishing company to announce that you were writing again.

“Fine. Announce that I am writing another one.” You had told Susan during one of your visits to her office. You were ten poems in, and you had scrutinised every word you had put down at least thrice. It was a good time to announce your come back into the poetry scene.

And so, your publishing had put out a statement saying you were coming out with a new anthology, and that more information would be announced at the beginning of April, still four months away. This meant that your deadline had shortened slightly, but that was good enough for you.

It was another slow day at the Black Pearl, and around lunch time the guys had gathered around the empty tables, huddling over steaming cups of tea and coffee with various snacks sprawled between them. Jongdae was checking his phone, smiling to himself.

“What are you so happy about?” Minseok asked, looking at him over his coffee cup.

“His favourite poet is writing another anthology.” Jongin answered for him, looking over Jongdae’s shoulder at his phone screen, where the publishing company had announced that Y/N is writing another anthology, and that more information should come out in early April. Jongdae himself was grinning from ear to ear at the news. He had read all the poems Y/N had put out, including the anthology, as well as the various poems that had been published as parts of collections and in writing magazines. He had kept all the excerpts safe in a notebook.

“That’s the big deal?” Chanyeol asked, his mouth full of food.

“This is her second anthology. And it took her two years to announce she is writing again.” Jongdae had answered, looking up from his phone, and reaching over to grab another handful of crisps.

“Why do you think she stopped?” Kyungsoo sips on his coffee, pulling the stained copy of the first anthology towards him. He flicks through the pages, stopping from time to time to scan over the black inky print.

“She wrote it in college.” Jongdae responds, and the guys nod in understanding, fully aware of how hard and demanding degrees are, and just how drained student can be. They used to be students themselves after all, and they had seen students in their café, sitting for hours on end, writing up assignments and essays and reports, fuelled only by coffee and desperation.

“She probably had other things to worry about than some rhymes.” Kyungsoo concludes, putting the book back on the table.

“So, I guess the Chalkboard will have poetry verses again.” Baekhyun mutters, shoving forkfuls of strawberry cake into his mouth, washing it all down with some sweet tea.

The next morning, Chanyeol and Junmyeon find Jongdae slouched over the blackboard with a chalk pen, making sure his calligraphy looks perfect.

“I will bloom,

In the most unexpected places,

My roots will break through into the soil

You cannot be rid of me.”

The white chalk read, and the guys leaned over Jongdae to see better.

“Nice.” Junmyeon commented, tying the black apron around his waist as Chanyeol started setting up for the day. Today just happened to be the day before new year’s, and many people had come to the town for the night life. This meant that soon their coffee shop would be busy again with people coming in for morning coffee.

“Let’s decorate the shop with some flowers while we are at it.” Chanyeol called out from behind the counter, holding up some vases that they had stashed away in a spare cupboard.

“Get Yixing to do it.” Jongdae tells them as he places the blackboard in its designated spot.

“I’ll call him.” Junmyeon pulls out his phone. It would be the most convenient to ask Yixing seeing as he was still on the way here and could get the flowers on the way. 

“Make sure he gets at least three bouquets!”  Chanyeol calls out before he disappears in the storage room. 

“Oh No.” You muttered. It was nine thirty in the morning and you were already fed up.

“My youth still haunts me.” You mumbled bitterly at the chalkboard sign at the entrance of the Black Pearl, that had become like your second home over the last few weeks. There, written beautifully in white chalk, was your poem, glaring at you, silently judging you gawked at it.

“Do you know the poet?” The barista looks at you with a smile on his face, clearly happy that you had recognised the poem.

“Yeah. I’ve read a few of her poems.” You mutter, hoping that he will not try to continue this conversation. You were not in the mood to talk about your past writing. Especially not this early in the day.

“She recently announced she is writing again.” The barista continued, attempting to lure you into the conversation.

“Jongdae over here is having a breakdown over the announcement.” He pointed at another barista. And to your surprise, it just so happened to be the man that had silently accompanied you from a few seats away for the last few weeks you had been visiting the café. You smiled awkwardly, acknowledging them both, before the barista motioned for you to give him your order.

“One mocha please.” You told him, still a little awkward. Jongdae got to work, and after waiting a few minutes, you received your coffee. You thanked him, before going to sit in your usual spot, which was thankfully vacant. Since it was just before New Year’s, the town was bustling with people, and so was the café that had been practically empty for the few weeks you have been here.  Once you were seated, you look at your coffee, and to your astonishment, the milk foam had a snowflake pattern on top. It looked very pretty, and you thanked Jongdae silently for drawing it for you.

The snowflake, jogs your memory, takes you back to the time when you were a child, and the snow was magic. You remember joy, and weightlessness, and your grandmother putting your clothes to dry on the radiator. You remember the simple joys of childhood, the ones that you pushed away when writing the first time. But this time, you won’t make the same mistake. So, you write, frantic not lose your thoughts to slow moving hands. You write about the softness of the snow, and you write about love, warm and gentle, taking you back into her arms again and again.

“Hello.” Jongdae broke you out of your frantic train of thought, smiling at you brightly, his teeth showing.

“Hi.” You told him, a soft smile spreading on your lips.

“How is the work going.” He asked, but instead of looking at your notebook, he looks over at your untouched coffee.

“It’s going well.” You told him, happy about the progress. He flashed you another smile, before it fades away.

“Do you not like the coffee?” he asked, concern thick in his voice. You wanted to laugh. You look over to the untouched cup, and know that it is probably strange to him, that you had not taken even a sip yet.

“It’s been an hour.” He informed you as you stared at the cup.

Sheepish, you gave him a little smile. “I got lost in my work.”

“I’ll make you a fresh one.” He smiled, before picking up the cup and walking behind the counter.

“Thank you.” You smiled when he brought you a fresh cup, Jongdae flashed you a grin in return, before settling at the table beside yours, and pick up his book. This time, it was not your anthology. The white cover read “The Sun and her Flowers” and you smiled excitedly. It was one of your favourite anthologies. Jongdae noticed and sat at your table, discussing it with you over fresh coffee. You stayed like that until it was time for you to catch the bus home. 

The boys were closing up Black Pearl, sitting around the cleared tables, this time they had devoured a pumpkin pie, and only a slice remained for Junmyeon, who had left to sort out things with their accountant.

“The roast you brought is good.” Minseok complimented Yixing, who was making himself an americano.

“I want an affogato while you are at it.” Baekhyun called out, leaning back in his chair.

“You are a barista why can’t you make it yourself?” Jongdae told him without looking as he continued to water the plants.

“Because food tastes better when someone else makes it for you.” Baekhyun whined, and Jongdae smiled to himself, as an idea popped into his head.

Ten minutes later, him and Kyungsoo were hiding behind the counter, laughing.

“This will be hilarious.” Kyungsoo laughs, his shoulders shaking, as he looked down at the café affogato standing on the counter as Jongdae put a little tub into a cupboard.

Baekhyun picked up the coffee dessert and a spoon, oblivious to the eyes that follow him. 

“What is this?” He whined, spitting the dessert into a napkin. 

Kyungsoo and Jongdae burst out laughing. 

“Shortening.” Jongdae exclaimed, informing his friend gleefully that he got it from Baekhyun’s girlfriend next door. 

“The look on your face is worth wasting the coffee beans.” Kyungsoo told him, as the other guys laughed, Chanyeol going as far as to hit Jongin in the arm.

“You are so mean!” Baekhyun shouted.

You had come back to Black Pearl a week after New Year’s. This time Jongdae had drawn a tulip into your milk foam. It was a pretty little flower, complete with long leaves. When his shift finished, he had sat at your table, the coffee stained anthology under his arm, and throughout the rest of the day you had gotten lost in the scattered papers and various redrafts. That night, Jongdae and his co-workers had invited you to stay with them after closing and had even given you a slice of apple pie they had been given by Baekhyun’s girlfriend. You had stayed so late in fact, that you were about to miss the last bus home. In the rush of goodbyes, and putting your things away, you had lost track of what you had taken, and what had stayed behind on accident.

And fate just had it that you had left something very important.

When Jongdae returned home from work, he found that the copy of Leaving and Returning was not coffee stained like his was. The cover had its original colour, it was a little worn out, and the binding had gone soft after being bent too often. There was not a single stain on it. He did discover, when he had flicked through the pages, that they were not clean.

Jongdae knew this book was yours, since you were the one that stayed behind with them. You had become a regular, and Jongdae had taken a liking to you. You enjoyed the same books, you both liked flowers, and he thought you were lovely over all.  So, when he got your book in his hands, he flicked through it, just out of curiosity. He didn’t really expect to find anything, initially. Plenty of pencil annotations littered every page. Some words and verses had been highlighted with a pastel highlighter.  His warm brown eyes fell on a single line, at the very end of the book.

“I shall return to you like a spring breeze, and you will see me in the blooming flowers, as I, like all else, am born anew.”

That was when it hit him. You were Y/N. The author who wrote the anthology was Y/N Y/L/N.

Jongdae started laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. How could he not realise this before?

He had watched you stop and stare at the chalkboard, he had watched you for weeks as you drafted and redrafted work, writing your second anthology. With all this evidence before him, he had just never connected the dots. Who would? 

The next morning Jongdae watched you walk into the shop, eyes searching frantically for something, until they fell on him. He didn’t know why his heart started beating, a little faster, a little stronger than he was used to, or why his usual easy going nature escaped him for a split second, but he did know that when you did walk up to him, a copy of his anthology in your hands and a sheepish smile on your lips, he was braver than when he woke up this morning.

 “Sorry I took your book by accident.” You told him, passing him the worn, think book. He took it from you, smiling happily.

“I took yours, Y/N” He had reached over the counter to give you back your equally worn out copy. Jongdae gave you a knowing smile, his eyes glinting as they looked over your face.

Your eyes widened in realisation that he knew. Jongdae knew who you were. He knew that that book he has read time and time again, the one he stained with coffee and softened with use, was yours. You had written it.

“It’s okay, since we managed to return them to their rightful owners.” You told him, mimicking his knowing smile, noticing that over his shoulder, the other two baristas, Yixing and Chanyeol, were watching your interaction with curious gazes.

“It’s her.” Yixing mumbled.

“I told you!” Chanyeol exclaimed, a little too loudly, but you and Jongdae paid him no mind.

“I was right.” Chanyeol repeated, this time quieter, making the both of you laugh. Sheepish, Chanyeol and Yixing returned to their work, laughing quietly.

“All those scattered papers, they were poems, weren’t they?” Jongdae asked, sitting you both down at an empty table.

“Yes.” You answered quietly, apprehensive about what is to come next.

“Were any of them love poems?” He asked, and you smiled at the unexpected question. Of all the things you thought could be possible, that was not a question you were prepared for.

“A few.” You looked away from him, a light blush dusting your cheeks.

“Who did you write them to?” He asked, a playful smirk graced his lips, as his eyebrow rose, inviting you to answer.

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” you replied, a smile playing on your lips.

Over the following months, you and Jongdae continued your usual routine. He read beside you, as you wrote. You two drank coffee together, and even went out for food a couple times. From time to time, the guys from Black Pearl invited you out to their get togethers, usually when Baekhyun’s girlfriend came with him. They were all lovely, and not to mention hilarious when left alone without supervision.

Soon enough, the weather warmed up, spring passed, and summer came in full glory, golden rays falling down from the sky as you sat outside of the café, enjoying the affogato without the burden of deadlines looming over your head.

Jongdae had just returned from somewhere, and he stopped by your table before entering the café.

“Here.” You handed him a little package wrapped in light pink paper “It’s a present.”

He smiled at you, unwrapping the gift, before looking back at you. wrapped in the pink paper was your second anthology – Love and Revelation. The off-white cover had an illustration of a bouquet on it, stylised to imitate art on milk foam.

“Turn to page 47” You told him, smiling at the expression of utter awe and adoration painted over his sharp features.

“The Love – Coffee stains” He read aloud, before losing his voice completely at the words, printed in black ink on the page.

“The smell of coffee surrounds me,

And I am reminded of you,

Of how your passion leaves physical stains on books,

I stand astonished

Of your warmth,

Of the colour of your hair,

And the hue of your eyes,

Sparkling amber,

Coffee boy,

Golden man,

Ask me again who the love poems are for.

         -       I have written all of them thinking of you. “

The warmth that spread through his whole body rivalled the summer heat, and he was set on fire in the gentlest way possible.

“Is that what it feels like to be loved by a poet?” Jongdae murmured, looking from the book to you. You stand up to match him, taking a careful step closer, before whispering against his lips.

“If you allow the poet to love you.”

“Depends.” He answers, his lips softly brushing yours as he speaks.

“Will she accept my love in return?” He wonders, looking you straight in the eyes, and you can see the confidence gleaming in them, warming you up from the inside as your cheeks turn red. You both laughed, and when you are done, you took the first step, confidence matching Jongdae’s as you kissed him, lips pressed firmly against his own. You were unwavering, sure of your love for him, and his love for you.

“Love and Revelation” Jongdae muttered against your lips and were left breathless when he kissed fully.

“What a good title.” He concluded, looking deep into your eyes, seeing the love they held for him, drinking the sight in the same way he drank coffee.