#it‘s raining again ... my hearts never bend!

[lorenzlund]

Kate‘s spade & her garden. ‚Come into my garden‘. ‚Der Mörder war immer der Gärtner‘.

Theo Gärtner gehört selber auch den noch echten Cowboys vom Rhein an und ist von ihm! (Like a ...)

rote kirschschorle. Georg Spitzname Schorsche.

S.A./Bauhaus Bauhausstil: Sau + Haus + der Stil (der Sau). Stihlsägen. Guten und schlechten Stil haben.

[milky-mochi]

before you (3) | cyj

genre: nerd! yeonjun, nerd! reader, aged up! yeonjun, college! au, boyfriend! yeonjun

pairing: choi yeonjun x reader

summary: falling in love with choi yeonjun was like breezing through the chapters of a book, with highlights of him bookmarked in your head.

listen to: 🎶 me after you - paul kim 🎶

chapters: intro | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

your first date with yeonjun was unexpectedly perfect.

after you received the news of your award, you were supposed to go out together to celebrate (just as friends) on that same weekend. but the first week, yeonjun fell sick, and you had a family dinner the second week, so the outing ended up being postponed for three weeks.

it proved to be lucky for you, though. during those three weeks, the both of you had the chance to reevaluate your relationship. you were already extremely sure you liked him, but you were still scared at the prospect of being rejected and losing the friendship you treasured so dearly. so, you decided to let this crush pass over without heartbreak, just like you’d been doing all your life.

yeonjun, however, had other ideas. while he was afraid of you not returning his feelings, his fear of rejection was nothing compared to his fear of losing his opportunity with you. it must have seemed foolish to believe so strongly in something without any good reason to. but yeonjun was a hopeless romantic. and he believed in fate.

so as the day drew nearer for your celebration, on one night, yeonjun found himself twirling his fingers around in nervousness as he prepared to text you. he even considered abandoning his plan, but as soon as he looked at your profile picture and saw you smiling brightly, his desire to bring you happiness overtook his fear.

and so he asked you to go on a date with him, to let him take you on one that lived up to your literary fantasies. and with your heart beating out of your burning chest, you said yes.

---

“y/n, hi, um” yeonjun stuttered, “you look great.”

shyly, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. your heart was fluttering with excitement. this was the first date you had read about in all your books and dramas: him showing up at your door, looking handsome as hell, waiting to pick you up. you couldn’t believe it was actually happening in front of your eyes, not in words on a page, but in choi yeonjun.

yeonjun cleared his throat (to try and clear his nervousness, but he figured you didn’t need to know that. he also decided it would also be better if you never knew that he was adopting all of this from every romance book he had ever read because, without them, he would have no idea how any of this worked).

as you stepped out of your house and closed the door behind you, yeonjun offered his hand to you with a sheepish smile. giggling, you laced your fingers in his and let him lead you to his car, a pink blush dusting your cheeks.

--

“i’m sorry, i definitely remember making a reservation. i even called to confirm just this morning!”

“i’m really sorry sir, but your name isn’t on the list.”

yeonjun sighed exasperatedly and ran his hands through his hair for the ninth time in a ten minute dignified scuffle. his eyes narrowed as he readied himself to bring out his most polite passive-aggressive voice once again, but you grabbed his hand before he could say anything.

in all honesty, you were really pissed too. yeonjun had made a reservation at this upscale restaurant that looked like the backdrop of a classic first date from a rom-com you had probably binged before. he had planned everything perfectly, but right now, the receptionist was ruining it. she kept insisting that he hadn’t placed a reservation, even after he showed them the confirmation email, only because she couldn’t find his name in the list.

“yeonjun,” you whispered, glaring daggers at the receptionist who maintained her devilishly cold poker face, “let’s just go. it’s not worth it.”

sighing once again, yeonjun squeezed your hand in his, and gestured towards the door. on your way out, you made sure to clack your heels as loud as you could, and pulled yeonjun away as quickly as your legs could carry you.

you stormed out of the restaurant and out into the street. you didn’t even know where you were going, you just kept walking, with yeonjun in tow, waiting for your anger to sizzle down.

“y/n, slow down.”

realising your speed, you slowed down and mumbled an apology. you didn’t even realise how long you had been sulking for. looking at you, yeonjun sighed again.

“i’m sorry that didn’t go as planned. and i’m sorry i got really passive-aggressive back there-”

“no! you had every right to be!” you cried out indignantly. “that woman was being a real pain in the neck.”

the ring of yeonjun’s laughter soothed the last bit of fizzling anger in your chest. he draped an arm over you to pull you closer. “you’re absolutely right. we’re never going there again.”

humming in agreement and smiling in triumph, you held his hand that hung loosely over your shoulder. a few quiet footsteps passed between the two of you. you were just enjoying his company, and he was enjoying the feeling of your hand in his. it was like a dream.

until you began to feel pricks on your scalp.

you faced your palm upwards, only to see tiny droplets on water accumulate on your skin. yeonjun muttered a curse under his breath as he took his blazer off and covered the two of you, using it as a very expensive makeshift umbrella.

damn, you thought, ain’t this a drama.

holding yeonjun’s hand, the two of you ran in the direction from whence you came. his polished shoes and your high heels were accumulating water, but for once, you didn’t mind. the sound of yeonjun’s laughter and the feeling of his hand in yours was the most romantic thing you could ask for.

the two of you kept running until you came to an unfamiliar bend. you had forgotten which way you came from, and the rain was too heavy for you to find directions back to the restaurant. you panicked and looked up at yeonjun for an answer, when your eyes fell on the warm amber light emitting from behind him and your ears picked up on the soft meowing of a cat.

behind yeonjun was the new bookshop he had promised to bring you to.

---

“hello welcome to- oh my! look at the both of you! you’re drenched!”

the ding of the bell over the door fell silent as yeonjun led you into the shop. you could have squealed at its ambience. the walls were decked with volumes of poetry, well over a hundred, no, two hundred, copies. there was a cosy sitting area in the middle, and there was one corner with a bay window overlooking a park. and there was absolutely no one in the store.

“are the two of you okay? i’m afraid we don’t have any towels,” the lady behind the cashier continued, “but there’s a heater by the bay window. feel free to sit there and enjoy a book while you wait for the rain to stop.”

you giggled and thanked the lady kindly. running over to the bay window, you glanced out at the view. the light of the street lamps were fuzzy with the rain, and the rain tapped against the window gently. you were so glad this was a warm bookshop, which didn’t force you to buy the books before you read them, because that meant you could take your time to find the book you loved. excitement filled your chest as you looked at the huge shelf stocked with poetry that guarded over the area.

“this is perfect,” you mumbled under your breath.

when you realised you were no longer holding yeonjun’s hand, you turned around to look for him, only to realise that he was right behind you, holding a stack of poetry books. he raised both the books and his eyebrows expectantly, inviting you to take one.

the two of you settled by the window, placing the tower in the space between. you plucked the first book off the look at its title. it was your third favourite anthology by your favourite poet, which you had offhandedly mentioned to him a few times.

and it was with your favourite binding. the one with the large margin before the text starts.

your lips curled into a fond smile looking at yeonjun, who had already found himself engrossed in a chapbook by his favourite poet. taking his hand in yours, you began to pour over the intricate words detailing the pages.

occasionally, one of you would break the silence to read to the other a line that struck home, or one that was so stupidly good that it needed to be shared. you didn’t know how long you stayed like that for, or where the cashier lady was. for a moment, it was just yeonjun, you, the rain and words.

when the pile of books dwindled to one, the both of you decided to read it together. you shuffled closer to yeonjun and leaned your head on his shoulder. instinctively, he curved his body ever so slightly to lower it to your height. then, the words began to pour off his lips, softly and lovingly, until you stopped to highlight a stanzathat struck something in you.

“i like this one,” you whispered gently, placing your index finger next to it on the page.

“you fill me with

calm adrenaline,

(which technically doesn't make sense,

but the feelings you give me

are beyond my comprehension).

the thought of you sends

stardust cracking through my veins

or sun rays igniting my vessels.

your earnest smile,

like the soft morning sun,

is enough

to light galaxies

lacing in my capillaries

or leak happiness

like the sun spreads its beauty

over the reservoir.”

“yeah, it‘s beautiful.” yeonjun looked back at the page. “until recently, i’ve never known what it’s like to like someone so much like that.”

you watched yeonjun’s eyes dart to make momentary contact with yours. shyly, your own darted back to the stanza. “neither have i.”

“do you think you could ever, y/n?”

you smiled up at yeonjun, taking his hands and interlacing your fingers gingerly. “i think i��m starting to.”

---

eventually, the rain stopped, the shop closed, and it was time for yeonjun to drive you home. you left the shop with a poetry book yeonjun bought you because you liked it so much, and a huge smile plastered on your face. his smile mirrored your own as you walked back to his car. the sound of your voices accompanied your footsteps as the two of you were immersed in the comfortable conversations you loved dearly. yeonjun never failed to make you feel safe.

the drive to your house was fairly short, though you wished you lived further away. you wanted to talk to yeonjun for a bit more, but it was already late and you had to go home.

eventually, when he pulled up to your driveway, you were prepared to say goodbye and open the door to leave. but yeonjun got out of the car first and opened the door for you. smiling embarrassedly, he said he wanted to walk you to your door. secretly, you were squealing. this was the classic end to a first date, wasn’t it?

you nodded excitedly. flashing you a genuine smile, yeonjun took your hand and began to walk towards your door. it was probably well over midnight, given the silence of your neighbourhood, save your own footsteps. the distance to your door had never felt shorter. you never wanted this to end.

“i had a really, really great time tonight,” you said (this was what people said at the end of a date, right?)

“so did i. i really loved it.”

“so when’s our next one?” you blurted out, immediately regretting it afterwards.

to your relief, yeonjun’s face lit up with the brightest smile you had ever seen. “whenever you’re free.”

“i look forward to it!” you smiled.

yeonjun smiled again, but his eyes darted to your lips. you felt your heart rate increase steadily at the tension in the air. the familiar scene was playing in real life. you were nervous, and a little scared, but you liked him too much to care. and he was standing so close.

sensing your thoughts, yeonjun gave you a look to ask you for your permission. instead of giving him an answer, you cupped his cheeks and placed a kiss on his lips. it was a short and quick one (you didn’t really know how to do anything else). but you did nothing to widen the distance between your faces, as your gaze lingered firmly on yeonjun.

hastily, his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you closer, kissing you softly and gently. once his lips were on yours, you were paralysed momentarily at the new feeling. it was a scene from your dreams, something you could never imagine happening to you in real life. but his lips felt so real against yours that, before you knew it, you instinctively gave yourself to the kiss, losing yourself in it as the seconds ticked by.

here on your porch, you were living your fantastical date with a boy you adored. and yet, as you felt yeonjun’s soft lips move gently against your own, you realised:

no movie, no book, could ever compare to this.

---

next chapter

[stuckwith-harry]

Any ship + the “two sugars” prompt please?

A/N: This was at least 30% inspired by the fact that when I waswriting it, I was very much freezing my butt off in a Costa while waiting for @ronaldswheezy to finish her lectures. So Jessie from thepast is going to grab a hot chocolate now. Also, this contains somereferences to a poem you might know, which I‘m pretty excited about,so if that‘s something you dig, keep your eyes peeled. Leave me anask when you‘ve figured it out!

Warning for a few words Molly wouldn’t approve of, threestraight pages of pure, undiluted self-loathing, and Ron being shamed for his teapreferences when he isn’t even there to defend himself.

It’s two sugars, right?

“Okay.Light’s coming on now.”

Thewarning helps a little, but Harry still feels himself flinch when theBurrow’s kitchen lamps light up. Ginny squeezes his handbefore letting go and quietly walks over to the kitchen counter, barefeet on old wood. Harry slides into the nearest chair and wills hislegs to stop shaking while she fills the kettle to the top.

“Ican ask Dad about them”, she says, looking back at him over hershoulder. “He can put a Dimming Charm on them, so they don’t comeon so fast.”

“It’sno big deal”, mumbles Harry. “I don’t want to bother him.”

“He’dbe happy to be bothered about that. It might help, Harry.”

“Really,it’s … fine. I feel bad enough about burdening you with … allthis.”

Mostnights, when Harry wakes up,he can’t remember how tobreathe. He gaspssilently into the darkness of Ginny’s bedroom, withtense muscles and bright eyes, and the shadows on her walls growtogether like trees over hishead, and he’s sure theworld is ending – for a fewmoments, or maybe hours, who knows – nothing and everything isreal: the mattress is deadland and opens up under him,and drags him down,head-first, until he’s gone, without ever making a sound, awhimper, nothing more.

Butwhen she does wake up – when it’s so bad he can’t hide it –when he wakes up with a bang – thereis a small,shameful part ofHarry that breathesa secret sighof relief. Shespeaks warm, reassuring words, and strokes his hair, and holdshim until he stops shaking.

“It’sokay. It’s okay. Just breathe. Shhh. Just breathe.”

Sohe does. And he can.

Buthe could never, ever – admitit.

Becausewhen thelights come on, and he looks into Ginny’s red-rimmed, glassy eyes,he wants nothing more than tocurl up into himself and disappear. Heknows it’s his fault, how tired she looks. And there’s no hidingfrom the lights: They lay bare exactly how weak, and vulnerable, andpathetic he is.

Ginnytucksa strand of red hair behind a freckled ear. It’sgrowing past her shoulders again, and falling over her collarbones. Harrystill hasn’tgotten used to it: Every timehe looks ather, he expects tosee the same waist-lengthshock of hair shesported back in his sixth year, that impossible, sunny summer.

Butthat is long gone.

„You’renot a burden.“

Thekettle behind her starts to whistle – she turns her back to Harry,who issitting on the other side of the kitchen tableand allows himself to shiveras soon as she isn’tlooking anymore. He watchesher shoulder blades dig through her pyjamas asshe works – eager to dedicate every thought in his head to thesimpleroutine of placing tea bags in mugs and pouring steaming water ontop, and the way her arms move when she does.

Butfuzzyimages from his nightmares keep seeping back in, distantand solemn voices, and hischest tightens the more he tries to fight it – and the terriblyfamiliar feeling of struggling to breathe, and beingtrapped, and then drowning infreezing water, takeshold of him.

„Idon‘t want to wake you up, that‘s all…“

„Iknow.“ She disappears from his sight momentarily when she bendsdown to grab sugar out of the bottom drawer. It‘s the one that sitsin its cabinet at an odd angle, Harry remembers. Probably the resultof untamed childhood magic.He‘s not sure whose. „Ijust wishyou would. You’reso … determined to do it all alone, and for no reason.”

Whenhe doesn’t respond, she adds:“I wake you up, too, don’t I?”

Harrydoesn’t bother to argue. She knows justas well as he does that if hedid, they’d be here every night – that she’s getting better, and he isn’t. It’sbad enough that some nights,she wakes up anyway, finds him shaking and gasping on the mattressnext to her. She never says anything, never complains, but he’d bean idiot not to see it’s wearing herout, too.

It’sbad enough she knows herboyfriend is scared of thefucking lights.

Harryshuts his eyes and waits for his body to stop humming – listens tothe singing wind, theharsh, icy October rain as itdrums on the Burrow’swindows. Fivemonths have passed, and he’s as disoriented as ever: thereis no future ahead of him that he can see, and the feeling that he isoverstaying hisvisit creeps up on him almost as frequently as the nightmares do.

„It‘stwo sugars, right?“

Harrysnaps out of his spiral. „One‘s fine.“

„One‘syour regular.“ He can see her smile, though faintly, even under thesharp kitchen light. „You drink it with two when you‘re upset.“

“I’mnot upset.”

Hedoesn’t even know why he’s trying to pretend anymore. Ginny justlooks at him with that odd look of defeat he’s grown to hate somuch, because he’s always the one who puts it there.

“Ican’t believe you remember that”, he says, when the silencebecomes too much to bear. Ginny lets him guide the conversation awayfrom the heaviness without comment.

„Couldn‘tforget if I tried.”

Whathe doesn’tknow ishow much comfort ahot tea with two sugars holdsfor her. How much it meant, to have something so simple and warm toremember him by, when the world around her was falling apart. Whenthere was nothing left of him to hold on to, duringall those lonely, drearymonths, when she didn‘t know if he was alive – orif anyone would be, when it was over –there was still the way he liked his tea. And that when comfort wasneeded most, it came with twosugars.

Butthat part, Ginny – afterall a firm and life-longdefender of the fact that tea should be enjoyed without sugar –withholds, for now.

„Here.“She slides into the chair next to him with her own cup of tea, andHarry traces the chipped rim of his own mug with his index finger.Bees and butterflies and bugs, all clearly hand-painted, andclearly by a child, decoratethe red porcelain.

„Ithink Ron did that“, says Ginny, who must have been watching him.“He was maybe five.”

Harryallows himself to smile at the thought.

„Andthis must be from Charlie“,she says, pushing her own mug around on the wooden table. It‘s palegreen – yellow lines flow together to form a map of Europe. TheRomania-shapedspot next to her thumb ispainted in faded gold. “Gotit for us a few years ago.”

“It’spretty.”

“Hm-hm.”He watches as she closes her eyes over the steaming mug, andhis stomach sinks.

“I’mserious, Ginny, you don’t need to stay up forme.”

Shegrimaces and rubs her eyes. “You’re not the only one who can’tsleep, babe. Not by a long shot. You’re just the only one whoinsists he couldn’t use some company for the bad nights.”

Harryholds on to his mug until his numbpalms burn from the heat.“I’m sorry.”

Ginnysighs. “Look– just let me talk to Dad. Everyonein this house would be happyto help you out. It’s not nearly as embarrassing as you think.”

“I’mshit at asking for help.” His voice is barely audible.

“Iknow.” There’s a short pause, in which Harry intently watches histea, willing his cheeks to stop burning; knowingthat Ginny hasn’t looked away.“It doesn’t have to be me, if you don’t want.”

Harryopens his mouth, and the seconds stretch. His confession is just awhisper. “I like it when it’s you.”

“Good”,says Ginny. “I make better tea, anyway.”

Harrygrins weakly.

“It’strue. Ron drinks his with three sugars, it’s disgusting. And hemakes it so strong it could drink him.”

“Yeah,so it balances out all the sugar.”

“Disgusting,I tell you.”

She’sstill smiling at him when he looks around. Tired, and sad, sure, butalways smiling. Always there, without ever complaining.

Hemouthes a Thank you, and Ginny rubs his arm before resting herhand on his, tracing his knuckles with the tips of her fingers likeshe always has. “You’re cold”, she says quietly.

Harryshrugs. He forgets about it when she’s around – the way his sweatsticks to the back of his neck, and how the cold air licks his skinwhen he wakes up, and how his t-shirt clings to his sore body.

“Wannatell me about it?”

Harryswallows. He’s still looking at her hand, desperate to learn everyfreckle by heart again, and right now that’s everything he can bearto think about.

“It’sthe same”, he whispers. “The forest.”

Andthough Ginny nods and holds on to his hand, like it’s nothing, hecan see her shoulders sag. She knows, just as much as he does, thatthere’s not much she can do about it. And he hates it just as muchas Ginny does.

“I’msorry”, she says softly. “You don’t deserve to relive it allthe time.” She holds his hand a little tighter – and Harrydoesn’t look at her, he just stares at his steaming cup of tea, andblinks and blinks and blinks until his eyes stop burning. “But Ican keep making tea, if you’d like that. And remind you that you’regoing to be okay.”

Andthat doesn’t make the ghosts go away. It doesn’t wipe Voldemort’swhite face from the back his mind – blurrier now, but always there.It doesn’t change the fact that every sudden, bright light takeshim right back.

Butit makes him feel a little warmer.