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sandundersun · 3 years

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Everyone has a Downside, He isn't Excused

vernon x reader || romance || 1.3K words

warning: mention of blood

tbh this is not really romance, it’s a short description of hansol’s life

He was probably the weirdest and the toughest man you passed by in life.

He wasn't afraid of any extreme entertainment; haunted house ride, skydiving, any kind of spice, putting water in extremely hot oil, walking as if he owned the hall when he was ten minutes late to class. He gave a little to no fuck about challenges in life. If his parent put him in a sports club on his younger day and he chose to be a long jump athlete, he probably would be good; or you could send him as a shepherd with no internet connection for two months and he would come back with no scratch; it was some strong kind of endurance partnered with adaptivity, or witchcraft.

So, maybe, maybe that's why God gave him a little downside—that could kill him in a colossal amount but on a usual day it was only mildly annoying.

The boy was allergic to mundane things you stumbled upon in everyday life. He was hardly enjoying springtime when the grass became less green and more colorful, as flowers blossom here and there, because the pollen made his eyes itchy; he couldn't eat peanuts, where it came in so many delicious snacks and foods; he loved cat to death, he probably would have a dozen if it wasn't for his busy life, but he was kinda allergic to them. It was comedy.

Plus, this stupid reckless boy, who was brave enough to punch someone in the face for messing up with his sister or friend, constantly had a wound on his lips; not because of chapped lips and sun combo, nor because of the fighting he had once in a while. This boy just felt like, eh, it's a good day to bite my lips until there was blood on it, and he needed to put an ointment, stay calm for a while and, oh hello another good day; a fridging vicious and addictive cycle.

Though—at first—you didn't understand in the littlest bit of why it became a "cycle".

"It's a reflex," he said. "I don't know, I just bite it when I find something cringe or funnily dangerous."

Except, anything his peer group said or did was cringe or funnily dangerous; from talking with a lovey-dovey tone in public like a romance classic novel to coloring someone's eyebrows with red chili paste—his mates was, suffice to say, insane.

The first time his lips got sore after you dated him, he sent you a chat with a crying emoji and an "aw" , followed by a picture of a drop of blood—as a proof because he was like some kind of an indestructible god until now. It was alarming. You saw blood, meaning pain, and you hurriedly jumped out of your bed, going to a store, and knocking on his door.

The sight in front of you was not what you foresaw.

Well, there was someone who was tired and in—a bit of—pain, and the other was the happy healthy one, but he was the fine one. Standing while hugging his orange cat Leo, with a small scar, yet super red; a little lost.

"Oh, hi!" He welcomed you and ushered you to sit on the couch. "I didn't know you'd come."

"Well, I brought you a compress for the scar," you said, "you sent me a pic and I thought it was painful?"

"Yeah, for five seconds, it's fine by now."

That was one of the oddest and funniest excuses you heard in a whole year, and just like that, your effort went to waste—in your defense though, that was also the first time he sent you a crying emoji.

You sighed out loud, meanwhile, in a flash, he gave you a kiss and a hug and the damn cat was trying to keep it civil with you.

"Thank you for the ointment, by the way. I'll keep it for the next one."

"The next?"

"I get this once in a while."

Glad you bought two because once in a while meant 24/7/365.

Dear God, sometimes you wondered, why were you worried for a man that should barely survive the world, but was actually thriving in life? Seriously, if someone hated him, they could just lock him in a greenhouse or sneak up peanut on his meal, and get done—well, he was an awesome person, so perhaps no one disliked him that much, but—you believed some super force magic must be circling around Hansol.

You should just stay put and enjoy the day—like him.

It wasn't easy.

It took time for you to not get panicked every time his lips bled. For the first fifth time, you bought him a new ointment and compressor; by the eleventh, you tried to breathe and mumbled it's fine, it's just a scratch. It was annoying for you too though, worrying for a grown-up man who made biting lips his habit. But after the twentieth, you had let it go. For someone as pretty and as magnificent as him, this one addiction simply served as a reminder that no one is perfect except God.

Well, another downside, you could go with no kissing for days, sometimes a full week if his scar kept reopening.

Not that it mattered that much though.

You can still kiss him on his eyes and nose and cheeks, and he would press his lips in return, on your knuckles and arms and stomach—though not as strong as you. And his love surging through his hands on your arms, whisper in your ear, and everything in him that was all around you.

Anyway, the third time it happened, you slept in his apartment. It was half-healed at the time you arrived and instantly got better.

His olive-colored sofa was soft and fluffy and comfortable, you probably had been there for almost three hours, devouring the melancholic novel in front of you, with five minutes breaks two or three times to get another drink or go to the bathroom. The sun was barely seen on the west when he snuggled up on you, made you—forcefully—put down your book and wrapped your hands around him instead.

"What?"

"Nothing." He buried his head deeper on your chest, voice muffled. "I just miss you."

"I've been sleeping in this apartment for two days," you ruffled his dark brown hair, "what kind of missing?"

He sat up and let out a witty smile, then he brushed your lips with his. "Missing to kiss you."

You laughed at the rare sight of him being so soft and spoiled. Your fingers voyaged to his jaws, thumbs softly brushing the corner of his lips. The rashes weren't as bad as the first time, it had become flat and the color faded into soft pink.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Yep." And he leaned closer to give you another light peck.

"You said it hurts?"

Then another kiss, not quite a peck right now "It does, very faintly."

You pulled yourself and gave a look what are you doing. "Hansol ..."

"Oh, come on. The bit of pain dawns on me after I kiss you, I can't feel it when your lips are on mine. So maybe,"—two kisses, short and sweet—"maybe we can kiss all night long so I don't taste the pain."

And he was gone for the long endless kiss before you could deny any of it. Left hands wrapped your neck, fingers crawling on your back, chest going against each other. You wanted to let go yet wanted his desire too, and in the end, you succumbed.

Well, maybe the aftermath of his habit wasn't that bad.

note: this was supposed to be a short writing under 500 words after my friends talked about Hansol’s constant wounded lips, I thought it was from his allergy, but people said it’s his habit of biting lips lmao. So, I just kept typing and typing describing him and a bit of seventeen dynamic (ofc edited a bit), and end up with 1.3K rambling and a little romance

#caratwritersclub #vernon #hansol vernon chwe #vernon chwe #vernon x reader #vernon scenario #vernon imagine #vernon fic #vernon drabble #vernon fluff #mine:svt #mine:writing

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