#svtwritenight

[tearsofsyrup]

two confessions.  wonwoo.  fluff.  439 words.

response to @svtwritenight​‘s prompt 06: character A needs to confess something to character B. Write the scene without using abstractions.

-

Every time you catch your leg restlessly bouncing beneath the table and will it to still, it isn’t long before that exact process occurs again.

Wonwoo’s glasses slide down the sharp bridge of his nose in a similarly repetitive fashion and while seesawing a pencil with your fingers you wonder whether his regular act of pushing them back up is subconscious. Nimble fingers poke out of the large sleeves of his sweater to turn a page in his textbook, reminding you of how long ago you last turned a page in your own, or even completed reading a full sentence. Itchy teeth fidget with the flesh of your lower lip, leaving a reddened surface in their wake.

Your leg is bouncing again, until it stops.

You ready yourself to speak but are prevented by a sudden thickness in your throat and your eyebrows furrow. A taut fist squeezes your pencil while the other lies clutched over your lap, a consistently rapid heartbeat pulsating within your chest. Wonwoo’s eyes remain fixed on his schoolwork, shielded from noticing your leg that bounces under the table. It stops.

A hesitant hand covers your mouth as you clear your throat.

“Wonwoo.”

His eyes glancing up at you causes your heart to jump and the saliva you force down your throat is dense. Hot blood rises along your neck and finds purchase beneath the skin covering your cheeks, your leg bouncing briskly. It keeps bouncing.

Wonwoo hums, stare locked with yours and your chest heaves in a steady rhythm.

“Uh,” you begin, voice wavering and you keep your own fingers from pinching yourself as a result. Still reddened lips form a stiff line before proceeding. “I-...”

Wonwoo keeps still and your tongue curls around another thick swallow. One deep breath in, one heavy sigh out.

“I’m the friend Seungkwan keeps saying has a-a crush on you.”

The man opposite you blinks once, twice, thrice. Surrounding sounds suggesting the company of human life become white noise and hurried pounding bounces in your ears. Your lungs freeze as the next breath they will take is put on hold and crescents form in the skin of your palms by curled fingers with solid nails.

Wonwoo looks back down before he smiles, grin stretching generously from one cheek to the other, hand fluid as it jots something down in his notebook.

“I know,” his low voice affirms without meeting your wide-eyed stare.

The drumming within your rib cage gradually calms, lungs slowing in their previously hasty breaths. Your fists relax and your leg stills. It does not resume its bouncing even once for the remainder of the afternoon.

[secndlife]

pairing: wonwoo x female reader

genre: break up!au, angst

summary: your relationship with wonwoo seemed to be made of seasons. now, during autumn, it felt like it was time to let it fall along the leaves.

word count: 1k

warnings: none

a/n: a small drabble for @svtwritenight​ and related to this prompt. i couldn’t screenshot, but the picture i got was a bunch of autumn leaves, so it’s quite self explanatory. 

You stared at the golden looking leaves falling across the grass. It was funny. All it took for them to fall down was a simple, soft breeze. This same breeze caused goosebumps to appear against your skin. Wonwoo was sitting next to you, but you never felt so distant. You wondered how the two of you came to this. How something as mundane as a breeze was able to turn your relationship into crumbs. How a fucking little wind made it all slip through your fingers. 

Everyone talks about the wonders of dating your best friend. How priceless it is to have someone next to you who knows you and who loves you for that exact same reason. No one talks about the downfalls of that, though. What if someone changes? What if both change? How do you deal with that, then? Do you still feel like you know them? If you don’t, are you able to continue to love them, despite that? What if you feel like you don’t even know who you are anymore? How are you supposed to keep up with their changes as well? What happens to the friendship after a break up? Thinking it remains untouched is too naive, almost childlike. Could you even break up with your best friend? Was that even doable? Well, it had to be. You’d make it doable. 

The two of you grew up along side each other and turning into something more than friends was something that came naturally. It was expected, you guessed. Everyone thought this would happen at some point. But no one thought you’d break as easily as you came together. You couldn’t point a finger at Wonwoo and blame it all on him. Not without looking at the mirror and recognizing you played your part in it too. Life was also at fault. There are too many variables in human relationships which you can’t control. They affected this dynamic as much as both of your actions did. You had fallen into the ultimate cliche - things happen, you guessed.

You didn’t know how to go on without Wonwoo and you didn’t know how to go on with him at this moment. You want to hold on to him, oh so badly. You just don’t know how. Or if you should. Or if you can. Maybe this love was made of seasons. Maybe now, in autumn, it was time to let go of it. Let go and let it reshape so it can blossom again later on. Maybe thinking like this would make this less unbearable. 

You let out a breath, “Wonwoo?” He simply hummed in acknowledgment. “You’re my best friend. C-can you be honest with me?” You could feel warmth coming from his shoulder while it rested against yours, despite the weather and the layers of clothes you were both wearing. It was good to feel him against you.

He kept staring at the trees in front of him. Serious, collected, Wonwoo. Like magnets, he then took your hand in his. Another goosebump. “Always.”

“Aren’t you tired too?” It hurt to feel distant, to adjust to the changes you were both going through. You felt trapped and this was not how a relationship was supposed to go. 

“You know me, how do you think I feel?” There was no rudeness or sarcasm in his voice. It was just an honest question.

“Do I?” You inquired. You thought he was tired too. It was impossible for him not to be. 

Wonwoo let out a sad chuckle, “Maybe not anymore.”

No, do not to focus on the excruciating pain you’re feeling. Focus on the fact that you know, deep down, that he’ll come back to you the same way you’ll come back to him. He was yours to keep. You were his destiny. So maybe now it was time to trust life would do its trick later on. Kinda like that red thread of fate history. If you love it, let it go. Now, it was too painful to be together as something more than friends. You cherished the history you two had built too much to let it die alongside this tiresome relationship.

You swallowed dry, “Maybe if we end this now, we can still save some of it for later.”

You saw a particular leave fall down. It kinda looked like a heart. Yeah, your heart. Another blow, another leave. Another blow, another piece of you and Wonwoo falling down. 

“You know we’ll end up together, right?” Wonwoo said, squeezing your hand.

You nodded, “That’s the only reason why I’m doing this now.”

“Ok.” He laced your fingers together. It felt somewhat like a plea. Please, don’t go. Don’t end this. Please, let’s be together. No, don’t give in. If you give in now, it will just ruin everything. It’s autumn now, it’s time to fall. You’d still have to deal with winter, but spring would come soon. You’d be back with him again. You just had to endure the colder times. Do this for you and for him too. He spoke again, voice barely a whisper after you didn’t answer to his unspoken request, “So I just let you go now?”

At a particular strong breeze, you felt tears forming by your eyes. “You’re not letting me go. We’re surrendering. You said yourself we’ll end up together, right?” He nodded. “So just let fate act on us. We’ll won’t survive if we keep this going on now, Woo.”

He agreed. He knew better. This doesn’t mean it felt good to simply break up. You were still everything to him. He used to feel invincible by your side. Now, he felt nothing but defeat. He felt like you were meant to be eternal. Now, it was nothing but forever fading away. However, you were still the one he loved the most. But maybe that’s why he should allow the breeze to knock him out. To knock you out. In order to rise his love, he had to allow it to fall to the ground first. Letting it fall would make it stronger. Still, he felt small. Unwanted. Unloved. So he had to ask. “Will you still love me after autumn?”

You looked at him for the first time, staring at his breathtaking features. You hoped your eyes would speak even louder than your words. “Always.”

a/n: hm ok so! wrote this in like, 1 hour. this is actually an idea i have for a longer thing which i’ll maybe develop later on. i’m trying to write more for seventeen so i thought joining the writenight would be a nice idea. feedback’s always, always appreciated. feel free to drop by here. i’m excited to read other entries hehe. on other notes, isn’t wonwoo a perfect person for a friends to lovers thingy? and also to angsty plots. stay tuned :) 

[minghaocouture]

Responce to @svtwritenight​ Prompt 07: Write something in which someone wins something they do not want.

Pairing: Hinted Jeonghan X Reader Genre: Battle Royale AU, Horror, Angst Warnings: Blood, violence, death, emotional manipulation. WC: 969

Cheers raged around you as you were driven out, the wind blowing through your hair as the convertible drove. Everything felt muffled, as if underwater. Nothing seemed to phase you, nothing except for the warm liquid still splattered onto your face and arms. None of this seemed real, or at least you didn’t want it to be real. 

Just a few days ago you had been having lunch with your best friends, all conversing about what you would do on your upcoming class trip. They had even tried to convince you to confess to your long time crush Yoon Jeonghan, one of the most popular boys in your class, before leaving for the trip. They justified it by saying it would be more fun for you if you had a boyfriend by the time the trip came around. You didn’t end up confessing, but it was fun to entertain the thought. It was just teens being teens and having fun. Everything had been great.

Then the trip came and everything went so very wrong.

You don’t remember the bus ride, all you remember was waking up on the floor of a classroom that was covered in tarps. The rest of your class with you, and every single student sporting a sleek new choker. No one had a clue what you would be going through in the next 72 hours.

Before you even had time to process anything, a duffle bag was shoved into your hands and forced out into an unknown forest. For hours you watched friends fall left and right, some even by your own hands because if you hadn’t then you would have been the one dead.

It wasn’t until the second night that things changed. Attacked and left for dead, your blood spilling out onto the forest floor as you waited for things to end. When someone came to you, in your delirious state you had assumed it was an Angel and that you had in fact passed on. The next morning you were proven wrong.

Waking up inside one of the many abandoned buildings on the island, and finding Yoon Jeonhan sitting guard next to one of the many broken windows in the room. As he noticed you were awake, he smiled. His smile seemed to assure you that you were, in fact safe. 

*

“Do you have anything to say about your win? We didn’t think you would pull through but you certainly proved us wrong, especially on the second night!” 

You had yet to be cleaned off, his blood still clung to your skin in the same way the memories clung to your mind. You said nothing to the interviewer, simply started. Eyes refusing to cry as they had already cried enough to fill the ocean, and crying wouldn’t bring anyone back.

*

Shots rang out through the night, screams as you urged Jeonghan to run. Blood spilling as his own best friend came running forward, katana in hand in an attempt to kill him. 

Everything was a blur, up until you felt Joshua’s blood on your hands. Spilling from where your dagger had pierced his chest, in comparison the shallow cut to your side that he had created seemed like nothing.

Your silent sobs filled the night as Jeonghan held you close, letting you cry as he kept an eye out for any of your remaining classmates. The only thing keeping you grounded had been the gentle hands that rubbed your back as you sobbed. 

Everything was wrong.

**

“We were most impressed with your winning kill, do you have any comment about it? What was going through your mind as it happened?” The interviewer almost jumped when you finally moved to meet his gaze.

Your eyes hollow and lifeless as you watched him for a moment, a part of you wishing that he had been on the island as well. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so happy right now. One word left your lips as you kept his gaze. The word not only answering his question but expressing how you felt at that exact moment, where you wanted everything to just stop.

“No.”

**

“You really thought that I cared about you? That this wasn’t my plan the whole time?” His words pierced your heart just as harshly as the bullet that had pierced your shoulder. 

There stood Yoon Jeonghan, but instead of being the angel that had saved you he seemed more like the devil. His once kind smile hadn’t changed but now it seemed so much more twisted as he spoke. 

“I used you of course. I knew you’d protect me because of your silly little crush, and now you’re the last one left. The easiest one to kill.” He kneeled in front of you, a hand lifting your chin up so you would face him. Tears streamed from your eyes as your eyes made contact with his deep brown ones. Specks of blood dotted his face as he watched you for a reaction.

“Nothing to say? That’s pretty boring you know.” He said, almost as if he was chastising a child. His thumb reaching up and gently wiping away a tear from your face. “I’m almost disappointed in you.” 

He didn’t give you another chance to respond before he brought his lips to yours. As he did, you felt his other hand pull your wrist forwards.

He pulled away, coughing out a small spattering of blood. He reached up with what little strength he had, smearing a bit of his blood on your cheek as he tried to wipe it away. Leaning forward so that his lips were right next to your ear. Last words lingered on his lips as he slouched forward. His body forced yours down to the ground as all life left him.

“I lied.”

[gallivantingheart]

who?: s.coups/seungcheol x reader

word count: 663

response to @svtwritenight‘s prompt 2:  character A has unexpectedly run into character B. Write something that answers these questions: where are they, and why is it surprising to find B there?

- - -

It's three drinks in when Seungcheol realises that the bar Mingyu picked has a live band. Tucked into the dim front corner, by the long window is a trio - a drummer, a guitarist and a singer. Jun and Mingyu are rowdy, so much so that the english cover can barely be heard. The thickly lacquered wood table is sticky under his shot glass and Jeonghan giggles at how flushed he is already. Seokmin has his head tipped back, already passed out, wedged between a sober Vernon and Wonwoo. The lighting is dim enough to be warm, even as the exposed yellow bulb swings low above them. His back is to the band, but Seungcheol doesn't pay any mind, too distracted by the drinking game in front of him that he was about to lose...again.

It's six...no, seven, drinks in when the final strum of the set vibrates against his back.

"Okay, we're gonna take a twenty minute break, thanks guys!"

The voice is familiar, but the young man can't put his finger on it. Mingyu's head is lolling on his neck as he whines about how drunk he is. Seokmin is awake again and finding every breath funny. Jeonghan nudges him insistently with a bony shoulder.

"C'mon, cheollie. Your shout this round." He cheers. "Cheollie, cheollie, cheollie!"

He rolls his eyes but nods with a smile, holding his hand up for an attendant. Waving it with a bit of distorted impatience, Seungcheol stands to look for someone's attention. His elbow jabs someone who squeaks in pain.

It's then the recognisable scent of heady florals stabs him, forcing him to turn. Narrow pupils and ajar mouth meet him. It's a version he's seen too many times.

"Y/n?"

"S-Seungcheol - I, uh Cheol?" You splutter, similarly shocked.

Of course it's your favourite perfume that he recognises. The same always settled into your skin, that seeps into his shirts when you hang out.

"What are you- You said you were busy tonight." He says, hand still in midair.

Zero drinks and two nights ago, he'd invited you out for drinks with them. Hassled you seeing as you hadn't been seen since before the lunar new year.  Something you swiftly turned down with a teary emoji and other arrangements. A rain check.

You fidget on the spot, tugging and playing with the long moonstone pendant on tonight. The rapper finally gets a chance to take in your attire. A pair of jeans and a thin top and stylish dark jacket.

"I-I am. I have been. I, uh will be." You say, evasive.

"Oh?"

Cheol is seven drinks in when he hears your name being called over the chatter of the bar from the corner where the music came from. The lanky guy on the cajón holds up a cranberry coloured drink in one of his hands. You nod in a gesture to stall.

"Why is the drummer calling for you?" He says slow, the flush on his face fading with growing sobriety.

You twist the metal chain even more, eyes on anything but him. You shrug.

"I may be in…." He doesn't catch the end of your sentence. You clear your throat. "I'm the singer in a band. Me and a couple of guys from my old communications class started up a cover band. This is a regular gig of ours."

"You sing?" He says, bewildered.

You laugh from a combo of his lack of filter and the sweet painting of red across his face. "Yes. And I'm not bad at it."

Seungcheol is seven rapidly sobering drinks in when he realises that one of his closest friends and not so secret object of his affection sings like an angel. You touch his bicep and show a hasty smile.

"I gotta go. But I'll be here for another hour and a half. Maybe see you then?" You chirp.

He nods dumbly, even as he is unsure if he and the boys will last that long. "S-sure."

[sweetcheol]

response to @svtwritenight​’s prompt 04: open the nearest book to page 52, find the 4th word in the 2nd sentence. write something with it.

book — fiesta: the sun also rises, ernest hemingway. word — twirl.

warnings: slight mention of alcohol consumption. word count: 463.

There’s something about the way Jun looks at you.

You can feel it, down to your bones, and you’re not sure if it’s a product of the wine you had with your dinner or the stars that shine like a mirror in his eyes, but it feels like home. Warm, and cozy, and familiar. It’s a warm summer night, and you’re completely sure that both the blush in your cheeks and the fuzzy feeling in your heart have nothing to do with it — because even when it’s cold outside, you always feel the same way deep within. 

“It’s amazing how much your dancing has improved in this past year,” he says, voice so soft it breaks through the spell. You’re brought back to tonight and to the ever-present tradition of post-dinner dancing you’d stablished even before you had gotten married. And to Jun, as if your thoughts had even wandered off of him in the first place. 

You look back at him, feeling one of his hands resting low on your waist and the other holding your own. You can feel the golden wedding band on his finger as it rests upon your skin, and can only think of the matching one adorning your hand. He smiles, and you don’t even try to fight back on the one that forms in your face as a response. There’d be no use for it, anyway, because with him, you’d always worn your heart in your sleeve. 

“What, you’re saying I was a bad dancer before?” You ask, responding with a question of your own. A habit, and one he recognizes, for his smile widens upon your words. A sense of comfort. “And we’re hardly dancing. We’re swaying.”

He sways a little to the side, letting go of your waist just enough to give you a twirl. Your hair flutters with the breeze, and he holds onto you as soon as you come back into his arms. You draw in a breath, and try not to lose your balance as he kisses your forehead and continues to sway the both of you along to the music. 

He lets out a quiet laugh. “Well, I guess now we’re dancing!” 

Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s Dream a Little Dream of Me plays softly from your record player, words and melody dancing organically alongside the soft cracking of the fire, the breathlessness in your laughter and the sound of your own footsteps. And, if you focus hard enough, even the sound of your own heartbeat. Even if there was no music playing, it was a sound you could dance to forever.

Tonight you have music, and you have him. It’s a warm summer night, after all, and with a sky full of stars shining over your heads, you keep on dancing. 

[svtwritenight]

svt writers! our next write “night” will be this weekend (07/03/2020-07/04/2020).

since the wider time frame for responses seemed to work better last time, here’s how the next write “night” will operate:

On Friday, July 3rd at 6AM EDT, 2 prompts will be posted on this account. An additional 2 prompts will be posted at 6PM, and then again on Saturday July 4th at 6AM and 6PM. So, “write night” will essentially be live for the course of those two days.

Over the course of the weekend, you can write responses to any of the prompts posted for the event. The event will be considered “live” until 6AM Sunday, July 5th. If you have plenty of free time this weekend, this might mean you’ll have a pair of prompts to choose from roughly twice a day. If you can only join for one day or a couple hours, you’ll still have at least a few prompts to choose from, if not a whole set. (Timezone converter - all times/dates here are in EDT.)

As always, I will be online periodically during the event to reblog any prompt responses back here. If you have questions or suggestions for prompts, feel free to send them in.

If you plan on participating, please go over the guidelines -- and remember most importantly to be ready to send feedback to fellow writers on their prompt responses!

[gracesloveletters]

break and enter; leave and make peace

@svtwritenight’s prompt 2:  character A has unexpectedly run into character B. Write something that answers these questions: where are they, and why is it surprising to find B there?

characters: wonwoo x the vigilante

words: 465

Although the power outage lasts a mere few minutes, Wonwoo believes it to be good enough a reason to fire a few people; one person for every minute of his time wasted. Entering his office, Wonwoo tosses his blazer onto the leather couch. His bored expression, which the public has coined as his usual RBF (read resting-billionaire/bastard-face), is momentarily replaced with a quizzical one as he notices the unwelcome presence of another in the room. As if he needed another headache.

“What do you want?”

“No introductions?” a voice responds from behind Wonwoo’s desk.

“I assume you know who I am. Do I need to know who you are?”

The back of the leather office chair turns to reveal the intruder. Wonwoo’s eyes scan over the figure who has made themself comfortable in his office; stark platinum hair behind an unfamiliar, black mask. Either an eccentric robber or another wannabe hero, Wonwoo concludes.

“Maybe one day,”

The masked figure stands up from the office chair revealing their lithe frame clothed in black Lycra; a woman. She taps her fingers rhythmically along the mahogany surface of the desk as she makes her way towards him.

“But for now you should probably up the ante on security, considering how your building has a reputation for being impenetrable and all.”

She comes to a stop in front of him as she finishes her sentence. With only a few steps in between the two, Wonwoo notices the slight glint in her eyes as she cocks her head to the side. If he could be bothered he might have felt threatened, but right now she’s challenging him to something he does not have the time or patience for.

“Get out before I call-”

“Security? Haven’t I just proven to you that they’re useless?”

She rolls her eyes behind her mask. Wonwoo grits his teeth.

“Either way, I’m not staying for long.”

Darkness suddenly fills his office for the second time that day.

“And that’s my cue.”

Wonwoo counts. The power outage lasts for exactly one minute. Enough time, however, for the woman to escape as mysteriously as she appeared.

Wonwoo makes sure to cancel the lunch appointment he had planned with Minghao, spending the rest of the day meticulously viewing security camera footage, firing even more people, reluctantly permitting police to search through his office, and sending off a single strand of platinum hair for DNA testing. He receives the result the next week. His efforts, however, prove to be futile; the test concluding that the hair was synthetic, and no other evidence of the woman being discovered. Nothing was stolen and nothing was left behind. 

Given any other circumstance, Wonwoo would have been livid. Now he thinks he has the time and patience to accept the masked vigilante’s challenge.

[mingyuistall]

prompt 1- roygbiv

write about a simple good deed having wildly unexpected consequences.

@svtwritenight

for jihoon, every day was the same. he’d go to the coffee shop only a couple blocks away from his house. then he’d go back home, with his coffee in hand, and start working on his songs. everyday, his world was gray. 

for some reason, today felt extremely off. more people were in the streets, but it was also relatively quieter than normal. 

in front of jihoon’s regular coffee shop, a tall man and an extremely small girl were arguing. how was he supposed to avoid them? if he turned around, he would have to go to the other side of town to get to the right entrance to the coffee shop. as he got closer to the couple, he heard the girl plead to the man “just let me go! i don’t want you anymore, you’re terrible to me,”

the girl turned around, but the man grabbed her by the arm. jihoon could tell he was hurting her, as she twisted her arm to get out of his hold the skin would turn red and blotchy. all of a sudden, he was walking faster to help her. 

jihoon pushed him by his chest. he guided to the girl to get behind him. “leave her alone, man. she doesn’t want you. just accept that.” jihoon spat. the man stared at him with a wild look on his face, then finally turned around and walked away. jihoon turned to the girl.

“i’m sorry for interfering-” jihoon looked her in the eyes. all of a sudden he could say the light color of the side walk, the baby blue shirt she was wearing, and the green of the plants behind her.

“you’re my soulmate,” she breathed. jihoon swallowed and nodded. 

“yeah. i am.”

[redevenir]

prompt 05 : write something that answers these questions: where does character A need to be in five minutes? why are they still at least twenty minutes away? how come they aren’t moving any faster?

@svtwritenight​

It is a new beginning. You’ve been waiting a long time for a day like this. Working hard, every day, hoping someone will notice your efforts, and reward you for it. And it happened. Chief Yoon, the head of your service has encouraged you, pushed you, and helped you get that promotion. It is a pity, he told you more than once. If more people were like you, one can only dream of the miracles our great nation could achieve. Instead of moping around, people should strive for more. Be the change you want to see in the world! Well, you are the change he wants to see in this world. You keep it for yourself, but you can’t help thinking that, if indeed more people were like you – your job would then be useless.

He told you the news a few weeks ago. First day of Nation’s Month will be your first day in charge of Coordination. It means, you’ll have to organize all of his meetings, but also the healing plannings for all the department’s employees. This, he reminded you, is a most important task, for there is no room for approximation. Dilettantism caused the fall of the old regime, and it only takes a simple mistake for people to get funny ideas in their heads. You already know it. This is why you applied for the job in the first place – you’re very good at organization. It takes skill to ensure that neither employees nor patients meet. Everyone must think they are absolutely alone in the building. Even you, after all these years working on the premises, have only met six of your colleagues or superiors. This is what makes institutions strong: everything is neutral. This contributed to the disappearance of the feeling of persecution - that, and the treatments, of course. The most significant advantage, is that people naturally stopped sticking together, when they stopped seeing each other. Turned out, even after the orgy of communication displayed during the digital age, no one really wanted to keep in touch. Just another lie of the past, a urban legend. No one really cared, and now the treatments are ready, shortly, no one will. When the experience is unique, and so intimate. When we are unable to know if it is shared? No more solidarity, no more risings.

You are god’s instrument toward perfect harmony.

And yet, here you are, sitting on the toilet, trying to finish up your cigarette as fast as you can, instead of working. You shouldn’t be here. What a pitiful sight on the first day of work. Although now, you really are grateful for your position. No one will see if you’re in your office or not, no one will notice. The only information given to the security department are your movements within the building – and, well, you are the one in charged here now. No harm done. Still, you are quite ashamed of loosing your nerves on your first day in charge. This is the dream, and you won’t let anyone ruin it for you, not even yourself. You have a full review of the camera system to do in five minutes. This is an opportunity to show the little mice who monitor the surveillance cameras of the lower ranks what you are made of. You cannot let them think they have any room left. Overstepping your rank is a felony, but having the thought of it – which you can’t yet prove scientifically, but soon enough you will – is just as dangerous. Tossing the butt of your cigarette in the toilet bowl, you flush it, collect yourself – you’ve been a bit excited and overwhelmed, who wouldn’t in your place? Maybe you could find a moment to drop by the lab, ask for a little calming shot – surely they must have something in store for you.

As you open the door, you’re met with the barrel of an old shotgun.

«Hands in the air»

Shit.

There’s two of them, dressed in black, faces covered. One of them is holding chief Yoon’s head. Shit, shit, shit. You look at their feet instead, hands up.

«Sit down at your office, don’t you dare tryin’ anythin’, obviously.» He keeps aiming at you.

You do as you’re told, and the other – his attitude weirdly familiar, for some reason – sits across your desk.

«Well, well, well, my dear neighbor – shit, shit, oh shit – sorry to bother you, says Mingyu. I’m afraid we’re ruining your promotion, aren’t we.» You don’t have anything to answer. «Now, we’re asking you to delete all the data you have access to. And, well, when I say we ask...» He tilts his head toward his comrade, in case you’ve already forgotten the threat you’re under. «You know. Just fucking do it.»

[yoontothemoon]

prompt 3 - skinny love ,

bon iver - skinny love. #svtwritenight

come on skinny love, just last the year.

you picked at the pills of his sweater, a little worse for wear than you remembered. it was a simple act, noticing it still at the top of the pile near your bed. a distance memory of what could have been, you were sure.

it was a little funny, you think, that you could have ever been so upset by the matter. it was a skinny love, something that had barely been nurtured when the two of you had fallen into it. an agreement, a contract between the two of you until something better had come along.

that was always the idea, wasn’t it? to move on once something came around. it was the point of you agreeing to dating him—or rather, fake dating? the both of you had been bothered by other people, so outside of a relationship of your own that you had naturally fallen into each other that you had agreed on a whim. it was something that you had yet to think ahead to, until you had started to pill the sweater.

it was the thought that came to the back of your mind from time to time when you found yourself smiling at the small jokes that junhui told. or the way the multiple ways he would try and hold your hand. you never thought to hold on tighter, a little more as he laced his fingers in yours. it was the small walking dates and the pictures taken by all of his your friends.

it had all been for show, a little less than what you had thought after the fact. maybe it was the fact that you clearly hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you—a little more distance in the moments in between. a little less happy the more you feel, a little more something as you drifted.

how you longed for it have been the other definition.

skinny love: too shy to act on a crush.

you had put yourself in this position and he had wrecked it all.

[lxveille]

write night prompt 03

It comes on slow, but it leaves much faster. Jeonghan realizes this as he listens to the sound of the ceiling fan whirring overhead. It’s the only sound in the room. And as he avoids moving a muscle, he finds himself contemplating whether or not it feels like something’s missing or not. He’d assumed, after all, that he’d wake up with you beside him.

Last night, it had felt as if he’d reached a breaking point. As though a thousand little moments had finally fallen into place and he had seen you clearly for the first time in all the months he’d known you. Days of hardly knowing your name seemed an impossibility; weeks of thinking of you as just another body in the resistance felt like a self-deception.

But now it’s morning. It’s warm in his room, even despite being the only one in it. And it doesn’t feel as if there was an epiphany now.

Maybe there was something else to blame. The wine, or the relief of still being alive.

There’s a beeping sound from his under his sheets, cutting short his thoughts. With a groan, Jeonghan moves his arm out from under them to look at the watch around his wrist. There’s a message from Seungcheol. Urgent, it starts. And that it’s about you.

Something different from last night’s desire begins to well up inside Jeonghan. 

[tearsofsyrup]

unfamiliar faces.  jeonghan.  angst.  539 words.

response to @svtwritenight​‘s prompt 02: character A has unexpectedly run into character B. Write something that answers these questions: where are they, and why is it surprising to find B there?

-

You can quite literally feel your voice getting stuck behind your uvula, thickening the back of your tongue and squeezing your throat shut.

The system manning your autopilot crashes, your ingrained instinct for polite greetings lost in a sudden rush of quickened thumping in your chest and reddish shades coloring your cheeks. Potent scents of coffee fade along with distant chatter from the surrounding customers, nothing existing but you, him and the counter that separates you.

Jeonghan’s eyes stare back at you and your heart jumps once against your rib cage, as if revived after three years of sleeping, waiting. The dark brown framing his pupils is too familiar, reminding you of fingertips combing stray hairs behind your ear, of warm arms encasing your shoulders from behind, of waking up to another’s heartbeat against your cheek. Phantom grass tickles your calves as you remember being led through vibrant meadows by the hold of a sweaty palm, those same brown eyes squinted beneath a midsummer’s sun while looking back at you.

Someone must have stolen his eyes and given them to this man, you conclude. Jeonghan’s cheeks are sunken in and his collar bones poke outward as a result of what you assume is weight loss. A pair of shades hang from the v-neck of his shirt, likely overpriced due to an imprint of a stranger's name, something that probably applies to the slick blazer he wears, as well. Silvers and golds embellish his slender fingers and you begin wondering if this man smells like the big city as much as he looks like it. Not to mention-

“Your hair is blond,” you say before you can catch yourself, beads of sweat itching beneath your visor cap.

After a second, Jeonghan smiles gently and you are sure your lungs malfunction. This man must have stolen his smile, too.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, sheepishness laced within the soft notes of his voice. His voice was also stolen, it seems. “Does it look weird?”

You try to breathe, suddenly turning too hot for what you think you can stand. Erratic beats jump around in your chest.

“Yes, a bit,” you admit, preferring if this man would have stolen Jeonghan’s dark locks, too.

He laughs, hearty and true and for a second you think you will vomit, heart breaking all over again. Old wounds reopen, this strange city boy pouring salt all over and pulling you back to the feeling of being told by the man who owns your heart that he will leave you behind to look for something greater. The man who used to watch you chase butterflies, used to pick you apples from his grandmother’s garden, used to hover over you in the grass and replace the sun with a beaming grin of his own. The man who now stands before you again, lungs probably tainted by gas and fumes, skin pale from hiding behind tall buildings, waist narrow after attempts at trendy diets to fit a certain fashion.

You exhale, swallowing the bile threatening to climb up your throat.

Someone sighs in the queue behind the ghost of your lover and you meet his eyes again, which are filled with unspoken reasons and apologies.

“Would you like to order?”

[shaylee-summerss-stuff]

The rival gang wants to claim a chip that holds vital information of every syndicate in the world so they could hold the most power among all. Each persons of interest, tech, weaponry and labor were carefully being planned and carried out when Chan had enough of the talks.

Being the evil sneak that he is, he recorded the major details with his smart glasses and earpods. Once information were saved, he casually walked out of the planning room, bringing the car key with him and went up the basement to drive back to SVT's headquarters for some saving-the-world job they have to do...

[dinoshaur]

from afar wonwoo ; 323 wc

the five times wonwoo tries, and the one time he succeeds. 

one.

junhui has worked at this bubble tea joint for nearly a year now, and in all that time he has never seen his coworker prepare a cup as meticulously as this. wonwoo is anything if not precise but lord, not this precise. 

he watches, slightly exasperated, as wonwoo painstakingly fills the shaker with oolong milk tea up to its mark before topping it off with ice. he gives it a good shake and decants it into the prepared cup by the sink, careful not to add too much of the ice. the pearls that sit at the bottom have been coated with brown sugar and even then, junhui notes, its syrup has been artfully used to create a glossy brown layer around the inside of the cup.

jeez, all this work for one cup of bubble tea? thank fuck the store is empty or there’d be a very long line of angry customers waiting for their boba fix. 

wonwoo gives the cup a thorough but gentle wipe before sitting it in the machine for the plastic lid to be sealed on. with another quick wipe, he pops it down on the counter with its straw and calls out, “number 626!”

finally, junhui rolls his eyes, turning back to replenish the stock of grass jelly in the fridge. out to corner of his vision he spots you approaching the counter, your friend continuing his story about - he strains to listen - a new guppy? what? 

the bespectacled boy flashes a grin in your direction and hands you the fresh cup of bubble tea, a cup so carefully prepared that junhui could probably say that it’s the best cup wonwoo’s ever made. you take it from him with a brilliant smile on your face, thanking him while linking your arm with your companion. 

with wide eyes, junhui realises that wonwoo probably likes this chick. 

[gallivantingheart]

a few dollars

who?: seokmin x reader(f)

word count: approx. 1240

prompt 1 for @svtwritenight​ “write about a simple deed having wildly unexpected consequences”

a/n: this got a little out of control, but whatever. i did also have this written way earlier, but work. 

You rummage desperately through your purse for that last $1.70 you swore you had. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you can see the growing queue and its restlessness. The work rush could be exceedingly volatile. You sigh, withdrawing your hand - some old receipts and purse fluff.

"Scratch the chai. I'll just have the quiche." You say with a limp grin.

One of the more regular employees, Yeri, smiles sympathetically. "Sure, just the quiche. That'll be $4.30 - do you want it warm or-"

"I'll cover the rest!"

The voice comes from just behind your head. Seokmin. One of the guys in the dispatch department and quiet object of your affections since he transferred from the west office a few months ago. He takes the same lunch breaks as you - a difficult time of restraint everyday. He steps up next to you, pushing his money across the counter.

"Seokmin!" You say loudly. This gets Yeri's brows up in her fringe - yes, everyone knows about your crush. "You really don't have to - thanks!"

He shrugs, a classic sunny smile lighting up his features on that dreary morning. "I don't mind."

"One quiche…"

"Warm, please." You finish shyly.

"Okay, warm and a regular vanilla chai latte, one sugar. That'll be $8.10. Thank you, have a nice day!" Yeri clarifies, winking cheekily.

You stand aside with your receipt, watching as he orders too, dropping a joke or two. At one point he pulls out his phone, showing Yeri something. Seokmin even waves as he departs the line to stand back next to you. His business casual shirt, blazer and trousers cheats his ankles and his briefcase is soft and worn. You try your best not to stare at him for too long.

"Thanks again."

"Like I said, I really don't mind. It's a dollar - I probably won't miss it." He replies.

"Alright then. Hey, how are you finding Suho? I heard he totally stuffed up the department's system for the whole afternoon on Friday!"

Seokmin laughs. "If it isn't that, it's the coffee machine! But he's really good. Other than not being… technologically versed, he's perfect to take over from Baekho."

You chat about office gossip and goings on as you wait, jolting as you hear your order called. Picking up your coffee, you find something weird on the order label.

For: y/n

His number is xxx-xxx-xxxx

Served by Yeri

You shoot a glare at the cashier who doesn't get a chance to look at you due to morning rush. The young man in question is called next and you rush to hide the information. He scoops up his dark coffee from the wood counter and glances at you expectantly.

“Want to walk together?” Seokmin asks.

You grin. “Of course.”

The paper cup sits on your desk for the next two days, empty and forgotten between rude and difficult client emails and stock paperwork. Until Thursday when Jihyo walks past your desk, hand in hand with her boyfriend and then proceeds to complain at lunch that she’s sick of you looking all moony-eyed at Seokmin from across the lunchroom. He even catches you at one point, and you hastily gear your attention to your lunch, lettuce and cucumber suddenly very interesting.

“Can you do something? Say hi?”

You push around bits of cucumber in your side salad. “We do say hi - you’re just never looking.”

She nudges your elbow. “Go on. Sit with him. Try it.”

Your cheeks burn as you duck your head and whine, loud. “In front of everyone? No way!”

You’re glad that Nayeon and Soojung are on their roster day off or you’d be harassed three times over and chased clean out the room. They were relentless, lovingly pushy and infuriatingly teasing. You rock your ankles on the edges of your heels to avoid her.

The, like a cartoon light bulb, your brows shoot up and your shoulders relax.

You have his number.

“I-I’ll sort it, Jihyo. Don’t worry.” You grin. “In fact, if I do, by the end of the week, you owe me $20.”

That would be enough for next week’s morning coffee runs. She gave you an incredulous expression, leaning back in her flimsy plastic chair to cross her arms. There was a reason she was the department team leader.

“Alright, you’re on. If you chicken out though, I get that $20.”

She holds a manicured hand out for you to shake firmly. Deal.

You sit at your desk late that night to cover off the inventory report, your phone sitting heavily in your hands. Back to rocking on the tall ends of your heels. You glare at the number printed on the old cup, willing it to do the hard work for you. It was just a weekend coffee session. Yeah. No big deal.

But what if he said no? Worse - explicitly turned down your interest in him? Even worse than that - nicely, the way Seokmin always does? You snarl at the screen like an animal and shake out your shoulders. Do it!

Your typing is swift and furious as you enter his number in, then a loose text. That eventually gets a little messy as you try and explain yourself, as if you have to.

To: Seokmin (Dispatch)

Hey, it’s Y/N!

I got your number from your work email lol

Just wondering if you felt like a weekend coffee run sometime?

Whatever suits!

Why did you have to lie and say where you got his number? Like he wanted to know. “Whatever suits”? No.

To: Seokmin (Dispatch)

Hey Seokmin, it’s Y/N!

How do you feel about a weekend coffee run?

“Send.” You huff.

You throw your phone away from you, as if you’d been burned. It lands with a clatter, screen down so you leave it at that, turning your attention back to the suddenly far easier inventory report. Well, at least you had $20 bucks waiting for you tomorrow? Happy friday.

You miss your phone light up with the reply, let alone see it, buried under a few spam messages from your mother about your father’s birthday. Then messages from your sister complaining about how your family isn’t talking about hers. It’s not until about halfway to the bus stop - ironically in front of your usual coffee place - that you see it.

From: Seokmin (Dispatch)

Sure! Weekend coffee session sounds great.

Saturday or sunday? (I’m good with either 😋)

You bite your lip to stifle a squeal, doing a happy stompy dance on the sidewalk. Resting on your hip in the alcove of the closed cafe, you type your reply.

To: Seokmin (Dispatch)

Let’s pick saturday?

How’s 9:30? Too early?

From: Seokmin (Dispatch)

Perfect! Date set ☕

To: Seokmin (Dispatch)

My treat then 😊

Date set? He’s gonna give you heart palpitations before you’d even hung out!

You show Jihyo the conversation on Friday, triumphant. “See? Told you I’d sort it. Pay up.”

She gapes like a fish before grinning. “Fair’s fair. I’m really proud of you though. You will be telling me everything after.”

“Yes mum.” You reply flatly, plucking the money from her grasp. “And you just paid for it.”

Jihyo laughs, tugging you to a lunch table exceedingly closer than usual to Seokmin and his friends. Seungkwan smirks at you first, Seokmin following his sight to catch you looking again. You smile now, watching him return your little wave.

All from a few dollars. Huh.

[peachy-writings]

For Now | Kwon Soonyoung

Prompt via @svtwritenight: Hit shuffle on a playlist/album you haven’t listened to in a while. Use the first line of the song as your first line

↳ Love - Syd ft. Dean “You give me something I need in my life.” & Even If It Hurts - Tei Shi ft. Blood Orange “What did you expect from me?”

Member: BFF!Kwon Soonyoung

Content: Angst; Some fluff; Humor; Friends to Lovers; GN Reader; 5.4k words

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol; Soonyoung litters; Brief mentions of vomiting; Illusions to being drunk/tipsy

Masterlist

“You give me something I need in my life.”

“Sure. Say one more sappy thing and I’ll leave your sorry-ass here,” you groan out, eyeing the clearly drunk man beside you that just so happens to be your best friend.

With the way things are looking, though, he may as well have transformed into your worst nightmare. Soonyoung has always been the hopeless romantic type. With a heavy emphasis on the hopeless part. Hell, the instance in which you first met told you that much.

It was a muggy, mid-summer day and you’d been on your way from your parked car to the distant beachfront. You halted when you saw a man of around your age sitting on a bench with a bouquet of vibrant, red roses lying in his lap. His head was dipped downward so that the tip of his nose was pointed toward the sidewalk.

Continually, he hummed a love song that had been popular on the radio at the time, mumbling a word or two every handful of seconds. You didn’t know why, as you tended to avoid strangers if you could, but you stopped to stand in front of him. His head shot up when he saw your shoes appear on the ground he was woefully staring at.

Hope was written across his features, but it soon died at the sight of your unfamiliar face. His quick shift in emotion almost made you laugh, but you had enough decency not to kick the man while he was down. From his posture, with the addition of the bountiful roses with no clear recipient, you deduced that he had been stood up.

“Hello. Not to sound rude, but who are you?”

“Just a curious onlooker,” you answered, not really knowing where you were going with this impromptu interaction. “I saw you and thought you should know that those roses are gonna wilt if you don’t put them in some water soon.”

His dejected expression turned into a flat out deadpan at your words. So, you weren’t very smooth, or as empathetic as you’d initially thought upon approaching him…

“Well, then,” he sighed out as he clutched the bunch of stems in a tight fist, tipping them in your direction, “either you can have them, or I can toss them into the ocean. Plenty of water there.”

An eyebrow rose and you reached out to take the flowers he held out. But then he pulled them away and smirked at you in a strangely aloof manner. You nearly scoffed.

“On second thought, I think I deserve these more. How do you feel now?” His eyes gazed at you with a certain tenacity that shocked you.

And then you laughed. His snarky little grin sunk off his face, just as he sunk back into the bench. He groaned and chucked the bouquet onto the empty space next to him, hands coming up to rub over his face.

“I guess I feel a little like you do right now,” you answered genuinely, folding your arms and watching as he looked up at you with a slow blink.

“Well, you’d be correct in that assumption.”

“Can I sit?”

He gestured limply to where the roses were lying on the scratchy wooden bench. You sat and placed them in your lap, too invested in this unknown man and his relationship problems to care about meeting up with your friend and their partner on the beach anymore. This was far more interesting than third-wheeling two of the most PDA-forward individuals you’d ever had the misfortune of keeping company. And he seemed upset. You were genuinely curious about him and wanted to try to brighten his day.

“So, what’s the story? A no-show date, proposal gone wrong?” You asked as you let your fingers rub a velvety petal that had detached from one of the flowers.

“First one,” he responded, elbows planted on his thighs with his chin in his hands. His head turned so that he could look at you when he spoke.

You acknowledged his words with a deep hum. “I’m guessing… third date?”

“First.”

“Damn.”

“Right?”

“These were expensive, huh?” You rotated the bunch of roses and spotted a sticker near the base that told you he had dropped nearly 40 dollars on the bouquet. “Were they that fine? 40-dollar-roses fine?”

He chuckled. “Not really. I just like making a good impression. And roses are romantic. They’re pretty,  and apparently fun to desecrate for nosey weirdos like yourself,” he quipped as he watched you rip up the petal you’d been fidgeting with during your conversation.

“Hey, it fell off after you threw it on the bench. That’s fair game in my opinion. Also, question: Why the hell would you spend so much money on flowers for a first date? Personally, I’d rather have someone buy food or something else that would be more useful than some flowers that’ll rot in less than a week.”

A dry look was exchanged between the two of you before he smiled and sat up. “Alright, then. Wanna go eat something?”

“Are you asking me on a date, person-that-I-don’t-even-know-the-name-of?” You crooned humorously.

“Soonyoung. And, no. I’m all dated-out for the next month, at least. But, if you wanna be friends, I’m down. It’s not every day that someone attempts to comfort you about your no-show date and then ends up making fun of you.”

“Well, I’m Y/N, and my tactics worked—somewhat, so I’d call that a success,” you responded with a grin. “And I’d be happy to grab a bite with you. But seriously, those roses are gonna die, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung promptly snatched the bouquet from its place in your lap, walked over to the railing on the edge of the low cliff, and chucked it into the ocean as if shooting a basketball.

This is the moment you knew you were going to be good friends. Or that you’d at least have to stick around long enough to get it through his head that what he had done that day was considered a crime against the environment.

So, here you are now, sitting next to the same, tragically fanciful man you'd met that day on your way to the beach. And once again, you are left with the task of providing him support after yet another failed date. Only, this time, things are a bit different than they’d been previously.

You’ve always told Soonyoung that if he were to call you up, drunk off his ass and asking for a ride, you would hang up. Which is why he created a loophole by taking you with him to the bar. You don’t like the idea of him drinking while alone or sad, so you maintain the duty of babysitting him and regulating his alcohol intake as best you can.

“No, I’m serious. Ever since we met, you’ve been there for me. Always. Even if you-“ Soonyoung’s words are interrupted by a hiccup “-act like you don’t care… I know that you’ll always be there for me.”

Soonyoung is sat right beside you, his body turned to face you as he speaks. There’s a definite slur to his speech and a hazy look in his eyes that prompted you to subtly alert the bartender to cut him off a little while ago. He is a puddle of goo at this point, becoming extremely sentimental and directing his beam of never-ending affection at you for the night.

You’re used to it, knowing that he’s just that kind of person; someone who is perceived as flirty, even when he isn’t trying to be so. Someone that is as charming as he is absolutely hilarious. Someone that could fool you into thinking he has feelings for you when he’s just in one of his emotional moods.

Not that you don’t enjoy pretending as if you are the apple of his eye in those moments.

Not that you’d ever give him an inkling as to the growing feelings you harbor for him.

“Yeah, well that’s my job as a decent human being. You’re my friend and I’m supposed to look out for you. But you do make it very hard for me to do that when you shower with the mushiest lines I’ve ever heard in my life,” you respond, punctuating your statement with a dramatic gagging sound.

Soonyoung giggles, and his beaming smile is displayed to the world for a short while. Until he remembers why he’s here, at the bar, after having dragged you out of your home to comfort him for the nth time this month alone.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” He asks, bottom lip jutting out a bit to display his sudden shift in mood.

“Of what?”

“Of dealing with me?”

Your eyebrows draw together in disbelief. “No,” you state, firmer than you intend. “I don’t ‘deal’ with you, Soonyoung. I care about you. You may rely on me a lot to cheer you up after whatever goes on in your dating life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t rely on you, too.”

“But I never do things for you. You never ask me for help with anything. I’m useless in this relationship.” He raises his hands and then slaps his thighs to punctuate his statement.

You shake your head at him, mentally counting the amount of drinks he’s had before deciding that he’s drunk enough to probably—hopefully—not remember what you say next.

“You’d never be useless to me. Even if the only time we spent together was just you crying in my lap over some person that broke your heart, I’d be there. Because I’d get to hold you and be near you. And I’d be the one you were going home to… That’s selfish, isn’t it?”

His lips part to respond, but then you stand up and he shuts his mouth, blinking at you in an admittedly adorable manner.

“C’mon. Let’s go.”

“We’re going home?”

“Yup. Get up.” You usher him along with a roll of your wrist.

When he finally slides off of his barstool, he grabs onto your arm and gives you a look that nearly melts your heart. “Can we go to your home?”

“Yes, Soonyoung.”

He appears to have already forgotten about your roundabout way of confessing to him, excitedly babbling in your ear about something you don’t register because you’re too busy thinking about the way he so easily leans into you. You wonder if you’ll ever get the guts to sincerely tell him how you really feel.

You suppose that having him by your side, as you’d told him before, is enough.

You tell yourself that it is enough.

“What did you expect from me?” Soonyoung asks, a little smirk curling the edges of his lips as he holds an ice-cream cone in both hands.

Your eyes roll in his direction, but you can’t help but to admire how easy it is to please him. One cone from a drive-thru fast food restaurant and you’ve just become his favorite person in the world—as if you weren’t already.

“Hey, I’m not gonna judge you for your lifestyle,” you respond, holding your hands up in defense.

The two of you are sitting in the parking lot of the aforementioned food joint, the fluorescent lights from the sign out front casts a warm glow onto Soonyoung’s face. You are turned in your seat to look at him, to observe the way he practically inhales his treat, nearly dropping it a few times.

“Stop making it sound like I do bad things,” Soonyoung complains in between small nibbles at the beige colored cone. “Can’t a man enjoy a fifty cent ice-cream in the middle of winter without getting slandered?”

You sniff in amusement but don’t respond, busying yourself with queueing up some songs for the ride home. Upon feeling eyes on you, you look up at Soonyoung and quirk a brow. A semi-defeated sigh leaves you when you realize what that looks means.

The drive home is fairly uneventful. Soonyoung immediately takes control of the aux—as he usually does—and belts along to every song that is played, absolutely singing his heart out. The windows are cracked open about an inch, even though it is exceptionally chilly out, and the cool wind that kisses your skin is soothing in a cathartic kind of way. The contrast of the freezing, winter air and the processed heat erupting from the vents causes you to sink into your seat. Two opposites clash and create something lukewarm and comforting.

Your gaze shifts to Soonyoung when you can afford it, at stop signs and red lights, and you smile every time. He is full of passion, and unabashedly so, as he holds an invisible microphone in one hand, the other animatedly flailing to the cadence of his voice. And then the light turns green, or you notice that you’ve been stopped for too long, and you step on the gas, embarrassed. Disconcerted by the way he so easily gains your full attention by simply being himself.

The turning point in the night is when you arrive home, park the car, get out, and Soonyoung immediately throws up in a nearby bush. You thought you’d done a good enough job at monitoring his drinking, but the sight of him with his hands on his knees, spitting into that poor bush, tells you otherwise.

“You okay?” You ask as you rub circles onto his back. He hums and slowly stands straight, once again latching onto you by the arm so that you can lead him into your home. “You know, I’m a little worried about you,” you say as you help him out of his coat. “You usually drink more than that, right?”

Soonyoung shrugs, continuing to remain silent. You sense that something is up with him, but you let your worries die in your throat when he waddles off to the bathroom. As he freshens up, you start on the routine you’ve established for whenever Soonyoung spends the night: grab the extra blankets and pillows, peel your covers to one side and set up Soonyoung’s side. Always him on the left and you on the right. The domestic quality to it all makes your heart ache in your chest.

He enters the room not too long after, gracing you with a soft smile when he sees you waiting there on your designated side of the bed for him. You smile back, gesturing to your dresser wordlessly. There are always clothes in there that he leaves after hanging out or sleeping over. It just became a habit for you to wash them and place them in your dresser until you decided to give up on reminding him to remember his clothes completely. That’s how the Soonyoung drawer was born; another thing that’s painfully domestic when you think about it for too long.

Soonyoung crawls into the spot next to you, laying on his belly and burying his face in a pillow. A long pause comes and passes.

“It was the fifty cent ice-cream, wasn’t it?”

His giggle is muffled until he turns his head to look up at you where you sit, back against the headboard. For the second time tonight, you roll your eyes at him, but your overall countenance remains lighthearted.

“If I say ‘yes’, you’re just gonna make fun of me.”

“Of course I will,” you reply with a faux warmth that has him pouting up at you.

A small yawn leaves his lips and you watch as his eyes slowly fall shut, his features relaxing as you assume he falls asleep. You allow yourself to openly take him in, even going so far as to reach over and brush the hair off his forehead once you deem it safe to do so. Your eyes wander to the clock on your nightstand and your brows shoot up when you realize that it’s nearly 2 in the morning. Tonight’s excursion lasted longer than you’d planned for, but that’s a thing that comes with Soonyoung: forgetting about time itself in his presence.

With one final look at his peaceful face, you heft yourself off of the bed and go to turn off the light.

“Where are you going?”

You stop in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder to see Soonyoung turned on his side, looking at you. An unexpected flutter starts up in your stomach and you have to look away from him before your thoughts bury you further in the rut you’ve dug yourself into. Soonyoung’s question is answered by the flick of the light switch. Silence follows, aside from the rustling of the covers as you crawl back into bed. Your heart races in your chest as you wonder if he’s been awake this whole time. He’s sobered up enough to question the affectionate way you touched his forehead earlier.

“Goodnight,” you breathe, even though you are on your back, staring wide eyed at the ceiling. Or trying to, at least, as it’s too dark to see much of anything now.

“What’s wrong?” He simpers, and you want to bury yourself in your blankets and scream at the softness of his voice.

“It’s late; you should go to sleep, Soonyoung.”

You feel the bed shift, hear the blankets rustle as he moves. And then he’s in your ear. “You’ve been acting weird today. What is it?”

He moves again, and then his knuckles brush against your arm. Your face burns and you let out a sigh in an attempt to steady your shaky breathing. He is right beside you. You can hear his quiet breaths, can feel them tickle your ear.

“Were you lying about what you said at the bar?” He asks when you don’t answer his previous question.

“What do you mean?” Your entire body tenses up when he mentions the bar. The thinly veiled confession you'd made earlier replays in your mind and presses a firm hand down on your chest, holding you in place.

“You said you rely on me, too. But now you won’t tell me what’s going on. C’mon, Y/N. Talk to me. It’s okay,” he says, speaking slowly as his fingers curl around your arm and his nose presses against your shoulder.

“Soonyoung… I-I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” he finally digresses, “but you better tell me.”

You hum, but you are praying he won’t ask about it after you wake up. Have you really been acting strangely? Can he sense your emotions? Why is he still so close to you?

A brief pause.

“Goodnight,” you say again, eyes still wide open.

Soonyoung nudges your temple with his forehead and lets out a soft sigh that warms the side of your face for a brief moment. You are still paralyzed with nerves, mind swimming with the possibility that when you inevitably do confess to him, he won’t return your feelings. It doesn’t seem that life-shattering to the logical side of your mind; you’re not the first person to fall in love with their best friend, and Soonyoung is one of the most understanding people in the world. Nothing about the way he interacts with you would change, and that should be comforting.

But to the emotional side of your mind, that fact only gives you a sliver of relief. The problem here is you. You aren’t sure if you’d be able to continue receiving his caring touches and mushy words without reading too much into them, as you have been doing for quite some time. The thought of you having to distance yourself from Soonyoung because of the sappy, hopeless romantic part of yourself that you never let see the light of day pains you. It fills you with convoluted feelings that drown you from the inside in their attempt to free themselves from your sealed lips.

What makes your agony infinitely worse is that the person fueling all of these intense and complex emotions is currently beside you. Ever so slowly scooting himself closer to you. You realize this when you are pulled out of your own mind by the feeling of Soonyoung gingerly placing his arm over your stomach.

Why is he still awake?

“I can't sleep,” he whispers, as if reading your mind.

The weight of Soonyoung’s arm on your torso is so comfortingly upsetting to you. You don’t want him to move away, but your conscience is telling you to push his arm off. To not take his platonic affection and contort it into something else.

“Why not?” You ask, if only to distract yourself from the heap of internal conflict that runs rampant through your mind.

“I can tell you’re upset about something right now, and I wanna make sure you’re okay. You know I can’t rest if you’re not happy.”

His tone is knowing, perceptive in a manner that you can’t argue with. Being secretly in love with your best friend is a hard thing to pull off when said best friend can read you like a book. Even when you are positive that you aren’t showing any sign of distress, he always knows when you’re overthinking or just generally upset.

“Really?” You keep your tone casual, remaining aloof in the face of his spot-on analysis. “What makes you think I’m upset?”

“... I don’t know. I can just feel it,” he replies with genuinity woven into the fabric of his voice.

“You can feel it,” you echo with the hope that your teasing timbre will lead to a more lighthearted conversation.

“Stop.”

Soonyoung’s voice is clear in your ear as that single syllable punches you in the gut, rendering you speechless. He is being completely serious, and you’ve just gone and insulted him by trying to joke about the way he’s explaining himself. You want to sink into yourself until your atoms collapse into a black hole that wipes you out of existence. You’re being an asshole.

“Sorry.”

“Why do you do that?” You hum questionably, urging him to continue. “Whenever I talk about my feelings or say something from my heart, you almost always brush it off. Or-or you act like I’m being silly. Why do you act like you don’t have emotions at all when it comes to me?”

Soonyoung’s voice never raises once when he says this, but his syllables are sharp, punctuated by the agitation he feels in the moment. You don’t understand. The relationship you guys have has always worked in this manner. You’ve always been frank and sarcastic. Since the day you met him, he’s known that this is how you act, how you function, how you cope when faced with emotional situations.

You can acknowledge the fact that it was wrong of you to joke about his sincere feelings, but when it comes to things like this, he’s never this vehement. You’ll receive a glare or an ‘I’m being serious’ under circumstances where Soonyoung wants you to listen without the usual commentary, but never this. Never him calling you out for the personality and habits that make up, well, you. Never him accusing you of being void of emotion when you've had long talks in the past about the way you respond to that kind of thing.

It’s in your nature to pull away from soft feelings, and in his to nudge that softness back at you; this relationship is symbiotic, evening one other out naturally without one having to push for the other to be a certain way. So why is he dissecting you and telling you that you lack a heart within your chest?

“It’s a defense mechanism. You know that.”

Soonyoung’s arm retracts from where it lays over your stomach. Your chest aches at the loss of contact, but even more so, it burns with dejection. You suppose you hurt him so he hurt you, and it feels twice as bad.

“From what?” You hear him move and assume that he is sitting up now. “Y/N, I know you’re practically the opposite of me, but it makes me wonder sometimes—When I’m looking at you and you look so cold, I wonder if you feel the way that I do. Because you do all these things behind the scenes, like putting my clothes in a drawer just for me and keeping my favorite snacks on hand. And you listen to me talk about my train wreck of a love life and give me somewhere where I can go to stop the loneliness from killing me but—When I try to give back, it’s like you don’t care.”

“Soon-“

“You smile and accept my gifts and hugs, but you retract right after. You almost look… disgusted. So, is it me? Am I just a basket case that you can’t get rid of because you’re already in too deep? Are you lying when you say things like you rely on me, too, or you like that you're the one I come home to? Do you think I’m stupid? That I don’t remember what you said and then brushed off like it was nothing? Jumped to shove me into the car so I could go to bed and forget about it all the next day? Tell me what’s going on, because it feels like you’re playing with my heart.”

It’s silent for a long while as you process everything he’s just said. You shift to sit up on your bottom, feeling strange about remaining on your back, and you wish that you could see him right now. His voice became choked at the end of his deploration and you can only assume that he is near—if not in—tears at the moment.

“I-I don't really know how to respond, Soonyoung. You said a lot of things, and I understood them, but what’s the reason for all of this? I feel like this is about something bigger, because you never…” You come up empty handed when you delve for the right words to describe your fast paced thoughts.

“No. It’s fine. I shouldn't have said anything.”

Soonyoung’s watery voice and the sniffle you hear after he speaks confirms that he is now crying. You aren’t sure what to do. Your mind is still stuck on some of the things he said.

‘I wonder if you feel the way that I do.’

‘It feels like you’re playing with my heart.’

These are some of the things you think about when Soonyoung is in front of you. So, is it that he feels the same way for you, or does he just care about you that much platonically? Either is reasonable in your mind, based on the affectionate way he talks about his other friends. You try to be unbiased, but you want it to be the former option so badly you can’t bear it.

“Soonyoung, it’s not fine. Those are your feelings, and it seems like you’ve been keeping them inside for a while… If you want me to work on myself, I will. I don’t like being the reason you’re crying.” He sniffles again but remains silent otherwise. “Please say something.”

You reach out into the darkness and find his elbow with your hand. Clumsily, you snuffle toward him on your knees until they bump against his leg. He lets out a small sigh and his arm slightly moves, but not out of your grasp. You let your hand run up his arm, finding his hand, and his damp face underneath.

“Soonyoung?”

His hand grasps yours and slowly pulls it behind his shoulder so that you lean in closer to him. Immediately, your free arm finds his waist and you push him toward you, so that you are holding him to your chest. His moist cheek presses against your collar bones and his hair tickles your upturned chin, your bodies awkwardly stretched to meet one another in your sitting positions.

“I do care,” you mumble. “I just don’t know how to express how much I care without going over the line.”

He finally speaks, his cheek leaving your chest. “If there’s a line, I’ve been walking it for a while.”

“Please stop speaking in metaphors; it’s confusing.”

Soonyoung lets out a frustrated groan and suddenly his hands find your cheeks. He squishes your face between his palms and you find yourself becoming annoyed with his knack for being unresponsive when you need clarification, but your grievances don’t get the chance to come out. There is a warmth that blocks your lips from moving, and then it is gone. The only reason you understand what has just happened is the unfamiliar brush of Soonyoung’s nose against the side of yours when he pulls away. Your hands clutch his shirt where they rest on his back, and you let out a noise of utter confusion.

“This is scary,” you hear Soonyoung say, the vibration of his voice felt through the small pocket of air between your lips. “But I couldn’t say it, so I had to show you.”

“You… Do you like me?”

Your brain is going at approximately one mile an hour, the shock of it all nearly slowing your thoughts to a halt.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I—oh, god, I’m gonna say it—I love you. In the most not-as-best-friends-way. Or, maybe as best friends. But, like, best friends that want to get married—in the future, of course. Not right now. I’m not proposing or anything-“

“Soonyoung.”

He falls silent, his nervous babbling halting at the sound of his own name. You aren’t sure if you can say those three words to him yet, if you can find any words at all to express the overwhelming amount in which you agree with him. So you close the gap between your faces once again, bringing a hand to the back of his neck and pressing your lips to his for a longer, more drawn out kiss. When you pull away, he wraps his arms around your body and gently lowers the two of you down onto the bed. You keep your grasp on him, afraid of letting go and losing him in the darkness once again, and he chuckles blithely.

“We’re idiots,” he says, but with the most jovial lilt to his voice.

“I think you’re correct,” you reply as your fingers trail down his arm and find his hand with yours. Your palm flattens against his and your fingers intertwine.

“I think you’re the only person that would kiss me back after I threw up an hour before.”

You blink. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“Of course. I’m not a monster.”

“Hey, Soonyoung?” He hums, chest rumbling under your head. “I would’ve kissed you even if you didn’t brush your teeth.”

He laughs. A yawn leaves you as fatigue sets in; both physical and emotional. “Is that your way of saying ‘I love you, too’?”

“I guess so. For now.”

“Gross.”

You fall asleep like that, wrapped up in one another’s arms on top of the messy covers. There are many things that need to be discussed in the morning, and a lot of work that needs to go into your newly founded relationship. It’s scary, falling in love with your best friend, but there is nothing you wouldn’t do to make him happy. And you are positive he feels the same way.