2022 commentfics/drabbles
Jan. 28th, 2024 09:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
furniishedCompilation of shortform fic posted to 17hols or elsewhere in 2022
The only heartbreaker
Ship/Member: Beomgyu/Taehyun/Hueningkai (txt)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Yearning, Love triangles
They’re almost at the front of the line when Taehyun’s phone rings.
“It’s my mom,” he says, surprised. Premeditation is an inherited trait; no one in his family is the type to call out of the blue. The rest of the conversation is vague, with Taehyun mostly nodding and making sounds of assent. Beomgyu resists the urge to pick at a callous on his thumb.
Finally Taehyun hangs up, blinking quickly. “My sister’s having her baby.”
Beomgyu's head snaps up. “She’s having her – ?”
“Woohoo!” Beomgyu’s echo is cut off by Hueningkai, who grabs Taehyun by the shoulders and starts shaking him excitedly. “Uncle Taehyun!! Uncle Taehyun has arrived!” Taehyun’s tense expression melts at Hueningkai’s joyful manhandling, their laughter joining the cacophony of the amusement park.
“I have –” Taehyun flaps his arms halfheartedly to stop Hueningkai’s jostling. “I have to go – to the hospital.”
“Now?” Beomgyu blurts out, but the two don’t hear him, their heads bent over Taehyun’s phone as he figures out the best way to get to Gangnam. How many people does it take to call a cab? Just then, the line starts moving, the ferris wheel ahead slowing to a crawl to exchange its passengers. Beomgyu shuffles sideways, trying to close the distance without creating a new one.
Taehyun notices Beomgyu's awkward gait and and steps around the metal railing, excusing himself from the queue. Hueningkai moves to follow him, but Taehyun waves him off, telling him to stay.
“The car’s almost here. It’s family-only hours now, anyway.”
Beomgyu looks between the two. A roller coaster roars over their heads.
“Taehyun-ah,” he says, just as a stream of messages starts coming into Taehyun’s phone, the repeated ringtones overlapping boisterously.
“Yeah?” Taehyun looks at him curiously, ignoring the steady vibration in his hand.
What had he been about to say? Don’t go? Stay for one more ride? Miss the birth of your nephew because Hueningkai and I aren’t really friends and have nothing to talk about without you?
Beomgyu looks down. “Here.” He thrusts the small plushie that he’d won at one of the carnival games towards Taehyun. It’s a teddy bear wearing a cowboy hat and a fringed jacket. The sequins on the outfit probably aren’t suitable for newborns. “For the baby.”
Taehyun grins. “Thanks, hyung,” he says, reaching out to take the furry thing.
The ferris wheel grinds to a halt with the sound of shearing metal, waiting for Beomgyu and Hueningkai to get on the next empty car. The strip of lights along the side illuminates the chipped paint, the rust staining the door at the hinges. They don't look at each other as they board. The capsule creaks through its ascent.
“You like Taehyun, don’t you?” Hueningkai breaks the silence just as they reach the top and the operator slows the ferris wheel to a crawl to give the passengers the sunset view they’d been waiting for. Beomgyu’s stomach drops. What timing, he thinks, leaning his forehead against the window. Had Hueningkai always been so straightforward? He can hear the people in the next car cooing over the immodest orange sky, Seoul’s skyline sprawling to the east.
It’s not like Beomgyu doesn’t know the answer to the question. He’s always been one to indulge in his own yearning, doodles of hearts and names and future domestic bliss crowding right up against drawings of racecars and jagged-tooth beasts in the margins of his middle school notebooks.
He exhales, his breath clouding up a small patch of the window. He can’t tell if it’s just his imagination, that it’s colder up here, or if the change in altitude is really enough to make him shiver. He draws an X through the condensation.
“I think he likes you, hyung.”
Beomgyu looks up at Hueningkai sharply, a bolt of feeling in his chest. “He told you?”
Hueningkai shakes his head. His hand balls into a fist against his shaking leg.
“I can just tell.”
Beomgyu thinks about the way Taehyun’s face lights up when he sees Hueningkai, joy spreading with a clarifying urgency across his sharp features. The crook of his elbow when he threads his hand through the taller boy’s waiting arm. Their heads bowed close together, the vertebrae along the back of Hueningkai's pale neck as he cranes his head downwards.
“You too, huh.” He's surprised at the accusatory tone that bleeds into his voice, but he doesn't try hard to hide it.
It’s like they’re in space, suddenly, like all sound has been sucked out of the cabin. The sky bleeds purple.
“Are we going to fight?” Beomgyu says, only half joking. Hueningkai snorts softly, looking out the window. The ferris wheel jolts back to its normal pace for the final half revolution.
“You’re good at keeping secrets, right hyung?”
Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. Most people in their circle would say that he was a blabbermouth, not realizing that his constant chattering was just a way to pad and illuminate the protective space around a dense, absorptive center of quiet.
Beomgyu’s phone chimes, and both of them look down at the muffled, glowing rectangle in his jacket pocket. The attendant pulls the door of the car open, breaking the vacuum and exposing them once again to the neon and noise of the carnival. The sun has set quickly, leaving everything awash with the milky blue of twilight. A sheepish thrill floods through Beomgyu when he checks the notification, and he climbs out first to hide the smile on his face. Hueningkai follows, hands in his pockets. The fog on the window fades completely, leaving behind only two intersecting streaks across the dirty glass.
***
The price we pay
in response to this prompt byinfrequencies
original comment is here
Ship/Member: Minghao & Wonwoo
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Dystopian idolverse au, Vaguely based on Never Let Me Go, Discussions of pregnancy including implied miscarriage
“Noona, stay healthy, okay? I'm really happy for you — I’m cheering you on!” Minghao smiles, cheeks rounding as he waves at the phone. The woman on screen grins back, leaning backwards so her hands are visible in the frame. She doesn't have to move too much — her belly is large, putting some distance between her and the phone propped up on her desk. In the blur of her waving arms Minghao sees a clunky, industrial-looking band strapped tight around her wrist, a bright red LED blinking at him stoically from its casing of metal and black plastic. He blinks back, momentarily stunned, and then the phone is passed down the line to Wonwoo and he's greeted by a new blank screen.
“Hyung, did you talk to that pregnant carat today?” Seungkwan asks when the fansign is over and they're waiting for the managers to bring the cars around. He's rubbing at his fingers, trying to get some of the ink marks off so he can take a selfie.
“Mhmm.” Minghao grunts in acknowledgement. “She’s seven months along.”
“Woah.” Seungkwan sneaks a glance. “Do you think…” He trails off. Tact is something Seungkwan has always prided himself on, though his curiosity is hardly one to go gently into that good night.
“Seungkwan-ah, it's bad luck to ask about a baby this close to the due date,” Jeonghan drawls from the right of Minghao. It doesn't sound true, but Minghao has no way of knowing for sure. He's never seen a woman this far along in a pregnancy through natural means. He doubts any of them have. A long time ago there had been a bump, he'd run his hands across it as his mother smiled down at him through tears, and then the flash of ambulance lights, and then his father, this time, crying, a pile of bills on the kitchen table, and Minghao had said, Ba, don't worry, and called the number of the entertainment company the next day and signed the contract and boarded the plane. Hope was a thing that money could buy, in this world, and even as a child Minghao had known that. What he hadn’t realized was that the damage had already been done, the price of two losses in a row much greater than even his eventual success could afford.
“And leave the marker stains. It's endearing.” Seungkwan gives Jeonghan a look, then brings his phone up to snap some finger heart selfies.
Later, Wonwoo finds Minghao in the kitchen eating a simple meal. It's dinnertime, but everyone else prefers to spend the short respite between schedules sleeping, or at least sprawled out on their beds staring at the ceiling, recovering whatever energy they can muster after three weeks of nonstop promotions. Wonwoo roots around in the fridge for a bit, then says, “my cousin got pregnant when I was young.”
“Oh.” Minghao puts his chopsticks down, not sure what to ask.
“No one thought she would make it. I mean, Changwon…” Wonwoo shakes his head. “The radiation and all. I was just a kid, so I didn't really understand why it was such a big deal. My parents helped, driving her to the tests, filling out paperwork. The government gave the whole family compensation.” He chuckles, a bit darkly. “I still remember all the good food we had that year.”
“What — what happened to her?”
Wonwoo takes a sip of his water. “She was determined to have the baby. It was hell on her body, but she wouldn't give up. She was really careful, did everything right, and in the end,” he tilts his head, “he came out perfectly healthy. No major complications or anything. What were the odds?” Wonwoo stretches his arms. “A natural-born baby is precious — they wouldn't use him for donations. The government paid them to move to Busan. We thought they were set for life. Just…”
He only hesitates for a moment, letting his arms fall to his sides. It's not like he's above being cruel, nor is any one of them too precious to hurt at this point, after all the years they've spent together. Besides, Wonwoo knows that sparing Minghao the truth for the sake of his feelings would be too obvious, with the way the other is watching him now; what's more, it would be taken as an even greater cruelty.
“Once they know you're capable of a natural pregnancy and birth — there are things they can get from your body that they can't from IVF, or from clones just yet. They monitor you closely, run tests, take blood, eggs, whatever. Maybe they make you try again, and again. You're basically a full-time lab subject.” Wonwoo puts the drink back in the fridge. “My cousin gave me some of the money she got for it all, so I could come to Seoul to be a trainee.”
Minghao nods. “She was fortunate, though, still. In a way. I mean, she had the child she always wanted.”
Down the hall, the members begin to stir, rubbing at their tired faces and swearing quietly when their palms come away smeared with carefully applied concealer and eyeshadow.
Wonwoo’s phone pings, a reminder for them to leave, and he dismisses the notification without looking. “Yeah. And she made it out.”
***
All your cells want freedom
in response to this prompt bylatespring
original comment is here
Ship/Member: Minghao/Soonyoung
Major tags: N/A
Additional tags: Perf team as the coast guard maybe, Shared ambition as a love language
Minghao thought he knew how to swim well enough, until Soonyoung threw him into the open water.
He wasn’t quite like the others when he started, hoping to float on a combination of bravado and desperation alone. Still, he chafed a bit at the brightly colored thing that Junhui held out when he stepped up to the ledge that first time.
“I’m alright.” The plastic buckle scraped along the tile as Junhui lowered his arm. And he was, limbs whipping through the water in a flurry, so quick it was hard to track him until he resurfaced. At the other end of the pool, Soonyoung watched the younger boy towel off with a thoughtful expression.
The first time Minghao saw the ocean, he thought that the whole world was meant to be underwater. The vastness of it seemed poised to overtake every dry thing, sand and sky alike. He would’ve given in. Out there, submerged under an infinite, unbroken expanse – that was where he wanted to be.
“It’s not right.” Soonyoung grabbed Minghao’s wrist, guiding him through the motion. “Like this – cleaner.” He bent Minghao’s arm at an unnatural angle, but the other boy didn’t protest; instead, he committed the discomfort to memory, the twinge in his forearm when he repeated the gesture an indication that he was doing it properly.
The first time Minghao saw a storm up close, it felt like he was inside his own heart. He got out of bed and went to the window to watch the waves rip across the dock, the steady roar of deep water in the distance as loud as the raindrops ricocheting off the roof of their dingy dormitory on the shore.
“Scared?”
A gust of wind shredded through a flag hanging off of a boat anchored in the shallows, white and red strips fluttering stark and pitiful. He bit his lip.
“But?”
Minghao turned to look at the boy standing next to him. His eyes were bright, focused, tracking across the sea like he was watching a play unfold on stage.
“But?”
Soonyoung tore his eyes off of the water and met Minghao’s gaze. “But.” He knocked a knuckle against Minghao’s chest, right at his breastbone. “There’s always a but. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Minghao hesitated, trying to wrangle his thoughts into words. Soonyoung nodded affirmatively.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he walked away from the window. “We’ll be out there soon enough.”
Soonyoung didn’t know that Minghao knew. He was a light sleeper, and the bunk beds were cheap. Any motion on the bottom mattress reverberated all the way to the top. He never dared to lean over the side of the frame when he heard Soonyoung get up – only after he heard the front door close quietly would Minghao scamper down the ladder and press his face against the window. The sight of the sail unfurling in the middle of the night seemed to him the closest he’d ever come to believing in angels. He tried often to stay up until Soonyoung returned to land, like the subject of an ancient prophecy. Many mornings it was Junhui nudging him awake with a slippered foot, handing him a cup of tea instead of asking what he was doing on the bedroom floor.
//
“Waters are rough,” Soonyoung says from the cabin as they hit the open waters and the shore finally recedes from view. He grins. “It’s a good day.”
Minghao’s letting out the slack when Junhui reaches over and unbuckles the life vest hanging loosely around his shoulders. He glances over at the older boy, who just shrugs and goes back to studying the day’s report.
“Minghao,” Soonyoung calls from the edge of the boat. He loops the rope around the cleat and tugs twice for good measure before walking over to their captain, who puts a strong hand on his back. “How ya feeling today?”
“Alright.” Minghao tries to assess Soonyoung’s energy. He puts on a calm face for the rest of them, but it’s hard to hide the way he comes alive when they’re out at sea, his heart matching the rhythm of the boat rocking on the choppy waters. “I had –”
He doesn't get to finish the sentence. Minghao’s arms are wrenched backwards as Soonyoung pulls his life vest off. Before he can react, a hand hits him squarely in between the shoulderblades, and he feels himself – falling.
Even when he’s pitching into the middle of the ocean, Minghao has the wherewithal not to scream in front of the others. He plunges into the water with his mouth closed, a stream of bubbles expelling from his nose as he fights the urge to gasp, eyes screwed tightly shut against the brine. He can tell that he’s hurtling quickly, deep already – the water is cold, cold. He tries to orient himself, remember how many times he somersaulted on the way down. Blood rushes to his head. His fingers tingle. It’s cold.
When you hit the water, your body responds immediately by decreasing your heart rate to slow the use of oxygen. Blood is diverted away from the limbs and towards the vital organs, filling the cells to balance out the external pressure. In other words, the body is focused on how to keep you alive while you’re submerged. The brain is what fights to reach the surface.
Training kicks in as his momentum slows, and Minghao picks a direction, long legs propelling him forward. After a few seconds of moving through the water he starts to fear that he’s actually going deeper, that's he's in so much shock he can’t tell up from down. He tries to get any indication – the heat of the distant sun against his skin, the sound of the waves – but each moment feels exactly like the last one, except for the ever-increasing pressure inside his chest. He’s about to open his eyes, bracing himself for the sting of salt, when he realizes that the waters are getting choppier, knocking against his outstretched hand, pushing him sideways as he swims. He’s close.
The first thing Minghao does when he breaks through the surface is breathe. The second thing he does is open his eyes, and the sight of Kwon Soonyoung's face hits him at the same time as that first lungful of air. He's in the water, half a meter away, blonde hair like a beacon, treading easily with an orange life vest on and a buoy in his right hand.
Soonyoung watches as Minghao gasps, blinking the stars out of his vision. Watches as his frantic limbs slow, as his body readjusts to the weight of living. “Come on,” he says after a few moments, turning back to the boat. Minghao swims after him, the buoy left bobbing in the waves.
Over dinner, he thinks he catches Junhui staring at him across the table.
“What,” Minghao mumbles self-consciously, reaching for another piece of kimbap. Junhui just shrugs. Chan glances between the two of them but keeps his silence.
It’s not until they’re alone afterwards, cleaning up the kitchen, that the older boy says offhandedly, “I grew up in a landlocked state.”
“Oh.” Minghao hadn't known this. He scrubs at the pot with the coarse side of the sponge, wondering if Junhui is going to say something else. Part of him expects to bat away a compliment, and when that doesn’t come, an apology, but instead they finish the dishes together in silence.
The ocean gets rougher as the night goes on. Soonyoung’s sitting by the window, eyes gleaming, as they all crawl into their beds. Minghao falls asleep to the sound of roaring water and wakes to his bed shaking at the corners.
When Soonyoung turns around to close the front door gently he’s greeted by the sight of Minghao standing in the foyer in a rain jacket, his shoes already on. Soonyoung grins.
“Alright then,” he says, holding the door open.
“Don’t you think,” Soonyoung says, raising his voice slightly as he steers the boat, “sometimes, that we were each meant for very different seas?”
In the darkness, the sea and the sky are almost indistinguishable. Minghao keeps an eye on the sails, making sure they’re not stretched too thin. When Soonyoung stops the boat, he drops the anchor and turns on the spotlight, aiming it at the churning waters.
Soonyoung takes off his sweatshirt and shoes, stepping up to the edge of the vessel.
“Minghao,” he calls back, almost an afterthought. “Just… I mean, don’t —“
“I know,” Minghao says.
He doesn’t need to ask why. There’s an intimacy in the witness; in watching an outstretched hand grasp at nothing. In knowing what someone looks like when every part of them is fighting for survival. And when he thinks about that feeling, of being swallowed up by the water without even an echo of the world he’d left behind — Soonyoung’s right. It’s why they’re all here.
The ocean roars.
Soonyoung jumps.
Minghao watches.
***
또 거짓말을 해
in response to this prompt byhyojungss
original comment is here
Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Jeonghan
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Ambiguous relationships, Modern AU
Yoon Jeonghan is a terrible wingman.
First, because he’s so disarmingly handsome that it’s very likely whoever he’s talking to ends up becoming more interested in him than in the person he’s supposed to be advocating for.
Second, because he laughs too much. Telling jokes isn’t an issue, except when it’s impossible to tell at whose expense they are.
Third, because there’s a 60% chance that anything Yoon Jeonghan says is a lie.
“Well, it’s not like he can help the first thing,” Wonwoo says, picking at the ramen that his roommate had made for him after a night out. He’d opened a pack of seaweed to eat with it and put it directly on the bare table, the greasy plastic tub sliding away ever so slightly when he reaches in to pull out a piece.
“He sort of can though, don’t you think?” Seungkwan puts a napkin down.
Wonwoo shrugs, slurping at the noodles. “You’ve met him. It’s not his fault he looks like that.”
“Sure,” Seungkwan says. “Handsome is one thing. You’re good-looking too, hyung. But he doesn’t have to be that charming when he’s helping you pick up some girl.”
“It’s just the way he is.”
“Hm. So they ended up going home together instead?”
“What? No.” Wonwoo frowns. “What?” The girl, who Wonwoo had approached because he recognized her as a senior from his university days, had been — frankly, quite boring, as well as disinterested. Wonwoo had seen her talking to some up-and-coming Instagram model as they were leaving the bar.
Seungkwan squints at Wonwoo for a moment, like he thinks he’s playing dumb, but doesn’t press the issue. “Never mind.” He checks his phone and gets up. “Good night, hyung.”
“Mhm,” Wonwoo hums, picking up the last piece of seaweed and wrapping it around a big bite of noodles to finish the bowl. He wipes his mouth with the napkin, not noticing that the corner is translucent and damp with oil until it smears unpleasantly against his skin.
//
Once, Jeonghan told a girl that Wonwoo was a medical student at Seoul National. Which was ridiculous, because they were at a bar on a Wednesday evening on the south side of the Han River. The girl turned out to work in billings at a hospital in the area, and Wonwoo had stammered something about cardiology before coming up with a terrible excuse about a friend needing help moving at 9PM to leave the conversation abruptly.
Another time, Jeonghan introduced himself as Wonwoo’s ex-boyfriend.
“Oh, it was ages ago,” the older said cheerily, nodding towards the man Wonwoo had been talking to. “College. Ancient history.” Wonwoo tried to turn his grimace into a grin.
“But you’re… friends now?” The man seemed — not entirely put off, but not completely unfazed, either.
“Well, of course.” Jeonghan clapped Wonwoo on the back. “Our Wonwoo here is just such a great guy. Smart, kind. Wrote me poems all the time, but he would never admit they were for me. He was too good for me, you know. Never would have worked. But I want him to be happy. Did you know he volunteers at a cat shelter?” He smiled that full-teeth smile.
“I love cats,” the man said, turning his attention back to Wonwoo. “Do you have any?”
“He has three,” Jeonghan replied before Wonwoo could. “Cherry, Ggumi, and Uju. Cute, right?”
The man’s face lit up. “Those are great names,” he said sincerely. “How old are they?”
“Thanks.” Wonwoo winced. “Um, four and two, and… seven months?” Jeonghan left the two of them to coo about kittens, finishing his drink, and another, at the bar.
Afterwards, Wonwoo let Jeonghan hold onto his arm as they made their way towards the train station.
“You got that guy’s number, right?”
Wonwoo nodded.
“Good. He was cute. Seems your type.” They reached the entrance to the station, and Wonwoo stood to the side to let people pass them.
“Hyung.” He paused, fidgeting. Jeonghan was looking past him, his face washed out by the bright storefronts. His unwound scarf was dangling uselessly around his neck despite the chill.
Wonwoo sighed. “You know I only have two cats, right?”
Jeonghan laughed. “But wouldn’t it be cute if you got a new kitten?” He poked Wonwoo in the chest. “You’ll need to, if he ever comes over.”
Wonwoo rolled his eyes and started down the steps towards the warmth of subway station. “Yeah. I guess so.”
//
“Wonwoo-ya, hyung’s coming down with a cold,” Jeonghan sniffles dramatically as he comes in from the foyer.
“There’s ramen in the pantry,” Wonwoo responds from where he’s lying on the couch, watching a video on his phone. Jeonghan peers into the cabinet to find a single pack of dried pollack and two bowls of microwave rice.
“I’m sure your mother didn’t raise you to be such a terrible host.” Jeonghan pulls up a delivery app and types in the name of a juk restaurant in the neighborhood.
Wonwoo puts away his phone and pulls himself into a seated position. “We haven’t had guests over in a while. By the way,” he raises his voice slightly, “where were you last night? We called you to come out for drinks after you got off work.”
“I had a date,” Jeonghan says, grinning mischievously. “I met someone at the flower shop a few days ago —“
“Seokmin told me he saw you eating alone at a restaurant near Yongsan station.”
The moment is incredibly untriumphant.
Jeonghan looks up from his phone. “It’s not like you to reveal your hand so quickly,” he comments.
Wonwoo pulls his sleeves down, willing away a sheepish expression. “I just wanted to see what you’d say first.”
“It’s also not like you to give up a chance to gloat.” Jeonghan pauses, but there’s no rebuttal. Wonwoo’s nose twitches. He looks to the side. “Anyway,” Jeonghan continues indifferently, “if you’d let me finish, I was going to say that I got stood up. But I went all the way there, so I figured I might as well get a good meal out of it.”
“Oh.” Wonwoo adjusts the frame of his glasses hesitatingly. “Uh, sorry, hyung. That’s shitty.”
Jeonghan shrugs. “If it can happen to someone as good-looking as me,” he says, brandishing the phone towards the living room. “You better watch out, Wonwoo-ya.”
Wonwoo huffs a sharp laugh.
“How were drinks, then?” The default address in the delivery app is already set to Wonwoo’s apartment. Jeonghan orders enough to guarantee that there will be leftovers after they’re both done eating.
“Eh.”
“Anything interesting happen?”
There's an unanswered message in Wonwoo’s KakaoTalk, an invitation to dinner and a movie on Friday night. He's only ever been good at lying by omission.
“Nah. Would've been better if you were there.”
Jeonghan confirms the order and levels him with an amused look. “Do you really mean that, Jeon Wonwoo?”
60% is more than half, but it's hardly a reassuring statistic.
Wonwoo’s covered fingers curl into his palms as he nods. “Of course, hyung.”
***
Behind your eyelids
in response to this prompt byseokmin_liker
original comment is here
Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Junhui
Major Tags: None
Additional Tags: Childhood friends to lovers, But do you love your friend or do you love your childhood, Author is not immune to 17hols sadboi wonuisms
“Close your eyes.”
“Junhui, no, last time you said that you put a worm in my hand.”
“It was cute!”
“My hands smelled like dirt all day.”
“Okay, open.”
Wonwoo’s vision is filled with a glowing, green-yellow blur. He pulls his head back, his periphery coming into focus, the familiar scene of Junhui’s wide grin, eyes lighting on Wonwoo expectantly. In the early dusk Wonwoo can see a droplet of sweat trailing down his temple, the bangs of his bowl cut sticking to his forehead.
A blip of light draws the gaze of the two boys back down to Junhui’s cupped hands. The firefly blinks back lazily, still waking up with the setting sun. It ambles out of the valley of Junhui’s palm and onto his thumb; its striated wings flutter and flare, testing the cooling air. They’re both silent, transfixed. Junhui’s breath slows, almost matching the rhythm of the slow illumination.
There’s a buzz. Wonwoo realizes too late that the insect is about to take off and reaches out to cover Junhui’s hands with his own at the same time that the other pulls away.
The firefly flies directly into Wonwoo’s curved palm as he brings it down, the momentum of the unintentional swat sending the bug tumbling to the ground, where it lies motionless.
“Oh,” Junhui squeaks. Wonwoo winces, his cheeks burning. The place of impact where his hand hit the firefly itches intensely.
Junhui squats down slowly, until he’s almost fully seated, bringing his face close. His balance is good. He picks up a twig and prods gently at the ground.
Wonwoo’s been squinting at the board a lot lately, struggling to make out the chalk letters from the middle row. His dad’s been too busy to take him to the optometrist for his first pair of glasses. From where he’s standing, Junhui is just poking at a random speck of dust.
After a few moments, a faint glow against the dirt catches Wonwoo’s weak eyes, and he exhales. Junhui looks up, his expression blurred and head tilted at a funny angle. Wonwoo barely notices the indignant streak of light that flies past his right shoulder.
//
“Smile!”
The cellophane around Yujin’s bouquet pokes Wonwoo in the ear as they huddle together and pose for the selfie. Junhui’s balancing his phone in one hand to take it, thumb tapping at the screen in quick bursts, the other arm wrapped around flowers, boxes of sweets, a stuffed teddy bear. A stack of envelopes is wedged precariously under his armpit —goodbye letters, from all the girls in their year who’d channeled their post-exams adrenaline into heartfelt confessions, indulging themselves in the meaningless, romantic gesture of proclaiming their love to someone they’d never see again.
“Oh — I’m really going to miss you both!” Yujin cries out, pulling Junhui and Wonwoo in for a hug. The flowers are crushed between them, a tulip nestling against Junhui’s cheek. “You’ll come see me in Busan, won’t you?”
The question is obviously meant for Wonwoo, but Junhui nods seriously in response, the full, orange-pink bud bobbing against his jaw. Yujin giggles, smacking at Junhui’s arm.
“Yujin-ah!” The call draws all of their attention, Yujin’s mother searching for her daughter in a sea of navy and black. She lets go of the two boys and turns to go, barely sparing a wave. The promise to meet up again later that day, that week, is implied. They each have their own ways of counting down the goodbyes.
Wonwoo takes advantage of the brief lull to tug at Junhui’s sleeve as students jostle around them. His uniform jacket is still buttoned up all the way from the graduation ceremony, all of them fidgeting in folding chairs under the fluorescence of the school gymnasium.
“Hmm?” The boy turns, and Wonwoo gets another face full of petals. It occurs to him suddenly that he didn’t expect Junhui to be so happy, saying all of his last goodbyes. At this point, he shouldn’t be surprised at how Junhui somehow always manages to surprise him.
“I closed my eyes in the photo,” Wonwoo says. “Before, I — I think I blinked.”
Junhui’s laughing brightly before he even finishes the sentence, nudging him with his hip. “I took like 20 pictures, Wonwoo. I’m sure one of them will turn out alright.”
//
“Say something.”
Wonwoo winces. “I don’t know if this is right.”
“Oh.” Junhui stands up from the couch immediately, running a hand through his hair. “Um, okay.” He turns away and surveys the room with a slightly baffled smile, like it’s the first time he’s seen it.
“What do you think of, when you look at me?” Wonwoo isn’t sure which of them was supposed to break the silence, but he feels responsible for it.
Junhui frowns. “What am I supposed to be thinking about?”
“Like a memory, or something about me, something from — from back then.” Wonwoo hates having to explain himself to people, but especially to Junhui. “There are so many things.”
Junhui doesn’t respond for a moment, and Wonwoo suddenly feels utterly transparent. Junhui only slows down when he’s afraid of causing harm. When he realizes his own potential for cruelty.
“Well…” He turns. “I’m looking at you.”
Wonwoo’s throat is suddenly dry.
“And I’m thinking about… how I didn’t eat enough for dinner, and the pack of ramen I saw in your kitchen earlier.”
Wonwoo wants to laugh, but he’s afraid it’ll come out more like a scoff.
Junhui’s gaze roams gently over him. “And… how your hair is kind of messy now.”
“And?” He asks hoarsely.
“And… whether you’d like to do this again sometime. Soon, that is.”
The question lingers in the air.
“I can’t do what you do.”
Junhui lets him deflect. “What do I do?”
Wonwoo takes a breath, and then another, a long exhale.
“I think I like you.”
“But?”
“I’ve liked you for a long time.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Everything about you reminds me of when we were young, just kids,” Wonwoo says. “When everything was easier. But life is different now, isn’t it? I’m not sure if I even know you, really, anymore, or if —” He’s too embarrassed to finish the sentence, but the thought is there, fully-formed; he was only able to run from it for so long. “I just miss those days,” he admits instead.
“You're afraid that nostalgia isn’t love.” Junhui’s gentle, affirming even in his stark discernment.
“It’s not fair.” Wonwoo hopes he doesn’t sound as impetuous as he feels. The distance between him and his desire was easier to understand when it seemed impossible to traverse.
“Is that what you want, Wonwoo? For things to be fair?”
“Don’t — shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t you?”
“What if I don't care?”
“What?” Wonwoo looks up.
“Your memories seem like an awfully heavy burden to carry.”
Wonwoo chuckles humorlessly. “It’s my own fault.” History has only ever served as relief, a landscape he could run his hands over, trace its peaks obsessively against the terrain of the present. “I’ve always been like this.”
Junhui crosses the room to stand in front of the couch, his body eclipsing the overhead light. “And if we split the weight?” His hand grazes up Wonwoo’s arm to rest on his shoulder. Slowly, ever so slowly, he crouches down until they’re face to face once again.
“You’re not the only one who remembers things, you know.”
Wonwoo inhales unsteadily.
“Close your eyes, Wonwoo.” Junhui’s voice is soft. Wonwoo swallows as he takes in the contours of his face, the proximity blurring the background like a dream. The glow dims to black.
“It will be just like before, I promise.”
***
spotify challenge: darling - seventeen, verkwan (svt)
“English?” Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. The head of the creative team doesn’t pause to gauge the group’s response, continuing on with her laser pointer trained on the slide.
“International fans will respond well,” she says, the red dot hovering around a cluster of statistics. Minghao’s eyes are open, but glazed, his slow, deep breaths fluttering the printed agenda on the table before him. Jeonghan looks like he might become one with the upholstery of the conference room chair. A marketing associate – he looks around Seungkwan’s age – mentions expanded promotional opportunities, an inevitable Tiktok challenge. Seungkwan twirls his pen between his fingers.
“It would be nice, of course, for it to be self-produced.” The head of creative cuts back in and looks meaningfully at Jihoon, who twitches in acknowledgement.
“I’ve got something just about done.” Just about done could mean anything with their leader. It could mean he’d finished it months ago. Or – Seungkwan makes a note to stock up on red ginseng and vitamin C packets for the studio. Jihoon clears his throat. “Not the lyrics though. Obviously.”
Across the room, heads turn in two different directions. Seungkwan’s deliberately does not.
It’s silent for a moment, until seniority wins – or loses, in this case.
“Um, yeah, I can try to…” Joshua rubs at the back of his neck. “Is there a theme, or a message or something?”
The presentation advances to the next slide. “The song will be a gift for Carats…”
~
Shannon ends up writing most of the lyrics, which is a godsend for all of them. Seungkwan is delighted when he shows up to record and sees her on the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest.
“What do you think, Vernon-ie starting the song?” She asks during a break, passing a mug over to Seungkwan.
“It’s good,” Seungkwan says immediately. “He’ll catch everyone’s eye, don’t you think?” He can imagine the lines in the other’s voice already.
“Eung, I thought so too.” Seungyeon glances at the lyrics. “You know, I asked him if he wanted to look these over before we submitted them, but he said no. Said he trusted me.”
Seungkwan takes a sip, warmth flooding his body as he speaks sincerely. “We do.”
~
“Please eat well,” the waitress says, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes creasing in endearment as she delivers the sizzling bibimbap. The syllables of their thanks tumble through the steam wafting up from the stone bowl.
“So… What do you think, of the song?” Seungkwan knows Vernon will tell him the truth. It’s not because of how close they are, or because it’s Seungkwan who’s asking — which does hurt, sometimes, but it’s also why he loves him.
“We’ve done worse.” Vernon smiles, the memories dulled enough to be precious.
“But how does it sound in English? I can’t tell, you know. It’s all just —” Seungkwan makes warbled noises.
Vernon laughs. “It’s okay. Sungyeon did a good job.” He cuts the thread of conversation short and turns his attention to the food, mixing the ingredients with an air of careful strategy.
Seungkwan takes a sip of his cold tea, covering up the twitch of his mouth.
Vernon puts a spoonful of rice on his plate.
“You didn’t want to help?”
Vernon doesn’t flinch, just shakes his head. A large party near them finishes their meal and begins to disperse, final cheers and calls of farewell and thanks and encouragement ricocheting through the pinball maze of empty green bottles scattered across the table.
“Okay,” Seungkwan says authoritatively, as if it’s all the explanation in the world, and begins digging into his food.
“I don’t love as easy in English,” Vernon says, many bites later. Seungkwan puts his chopsticks down. “I mean, there’s my mom, and Sophia, but…” Vernon swallows. “The kind of love I’d want to write songs about.” He brushes a grain of rice away from the black-lettered menu, then looks up, locking eyes with Seungkwan. The chatter of the other restaurant patrons weaves around them, familiar, gentle. “I learned that in this language.”
***
spotify challenge: no signal - michelle, chaewon/yunjin (lsfm)
“Yunjin-ah…” Chaewon hovers near the entrance to the bedroom carefully, watching the other girl yank the zipper of her cloth backpack all the way open. The front door of the dorm is only just latching shut behind them.
“Does manager-oppa know?” Yunjin turns the bag upside down and shakes it furiously over her bed, the contents tumbling out onto the comforter. Empty candy wrappers, small shopping bags from Myeongdong boutiques, headphones connected via a tangled mess of cord to an mp3 player, an old model that Chaewon hasn’t seen in years. A colored metal bottle cap.
Chaewon shakes her head even though Yunjin isn’t looking at her for a response, already rifling through the trash bin to shove her snacks deep down underneath the mass of used makeup-remover wipes and crumpled pieces of looseleaf.
“You left late enough,” Chaewon says softly. The crinkling of paper and plastic stops.
Yunjin’s lips are puffy, Chaewon notices when she straightens up. She tries not to think about the jagged edge of the bottle cap still sitting on the bed.
“Who noticed first? Kkura unnie?”
No. “Of course.” Chaewon crosses her arms.
Yunjin grabs her phone and pushes down on the power button until the screen illuminates. “Thanks for covering for me.”
“Yunjin-ah,” Chaewon repeats. She can get away with it right now, the scolding, the interrogation – she knows the other girl won’t resent her; after all, it’s her job, and Yunjin has always understood obligation. It doesn’t make the words any easier.
Yunjin sits down on the bed. “Sorry.”
Chaewon crosses the threshold. “Is it the schedule? I know it’s been super packed, I can ask manager-”
“No.” Yunjin cuts her off, wrinkling her nose. “It’s not – I know you probably won’t believe me, but it’s not work. It’s just…” She gathers her hoodie into her arms, looks up at the other girl. “I spent so long thinking there was something else out there, somewhere I was really supposed to be. And now I’m here, and it feels perfect, really, in so many ways, but…” She trails off. “Do you know what I mean?”
Chaewon blinks at the sudden question, just a split-second flicker of her eyelids, and Yunjin smiles kindly. “Never mind, unnie.” There’s a softcover book on the bed, the upside-down cursive of the title too elaborate for Chaewon to decipher without making it obvious that she’s trying. Her teeth clench. “Maybe it’s just force of habit.”
You can’t do that again, Yunjin-ah.
“Hey, I got you this.” Yunjin pulls two identical bracelets from one of the shopping bags, dainty silver things, and fastens one of them around her own wrist quickly. “Cute, right?”
She would understand, after all.
Maybe that’s what made it so hard.
“Thanks.” Chaewon steps forward and takes the other bracelet, fingers brushing against Yunjin’s outstretched palm.
The only heartbreaker
Ship/Member: Beomgyu/Taehyun/Hueningkai (txt)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Yearning, Love triangles
They’re almost at the front of the line when Taehyun’s phone rings.
“It’s my mom,” he says, surprised. Premeditation is an inherited trait; no one in his family is the type to call out of the blue. The rest of the conversation is vague, with Taehyun mostly nodding and making sounds of assent. Beomgyu resists the urge to pick at a callous on his thumb.
Finally Taehyun hangs up, blinking quickly. “My sister’s having her baby.”
Beomgyu's head snaps up. “She’s having her – ?”
“Woohoo!” Beomgyu’s echo is cut off by Hueningkai, who grabs Taehyun by the shoulders and starts shaking him excitedly. “Uncle Taehyun!! Uncle Taehyun has arrived!” Taehyun’s tense expression melts at Hueningkai’s joyful manhandling, their laughter joining the cacophony of the amusement park.
“I have –” Taehyun flaps his arms halfheartedly to stop Hueningkai’s jostling. “I have to go – to the hospital.”
“Now?” Beomgyu blurts out, but the two don’t hear him, their heads bent over Taehyun’s phone as he figures out the best way to get to Gangnam. How many people does it take to call a cab? Just then, the line starts moving, the ferris wheel ahead slowing to a crawl to exchange its passengers. Beomgyu shuffles sideways, trying to close the distance without creating a new one.
Taehyun notices Beomgyu's awkward gait and and steps around the metal railing, excusing himself from the queue. Hueningkai moves to follow him, but Taehyun waves him off, telling him to stay.
“The car’s almost here. It’s family-only hours now, anyway.”
Beomgyu looks between the two. A roller coaster roars over their heads.
“Taehyun-ah,” he says, just as a stream of messages starts coming into Taehyun’s phone, the repeated ringtones overlapping boisterously.
“Yeah?” Taehyun looks at him curiously, ignoring the steady vibration in his hand.
What had he been about to say? Don’t go? Stay for one more ride? Miss the birth of your nephew because Hueningkai and I aren’t really friends and have nothing to talk about without you?
Beomgyu looks down. “Here.” He thrusts the small plushie that he’d won at one of the carnival games towards Taehyun. It’s a teddy bear wearing a cowboy hat and a fringed jacket. The sequins on the outfit probably aren’t suitable for newborns. “For the baby.”
Taehyun grins. “Thanks, hyung,” he says, reaching out to take the furry thing.
The ferris wheel grinds to a halt with the sound of shearing metal, waiting for Beomgyu and Hueningkai to get on the next empty car. The strip of lights along the side illuminates the chipped paint, the rust staining the door at the hinges. They don't look at each other as they board. The capsule creaks through its ascent.
“You like Taehyun, don’t you?” Hueningkai breaks the silence just as they reach the top and the operator slows the ferris wheel to a crawl to give the passengers the sunset view they’d been waiting for. Beomgyu’s stomach drops. What timing, he thinks, leaning his forehead against the window. Had Hueningkai always been so straightforward? He can hear the people in the next car cooing over the immodest orange sky, Seoul’s skyline sprawling to the east.
It’s not like Beomgyu doesn’t know the answer to the question. He’s always been one to indulge in his own yearning, doodles of hearts and names and future domestic bliss crowding right up against drawings of racecars and jagged-tooth beasts in the margins of his middle school notebooks.
He exhales, his breath clouding up a small patch of the window. He can’t tell if it’s just his imagination, that it’s colder up here, or if the change in altitude is really enough to make him shiver. He draws an X through the condensation.
“I think he likes you, hyung.”
Beomgyu looks up at Hueningkai sharply, a bolt of feeling in his chest. “He told you?”
Hueningkai shakes his head. His hand balls into a fist against his shaking leg.
“I can just tell.”
Beomgyu thinks about the way Taehyun’s face lights up when he sees Hueningkai, joy spreading with a clarifying urgency across his sharp features. The crook of his elbow when he threads his hand through the taller boy’s waiting arm. Their heads bowed close together, the vertebrae along the back of Hueningkai's pale neck as he cranes his head downwards.
“You too, huh.” He's surprised at the accusatory tone that bleeds into his voice, but he doesn't try hard to hide it.
It’s like they’re in space, suddenly, like all sound has been sucked out of the cabin. The sky bleeds purple.
“Are we going to fight?” Beomgyu says, only half joking. Hueningkai snorts softly, looking out the window. The ferris wheel jolts back to its normal pace for the final half revolution.
“You’re good at keeping secrets, right hyung?”
Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. Most people in their circle would say that he was a blabbermouth, not realizing that his constant chattering was just a way to pad and illuminate the protective space around a dense, absorptive center of quiet.
Beomgyu’s phone chimes, and both of them look down at the muffled, glowing rectangle in his jacket pocket. The attendant pulls the door of the car open, breaking the vacuum and exposing them once again to the neon and noise of the carnival. The sun has set quickly, leaving everything awash with the milky blue of twilight. A sheepish thrill floods through Beomgyu when he checks the notification, and he climbs out first to hide the smile on his face. Hueningkai follows, hands in his pockets. The fog on the window fades completely, leaving behind only two intersecting streaks across the dirty glass.
***
The price we pay
in response to this prompt by
infrequenciesoriginal comment is here
Ship/Member: Minghao & Wonwoo
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Dystopian idolverse au, Vaguely based on Never Let Me Go, Discussions of pregnancy including implied miscarriage
“Noona, stay healthy, okay? I'm really happy for you — I’m cheering you on!” Minghao smiles, cheeks rounding as he waves at the phone. The woman on screen grins back, leaning backwards so her hands are visible in the frame. She doesn't have to move too much — her belly is large, putting some distance between her and the phone propped up on her desk. In the blur of her waving arms Minghao sees a clunky, industrial-looking band strapped tight around her wrist, a bright red LED blinking at him stoically from its casing of metal and black plastic. He blinks back, momentarily stunned, and then the phone is passed down the line to Wonwoo and he's greeted by a new blank screen.
“Hyung, did you talk to that pregnant carat today?” Seungkwan asks when the fansign is over and they're waiting for the managers to bring the cars around. He's rubbing at his fingers, trying to get some of the ink marks off so he can take a selfie.
“Mhmm.” Minghao grunts in acknowledgement. “She’s seven months along.”
“Woah.” Seungkwan sneaks a glance. “Do you think…” He trails off. Tact is something Seungkwan has always prided himself on, though his curiosity is hardly one to go gently into that good night.
“Seungkwan-ah, it's bad luck to ask about a baby this close to the due date,” Jeonghan drawls from the right of Minghao. It doesn't sound true, but Minghao has no way of knowing for sure. He's never seen a woman this far along in a pregnancy through natural means. He doubts any of them have. A long time ago there had been a bump, he'd run his hands across it as his mother smiled down at him through tears, and then the flash of ambulance lights, and then his father, this time, crying, a pile of bills on the kitchen table, and Minghao had said, Ba, don't worry, and called the number of the entertainment company the next day and signed the contract and boarded the plane. Hope was a thing that money could buy, in this world, and even as a child Minghao had known that. What he hadn’t realized was that the damage had already been done, the price of two losses in a row much greater than even his eventual success could afford.
“And leave the marker stains. It's endearing.” Seungkwan gives Jeonghan a look, then brings his phone up to snap some finger heart selfies.
Later, Wonwoo finds Minghao in the kitchen eating a simple meal. It's dinnertime, but everyone else prefers to spend the short respite between schedules sleeping, or at least sprawled out on their beds staring at the ceiling, recovering whatever energy they can muster after three weeks of nonstop promotions. Wonwoo roots around in the fridge for a bit, then says, “my cousin got pregnant when I was young.”
“Oh.” Minghao puts his chopsticks down, not sure what to ask.
“No one thought she would make it. I mean, Changwon…” Wonwoo shakes his head. “The radiation and all. I was just a kid, so I didn't really understand why it was such a big deal. My parents helped, driving her to the tests, filling out paperwork. The government gave the whole family compensation.” He chuckles, a bit darkly. “I still remember all the good food we had that year.”
“What — what happened to her?”
Wonwoo takes a sip of his water. “She was determined to have the baby. It was hell on her body, but she wouldn't give up. She was really careful, did everything right, and in the end,” he tilts his head, “he came out perfectly healthy. No major complications or anything. What were the odds?” Wonwoo stretches his arms. “A natural-born baby is precious — they wouldn't use him for donations. The government paid them to move to Busan. We thought they were set for life. Just…”
He only hesitates for a moment, letting his arms fall to his sides. It's not like he's above being cruel, nor is any one of them too precious to hurt at this point, after all the years they've spent together. Besides, Wonwoo knows that sparing Minghao the truth for the sake of his feelings would be too obvious, with the way the other is watching him now; what's more, it would be taken as an even greater cruelty.
“Once they know you're capable of a natural pregnancy and birth — there are things they can get from your body that they can't from IVF, or from clones just yet. They monitor you closely, run tests, take blood, eggs, whatever. Maybe they make you try again, and again. You're basically a full-time lab subject.” Wonwoo puts the drink back in the fridge. “My cousin gave me some of the money she got for it all, so I could come to Seoul to be a trainee.”
Minghao nods. “She was fortunate, though, still. In a way. I mean, she had the child she always wanted.”
Down the hall, the members begin to stir, rubbing at their tired faces and swearing quietly when their palms come away smeared with carefully applied concealer and eyeshadow.
Wonwoo’s phone pings, a reminder for them to leave, and he dismisses the notification without looking. “Yeah. And she made it out.”
***
All your cells want freedom
in response to this prompt by
latespringoriginal comment is here
Ship/Member: Minghao/Soonyoung
Major tags: N/A
Additional tags: Perf team as the coast guard maybe, Shared ambition as a love language
Minghao thought he knew how to swim well enough, until Soonyoung threw him into the open water.
He wasn’t quite like the others when he started, hoping to float on a combination of bravado and desperation alone. Still, he chafed a bit at the brightly colored thing that Junhui held out when he stepped up to the ledge that first time.
“I’m alright.” The plastic buckle scraped along the tile as Junhui lowered his arm. And he was, limbs whipping through the water in a flurry, so quick it was hard to track him until he resurfaced. At the other end of the pool, Soonyoung watched the younger boy towel off with a thoughtful expression.
The first time Minghao saw the ocean, he thought that the whole world was meant to be underwater. The vastness of it seemed poised to overtake every dry thing, sand and sky alike. He would’ve given in. Out there, submerged under an infinite, unbroken expanse – that was where he wanted to be.
“It’s not right.” Soonyoung grabbed Minghao’s wrist, guiding him through the motion. “Like this – cleaner.” He bent Minghao’s arm at an unnatural angle, but the other boy didn’t protest; instead, he committed the discomfort to memory, the twinge in his forearm when he repeated the gesture an indication that he was doing it properly.
The first time Minghao saw a storm up close, it felt like he was inside his own heart. He got out of bed and went to the window to watch the waves rip across the dock, the steady roar of deep water in the distance as loud as the raindrops ricocheting off the roof of their dingy dormitory on the shore.
“Scared?”
A gust of wind shredded through a flag hanging off of a boat anchored in the shallows, white and red strips fluttering stark and pitiful. He bit his lip.
“But?”
Minghao turned to look at the boy standing next to him. His eyes were bright, focused, tracking across the sea like he was watching a play unfold on stage.
“But?”
Soonyoung tore his eyes off of the water and met Minghao’s gaze. “But.” He knocked a knuckle against Minghao’s chest, right at his breastbone. “There’s always a but. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Minghao hesitated, trying to wrangle his thoughts into words. Soonyoung nodded affirmatively.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he walked away from the window. “We’ll be out there soon enough.”
Soonyoung didn’t know that Minghao knew. He was a light sleeper, and the bunk beds were cheap. Any motion on the bottom mattress reverberated all the way to the top. He never dared to lean over the side of the frame when he heard Soonyoung get up – only after he heard the front door close quietly would Minghao scamper down the ladder and press his face against the window. The sight of the sail unfurling in the middle of the night seemed to him the closest he’d ever come to believing in angels. He tried often to stay up until Soonyoung returned to land, like the subject of an ancient prophecy. Many mornings it was Junhui nudging him awake with a slippered foot, handing him a cup of tea instead of asking what he was doing on the bedroom floor.
//
“Waters are rough,” Soonyoung says from the cabin as they hit the open waters and the shore finally recedes from view. He grins. “It’s a good day.”
Minghao’s letting out the slack when Junhui reaches over and unbuckles the life vest hanging loosely around his shoulders. He glances over at the older boy, who just shrugs and goes back to studying the day’s report.
“Minghao,” Soonyoung calls from the edge of the boat. He loops the rope around the cleat and tugs twice for good measure before walking over to their captain, who puts a strong hand on his back. “How ya feeling today?”
“Alright.” Minghao tries to assess Soonyoung’s energy. He puts on a calm face for the rest of them, but it’s hard to hide the way he comes alive when they’re out at sea, his heart matching the rhythm of the boat rocking on the choppy waters. “I had –”
He doesn't get to finish the sentence. Minghao’s arms are wrenched backwards as Soonyoung pulls his life vest off. Before he can react, a hand hits him squarely in between the shoulderblades, and he feels himself – falling.
Even when he’s pitching into the middle of the ocean, Minghao has the wherewithal not to scream in front of the others. He plunges into the water with his mouth closed, a stream of bubbles expelling from his nose as he fights the urge to gasp, eyes screwed tightly shut against the brine. He can tell that he’s hurtling quickly, deep already – the water is cold, cold. He tries to orient himself, remember how many times he somersaulted on the way down. Blood rushes to his head. His fingers tingle. It’s cold.
When you hit the water, your body responds immediately by decreasing your heart rate to slow the use of oxygen. Blood is diverted away from the limbs and towards the vital organs, filling the cells to balance out the external pressure. In other words, the body is focused on how to keep you alive while you’re submerged. The brain is what fights to reach the surface.
Training kicks in as his momentum slows, and Minghao picks a direction, long legs propelling him forward. After a few seconds of moving through the water he starts to fear that he’s actually going deeper, that's he's in so much shock he can’t tell up from down. He tries to get any indication – the heat of the distant sun against his skin, the sound of the waves – but each moment feels exactly like the last one, except for the ever-increasing pressure inside his chest. He’s about to open his eyes, bracing himself for the sting of salt, when he realizes that the waters are getting choppier, knocking against his outstretched hand, pushing him sideways as he swims. He’s close.
The first thing Minghao does when he breaks through the surface is breathe. The second thing he does is open his eyes, and the sight of Kwon Soonyoung's face hits him at the same time as that first lungful of air. He's in the water, half a meter away, blonde hair like a beacon, treading easily with an orange life vest on and a buoy in his right hand.
Soonyoung watches as Minghao gasps, blinking the stars out of his vision. Watches as his frantic limbs slow, as his body readjusts to the weight of living. “Come on,” he says after a few moments, turning back to the boat. Minghao swims after him, the buoy left bobbing in the waves.
Over dinner, he thinks he catches Junhui staring at him across the table.
“What,” Minghao mumbles self-consciously, reaching for another piece of kimbap. Junhui just shrugs. Chan glances between the two of them but keeps his silence.
It’s not until they’re alone afterwards, cleaning up the kitchen, that the older boy says offhandedly, “I grew up in a landlocked state.”
“Oh.” Minghao hadn't known this. He scrubs at the pot with the coarse side of the sponge, wondering if Junhui is going to say something else. Part of him expects to bat away a compliment, and when that doesn’t come, an apology, but instead they finish the dishes together in silence.
The ocean gets rougher as the night goes on. Soonyoung’s sitting by the window, eyes gleaming, as they all crawl into their beds. Minghao falls asleep to the sound of roaring water and wakes to his bed shaking at the corners.
When Soonyoung turns around to close the front door gently he’s greeted by the sight of Minghao standing in the foyer in a rain jacket, his shoes already on. Soonyoung grins.
“Alright then,” he says, holding the door open.
“Don’t you think,” Soonyoung says, raising his voice slightly as he steers the boat, “sometimes, that we were each meant for very different seas?”
In the darkness, the sea and the sky are almost indistinguishable. Minghao keeps an eye on the sails, making sure they’re not stretched too thin. When Soonyoung stops the boat, he drops the anchor and turns on the spotlight, aiming it at the churning waters.
Soonyoung takes off his sweatshirt and shoes, stepping up to the edge of the vessel.
“Minghao,” he calls back, almost an afterthought. “Just… I mean, don’t —“
“I know,” Minghao says.
He doesn’t need to ask why. There’s an intimacy in the witness; in watching an outstretched hand grasp at nothing. In knowing what someone looks like when every part of them is fighting for survival. And when he thinks about that feeling, of being swallowed up by the water without even an echo of the world he’d left behind — Soonyoung’s right. It’s why they’re all here.
The ocean roars.
Soonyoung jumps.
Minghao watches.
***
또 거짓말을 해
in response to this prompt by
hyojungssoriginal comment is here
Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Jeonghan
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Ambiguous relationships, Modern AU
Yoon Jeonghan is a terrible wingman.
First, because he’s so disarmingly handsome that it’s very likely whoever he’s talking to ends up becoming more interested in him than in the person he’s supposed to be advocating for.
Second, because he laughs too much. Telling jokes isn’t an issue, except when it’s impossible to tell at whose expense they are.
Third, because there’s a 60% chance that anything Yoon Jeonghan says is a lie.
“Well, it’s not like he can help the first thing,” Wonwoo says, picking at the ramen that his roommate had made for him after a night out. He’d opened a pack of seaweed to eat with it and put it directly on the bare table, the greasy plastic tub sliding away ever so slightly when he reaches in to pull out a piece.
“He sort of can though, don’t you think?” Seungkwan puts a napkin down.
Wonwoo shrugs, slurping at the noodles. “You’ve met him. It’s not his fault he looks like that.”
“Sure,” Seungkwan says. “Handsome is one thing. You’re good-looking too, hyung. But he doesn’t have to be that charming when he’s helping you pick up some girl.”
“It’s just the way he is.”
“Hm. So they ended up going home together instead?”
“What? No.” Wonwoo frowns. “What?” The girl, who Wonwoo had approached because he recognized her as a senior from his university days, had been — frankly, quite boring, as well as disinterested. Wonwoo had seen her talking to some up-and-coming Instagram model as they were leaving the bar.
Seungkwan squints at Wonwoo for a moment, like he thinks he’s playing dumb, but doesn’t press the issue. “Never mind.” He checks his phone and gets up. “Good night, hyung.”
“Mhm,” Wonwoo hums, picking up the last piece of seaweed and wrapping it around a big bite of noodles to finish the bowl. He wipes his mouth with the napkin, not noticing that the corner is translucent and damp with oil until it smears unpleasantly against his skin.
//
Once, Jeonghan told a girl that Wonwoo was a medical student at Seoul National. Which was ridiculous, because they were at a bar on a Wednesday evening on the south side of the Han River. The girl turned out to work in billings at a hospital in the area, and Wonwoo had stammered something about cardiology before coming up with a terrible excuse about a friend needing help moving at 9PM to leave the conversation abruptly.
Another time, Jeonghan introduced himself as Wonwoo’s ex-boyfriend.
“Oh, it was ages ago,” the older said cheerily, nodding towards the man Wonwoo had been talking to. “College. Ancient history.” Wonwoo tried to turn his grimace into a grin.
“But you’re… friends now?” The man seemed — not entirely put off, but not completely unfazed, either.
“Well, of course.” Jeonghan clapped Wonwoo on the back. “Our Wonwoo here is just such a great guy. Smart, kind. Wrote me poems all the time, but he would never admit they were for me. He was too good for me, you know. Never would have worked. But I want him to be happy. Did you know he volunteers at a cat shelter?” He smiled that full-teeth smile.
“I love cats,” the man said, turning his attention back to Wonwoo. “Do you have any?”
“He has three,” Jeonghan replied before Wonwoo could. “Cherry, Ggumi, and Uju. Cute, right?”
The man’s face lit up. “Those are great names,” he said sincerely. “How old are they?”
“Thanks.” Wonwoo winced. “Um, four and two, and… seven months?” Jeonghan left the two of them to coo about kittens, finishing his drink, and another, at the bar.
Afterwards, Wonwoo let Jeonghan hold onto his arm as they made their way towards the train station.
“You got that guy’s number, right?”
Wonwoo nodded.
“Good. He was cute. Seems your type.” They reached the entrance to the station, and Wonwoo stood to the side to let people pass them.
“Hyung.” He paused, fidgeting. Jeonghan was looking past him, his face washed out by the bright storefronts. His unwound scarf was dangling uselessly around his neck despite the chill.
Wonwoo sighed. “You know I only have two cats, right?”
Jeonghan laughed. “But wouldn’t it be cute if you got a new kitten?” He poked Wonwoo in the chest. “You’ll need to, if he ever comes over.”
Wonwoo rolled his eyes and started down the steps towards the warmth of subway station. “Yeah. I guess so.”
//
“Wonwoo-ya, hyung’s coming down with a cold,” Jeonghan sniffles dramatically as he comes in from the foyer.
“There’s ramen in the pantry,” Wonwoo responds from where he’s lying on the couch, watching a video on his phone. Jeonghan peers into the cabinet to find a single pack of dried pollack and two bowls of microwave rice.
“I’m sure your mother didn’t raise you to be such a terrible host.” Jeonghan pulls up a delivery app and types in the name of a juk restaurant in the neighborhood.
Wonwoo puts away his phone and pulls himself into a seated position. “We haven’t had guests over in a while. By the way,” he raises his voice slightly, “where were you last night? We called you to come out for drinks after you got off work.”
“I had a date,” Jeonghan says, grinning mischievously. “I met someone at the flower shop a few days ago —“
“Seokmin told me he saw you eating alone at a restaurant near Yongsan station.”
The moment is incredibly untriumphant.
Jeonghan looks up from his phone. “It’s not like you to reveal your hand so quickly,” he comments.
Wonwoo pulls his sleeves down, willing away a sheepish expression. “I just wanted to see what you’d say first.”
“It’s also not like you to give up a chance to gloat.” Jeonghan pauses, but there’s no rebuttal. Wonwoo’s nose twitches. He looks to the side. “Anyway,” Jeonghan continues indifferently, “if you’d let me finish, I was going to say that I got stood up. But I went all the way there, so I figured I might as well get a good meal out of it.”
“Oh.” Wonwoo adjusts the frame of his glasses hesitatingly. “Uh, sorry, hyung. That’s shitty.”
Jeonghan shrugs. “If it can happen to someone as good-looking as me,” he says, brandishing the phone towards the living room. “You better watch out, Wonwoo-ya.”
Wonwoo huffs a sharp laugh.
“How were drinks, then?” The default address in the delivery app is already set to Wonwoo’s apartment. Jeonghan orders enough to guarantee that there will be leftovers after they’re both done eating.
“Eh.”
“Anything interesting happen?”
There's an unanswered message in Wonwoo’s KakaoTalk, an invitation to dinner and a movie on Friday night. He's only ever been good at lying by omission.
“Nah. Would've been better if you were there.”
Jeonghan confirms the order and levels him with an amused look. “Do you really mean that, Jeon Wonwoo?”
60% is more than half, but it's hardly a reassuring statistic.
Wonwoo’s covered fingers curl into his palms as he nods. “Of course, hyung.”
***
Behind your eyelids
in response to this prompt by
seokmin_likeroriginal comment is here
Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Junhui
Major Tags: None
Additional Tags: Childhood friends to lovers, But do you love your friend or do you love your childhood, Author is not immune to 17hols sadboi wonuisms
“Close your eyes.”
“Junhui, no, last time you said that you put a worm in my hand.”
“It was cute!”
“My hands smelled like dirt all day.”
“Okay, open.”
Wonwoo’s vision is filled with a glowing, green-yellow blur. He pulls his head back, his periphery coming into focus, the familiar scene of Junhui’s wide grin, eyes lighting on Wonwoo expectantly. In the early dusk Wonwoo can see a droplet of sweat trailing down his temple, the bangs of his bowl cut sticking to his forehead.
A blip of light draws the gaze of the two boys back down to Junhui’s cupped hands. The firefly blinks back lazily, still waking up with the setting sun. It ambles out of the valley of Junhui’s palm and onto his thumb; its striated wings flutter and flare, testing the cooling air. They’re both silent, transfixed. Junhui’s breath slows, almost matching the rhythm of the slow illumination.
There’s a buzz. Wonwoo realizes too late that the insect is about to take off and reaches out to cover Junhui’s hands with his own at the same time that the other pulls away.
The firefly flies directly into Wonwoo’s curved palm as he brings it down, the momentum of the unintentional swat sending the bug tumbling to the ground, where it lies motionless.
“Oh,” Junhui squeaks. Wonwoo winces, his cheeks burning. The place of impact where his hand hit the firefly itches intensely.
Junhui squats down slowly, until he’s almost fully seated, bringing his face close. His balance is good. He picks up a twig and prods gently at the ground.
Wonwoo’s been squinting at the board a lot lately, struggling to make out the chalk letters from the middle row. His dad’s been too busy to take him to the optometrist for his first pair of glasses. From where he’s standing, Junhui is just poking at a random speck of dust.
After a few moments, a faint glow against the dirt catches Wonwoo’s weak eyes, and he exhales. Junhui looks up, his expression blurred and head tilted at a funny angle. Wonwoo barely notices the indignant streak of light that flies past his right shoulder.
//
“Smile!”
The cellophane around Yujin’s bouquet pokes Wonwoo in the ear as they huddle together and pose for the selfie. Junhui’s balancing his phone in one hand to take it, thumb tapping at the screen in quick bursts, the other arm wrapped around flowers, boxes of sweets, a stuffed teddy bear. A stack of envelopes is wedged precariously under his armpit —goodbye letters, from all the girls in their year who’d channeled their post-exams adrenaline into heartfelt confessions, indulging themselves in the meaningless, romantic gesture of proclaiming their love to someone they’d never see again.
“Oh — I’m really going to miss you both!” Yujin cries out, pulling Junhui and Wonwoo in for a hug. The flowers are crushed between them, a tulip nestling against Junhui’s cheek. “You’ll come see me in Busan, won’t you?”
The question is obviously meant for Wonwoo, but Junhui nods seriously in response, the full, orange-pink bud bobbing against his jaw. Yujin giggles, smacking at Junhui’s arm.
“Yujin-ah!” The call draws all of their attention, Yujin’s mother searching for her daughter in a sea of navy and black. She lets go of the two boys and turns to go, barely sparing a wave. The promise to meet up again later that day, that week, is implied. They each have their own ways of counting down the goodbyes.
Wonwoo takes advantage of the brief lull to tug at Junhui’s sleeve as students jostle around them. His uniform jacket is still buttoned up all the way from the graduation ceremony, all of them fidgeting in folding chairs under the fluorescence of the school gymnasium.
“Hmm?” The boy turns, and Wonwoo gets another face full of petals. It occurs to him suddenly that he didn’t expect Junhui to be so happy, saying all of his last goodbyes. At this point, he shouldn’t be surprised at how Junhui somehow always manages to surprise him.
“I closed my eyes in the photo,” Wonwoo says. “Before, I — I think I blinked.”
Junhui’s laughing brightly before he even finishes the sentence, nudging him with his hip. “I took like 20 pictures, Wonwoo. I’m sure one of them will turn out alright.”
//
“Say something.”
Wonwoo winces. “I don’t know if this is right.”
“Oh.” Junhui stands up from the couch immediately, running a hand through his hair. “Um, okay.” He turns away and surveys the room with a slightly baffled smile, like it’s the first time he’s seen it.
“What do you think of, when you look at me?” Wonwoo isn’t sure which of them was supposed to break the silence, but he feels responsible for it.
Junhui frowns. “What am I supposed to be thinking about?”
“Like a memory, or something about me, something from — from back then.” Wonwoo hates having to explain himself to people, but especially to Junhui. “There are so many things.”
Junhui doesn’t respond for a moment, and Wonwoo suddenly feels utterly transparent. Junhui only slows down when he’s afraid of causing harm. When he realizes his own potential for cruelty.
“Well…” He turns. “I’m looking at you.”
Wonwoo’s throat is suddenly dry.
“And I’m thinking about… how I didn’t eat enough for dinner, and the pack of ramen I saw in your kitchen earlier.”
Wonwoo wants to laugh, but he’s afraid it’ll come out more like a scoff.
Junhui’s gaze roams gently over him. “And… how your hair is kind of messy now.”
“And?” He asks hoarsely.
“And… whether you’d like to do this again sometime. Soon, that is.”
The question lingers in the air.
“I can’t do what you do.”
Junhui lets him deflect. “What do I do?”
Wonwoo takes a breath, and then another, a long exhale.
“I think I like you.”
“But?”
“I’ve liked you for a long time.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Everything about you reminds me of when we were young, just kids,” Wonwoo says. “When everything was easier. But life is different now, isn’t it? I’m not sure if I even know you, really, anymore, or if —” He’s too embarrassed to finish the sentence, but the thought is there, fully-formed; he was only able to run from it for so long. “I just miss those days,” he admits instead.
“You're afraid that nostalgia isn’t love.” Junhui’s gentle, affirming even in his stark discernment.
“It’s not fair.” Wonwoo hopes he doesn’t sound as impetuous as he feels. The distance between him and his desire was easier to understand when it seemed impossible to traverse.
“Is that what you want, Wonwoo? For things to be fair?”
“Don’t — shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t you?”
“What if I don't care?”
“What?” Wonwoo looks up.
“Your memories seem like an awfully heavy burden to carry.”
Wonwoo chuckles humorlessly. “It’s my own fault.” History has only ever served as relief, a landscape he could run his hands over, trace its peaks obsessively against the terrain of the present. “I’ve always been like this.”
Junhui crosses the room to stand in front of the couch, his body eclipsing the overhead light. “And if we split the weight?” His hand grazes up Wonwoo’s arm to rest on his shoulder. Slowly, ever so slowly, he crouches down until they’re face to face once again.
“You’re not the only one who remembers things, you know.”
Wonwoo inhales unsteadily.
“Close your eyes, Wonwoo.” Junhui’s voice is soft. Wonwoo swallows as he takes in the contours of his face, the proximity blurring the background like a dream. The glow dims to black.
“It will be just like before, I promise.”
***
spotify challenge: darling - seventeen, verkwan (svt)
“English?” Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. The head of the creative team doesn’t pause to gauge the group’s response, continuing on with her laser pointer trained on the slide.
“International fans will respond well,” she says, the red dot hovering around a cluster of statistics. Minghao’s eyes are open, but glazed, his slow, deep breaths fluttering the printed agenda on the table before him. Jeonghan looks like he might become one with the upholstery of the conference room chair. A marketing associate – he looks around Seungkwan’s age – mentions expanded promotional opportunities, an inevitable Tiktok challenge. Seungkwan twirls his pen between his fingers.
“It would be nice, of course, for it to be self-produced.” The head of creative cuts back in and looks meaningfully at Jihoon, who twitches in acknowledgement.
“I’ve got something just about done.” Just about done could mean anything with their leader. It could mean he’d finished it months ago. Or – Seungkwan makes a note to stock up on red ginseng and vitamin C packets for the studio. Jihoon clears his throat. “Not the lyrics though. Obviously.”
Across the room, heads turn in two different directions. Seungkwan’s deliberately does not.
It’s silent for a moment, until seniority wins – or loses, in this case.
“Um, yeah, I can try to…” Joshua rubs at the back of his neck. “Is there a theme, or a message or something?”
The presentation advances to the next slide. “The song will be a gift for Carats…”
~
Shannon ends up writing most of the lyrics, which is a godsend for all of them. Seungkwan is delighted when he shows up to record and sees her on the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest.
“What do you think, Vernon-ie starting the song?” She asks during a break, passing a mug over to Seungkwan.
“It’s good,” Seungkwan says immediately. “He’ll catch everyone’s eye, don’t you think?” He can imagine the lines in the other’s voice already.
“Eung, I thought so too.” Seungyeon glances at the lyrics. “You know, I asked him if he wanted to look these over before we submitted them, but he said no. Said he trusted me.”
Seungkwan takes a sip, warmth flooding his body as he speaks sincerely. “We do.”
~
“Please eat well,” the waitress says, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes creasing in endearment as she delivers the sizzling bibimbap. The syllables of their thanks tumble through the steam wafting up from the stone bowl.
“So… What do you think, of the song?” Seungkwan knows Vernon will tell him the truth. It’s not because of how close they are, or because it’s Seungkwan who’s asking — which does hurt, sometimes, but it’s also why he loves him.
“We’ve done worse.” Vernon smiles, the memories dulled enough to be precious.
“But how does it sound in English? I can’t tell, you know. It’s all just —” Seungkwan makes warbled noises.
Vernon laughs. “It’s okay. Sungyeon did a good job.” He cuts the thread of conversation short and turns his attention to the food, mixing the ingredients with an air of careful strategy.
Seungkwan takes a sip of his cold tea, covering up the twitch of his mouth.
Vernon puts a spoonful of rice on his plate.
“You didn’t want to help?”
Vernon doesn’t flinch, just shakes his head. A large party near them finishes their meal and begins to disperse, final cheers and calls of farewell and thanks and encouragement ricocheting through the pinball maze of empty green bottles scattered across the table.
“Okay,” Seungkwan says authoritatively, as if it’s all the explanation in the world, and begins digging into his food.
“I don’t love as easy in English,” Vernon says, many bites later. Seungkwan puts his chopsticks down. “I mean, there’s my mom, and Sophia, but…” Vernon swallows. “The kind of love I’d want to write songs about.” He brushes a grain of rice away from the black-lettered menu, then looks up, locking eyes with Seungkwan. The chatter of the other restaurant patrons weaves around them, familiar, gentle. “I learned that in this language.”
***
spotify challenge: no signal - michelle, chaewon/yunjin (lsfm)
“Yunjin-ah…” Chaewon hovers near the entrance to the bedroom carefully, watching the other girl yank the zipper of her cloth backpack all the way open. The front door of the dorm is only just latching shut behind them.
“Does manager-oppa know?” Yunjin turns the bag upside down and shakes it furiously over her bed, the contents tumbling out onto the comforter. Empty candy wrappers, small shopping bags from Myeongdong boutiques, headphones connected via a tangled mess of cord to an mp3 player, an old model that Chaewon hasn’t seen in years. A colored metal bottle cap.
Chaewon shakes her head even though Yunjin isn’t looking at her for a response, already rifling through the trash bin to shove her snacks deep down underneath the mass of used makeup-remover wipes and crumpled pieces of looseleaf.
“You left late enough,” Chaewon says softly. The crinkling of paper and plastic stops.
Yunjin’s lips are puffy, Chaewon notices when she straightens up. She tries not to think about the jagged edge of the bottle cap still sitting on the bed.
“Who noticed first? Kkura unnie?”
No. “Of course.” Chaewon crosses her arms.
Yunjin grabs her phone and pushes down on the power button until the screen illuminates. “Thanks for covering for me.”
“Yunjin-ah,” Chaewon repeats. She can get away with it right now, the scolding, the interrogation – she knows the other girl won’t resent her; after all, it’s her job, and Yunjin has always understood obligation. It doesn’t make the words any easier.
Yunjin sits down on the bed. “Sorry.”
Chaewon crosses the threshold. “Is it the schedule? I know it’s been super packed, I can ask manager-”
“No.” Yunjin cuts her off, wrinkling her nose. “It’s not – I know you probably won’t believe me, but it’s not work. It’s just…” She gathers her hoodie into her arms, looks up at the other girl. “I spent so long thinking there was something else out there, somewhere I was really supposed to be. And now I’m here, and it feels perfect, really, in so many ways, but…” She trails off. “Do you know what I mean?”
Chaewon blinks at the sudden question, just a split-second flicker of her eyelids, and Yunjin smiles kindly. “Never mind, unnie.” There’s a softcover book on the bed, the upside-down cursive of the title too elaborate for Chaewon to decipher without making it obvious that she’s trying. Her teeth clench. “Maybe it’s just force of habit.”
You can’t do that again, Yunjin-ah.
“Hey, I got you this.” Yunjin pulls two identical bracelets from one of the shopping bags, dainty silver things, and fastens one of them around her own wrist quickly. “Cute, right?”
She would understand, after all.
Maybe that’s what made it so hard.
“Thanks.” Chaewon steps forward and takes the other bracelet, fingers brushing against Yunjin’s outstretched palm.
