The Feeling You Get When Vernon Arrives Home Today Is So Unfamiliar And So Indescribably Wrong. Instead

the feeling you get when vernon arrives home today is so unfamiliar and so indescribably wrong. instead of jumping up to kiss him, or yelling a greeting from the couch, you feel your stomach twist.

because you don’t know if he wants to see you right now.

so you stay put. curled up on the bed — muscles tense, eyes glancing towards the door, knowing that your boyfriend’s going to walk in any second, and you’re still mad. less mad, but still mad.

you’d had a fight. nothing wild, but it had been building for some time, you could feel it, and when vernon forgot to get the milk you so desperately needed, you snapped. he hadn’t had time for you recently. he forgot about your movie date. he didn’t remember to pick you up from work.

he didn’t have time to argue with you; he had somewhere to be, so vernon had drawn his brows together, stayed silent until you were done, and then, in a hushed tone, said that he’d see you in a few hours. his manager was waiting.

and when he does walk in the room now, vernon’s eyes are drawn to you immediately. there’s a moment where you lock gazes, and then you break eye contact, getting up and walking to the kitchen.

“don’t,” he calls after you, from the bedroom door. “please don’t walk away from me right now.”

some bitter, resentful side of you wants to throw up your middle finger and keep going. but you don’t, because, despite the past few weeks, vernon is good to you. he’s so fucking good to you. and you know that throwing his hard work, extra work, in his face like this isn’t what he deserves.

so you stop. you don’t turn, but you hear him coming up behind you, pausing, and then you feel his arms slipping round your waist from behind; his forehead rests against your shoulder. you can feel his gentle breath against the place your neck and shoulder meet, and you feel his lips there too after a moment.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs against your skin, so quiet that if you’d breathed wrong, you wouldn’t have heard it. “i love you. i’m sorry.”

you feel like crying, but you don’t want to do that. so instead you turn in his arms, burying yourself into his shirt — your voice comes out strangled when you speak. “i missed you.”

“i know,” he breathes, holding you tighter, clinging to you — like you’re precious. like if he let go, you’d slip through his fingers and he’d never be the same. “i know.”

he kisses your shoulder again, and you say your three words back to him, and that won’t fix it forever, but it fixes it now; it fixes it until you’re both ready to talk; it fixes it enough.

an / 👍

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holy fuck i did NOT recognize jun in the weibo nylon post and holy fuck idk if i’ve ever been this attracted to him like yes i was aware he was HOT and shit but what the fuck i’m going to scream and tear my hair out

excuse me protest WHAT??

imagining jeonghan as your roommate and you're just friends. REALLY you're just friends.

friends who started going out on dates as a joke because you were both bored. friends who always call each other every night when one of you is out of town because you missed the sound of their voice. friends who sleep in each other's beds until you don't know what it feels like to be alone anymore.

jeonghan's just your friend — really, he is! so even if your heart aches with lovesickness every time he flashes you a lazy smile, you take it in stride. because jeonghan is a nice friend. a wonderful friend. you wouldn't trade what you have with him for anything else.

even for the paper thin chance that he might just be as lovesick as you are.

someone asks, "are you guys dating?" one day when you're all hanging out with a bigger circle and before you can deny the allegations, jeonghan intercepts with a calm and confident, "yes."

you think about it the entire drive home because... you're just friends, right? friends who go on dates but aren't dating. friends who love each other but aren't in love.

oh wait. that only makes one of you.

"what do you mean we're dating?" you dare to ask jeonghan once he pulls over at a red light — a frown contorting your features. "we're just friends, aren't we?"

jeonghan hums as his fingers drum across the steering wheel. "hn? we've been on at least twelve platonic dates. that counts as dating, right?"

"...when does it become not platonic then?"

he doesn't answer right away, slanted eyes glued to the traffic lights counting down until they glow green again. you don't make it a habit to figure out what goes on in jeonghan's head. you've never once won that game and you've always been a sore loser.

but right after he steps on the gas pedal to zoom past the empty streets again, jeonghan — your roommate, your confidant, your friend — smiles at you with tenderness in his eyes that's familiar and foreign both at the same time.

"how about date number thirteen?" he asks before making a sharp right that's definitely not en-route to your shared apartment. "the carnival by the pier closes at three a.m. and i know that parlor game stuffies are the key to your heart."

you stare at him for a beat longer — wondering if there's a catch. a punchline to some joke you're not quite getting.

but you've been friends with jeonghan for so long that you're well-aware that the only way you can figure him out is to not figure him out at all.

"okay," you respond coolly, trying to keep your heart from bursting when you place your hand on top of jeonghan's from where he firmly grips the gear shift. "you better make up for not buying me one of those ikea sharks."

jeonghan snorts. "hey! blåhaj is out of our budget!"

jeonghan's a good friend. the best friend you could ask for, really. but the morning after he takes you to the midnight carnival, you're glad to know he's an even better boyfriend.

“that one looks like a penis,” you say conversationally.

minghao casts you one, long look from his side of the blanket. “is this not supposed to be romantic?” he questions you, with a suppressed smile playing on his lips.

“yeah, but like. look at it!” you point upward, towards the clouds and fixating on one in particular, that to your gifted, artistic eye, looks a lot like… male genitalia.

your boyfriend bites down on his lip and shakes his head. “what about that one?” he points, changing the subject, because actually he sees where you’re coming from, and he doesn’t want to dwell on it. “it looks like an elephant.”

you gasp, following his finger. “where? i love elephants!”

“there.”

“are you making it up, hao? i can’t see it.”

“it’s right there!”

“where?”

minghao sighs, clicks his tongue, and tugs you carefully so you’re half on top of his chest, with the side of his face pressed to your cheek. “there,” he repeats, softer, as though he hasn’t pulled one of the smoothest moves in the book.

“ohhh.” you look at it, and then sigh disappointedly. “it looks more like a… a camera.”

there’s a short pause. “i’m starting to worry about your eyesight,” he says finally. “look at it! there’s the trunk, and the ears, and — ”

you look at him sideways, as he traces his elephant in the clouds, suddenly struck by how pretty he is — how lucky you are. “okay,” you agree quickly, when you realise he’s waiting for a response. “it’s an elephant.”

your boyfriend sends you a long look. “i can tell that you’re just humouring me.”

“i am,” you admit, unashamedly. “but you love me anyway, right?”

“are you fishing for confessions?”

“it doesn’t hurt to hear it!”

minghao sighs, and gives in as he always does, but he pinches your nose when he says it. “yes, baby. i love you anyway.”

“even if i see penises in the clouds?”

a longer, deeper sigh. “even if you see penises in the clouds.”

an / if u saw the jeonghan drabble i posted like ten mins ago and deleted. no u didn’t. here’s a minghao drabble instead. prompt from here bc writer’s block is insane

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