Sleepless

Sleepless

“Hold the door!” A familiar voice shouts from the platform as you board the metro.

Smiling, you stick your arm in front of the door and watch as Seokmin runs to you. He gives you a sunny smile as he hops into the train car, and you take the empty window seat across from each other.

“Cutting it close again,” you chide. It’s impossible not to smile back at him — today is a gloomy, drizzly day, and you have quite the train ride before arriving at your destination, but he makes you feel warm.

“Well,” he says, rummaging in his bag before pulling out a paper-wrapped object and handing it to you, “it is not without just cause.”

You unfold the paper to reveal a powder-dusted croissant studded with almonds. “Almond crème?” You exclaim, looking at him with shining eyes.

“It’s the only choice, really,” he says, echoing your own words from your first breakfast hangout months earlier, zipping up his bag.

You hold the croissant up to his nose. “You get the first bite,” you say.

“But it’s your favorite!” He protests.

“I don’t see a croissant for you,” you say sternly. “Now bite it. I’m hungry.”

He shrugs resignedly and bites into the croissant, giving a thumbs up. “Delicious,” he says.

You eat some of the croissant yourself. It’s perfect. You close your eyes in delight and Seokmin laughs. “I love watching you eat,” he says. “You never hold back.”

You blush. “I didn’t realize I was being so ostentatious.”

He is quick to reassure. “It’s wonderful, truly,” he says. “It’s actually quite cute.”

You blush harder. His eyes are wide and earnest behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and it’s a performance day — so his hair is combed back like a prince’s, perfectly complementing the aquiline shape of his nose and his regal, high cheekbones.

“Are you okay?” He asks you, bringing you back to earth. You realize that you were staring, and shake yourself a little.

“Yeah,” you say, in an attempt to be breezy that comes out breathy and forced, “I think I’m just nervous for the solo today.”

His eyes soften. “You’ve worked so hard,” he reminds you gently. “You’re going to be incredible.”

You feel a lump in your throat at this praise. “Thanks,” you say, clearing your throat. “Are you nervous?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but I’ve practiced a lot. I think I’ll be okay.”

You nod, watching him carefully — knowing he is prone not to talk about his feelings for fear of being burdensome. But he does seem fairly calm, not fidgeting or avoiding eye contact like he does when he’s nervous. You relax a bit.

The metro gets more and more crowded the further you travel. When a pregnant woman with a small child boards your car, Seokmin immediately stands up and gestures her into his seat, and you stand and help the little boy into yours. The two of you grab the overhead rail, bracing yourself for when the train moves.

A couple stops later, an inebriated man stumbles into the train. His eyes immediately latch on you, and he takes a lumbering step forward, pointing at you with a dirty fingernail. He says something in French, so slurred that you can't understand him.

And then the train lurches forward. In a swift move, Seokmin pulls you into him, almost like you're dancing, and turns smoothly to put himself between you and the man as he stumbles yet again, colliding with Seokmin's broad shoulders.

You feel the impact against Seokmin's chest, but he is holding you at the waist so tightly and his feet are planted so well that you both keep your balance. Seokmin looks over his shoulder -- peering around his arm, you see that the drunk man has fallen over. An older man, probably in his 40s, helps him into a seat and speaks some stern words to him in French. He nods at Seokmin, who gives him an uncertain nod back, smiling hesitantly, and then turns to look down at you.

With one arm, Seokmin is holding you against him. With the other, he is reaching above your head and holding the overhead railing. As you look at each other, Seokmin's cheeks go pink, and he releases you. "Sorry," he says.

"No," you blurt, "I mean, thank you. If you hadn't have done that, I might have gotten hurt."

He looks down at his shoes in a rare shy moment. "I'm glad you're not hurt."

The rest of the train ride passes in silence. That moment of closeness has brought up feelings for Seokmin that you're convinced anyone who spent any amount of time with him couldn't help having. Because honestly, you think to yourself, how could you not fall in love with him? Not only was he physically beautiful, with a smile that could probably convince flowers to grow in the winter, but he was funny and silly without ever being mean, easy-going and temperate, and incredibly kind to everyone. He listened attentively, responded to things he didn't understand about you with curiosity and empathy, and showed genuine care for you in every situation. You have to constantly stop yourself from brushing his cheek with the back of your hand, from leaning your head on his shoulder, from holding him too tightly whenever he gave you one of his soul-healing hugs. Thinking about how he had protected you, even from something so minor, makes your heart ache with a desperate longing for him.

He interrupts your daydreams once again. "That's our stop," he says, and you nod. You get off the train with your violin case, headed to the square where your concert is to take place. Seokmin says goodbye at the barricades -- he has to go meet up with his fellow singers, but before you turn to leave, he grabs your hand. "Good luck," he says, grinning at you, and sneaking a quick kiss on the back of your hand before releasing it and running off.

You try not to think about that as you warm up and rehearse with the other orchestra members. Then, with only an hour left, you find a quiet corner to rehearse your solo. Your fingers remember the notes perfectly -- all the practice has paid off. You enter the concert feeling confident.

Many people have gathered on the outside steps of the Opera Garnier, around the barricades, to hear your group play. The chorus students begin their song, and you accompany on your violin as planned. Then, Seokmin steps forward for his solo, and you pull out your music.

His voice is just as powerful and sweet as ever as he begins the opening phrases of Nessun Dorma. You try not to cry when the chorus chimes in, and Seokmin steals the show with his beautiful high notes. Then, it's your turn. You feel eyes on you as you play a solo arrangement of the refrain of Nessun Dorma, one that you wrote yourself. As you finish, the crowd claps loudly, and you find yourself looking for him -- for Seokmin, knowing he'd be watching, hoping he'll be proud of you.

When you finally see him, he is looking at you already. You think you see, across the performing space, a tear sliding down one cheek, and he is beaming at you, his eyes full of some extremely deep emotion. You have to fight off the sudden urge to run to him and kiss him on the mouth in front of all these people.

After the whole show is over, he finds you. He takes you in his arms, and you feel him rest his chin on the top of your head, cradling your neck in his hand. "You were amazing. I couldn't help but cry," he says, his voice soft.

You pull back and look at him. Even now, his eyes are looking a bit brighter than usual. "I'm so glad you liked it," you say, and before you can stop yourself, you brush a falling tear from his eyes.

He gazes at you, searching your face, seemingly lost for words, before finally saying, simply, "walk with me."

And you do. You walk with him through the darkening streets of Paris with one hand in his, the other gripping your violin case. Just his hand in yours has started shivers down your spine, and you try to be normal as he interlocks his fingers with yours after awhile, making it clear he isn't letting go. You don't speak until you've passed into view of the Seine, across the river from where the Eiffel tower stands, glittering in the darkness.

He turns to you and takes a deep breath. Somehow, the streets are empty, so there is no one around and nowhere to look but you. He looks at you for a few more seconds before he says it. "I love you," he says.

You feel your eyes go wide. Seokmin gives a nervous chuckle, running his hand through his hair feverishly, before going on. "I love you, and I don't know if there's any way I can avoid talking about it anymore. These past few months have been the best months of my life, but they've also been torture. I'm in an impossible position. It's either tell you all of this and risk losing you forever or never say anything and absolutely burn up inside." He leans against the railing of the bridge you're on, seemingly agitated.

He turns back to you. "The only reason I'm saying anything," he says, leaving the railing and stepping closer to you, "is because you might feel the same way." He takes your hand, looking into your eyes. "Do you?"

You feel a smile creeping onto your face as euphoria sweeps over you. "You love me?" you ask him.

His eyes have turned tender and soft. He gives you a soft, gentle smile as he answers, "more than my own life."

You can't help but throw your arms around him. He catches you instinctively, but then his arms wrap around your waist and he buries his face in your neck. He holds you for what feels like forever, and then he pulls back. Tilting your chin up toward him with his forefinger’s knuckle, he leans in just before your lips meet. He hesitates, then smiles, then brushes your lips with his - a test, one that leaves you breathless.

And then he kisses you for real. With his hand at the back of your neck, his lips meet yours again, gentle but insistent. He kisses you over and over again, his hands sliding from your neck to your waist. When you’re finished, you’re both breathless. Seokmin holds you close to him, brushing a hand over your hair and kissing the top of your head. Then he laughs. “We really went for it, didn’t we?”

You laugh and nuzzle into his chest. “Finally,” you agree.

I want to thank the anonymous user who let me know i was being disrespectful in some content in my wonwoo fic in re his personal life. I’m genuinely glad someone brought it to my attention so that I can take more care next time. It was thoughtless and insensitive of me and I am committed to be more careful of the things I write in the future. I took the fic down and am working on writing a new one sans any content that is insensitive. I would like to apologize to anyone who read it and was uncomfortable and also wonwoo, whose privacy deserves to be respected.

-Josephine

The Hope in the Fault Lines, Part 2

I was expecting this part to take much longer to write.............but here it is!! part 2 of 5 in the series. Go read Part 1 if you haven't already!! Warnings: implied sexual behavior, sick child, one scene takes place in a hospital, implied PTSD (it's never said but she has it), death of sibling, this part is a bit of a rooooooooooough time but bear with me Word count: 5.6 k for part 2

par t 1 | part 3 | part 4

Before

You bit your lip as you looked at Jeri in the mirror. “You look beautiful,” you had told her, your voice hesitant.

“You sound so convincing,” she said sarcastically, adjusting her veil and smoothing her hands over the sleek bodice of her minimalist-chic wedding dress. “What’s your deal?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you had asked her. “Get married? I mean, that means you’re stuck with him.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Not everyone is a workaholic and commitmentphobe,” she reminded you. “I’m in love with Jisung, sweetheart. We’ve been together for two years.”

“Is that long enough?” you had wondered out loud. “I mean, what if there’s something bad you don’t know about him? What if he committed a crime or something?”

Jeri gave you her best “you’re being ridiculous” look. “You remember who we’re talking about, right?” she asked you. “Jisung gets stressed out if he accidentally forgets to signal when he changes lanes. There’s no way he could commit a whole crime.”

You had to admit that was fair. She took your hands in hers. “I know what this is really about,” she said. “And I’m not making the mistake that mom made. I know what I’m doing.”

You had smiled at the confidence in her tone. In that moment, she seemed so mature and self-assured that you forgot she was your younger sister. Somewhere in this beautiful house, you knew Jisung was coming apart at the seams, and the thought of how the man must be panicking over every single detail of the day while your sister waited calmly to walk down the aisle was suddenly very funny to you. Downstairs, the music started, and you squeezed Jeri’s hands before tucking one of them into the crook of your elbow. 

“Ready?” you asked, feeling a whirlwind of emotions -- pride, worry, joy -- but giving your sister a smile.

“Ready,” she confirmed, and together you had headed down the stairs, where everyone in the wide chapel room had stood and turned their heads to gaze open-mouthed as you, Jeri’s only sibling, walked her down the aisle.

***

“Thanks for texting,” you say as you arrive home and Mingyu hands Sara into your outstretched arms. “The updates are really great. And thanks for grabbing the books! I’ll read to her tonight.”

The first two weeks of Mingyu’s employment have seen a drastic improvement in your mental state. For one thing, Mingyu keeps the house clean, so there isn’t the added weight of messiness and clutter. For another, you are able to work without the mental load of being away from Sara because you receive regular updates throughout the day. And finally, though it’s a bit embarrassing to admit, Mingyu is just a soothing presence. You only see him for a few minutes before work and after work every day, but it’s always so easy and pleasant to talk to him that you genuinely look forward to it. 

Your weekend time with Sara seems to be improving, too -- perhaps she can sense you’re breathing easier, which makes her less fussy, or maybe she’s just gotten used to you. Either way, she’s becoming more like she was before the accident, which does your heart a lot of good. And you love holding her, talking to her, and hearing her little babbles and shrieks. Obviously the circumstances of your parenthood are shit, but the actual parenthood part is turning out to be better than you thought.

“Just a heads-up -- I think she might be a little under the weather. She’s been fussy and low-energy today.” Mingyu looks between you and Sara, a little worry tinging his voice.

You look down at Sara’s flushed pink cheeks in worry. “Oh no,” you say. “Um, thanks for letting me know.”

“I got baby cough medicine,” he tells you. “So if she does come down with something, it’s in the cupboard where you keep your vitamins.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you breathe. “Thank you.” You stroke Sara’s head, which she’s buried in the crook of your neck in exhaustion. “Don’t wanna say bye to Mingyu?” you ask her softly.

He brushes a broad hand over her black curls. “Bye, Sara. See you tomorrow.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” you say suddenly. “I have to leave Thursday night for a short day trip for the magazine. It’s nothing major -- I’m only staying overnight because the city is a couple hours away and I don’t love driving at night. Would you be alright staying with her?”

He nods. “As long as you’re paying me, I’ll be here,” he jokes.

“You’re a star,” you say, and he chuckles. “I’ll pay you time and a half for overnight stuff.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll let you get her to bed, then.”

He gives you a smile that would make anyone weak in the knees, and you can’t help but smile back as he leaves. Turning your attention to Sara, you inspect her face. “Hmm,” you say, your brow creasing in worry at her dull eyes and ruddy cheeks. She does look ill, and this thought seems to hover uncomfortably in the back of your mind as you sit her in the bathtub. She fusses and cries during her bath, which is uncommon -- she loves splashing around, and usually bathtime is full of giggles and smiles. You bite the inside of your cheek and wash her off, toweling her dry a bit more thoroughly than usual to make sure she doesn’t go to bed with any part of her still wet.

You bring her to bed with you instead of putting her in her crib. You used to do this because you were so exhausted during nighttime feedings, and falling asleep in the rocking chair meant an aching neck in the morning. You still remember how terrified you were that you would roll over Sara and suffocate her. But gradually you learned that you woke with any small noise of Sara’s, and your fear had subsided. Now, she slept in your bedroom more nights than she slept in her crib -- and tonight, it felt extra necessary to keep a close eye on her.

Sure enough, around four in the morning you wake to sniffles punctuated by soft coughs. Sleepily, you lift Sara into your arms. She nuzzles into you, and you relax a bit -- clearly she is well enough to at least be aware of you. Allowing yourself to doze off, you wake up just before 5:30 and decide to actually get ready before Mingyu arrived.

You lay Sara back on the bed with a small kiss on her cheek, noting that it isn’t much warmer than it usually is (which means no fever), and take an open-door, open-curtain shower -- one where you could still see Sara’s little figure swaddled in the bed. You don’t get your hair wet, and you curl it once you get out. Finally, you actually put on makeup for the first time since your sister died. 

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you realize that you barely recognize this creature staring back at you. Her hollow cheeks and dark under-eyes have been concealed by an artful hand, but the colors in her gaze betray her. Perhaps it was just because you knew everything you’d gone through, but it is obvious to you that the eyes tell all -- the crushing nothingness of grief, the bitter rage, the dimness of despair. You remind yourself to avoid looking at the mirror too closely from now on.

Sara is still fast asleep when you finish around 6:45. You decide it’s best if she stays asleep for the sake of her health, so you carefully move her to her crib just as Mingyu’s knock sounds at the door. You tip-toe down the stairs to get it. “Hi,” you whisper to him as you open the door.

He seems taken aback for a moment, but recovers quickly. “Hey,” he says at a normal volume as he strides over the threshold and removes his shoes. “You look really nice, boss.”

“Oh!” you say, still whispering, remembering the makeup and the woman you couldn’t say was you in the mirror. “Um, thanks. Uh, Sara’s still asleep.”

He nods, looking a bit sheepish at how loud he’d been, and that little pinch of worry reappeared between his eyebrows. “Did she sleep okay?” he whispers back.

“She slept through the night, actually,” you tell him. “I’m thinking we should just let her sleep as long as she wants -- her body needs rest.”

Mingyu nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. How did you sleep?” he asks you, eyeing you carefully.

“Not too bad,” you say, feeling a little anxious under the weight of his gaze. “I woke up a little earlier than normal, but I got enough.” You give him a small smile. “How did you sleep, now that we’re at it?”

He grins. “I slept great. Thanks for asking.”

“Good to hear,” you say. 

You just stand there in the kitchen, smiling awkwardly at each other, before Mingyu says, “so...have you eaten yet?”

“Oh! Um, no,” you say, wondering why you’re always surprised whenever he chooses to speak to you even though you’re literally the only one in the room.

“Let me make you something,” he says. “We’ve got a lot of time until you need to leave, and I’ve never seen you eat breakfast.”

“I’m surprised you noticed that,” you say quietly. 

He winks at you. “I notice everything,” he says. “So, do you like eggs?”

He goes to the fridge and starts removing things. “Yes, I do,” you say, sincerely hoping he was just teasing and he doesn’t notice how you’re blushing. 

You only realize you’re staring him down when he looks at you with one eyebrow raised. “You in there?”

“Oh,” you say, yet again. You’re flustered today -- for some reason, it feels like your thoughts are taking a longer time than is average to come out of your mouth in any way that makes sense. You fixate on his broad hands chopping some garlic, and suddenly you’re speaking. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just...it’s a little stupid, but Jeri -- my sister, you know -- she was the one who always made me breakfast when we lived together in college. Even...even years later, she’d still text me occasionally to make sure I’d eaten.”

Where had that come from? Sure, it was all true -- the hard lump in your throat that made it difficult to say was evidence of that -- but why had you suddenly confessed such a thing to your nanny? You sigh. “Sorry, I don’t -- don’t really know why I just...told you that. Out of nowhere.” You look down at your hands, embarrassed.

He nods slowly, and his smile is tinged with sadness. “It’s okay,” he tells you. “I don’t mind.” He begins cracking eggs into the pan, stirring them with a pair of chopsticks to scramble them up. “What was your sister like?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What?” he says. “I’m curious. You don’t have to tell me, but I do genuinely want to know.”

Your mouth twists into a half-smile. “Well, she and I were like two sides of the same coin,” you say, going to sit at the island in the middle of the wide kitchen so he can hear you over the sizzling vegetables and eggs in the pan. “Inseparable since childhood, you know. She’s two years younger than I am, but it always felt like we were twins, somehow. She was...” 

You trail off, thinking. Mingyu is glancing between you and the eggs on the stove, but you can tell he’s listening. Maybe it’s the quiet of the morning, and maybe it’s just him, but the dam breaks, and words spill out. “She was just as stubborn as me, but she didn’t have the ambition I have, or maybe the better word is ‘hubris’. I wanted to build something that would outlast me, but she just wanted to live somewhere quiet with her husband and a houseful of kids. But neither of us ever...ever tried to talk each other out of what we wanted. We both knew, I guess. She knew I couldn’t stand being mediocre, and I knew she hated the spotlight. And God, I loved that about her. She never resented me for my success or my money, because there was no competition.”

Mingyu takes the eggs off the stove and plates them in one smooth move, setting them in front of you as you finish speaking. He smiles at you as he hands you a fork. “She sounds great,” he says. 

“She is,” you say. “Was,” you correct. Your eyes suddenly burn, and to distract yourself, you pick up a glob of eggs with the fork and blow on it, eating it. Your eyes go wide. “These are good!” you exclaim.

Mingyu gives a sarcastic little bow. “Thanks,” he says. He’s interrupted by a cry from the baby monitor -- Sara seems to have woken up.

You move to stand up to grab her, but Mingyu stops you. “You eat,” he instructs. “I’ll go get her.”

You watch him go up the stairs with the trace of a smile as you continue eating the eggs. He comes downstairs with Sara a few minutes later, and her little head is resting against his big shoulder. He’s bouncing her gently, and you are struck for a moment at how tiny she looks in his thick arms.

In minutes you’ve finished your eggs, knowing you don’t have long until you need to leave. But you do wash your plate and the pan that Mingyu used to make the eggs, despite his protests. “I may not have given the impression that I know how to do the dishes the first few weeks you worked here, but I promise I do,” you tease. 

He shakes his head, amused. “I know you do, you just don’t seem like someone who should wash dishes.”

“Why?” you ask indignantly.

He shrugs. “Kind of like how a queen shouldn’t make her own bed in the morning. You’ve got me for that.”

You actually laugh at that. “Are you calling me a queen?”

He nods his head emphatically. “Of course you are,” he says with a grin. 

Your smile is big enough that it’s hurting your face. “Well, thank you,” you say. “But you’re not my maid. In fact,” you continue, and grab your now-clean fork, “I think you deserve a promotion.”

In a dramatic march, you make your way over to Mingyu, who watches you with amused eyes as you stop in front of him, reaching up to tap both his shoulders with the fork before tapping the crown of his head. “You’ve been knighted,” you say seriously. And he giggles at you -- a surprisingly high, breathy sound that instantly fills you with warmth.

“I’m gonna ask all my friends to call me Sir Mingyu,” he tells you. 

Solemnly, you nod. “I’m glad to know this went straight to your head.”

He laughs again, and you start to walk away. “Well, Princess Sara and Sir Mingyu, have a lovely day. The queen needs to go to work.”

He’s still grinning at your antics by the time you make it out the door.

On the drive to work, you catch yourself smiling to yourself. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been silly like that -- it had probably been since college, and even then that side of you didn’t come out often. You had grown up far too fast, a necessity in a household like you grew up in, and the only person who really could bring it out of you had been Jeri, whom you had been that way for to try to save her from growing up too fast, too.

When Mingyu had entered your house today, he’d been your employee, but when you’d left the house, you felt that you had kind of become friends. The thought, as odd as it was, was also comforting. Because raising a child with a nanny felt clinical and business-y of you, but raising a kid with a friend was probably the closest this could get to how it should be. You make a mental note to make a raise schedule for Mingyu so that he never ever ever leaves your employment.

***

Before

You look between Jisung and Jeri with a raised eyebrow. Letting out a puff of air, you lean forward. “The things I have seen today,” you say while pinching the bridge of your nose, “are things I never thought I’d see when I asked you to house-sit for me. And things I’m expecting and hoping to never see again. Are we clear?”

Jisung’s face is bright red, and Jeri looks traumatized. They both nod.

“Although I am pretty impressed at your creativity,” you continue, feeling the need to lighten the mood in the room. “The kitchen island, Jisung? I mean, that was acrobatic of you both.”

The two of them look at each other and burst into giggles. “Okay, we’re sorry,” Jeri says, her face just as red as Jisung’s, but she can finally look you in the eye. “But can you blame us? I mean, we’re newlyweds.”

“Newlyweds who got carried away,” you agree. “Jisung, it’s okay. I’m not going to commit any murders today. You can look at me.”

“I am so embarrassed,” your sister’s husband groans. “It was my fault, I just --”

Jeri cuts in. “No, it was me, I just --”

You roll your eyes. “I really don’t care who started it. I just care that every single inch of this kitchen is sprayed with medical-grade chemicals and that you promise to never ever ever let me catch you like that again. Especially in my own house.”

“Deal,” says Jeri. Her eyes are twinkling with humor, and you have to concentrate to keep yourself from grinning at her. Because she knows what you’re about to say as Jisung hurries out of the room for the bleach.

“Damn, girl. Good for you.”

***

“Boss?” Cory’s voice sounds as though it’s coming to you from down a long hallway, and you snap back to earth with a little shake of your head.

“Sorry, Cory,” you say, shifting in your seat and reaching for your glass of water. “What were you saying?”

Cory picks at the potatoes on his plate and looks around the fancy restaurant at anything but you before fixing you with a blue-eyed gaze that is surprisingly intense. “I figured this would be the best time to confess.”

What? You’re sure you misheard him. “Confess?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he says, and in spite of himself, he’s grinning. “Listen, we’ve worked together for seven years. We met freshman year of college, and you really believed in me more than anyone ever has in my life. I -- I’ve kept this in for a long time, actually. Years.”

“Are you telling me you have feelings for me?” you ask him bluntly.

“Well, yeah,” he says, and he blushes. “Are you telling me you had no idea?”

“I seriously didn’t,” you say, your head spinning. You take a deep breath and pray you’ll find the right words. “Listen...I appreciate you so much, Cory. I couldn’t ask for a better editor, and you’re absolutely right -- I have so much faith in you and your skills. This business, my business, wouldn’t be anywhere without you.”

He gives you a sad half-smile. “But?” he says.

“But,” you say, nodding. “But my sister just died, like, three and a half months ago. And I’m still trying to figure out what my life looks like from here. A lot is changing for me...and even if it weren’t, I still don’t think I’d be sure how I felt about being in a relationship with anyone.”

Cory seems to chew on these words as you speak. “Well, I can’t say that comes as a surprise to me,” he says after awhile. “But it was getting to be too much for me to hold in.”

“I understand,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

“Listen,” he says, and he reaches across the table to put a hand over yours. “I want you to take your time and think about it. Think about me, in that way. Figure out if it makes sense in your head like it makes sense in mine. I won’t give up on you, so take your time.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he says -- but you aren’t apologizing for anything you said. You’re apologizing for the way you want to run out of the restaurant, far away from the yearning look in his eyes.

***

Before

“But what if --”

“Save it,” Jeri says, brushing mascara over your eyelashes. 

“Seriously though. What if I --”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” she tells you. She closes the tube of mascara and then pulls the graduation cap from your bag. “Just do the speech like you practiced. You ran it through with me like a thousand times.” She pins the cap on in record speed.

“But what if I do mess it up?” you finally say.

She puts both her hands on your shoulders and gives you a look that shuts you up right away. “If there’s one thing I know about my sister, it’s that she is always prepared.”

You swallow hard at this. “Oh, God,” you breathe. “I’m not sure...”

“Why are you so nervous? You were fine yesterday,” she asks you.

“Because what if it all fails? Not just the speech,” you clarify at her quizzical glance. “All my plans, the magazine, the business...what if it all just fails?”

She gives you a gentle look. “Then we’ll start over. We always do.”

This is what gives you the strength to walk onto that stage: the knowledge that even if the worst possible thing happens, you and Jeri will always have each other.

***

There is, in your opinion, nothing worse than being exhausted and anxious. It creates the perfect storm: desperately wanting to close your eyes and escape the thoughts swirling around in your brain, but also being entirely unable to relax, which is the state you find yourself in after the dinner with Cory. So you toss and turn in your hotel room, a three hour drive from home, and wonder how Sara is doing.  

Your last text from Mingyu had come in at around 7pm, and he was putting her to bed then. According to his updates, her cough had gotten worse. Cory’s confession truly couldn’t have come at a worse time, when you were already so preoccupied with Sara’s health. At 10:57pm you check your phone one final time before your exhaustion beats back your anxiety with a stick and you reluctantly sink into uneasy dreams.

It seems like minutes of sleep before you wake to your phone ringing. Your eyes fly open, but you suddenly realize your arms and legs aren’t working as you try to reach for it. Your breath speeds up, but you can’t open your mouth to scream. And spiders seem to be crawling out of the shadows on the walls.

Finally you can twitch your fingers, then move your arms, then sit up and grab your phone. Still shaking, still hyperventilating, still sick with worry, you check the caller ID and your stomach drops -- it’s Mingyu. 

You quickly answer. “Hi,” you say breathlessly.

His voice is slightly muffled. “I’m taking Sara to the hospital,” he says, his tone urgent. “I don’t think she’s breathing very well.”

The air has left your lungs. You hear yourself answer him -- something about thanking him and you’ll see them soon -- and then you drop the phone. For a split second you’re frozen in panic. Then, you leap into action. You grab your keys from the nightstand, leaving everything behind but your phone and its charger, and race down the hallway to the elevator in your pajamas.

What follows is the most tense three hour drive of your life, riddled with flashbacks to phone calls from police officers on the highway. “You’re sister’s been involved in an accident,” you hear over and over in your head. “Come to the hospital.” You’re gripping the wheel so tightly that your knuckles ache, and you alternate between struggling to breathe and silently weeping. There are whole minutes, maybe more, from the drive that you don’t remember. You don’t know if you’re speeding. You don’t know what time it is. The only thing you can think is Please God, don’t let another member of my family die in that goddamn hospital. 

You had hoped you’d never have to walk into this lobby again -- never have to smell the chemicals or see the doctors or talk to the front desk people and tell them who you’re there for. You never wanted to be in this same elevator, going up to this same floor, possibly to the same hallway you’d visited nearly four months earlier. And yet, here you are. It’s like your brain can’t believe it -- nothing feels real. If things got any weirder, you’d be tempted to reach your hand out to the nearest wall, half-expecting it to dissolve into smoke in your hands. 

You round a corner, arriving in another one of those identical hallways, your heart in your throat, and you see him. Mingyu is standing about halfway down the hallway, talking to a doctor, his shoulders set in anxious tension, and before you can stop yourself you’re calling for him. You don’t even register his shocked expression as he turns to see you, and you don’t even realize that you’re running to him before he opens his arms to you and your collide with him.

He wraps you up tight in his grasp. “Hey,” he grunts in your ear, probably from the speed at which your body crashed into his, but his voice is calm. “She’s okay, they’ve got her on an oxygen machine. They’re giving her great care. She’s gonna be fine.”

The doctor clears her throat. “Who is this, Mingyu?” she asks. 

Mingyu doesn’t let go. “She’s the child’s legal guardian,” he explains over your head. 

The doctor makes an understanding noise. “I’ll let you have a minute,” she says.

Mingyu turns his attention back to you. “Breathe for me,” he says. “Big deep breaths.”

You try to obey, and the only thing you can think about is how shaky the breath sounds as it enters your lungs. “Can I see her?” you say, and your voice comes out in a raspy whisper.

“Yeah,” he says. “She’s just in here.”

He ushers you into the hospital room, where Sara lies in a little crib, her nose hooked up to a cannula pumping oxygen into her lungs. You approach her sleeping form, only vaguely aware of Mingyu’s arm across your shoulders, and bend down to brush a trembling hand over her forehead.

“She’s really going to be fine,” Mingyu murmurs to you. You look up at him, and for some reason, the way he is looking at you is what tips you over the edge. The emotions spill over, and you find yourself burying your face in his chest as you sob.

He doesn’t say anything. He just wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer into him and letting you cry. You don’t even have it in you to be ashamed of how desperately you’re clinging to him, fingers bunching into the fabric at the back of his shirt, crying the first tears you’ve shed in front of another person besides Sara since the funeral. His grip on you tightens the harder you sob, and you dazedly consider the idea that Mingyu might be trying to squeeze the sadness out of you. It’s an oddly comforting thought, and soon enough you’ve released all your emotions, the evidence of them two unflattering tearstains on Mingyu’s tee.

You take a calming breath in, pulling back to look at his face. His eyes are red, and his face is set in stony lines. It is then that you realize he’s not okay. 

Several pieces of the puzzle that is the man in front of you seem to collide together in your brain at once: the way he talks about kids and the ease with which he interacts with Sara; the way the doctor seemed to know him on a first name basis; the way he’d held you almost as though he was also trying to hold himself together too. Mingyu is familiar with this particular part of this particular hospital. Mingyu has had personal experience with sick kids.

But you don’t say anything about it yet -- you know it would be too much to ask him to explain what is most probably a complicated and painful history. So you just give him a watery smile and say, “thank you for being here. And for taking such good care of her.” You pause and draw in a hitching breath before adding, “Sir Mingyu.”

He gives the tiniest smile. “I’m glad I was able to get her here in time to get her help.”

“Well, you’ve got a job until Sara moves out,” you promise him.

The smile gets bigger. “That’s a long time,” he says in a falsely skeptical tone. “You sure you won’t get sick of me?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh yeah, I forgot that you’re incredibly unpleasant to be around,” you say scathingly. “But seriously. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to take care of Sara. You need a raise or something.”

He shakes his head. “Just pay Chan a finder’s fee instead,” he jokes. “I’m sure he’d love that.”

“He probably would. And I probably owe him one,” you say, wiping the sticky tear residue from your eyes.

To your surprise, you once again find yourself wrapped up in a tight squeeze from Mingyu. “Thank you for getting here so fast,” he says quietly.

“Of course,” you say. You hesitate before winding your arms around him and squeezing him back -- perhaps hearing the unspoken truth that Mingyu needed you there as much as you needed him.

***

Before

“I’m never going hiking again,” Jeri complains, and Jisung laughs.

“You’re going to see the view, and you’re going to change your mind,” he predicts. 

You grin at their banter -- this is only the second time Jeri has invited her new boyfriend along on one of the hikes, but you can tell he really likes her. And according to that last comment, he also knows her pretty well.

Cory is nearly sprinting up the trail ahead of you. “Come on, guys!” he calls. “We’re almost there.”

You’re feeling a little irritated with him because he tried to guide you in the complete wrong direction, but you try to keep that off your face as you trudge up the mountain. Sure enough, around two more bends is the summit. You are looking into a deep valley with a crystalline lake at the bottom, and the sight pricks your eyes with emotion. You refuse to cry in front of Cory, though, so you instead turn your attention to Jisung and Jeri, the former of whom is carrying your sister the remaining fifteen feet to the summit.

But when your sister sees the valley and the lake, she hops off her boyfriend’s back and scurries nearly to the edge. You have to grab the back of her backpack to stop her from overextending herself and hurtling over the edge of the cliff. “Easy there,” you say to her, but she’s not listening, her eyes shining with the sight. 

“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” Jeri asks. 

You look back at Jisung, and you can see it in his eyes -- he’s absolutely whipped for her. You’re almost surprised that he doesn’t kiss her in front of all of you. Exasperatedly, you chuckle, thinking privately that you should probably start adding to Jeri’s wedding fund. 

You stay up there for almost an hour before disaster strikes, but surprisingly, it’s you who twists an ankle tripping over some rocks. You wince as the group is making its painfully slow way down the mountain, your ankle throbbing with every step. “I need a breather,” you tell them. “Go on without me.”

But as Jisung and Cory start to move away, Jeri plants herself beside you. “Go on without you?” she repeats. “But we’ll be so entirely lost without you. Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you.”

***

The hospital keeps Sara in for one more night before she’s improved enough to be off the breathing machine. You can’t help but tear up as they place her into your arms, and she reaches up to your face to pat your chin clumsily. “Hey, baby girl,” you coo. “You did so good.”

Alone, you soak in the feeling of her comforting weight on your chest for a few more minutes before gently laying her in her carrier. She fusses a little, and you speak in soothing tones: “Shhh, it’s okay, my love. We’re going home. You won’t have to be in there for too long.”

And then finally, finally, finally, you get home. Walking in the front door with Sara to the empty house feels both soothing and incomplete, and you realize as you hoist her carrier to her bedroom so you can sit in her rocking chair that your mind is on that tall, dark-haired man who laughs at your ridiculousness and held you when you fell to pieces. You had bullied Mingyu into going home to rest, knowing that if he had stayed with you like he planned, he’d be in caretaker mode. You don’t regret your choice to send him home, but you also realize that you feel that he should be here, with the both of you. The fact that he isn’t leaves a small empty space in your heart.

Still, it’s heaven enough to hold Sara and rock her and clean her stuffy nose off every few minutes. Settling back into the chair and letting Sara’s weight onto your chest, you think that there’s almost nothing that could make this moment more perfect. 

And then, you cough.

Why did this make me cry

my little gamer | jeon wonwoo

when wonwoo came home from work, happy they let him and the boys end their schedule a bit earlier, he definitely didn’t expect you to be passed out on the couch.

with groceries, and your favourite candy in the bags he was sure you’d get to spend a bit of well deserved quality time over making dinner, maybe end the night with a movie, or him reading you a book in bed. but it looked like you had other plans. 

wonwoo quietly grabbed the blanket that was draped over your couch, and gently tucked you in, making sure you were properly covered, kneeling before your sleeping figure. his fingertips found their way to your hair that fell over your face, and gently, as not to wake you, he swept them away, revealing your pouty mouth, and rosy cheeks. 

wonwoo knew you didn’t like it when he took pictures of you when you were sleeping, always insisting you looked horrible when asleep, but wonwoo would do everything to have his polaroid with him now so he could capture this moment. 

he grabbed the bags from the floor, and not thinking too much about what made you so tired that you needed to nap in the middle of the day, he started preparing dinner, so you could eat when you woke up. 

“so cute,” he thought to himself, as he peeked from around the corner to see if you were still sleeping. 

soon, the smell of food woke you up from your slumber, making your stomach growl. at first, you were very confused why you could smell food, when your fridge and cabinets were out of anything proper to eat, but that’s when you noticed a familiar pair of glasses laying on the table. 

“wonwoo?” you raised yourself to sitting, fixing the cardigan of his you were wearing. he wasn’t supposed to be back for another couple of hours, and it was very unusual for the boys to end things so early in the afternoon. your mind started racing in worry that something bad had happened. 

“wonwoo?” you asked a bit louder, stumbling because of the blanket, which was wrapped around your body. weird, you couldn’t remember covering yourself with it. 

passing by the kitchen, you noticed a pot on the stove with something bubbling inside, and from the smell alone, you knew it was your favourite ramyeon. but wonwoo was nowhere to be seen. 

deciding to help him out with dinner, you turned down the heat a bit, so it wouldn’t spill, and busied yourself with cutting the vegetables that were already laying on the counter, convinced that your boyfriend just went to the bathroom. 

“what are these?” suddenly, wonwoo’s voice echoed through your rather quiet apartment, scaring you to the point where you almost cut yourself with the knife. offended, you turned to him. “i could’ve hurt myself,” but your voice faltered, as you saw what he was holding. 

in his left hand, he was clutching his old gaming headset, and in the other, some games you knew he didn’t play anymore. a warm rush of embarrassment rushed through your body, your cheeks turning into a pretty shade of red. wonwoo, on the other hand, seemed rather amused - both by the thighs he found in your room, and your reaction. 

you weren’t much of a gamer - you didn’t find it entertaining, and you weren’t really good at it either. you usually watched him play, cuddled to his side with a teacup in your hands. that was so much more fun than gaming. 

“care to explain, baby?” he smiled at you, setting the stuff on the counter. you knew wonwoo would never judge you for what you did, yet you couldn’t help but look down avoiding his gaze. “hey, it’s okay. look at me, baby,” he gently cupped your face, lifting your head, so your eyes could meet, as his thumbs stroked your cheeks in a soothing manner.

“i just…,” you took a deep inhale, trying to calm yourself before the embarrassment would eat you up. “i just wanted to be better at gaming,” you admitted, fiddling with the hem of wonwoo’s shirt. 

he looked at you with a puzzled expression, his brows furrowed, and mouth in a small pout. “but you don’t like gaming. i don’t think i’ve ever seen you game since we began dating.” 

you sighed in defeat - you had to tell him why you took his stuff, wonwoo would not back down now. “i don’t like it, but i wanted to be better… for you,” you shyly admitted. “i know how much you enjoy gaming, and i didn’t want to be that girlfriend who doesn’t give a shit about her boyfriend's hobbies.” 

“but why would you force yourself?” wonwoo asked, stunned by your confession. his thumbs halted their movement, his whole attention focused on you. “you know i would never expect you to do something you don’t enjoy.” 

“i know. i just thought you’d be happy if i learned how to play.”

wonwoo let out a sigh, sneaking his hand to the back of your head, cradling it closer to his chest, so he could place his head on top of yours. “i would be happy knowing you do something you truly enjoy, and not force yourself to do something you don't like just to please me,” he wrapped his other arm around your waist, bringing you even closer to his body. 

“i love it when you watch me game. i love your presence next to me, and i wouldn’t change it for the world.” he smiled softly at you, patting your head, as you fell into a comfortable silence. with the feeling of embarrassment long forgotten, you let yourself melt into his embrace, nuzzling your head further up his neck, as you inhaled the familiar smell of his cologne. 

“wait,” wonwoo suddenly pulled your head back, and looked at you with a slightly worried expression. “don’t tell me you were sleeping now, because you stayed up last night gaming.” 

“please, don’t be mad?” you tried giving him your best puppy eyes, knowing that one - he wouldn’t fall for them either way, and two - he’d end up scolding you for staying up so late. “you’re such a hypocrite, honey. how many times have you told me to go to bed, and scolded me for staying up so late, hm?” he cupped your cheek, his gaze full of concern. 

“i did it for you, won.”

“you’re truly unbelievable, honey. 

the bubbling of the ramyeon brought you back to reality, wonwoo’s grip loosening to quickly take care of the boiling soup.

“would you help me?” 

“what was that, baby?” 

you put your hand on his back. “i want you to teach me how to game, and not because i want to make you happy. i really want to try.” 

“of course i’ll help you,” he smiled, and pecked your forehead. “my little gamer.”

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oh to be building furniture with jeon wonwoo

as sweet as peaches | jeon wonwoo

wonwoo sits cross-legged on the floor, ikea manual laying open on his lap. the half built coffee table sits upside down in front of him, loose screws and nails scattered around the piece of furniture.

“did you find the piece that goes in this corner?”, you ask in confusion from your spot on the floor opposite wonwoo, one hand holding what you think is one of the legs of the table. “is it this one?”

your boyfriend looks up at you and breathes out an amused laugh, cheeks puffing up. “that’s the spare piece, gorgeous”.

you look at him, cocking an eyebrow, “you sure, wonu? because the last time you said something was a spare”, you point at the singular leg attached to the table, “that fell off”.

he grins sheepishly, “well… uh, maybe it could come in handy”. you shoot him a fond smile.

you both work on the piece of furniture for a while, sneaking glances at each other and giggling at lame jokes, before you stand up and wordlessly walk over to the kitchen. wonwoo follows your movement with his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose as he does so.

you disappear behind the kitchen counter before re-emerging with a plate of sliced peaches and tangerines. setting it on the floor beside wonwoo you mumble, “odd combination, but it’s all i could find”. you peer at him and the softness you see in his eyes makes heat crawl up your neck.

“i love you”, he whispers.

“because of peaches?”, you ask shyly, taking a seat beside him.

“nope”, he breathes out, “peaches are just a bonus”. he picks up a fuzzy slice and holds it up to your lips. you accept the bite gratefully.

“the tangerines, then”, you mumble around a mouthful of fruit.

wonwoo laughs, it’s a very pretty sound, you think. low and deep, yet airy and relaxed. your giggles join his, the room filling with innocent delight.

the two of you continue to tinker with the coffee table, occasionally nibbling on pieces of fruit. with the build almost complete, you lean back on the heels of your palms, surveying your work.

“not bad for two amateurs”, you declare with a grin. “i think we could build all of ikea if we wanted to”.

wonwoo chuckles, “we’ll have many days of building furniture in our future”. you look at him in question. “dressers, bookshelves, cribs”, he elaborates.

your eyes widen and you feel your cheeks burn fiery red. cribs… baby cribs? did you hear him wrong? did he say it on purpose?

he turns to you, eyes dancing and cheeks slightly pink. oh. definitely on purpose.

you look at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly.

“one day, i mean… if you want to”. he whispers.

you don’t have a response. you’re breathless and giddy and so in love.

leaning forward, you press your lips against wonwoo’s. soft and careful. he hums in contentment against your mouth, kissing you back with fervour.

his hand trails up your arm to your cheek, cupping your face like you’re as delicate as fine china. his other hand snakes behind your waist, resting against the small of your back. he kisses you slowly, and when he feels you smile against his lips he melts. to him, this is bliss.

you pull away, breathless and heart racing. and suddenly, you’re 16 again. too shy to meet wonwoo’s eyes, a soft blush colouring your cheeks when he squeezes your hand with a hum.

“baby?”, he peers at you, trying to catch your attention.

when you finally look up at him, he’s dazzled by the stars in your eyes. the very same ones he thinks you hung up in the sky.

“you’re too much”, you mumble, just above a whisper. the chuckle it coaxes out of him drives the feeling deeper.

he drops a quick kiss to your cheek, his eyes dripping honey.

you point to the unfinished coffee table in front of you with furrowed brows, “we’ve been neglecting our magnum opus”.

his bright laughter booms throughout the room. “i don’t think an ikea coffee table is our magnum opus, baby”. he thinks he knows what will be, but he doesn’t say it. he’s hinted at it enough today. instead, he picks up a handful of screws and the last remaining leg of the table.

you take up a purely supportive role. handing him missing screws or nails you see him hunting for. you lean against the couch behind you, silently watching your boyfriend finish the rest of the build. you admire the way his hands move deftly to hammer in nails, the way he pushes the sleeves of his sweater further up his arms, the way he adjusts his glasses on his nose when they start to slip.

you’re happy, you think. just silently being in his company.

“finished”, he declares, pushing himself off the floor and offering you a hand to pull you to your feet. you stand beside him and look down at your work.

“not bad, jeon wonwoo”, you praise.

“not bad yourself”, he responds with a squeeze of your hand. he smiles fondly when he feels you squeeze back.

he looks at you, eyes warm, and drops a chaste kiss to you lips.

warmth floods your body. he’s just so sweet, you think.

“you taste like peaches”, he mumbles.

as sweet as peaches.

—

ahh wonwoo…

writing this was really fun!! sweet wonu thinking about how urs and his masterpiece will be ur baby…omg

i hope u enjoy this one! as always, my requests and asks are open <3

He owns me

hello and good morning to fluffy woozi and fluffy woozi only