This Is The Funniest Thing I Have Ever Read

this is the funniest thing i have ever read

svt boyfriend things that would be this 🤏 close to dealbreakers

scoups: would literally rather die than let you win at any kind of game

jeonghan: introduced you as his "bestie" to his parents and thought it was hilarious

joshua: got you banned from the local zoo

jun: showed you a picture of the london sewer fatberg (2013) while you were eating

hoshi: simply atrocious home decor (a certain type of print everywhere...)

wonwoo: pushed back your birthday dinner once because it was the only day all of his gamer friends were free for a session

woozi: can't drive

dk: never acknowledges when you do wrong like STOP smiling at me and supporting me rn I know I messed up bro

mingyu: socially liberal but fiscally conservative

the8: judges your instagram layout if it's ugly

seungkwan: consistently asks your friends and family who they like more, him or you

vernon: won't stop calling toes "grippers"

dino: moonwalks away from arguments

I am actively hoping someone will ask me to write something so I can avoid my thoughts

something in the rain | jungkook

summary: you moved in next door to jungkook in a tiny european town to save yourself from a bad relationship and your extreme burnout from your job. warnings: drug addiction mentioned, toxic relationship struggles, infidelity, storm/bad weather, some slightly suggestive dialogue genre: fluff

You are looking for literally anything to mask the roar of the sea outside, your hands shaking as you turn over your house looking for your noise-canceling headphones. When you had decided to come to this picturesque European seaside town as a sabbatical from your demanding job as a rare antique dealer, you hadn’t imagined how much rain you’d see. This, however, was the worst storm yet, shaking the timbers of your cottage and seemingly threatening to blow the whole house away like something from the Wizard of Oz.

There is a sudden knock at the door. With an inkling as to who is there, you run to answer it, and are unsurprised when the door blows open to reveal the only person you know who is crazy enough to be out in weather like this: your next-door neighbor, Jungkook. His curly hair is plastered to his face with rain, and his clothes cling to his well-muscled frame, soaked through. “Can I come in?” he asks breathlessly. 

“Yeah, of course!” You say, ushering him in and running to grab a blanket. “What are you doing here?” you can’t help but ask as you toss your largest and softest one over his shoulders. 

He pushes his hair from his eyes, grinning. “I came to help you build a fire,” he says, pulling a bag off his shoulder to reveal dry wood inside. “I guessed your power had probably gone out too, and I wasn’t sure if you knew how to make one.”

“I most definitely do not,” you say, feeling a rush of gratitude once again for his thoughtfulness. This is not the first time Jungkook has swept in and saved the day. 

He bends over the fire, and you can’t help but remember what’s happened in your life since you met him. Down the street from your house, there is a small community gym. On your second day in the town, you’d gotten a pass, noticing someone with broad shoulders and an arm full of tattoos and fluffy black hair punching at a bag with tremendous force. His back had been turned, but you had been intimidated by the fervor of his strikes. He had been gone when you left.

On the way home, you’d stopped into a quaint little cafe for a pastry and hot chocolate. It had begun to rain, and you told yourself that you just wanted something to warm you before you walked the rest of the way home. The truth, you knew, was much more complicated. You despised the rain, and wanted desperately to be out of it, so that the attached memories wouldn’t come flooding back. You had pushed open the door to the cafe, pulled off your hood, and looked up — right into a pair of bright doe eyes.

You had been taken aback when you had recognized his tattoos and his hair as the boxer from the gym. His face was so kind and open, despite the piercings and tattoos. And he was handsome, in the way supermodels were handsome — almost too beautiful to be real. It was love at first sight. 

You had been so engrossed in him that it had startled you when the church bell next door started ringing. You had jumped, and he had giggled at you. “I’m sorry,” you had said automatically.

“It’s okay,” he’d replied, his voice soft and gentle and entirely captivating, his wide eyes literally sparkling, his smile warm enough to be an environmental hazard. “You were in the gym this morning.”

You had been shocked he’d noticed you. “I was,” you had agreed, not sure what to say. 

“I’m in your way,” he had realized, shaking himself. He’d stepped to the side. “I’m Jungkook.”

You had given him your name. He watched you with interest as you examined the hanging menu. “Do you have any recommendations?” you ask him.

“They have a spinach and cheese pastry that is one of the best things I’ve ever eaten,” he says. “But their coffee cake is also great, if you’d rather have something sweet.”

You ordered the coffee cake and the hot chocolate and couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. He had sat down by the window with his coffee and his bagel, his eyes still on you, and had gestured to you to sit down across from him. 

“You looked like you were training hard this morning,” you said when you sat down at the table with your things. 

He shrugged. “I do my best. Did you just move here?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I’m here for the next six months,” you had replied, and his eyes had lit up. 

“Just six months?” he asked you, an extra question hidden in his words.

“I’m on leave from my job,” you had explained.

“What was your job?”

“I found and sold rare heirlooms and antiques.”

His eyes got wide. “Really? Tell me about it!”

And you had. He asked you every question there was and then some, until you had stopped him. “I feel like I’m talking a lot,” you said, your tone apologetic. “Can I ask questions about you too?”

He had blushed a bit. “Sorry,” he had said . “You’re just interesting.” He had smiled when you had looked shyly up at him, a bit embarrassed. “Ask me anything you want.”

And you’d asked him almost as many questions as he’d asked you. It turned out he owned the gym. He taught fitness classes there. And it seemed like he had made a lot of money from a different business he owned, but had sold, and then he'd settled in this small town to escape the pressure of being in charge of his own company. He now lived a life he loved.

Talking to him had inspired you. You had been feeling burnt out yourself - hence the sabbatical - and it had been interesting to hear how he’d just walked away from everything for the sake of his own happiness.

“So, do you think you’ll ever leave here?” You had finally asked him. “I mean, aren’t you bored?”

He smiles. “I’m never bored. I have a lot of good friends around me, and every day I get to do exactly what I want.” He gives a contented sigh. “Although, I am about to be late for a class at the gym.”

“Oh my gosh,” you exclaimed, looking at your watch. “I’m so sorry!”

He leans forward. “I had a great time, so you don’t need to apologize.” Then he stands up. “Do you live in town?”

“Um, yes. Right by the cliffs,” you say. 

“The Rock House?” He asks, naming the cottage where you live.

“Yes,” you reply. “How did you know?”

He gives a small smile. “I live next door.” He holds out his hand for you to shake. “I guess our meeting was fate.”

You took his hand and met his gaze, his eyes sparkling into your own. Despite everything that had happened in your life so far, a part of you hoped he might be right.

There were plenty of meetings after that. You found yourself bumping into Jungkook at every turn -- it was a small village, and he was everywhere, assisting the small grocery store with shipments, helping elderly townspeople across the street, even lifting wheelchairs up the gym stairs. He was always helping someone, and he was always smiling. And he somehow always caught you looking. His smile every time you met eyes became something you looked forward to every day. 

One particularly memorable Saturday, the weather was milder and drier than normal. You had taken advantage of the warmth and sunlight to hang up your clothes on a line between two trees. You couldn’t figure out how to tie the knot to make it stick, and were staring at the line in defeat when you heard his voice behind you. “Can I help?”

You had nearly jumped out of your skin, and he’d giggled. “It’s just me,” he had said, throwing his arms up in a placating gesture.

“You scared me,” you’d admitted, and he beamed.

“I can tie that knot,” he told you, taking the line from your hands and deftly twisting it around the tree in a quick, sturdy knot. He caught your impressed gaze and winked. “I’m good with my hands.”

His tone was light and neutral, but you still had to keep yourself from imagining what he meant by that. “I can see that,” you said coolly, hoping he would attribute your blush to the warmth of the day. 

Unprompted, he began hanging your clothes up to dry. You silently thanked everything that was holy that you had left your undergarments inside and helped him. “Thanks,” you had said. “I was struggling with that knot.”

He laughs. “I know. I watched you try for like five minutes before I came to help.”

Your jaw dropped, and you had whacked him with the damp t-shirt you were holding. He laughed, swatting at you with the towel in his arms, which you had dodged with a giggle. Satisfied, he had gone back to hanging up your clothes. “That’s more like it,” he’d said.

You’d looked at him curiously. “What?”

He looked at you, his smile a bit sad. “Not to sound like a creepy old man, but I wish you'd smile more," he said. "I have a feeling there's a good reason you don't, but it eases my mind when you laugh."

You had watched him go, feeling that fluttering in your stomach that you knew meant you had a crush. Was it really too much to hope? you had remembered thinking to yourself. Almost immediately, you tried to shake the feeling from your chest. Hope had been a liar too many times for this to ruin your carefully constructed, comfortable, peaceful loneliness.

Still, it was hard to dispel the tenderness that had taken up residence in your heart for Jungkook -- it went too deep, like a particularly stubborn dandelion whose roots had twisted around the earth in tight knots, impossible to pluck out entirely. Your daily routine involved the gym, and you saw him every day. It was rare that he didn’t speak to you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to treat him with the cold indifference you had used on others who had tried to befriend you back home. It was the same with everyone in this small village. So many of them were elderly, and many had never been outside their small country, but they were open-hearted and kind people who wanted to help. You were the recipient of plenty of dinner invitations, and despite the uneasiness you felt around people, you found yourself accepting more than declining. Jungkook came to a fair few dinners with you. He knew everyone, somehow, and always brought something to share with everyone. 

Watching him now as he stoked the small fire he had built in your stone fireplace, you realize that your heart is in a much better state now than it was when you’d arrived five months ago. This village, and the man who had welcomed you to it, had healed a part of you they had never hurt, and the thought of leaving -- not just for awhile, but for good -- made you ache with despair. You tried not to think of it at all, instead focusing on Jungkook.

“So,” he says, turning around. “I have some questions for you.”

“You usually do,” you counter, smiling wryly at him. He sits on the stool across from you and knits his hands together. “Ask away,” you encourage.

“I’ve noticed something about you.” He seems a little nervous. “And the rain.”

Your heart drops. “Really?” you squeak, your voice an octave higher than usual.

“I don’t think you like it very much,” he says carefully. “Can I know why?”

You are torn between two options: kicking him out of your house and moving out of the country, or spilling your guts. You’re leaning toward the former when you make the mistake of looking up into his eyes. They are so kind and so completely non-judgmental, and you suddenly know that nothing you say to him will change the way he looks at you. So you take a deep breath and tip over the edge.

“I was engaged, about a year ago,” you finally admit to him. “To this...guy. He used to dance with me in the rain, every time there was a storm. And now, it’s gotten a little better, but I still don’t like to be out in the rain. I don't even like to hear it, most days.”

He nods slowly. “Painful memories,” he guesses.

You nod back, confirming his words. “That’s actually why I came here when I did. We would have been married on the day I arrived in town, and I was having a hard time moving on when I was surrounded by all the same things I was surrounded by when we were together.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “I’m sorry,” he says. “A broken heart brought you here. I should’ve known.”

“I feel kind of silly,” you tell him. “I’ve had plenty of friends who broke it off with someone, and it didn’t take them long to be over it and doing well. But for some reason this messed me up bad.”

His eyes are understanding. “Heartache is some of the worst pain there is,” he tells you, his tone comforting but not pitying. “What happened between you two?”

He leans back, his gaze fixed on you as he listens to your story. The warmth from the flames casts a soft glow on his face, highlighting the tenderness in his expression. Your stomach turns over as you realize that for maybe the first time in your life, you are being listened to with patience and a desire to understand.

"He was... well, charming at first," you begin, your voice tinged with a mixture of bitterness and nostalgia. "We met at an art gallery, and he sort of swept me off my feet, to be honest. He was charismatic, and he had this vibrant passion for life. And we both loved art and history."

You pause, memories resurfacing, threatening to break the surface of your carefully calm tone and reveal how torn up you are inside. Jungkook's gaze remains steady, silently urging you to continue.

"We were engaged within months, and everything felt perfect," you say, a wistful smile playing on your lips. "We would spend hours strolling through museums, exploring flea markets, and envisioning the stories behind each artifact. It felt like a dream."

Jungkook's brow furrows slightly, sensing the shift in your tone. "But dreams are just dreams," he remarks softly. “They aren’t real.”

"Exactly," you reply, your voice heavy. "As time went on, I started noticing... things. He missed social engagements without any warning, he started keeping things from me, and I started feeling this mental distance from him. I didn’t know what it was, I just knew something was wrong. It ate at me. For months."

Jungkook's expression darkens, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and anger. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he says sincerely.

You take another deep breath before continuing, words spilling from you like the water spilling from your roof's rickety old gutter. This is the first time you will tell anyone any of this out loud. "The breaking point was when I found out about -- about all the lies. First, I found out he had been dishonest about his financial situation. He had amassed a significant amount of debt from gambling in Macau three years before we met, and he expected me to bail him out of it."

Jungkook clenches his fists, his jaw set in a firm line. "That's ... well, it's manipulative and unfair."

"Exactly," you repeat, your voice growing stronger. "And then, I found out he was a drug addict. He'd had a habit for years but hadn't told me. I tried to get him help, but he refused. The final straw was when I found out...” You suddenly pause, the emotion rising in your chest, tears welling up in your eyes.

“What?” Jungkook whispers, leaning in toward you and watching your face carefully. His mouth opens as the first hot tear rolls down your face, and he kneels down in front of you, putting his tattooed hand over yours. 

“You can tell me, honey,” he whispers, his expression determined and encouraging.

“It’s the most embarrassing part. After all that I’d done -- paid off his debt, checked him into and out of rehabs, bailed him out of jail -- I found out he’d been cheating on me.” You look up at him, and he looks absolutely devastated. 

“No,” he says. “That is terrible.”

“It was,” you agree, wiping your eyes. “So I finally left. That conversation was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I had to watch my entire world crumble into nothing. My life, my future plans, all of it was gone in such a short amount of time.

Jungkook takes a seat beside you on the sofa, pulling you into his arms. “Wow,” he sighs, running a hand down the back of your head soothingly. “I’m glad you got away from him.”

"It wasn't easy," you admit, a hint of a tremor in your voice, but you still allow yourself to rest against his neck. "But coming here...it helped. More than I thought. Meeting you, meeting all of you, has really done me so much good. I don’t want to go back,” you confess.

“Then stay,” he urges, looking down at you. “We’ll take care of you.”

You look into his eyes. “You will?”

“Of course!” he says. “Imagine it. In a couple weeks, we’ll see the beginnings of spring. You and I can plant some seeds in your backyard as early as tomorrow, and you won’t have to leave before you see them become flowers.”

“But my job --” you begin. He cuts you off.

“You lived and worked in America, right? Do you even know how much better Europe is for historical artifacts?”

This is hard to argue with. You look out the window at the storm, trying and failing to think of another excuse for why you can’t stay with him, even though all you want to do is give in. You are terrified of what will happen, of what it will mean if you remain here, in this place, with this man who has revived feelings in your chest you were sure had died with your last relationship. You know you couldn’t survive it if you got so close to Jungkook, only to have your heart shattered once again.

Jungkook, for his part, has grown tired of your silence. “Listen to me,” he says, sitting back and holding you by your shoulders. He is sterner than you’ve ever heard him be. “You deserve to be happy, no matter who made you feel like you don’t.”

You can’t help but stare at him -- so beautiful and fierce in the firelight that he looks like he came from another world. It is impossible to speak in the face of so much beauty and emotion. His eyes are searching your face, willing you to believe his words, and you want to. You feel more tears stream down your face as you wish you could.

He draws in a breath, standing up. “I think you need some time,” he says. “I’ll let you process. I’m sorry if -- if I was out of line.”

And a couple seconds later, he has closed the door gently, rejoining the storm.

The pain in your heart is palpable. You feel it with every beat, like something is trying to explode from you. You deserve to be happy, you repeat to yourself. You try, in your raw state, to figure out what happy even feels like. And your mind latches on to a foggy afternoon meal with Jungkook and an old widow from the village. He had helped her knead bread dough, and you had watched them as the hazy light shone on their faces from the big front window. Just as he’d met your gaze, the sun had finally emerged from the fog, and a golden beam illuminated him as he’d smiled. It becomes clear to you in that moment: he is happiness. Your happiness. 

With this realization comes another: he is absolutely worth the risk of pain that comes with love.

In a split second, you have thrown on a pair of slides and run after him into the rain.

The wind is sending the frigid drops pelting into your skin like bullets, and you run against it without a coat, arms stinging, hair loose and wild, your pajamas quickly getting soaked. It takes you longer than usual to arrive at Jungkook’s door, and when he opens it and sees you, his jaw drops.

“You make me happy,” you shout over the gale. “You make me happier than I can ever even remember being!”

His smile is so bright that you could see it from space. “Did you come out in the rain to tell me that?” he says back, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Yes,” you say, slurring a bit, your lips numb from the cold. “I did.”

He rushes into the storm, lifting your wet body into a warm embrace. He holds you tight, and the storm raging around you seems to quieten for a moment. “I love you,” he says into your ear, his voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too,” you say weakly. “I really do.”

He pulls back and pushes your hair back from your face. Then he kisses you, holding your cheeks in his warm hands, gentle but firm and insistent, for so long that you grab onto his waist for warmth and support. He winds his arms around your waist as he continues the kiss, and you are grateful his arms are so strong, because your knees have given out, overwhelmed by emotion and the storm.

Finally, he presses his forehead to yours. “Rain is about to become your favorite kind of weather,” he promises, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead and cupping your face in both his hands again before continuing. “We’re going to rewrite all those memories so that you never have to think about the bad ones again.” 

Jungkook takes your hand, slow-dancing with you in the downpour, spinning you so that you splash in puddles you can only see by the one gas lamp right in the middle of your two houses. There are plenty of small, sweet kisses between you as you dance, resting your drenched head against his chest. You stay in the rain so long that it would look like you both showered in your clothes. He finally invites you back to his house.

“My clothes are soaked,” you say, hesitating on the threshold, but wanting to come into the warmth and his company.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice light and neutral again, but you can hear a hidden humor in his tone. “You can wear mine.”

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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I AM MAD I DIDNT ALREADY KNOW THIS

Who in svt do you think has the prettiest hands?

boo seungkwan hands down (aha)