Hi Bestie Ummmmmmmmmmmm I LOVE YOU???? Thanks SO Much For Loving This As Much As I Do!!!

Hi bestie ummmmmmmmmmmm I LOVE YOU???? 💍💍💍 thanks SO much for loving this as much as I do!!!

little wonders | wonwoo

genre: childhood bsf!wonwoo x reader, game developer!wonwoo, all fluff, a day in the park in autumn, comfort <3 warnings: reader is not in a great place mentally, but no explicit mental illness is named. skinniness is brought up, disordered eating is mentioned, childhood bike crash & stitches mentioned, gendered terms used (woman), dresses and makeup mentioned, jeonghan makes an appearance, reader mentions church once, lmk if i'm missing anything

You plunk out a single, despondent note on the piano, and look glumly around the empty room in your brand new apartment - empty but for the terribly out-of-tune piano the last owner left behind for you after hearing you were musically inclined. The off-key note hangs in the air like the melancholy loneliness that was your seemingly constant companion these past few days. You can’t even muster up the energy to sigh.

This is not what you had expected when you had decided to follow your dreams. You were finally here -- in New York City, the place where you had always wanted to live, working in your dream career. And yet, although this was a change you had desperately wanted to make for yourself, you felt drained, alone, and empty. Plus, there was the crushing worry that always accompanied guilt. After all, you couldn’t help but remember all the friends and family members, some of whom relied on you, whom you had left behind. All for this -- to sit in your sad, empty apartment, alone on weekends. From where you sit on this raggedy piano bench, it looks embarrassingly foolish. 

Your phone buzzes. It’s your mother. You stare at her name on the screen, debating silently. If you don’t answer, she’ll be worried. If you do, she’ll also be worried. There really isn’t any way to win. You choose the third option, texting her as your phone continues to ring: “Sorry, I’m busy right now and can’t talk! I’ll call you later.”

She texts back after the call goes to voicemail. “Ok, just wanted to make sure you’re alright!”

“I’m alright,” you reply, “Just getting settled in. I love you!”

That ought to hold her off for a couple hours, you say, stretching. Tired, you lay your arms on the piano keys and then let your head fall, your eyelids fluttering closed. 

You are abruptly awakened at the sound of a knock at your door. Thinking of all the horror stories that start this way, you creep forward and look through the peephole. Standing at your door is a tall, good-looking man wearing glasses and a black baseball cap. It’s Wonwoo, your childhood best friend and now new neighbor, who made the move to the city a few years before you had and lived two floors above you. 

You curse under your breath. You’re in a raggedy tank top and pajama bottoms, and quite aside from Wonwoo being the most attractive person you know, he knows you well enough to know that if you’re dressed like this, it probably means that you’re not doing well. 

He knocks again, and calls out to you, just as you debate leaving him to rot on your doorstep. “I know you’re in there,” he says, and there’s a laugh in his voice. 

Frustrated, you crack the door open just a tad, so that all he can see is your face. “Hi,” he says, and the way he beams when he sees you is almost enough to dispel the melancholy. “It’s been awhile.”

It really has. Wonwoo had been out of town on a business trip when you’d moved in a month ago, and had only yesterday returned from some distant town. You hadn’t seen him in person since he’d moved to the city two years ago, although you had spoken frequently and had partially made the move because of him. “Hi,” you say back, trying to sound normal, but sounding dumb even to yourself. 

He shoots you a quizzical look. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you hedge. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” he says, still looking at you suspiciously. “Can I come in, or are you naked in there?”

You glower at him, and then step from behind the door so he can see your outfit. “Not naked. I don’t really have anything for you to sit in, though.”

“Well, that’s okay,” he says, stepping across the threshold. “I don’t need to sit.” He walks into your empty living room, turning around, a sad half-smile on your face. “Your mom called me,” he tells you.

“She what?” you ask him.

“She’s worried about you,” he says, moving over to the empty mantle. It’s covered in dust, and you blush with embarrassment. “Honestly, I’m a little worried too.” 

Your eyes fill with tears. You had anticipated a large, loud, warm housewarming party with new friends from work and church and other social events, but no one had ever even been inside your apartment but you. All at once, you feel empty and lonely and nearly invisible, and the feeling overwhelms you. You wait till Wonwoo’s back is turned before breaking down completely.

He notices right away anyway. “Hey,” he says, his tone gentle, and he crosses the room in two strides to pull you into his arms.

It’s been a long time since anyone hugged you, and the last hug you’d given Wonwoo was awkward, observed by both of your parents, who had long wanted something to happen between you two. You were surprised at how much he’d seemed to grow in the two years he’d been absent from your life -- you remembered hugging him had felt bony and uncomfortable because of how skinny he'd been as a teen, but now, cradled in his arms, you felt the muscle beneath his shirt and jacket. It was comforting and warm here, like a piece of home you desperately need, and you let the tears flow freely, watching as they hit the red pattern on his jacket. 

Your shock continues when, as you sob into Wonwoo’s chest, you feel his hand on the back of your head, offering gentle strokes of your hair. The Wonwoo who’d left you for New York had been the kind of person who was awkward with physical touch. He had rarely hugged you -- not even when you’d graduated high school together, not at your last performance that he’d come to see. This new affection from him is both confusing and vital for you. You breathe him in, needing this closeness more than you need air, letting him hold you until the tears stop. 

When they finally do, he pulls back to look at you. “What’s going on?” he asks, brushing the wet stickiness of your tears off your face with the back of his jacket. 

“I think I bit off more than I can chew,” you tell him, still sniffling. “Was it hard for you, when you first moved away?”

He thinks for a minute. “I don’t think I ever cried this much,” he admits, still stroking the back of your head. “But I also don’t think I’m naturally that social. I think you’ve been alone here for far too long.”

You nod in agreement. He tucks you into his chest again, swaying back and forth soothingly. “Why haven’t you had anyone over?” he asks. “It’s hard for me to imagine you haven’t made any new friends here.”

“I really haven’t,” you admit, and the guilt washes over you again. Tears choke your voice. “All I do is go to work, and then I come home to this. I can’t invite people over to a place where there’s no furniture, and I don’t even have anyone to help me move it in.”

“You have me,” he reminds you. 

“Now,” you tell him. “You were gone.”

He sighs. “Well, I’m not going anywhere far for a good long while,” he tells you, giving you a little squeeze. 

There is a brief pause in the conversation before he continues. “I think you haven’t bought new furniture because you’re thinking of leaving. Am I right?”

You are once again shocked. “How did you know?”

He chuckles. “I didn’t have furniture for a week after I moved here.”

“Really?” you ask, pulling away to look at him. “I thought it wasn’t as hard for you.”

“No, I just didn’t cry as much,” he says, still grinning. “I struggled plenty for a week or so.”

“It’s been a month,” you remind him, starting to feel panicky again. “I’ve been here a month, and things haven’t gotten better.”

His eyes are kind. “Everyone moves at their own pace,” he says gently.

You shake your head. “I wanted to move here so bad,” you say bitterly. “I thought I was finally going to live the life I always dreamed about. And I’m just miserable.” You hate how your voice shakes, and how the tears begin to well up in your eyes again. “I think there’s something wrong with me,” you whisper to him, the worry in your voice evident.

He smiles at you. “What you’re feeling right now is very normal. Whenever anyone makes a big change like this, it takes time to adjust.” 

His eyes suddenly light up. “Go change. Wear something warm,” he says. “It’s a bit chilly. We’re going out.”

“But --” you start to protest, but he lightly shoves you toward your bedroom door. 

“Go,” he says, exasperated but laughing. “I promise you it’ll be good for you.”

You reluctantly change into a sweater and jeans, throwing a puff-top beanie on top of your mess of hair. Tumbling out of your room and putting on your favorite pair of boots, you face him. “Okay, I’ll play along,” you say, a little breathless. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going to show you,” he says, grabbing your hand and running out the door so fast you barely have time to lock it.

It’s no time before you’re in the brisk fall air, the sun spotty between clouds, the chill nipping your nose. You struggle to keep up with Wonwoo, whose energetic pace is not like him. Normally quiet and reserved, you had normally been the one dragging him out on adventures. He must be very excited, you reason to yourself, and you can’t help but smile. The thought makes you feel warm.

The first place you stop is at a meatball sandwich restaurant. “This is the best meatball sandwich in the world,” Wonwoo says, accepting the foil-wrapped meal with a thank you to the tubby gentleman who hands it to him. “Try it.”

You do — and an explosion of flavors hit your mouth. You look at Wonwoo with wide eyes, and he grins at you. “You were right,” you say, taking another bite and handing him the other half of the sandwich. The depression of the past month had guaranteed that you did not eat much, because making food was so overwhelming and hard. But this reminder of how food could taste brought you some hope that your energy would return. You try not to cry as you look down at the sandwich, and Wonwoo takes you by the hand to guide you to the next place.

“This city is home to some of the best food in the world,” Wonwoo reminds you as you walk hand in hand. “It’s pretty crazy that we live two blocks from that sandwich.” He then looks at you, and you can see the awkward teenager he used to be shining out from his eyes. “If you ever…well, if you ever don’t feel like eating again, you can let me know. I’ll take any excuse to go back to one of my favorite places. I can even grab it to go and bring it to you if you can’t go out.”

You don’t know how to respond to this thoughtfulness, so you just take another bite. You have suddenly become very aware of his hand in yours, his fingers intertwined with your own like you used to do as kids, and you’re glad that it’s chilly so that he can’t differentiate from the sting of the cool air and the blush that has stolen up your cheeks.

You stop at Central Park. It’s beautiful on this gloomy day — the fall colors are popping against the cloudy sky, and the occasional bursts of sun seem to set the world on fire around you. Wonwoo points at bluebirds that flit around the branches of the trees, making you laugh as he tries to imitate the sound they make in the morning. “Do you remember Mr. Scarecrow?” you ask him suddenly, remembering in elementary school when Wonwoo used to walk in a whacky, limp stride at your request. 

He smiles. “Of course,” he says, letting go of your hand to lurch around on the empty path. 

You giggle. “We were weird kids,” you admit. “What was that about?”

He looks at you, his smile softening with nostalgia. “It’s not that strange,” he says. “I just loved hearing you laugh.” This revelation hits you right in the heart, and it thumps hard. You have to take a deep breath to calm yourself. After the numbness of the last month, any feeling is foreign, but it is especially odd to be feeling this with - and about - Wonwoo. Wonwoo, who you’ve known since before you could read. Wonwoo, who was at every performance and event, whose parents set you up on play dates, who dated girls in high school and watched you date boys, who knows you better than almost anyone, and with whom it now feels like absolutely no time has passed, even though it’s been years. You are amazed, thinking of how quickly you’d adjusted to having him in your life, and how comfortably he fit there. It feels like a line is being crossed, and you can’t tell what exactly waits on the other side of it.

When he comes back to stand next to you, he doesn’t take your hand again, and you are strangely hollow at the thought that maybe he really was just showing you around — maybe the frantic beating of your heart against your chest was nothing close to how his own heart felt with you. You try not to be crushed at this idea. To occupy your hands, you shove them in your pockets, striding alongside Wonwoo as he tells animated stories about his life in New York and his job as a game developer, and even despite yourself, you find yourself grinning.

Suddenly, Wonwoo gets a call. He checks his phone and his eyes get wide. “Hey, Jeonghan,” he says in answer, giving you a significant look. “You know that girl I was telling you about? I’m with her right now.”

You shoot him a quizzical look. He grins, half-listening to his friend on the other end. “Oh?” He says, nodding. “Yeah, I think we could stop by for a few minutes tonight.”

You point at yourself in disbelief. As Wonwoo hangs up, you ask, “what was that about?”

“My boss wants to meet you. He’s really cool. I told him we’d come by his party tonight if you were okay with it.”

Your stomach turns over. “I don’t know,” you say. 

“I thought you might say that,” he says, and throws his arm around your shoulder. “But we have awhile until then. We could go home and get ready right now, and still have some time to chill beforehand.”

The way he says it — like he plans on being there with you the whole time — comforts you. “You’ll never make friends here if you don’t find courage to try to meet people,” Wonwoo says, rubbing your shoulders gently. “I know it’s hard sometimes, but these people have heard about you. And they’re really good people.” 

You feel warm inside. “What did you tell them about me?” you ask him. 

“Just that you’re my best friend and I was really excited for you to move here,” he says, not meeting your eyes. 

You can tell there are things he’s not telling you, but you decide not to pressure him. “Okay,” you agree. “Let’s go then.” 

🥰🥰🥰

Three hours later, you’re standing in your living room, your hair done and wearing an acceptable amount of makeup, in a little black dress Wonwoo picked out for you. “Are you sure this is okay?” you ask him as he emerges from your bathroom, wearing a white button-down and black pants. 

You find yourselves staring at each other. “Wow,” you say in unison. He looks stunning, and he simultaneously looks stunned. “I forgot how well you clean up,” you say first. 

“You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes wide as he examines you. 

You blush. “Thanks.” He doesn’t move, just looks at you, still taking you in. You grin. “If we don’t go now, we’ll probably be late.”

He seems to shake himself into reality. “Right,” he says, grabbing your hand, and you lock your apartment door on your way out.

He holds your hand all the way down the stairs, helps you into the cab, and looks at you with a small smile as it pulls away. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you say honestly. It feels good to be going somewhere dressed up, and you find that your anxiety is greatly calmed by how peaceful Wonwoo seems. You examine him in the lights from passing cars and billboards as the taxi crawls through New York traffic. “You seem happier,” you tell him. 

He nods, looking out the window. “I am,” he says simply.

“I’m glad,” you say.

He takes your hand again. “Me too,” he says, interlocking your fingers. 

The cab lets you out near a huge skyscraper. Wonwoo opens the door for you, helping you out of the car and keeping hold of your hand as you approach the doorman. “Hi, John,” Wonwoo says. “We’re just here for Jeonghan’s thing.”

The doorman smiles widely. “I’m glad you brought that girl you always talk about!” he exclaims, holding out a pudgy hand. “Good to finally meet you!”

“Thank you?” You say, a bit of a question in your voice, and you look at Wonwoo. He’s blushing deeply, but he looks happy to have introduced you to this guy. 

John lets you in, and you head to the elevator. Wonwoo hits the 15 button, and you turn to him as the doors close. “How much do you talk about me?” 

He smiles widely. “Enough,” he says. “Didn’t you talk about me while I was away?”

“Everyone I know already knows you,” you tell him, both flattered and embarrassed. “What have you been telling them about me?”

The elevator dings. Wonwoo smiles mysteriously, before grabbing your hand to lead you into the penthouse. 

It’s luxurious and decorated with tasteful, minimalist art. As you turn the corner, a group of people call greetings to you and Wonwoo, and he raises the hand you aren’t holding to wave. “Hi,” he says to his friends, a few of whom jog over to shake your hand. One of them, clearly the host of the party, looks you up and down before twirling you. 

“You’re even prettier than he said,” he says, winking at Wonwoo. “I’m Jeonghan.”

“Thanks,” you say, looking at Wonwoo hesitantly.

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” he says kindly, leading you over to the rest of the group. “We have so many questions for you.”

A tall, dark-haired boy in the corner calls out to you. “What was Wonwoo like as a child?”

“Shorter,” you say automatically, and the group laughs, including Wonwoo, who nods his agreement.

“I didn’t like to share my toys or other things,” he admits. “I’m still that way.”

“Is that why it took you so long to bring her to meet us?” someone asks, and everyone laughs.

He gives a small smile. “If I hadn’t been gone, that might have been part of it.” He grins at you. “The things I like the most are the hardest to share.”

You feel yourself flush red. “He wasn’t all that bad,” you say. “He was also very loyal and honest, even as a baby. Once an older kid shoved me down, and he didn’t know what to do, so he sat down next to me and cried with me. He’s still that way, too.”

“He did say you have a gift for seeing the good in people,” says Jeonghan, the teasing tone of voice clear. “Even if it’s hard.”

“It’s not that hard,” you say quickly, and Wonwoo beams.

You continue speaking with Wonwoo’s friends. They are kind, interested in you, and full of life and laughter. You feel at home — even though this is one of the nicest apartments you’ve ever been in, and these people began the evening as complete strangers to you. A piece of your heart seems to heal. 

Still, you are grateful when Wonwoo offers to show you the view from the balcony. After being isolated for a month, the company feels nice, but overwhelming. You sigh as the cool air hits your skin, and you drink in the sight of the city lights twinkling at you from below. 

“They’re not so bad,” you finally admit to Wonwoo, gesturing back at the group. 

“They like you, too,” he tells you, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

“Will you ever tell me what you told them about me?” you ask him softly.

His eyes are starry in the darkness. He pushes slowly off the railing of the balcony and takes a step toward you. “Sure,” he says, his voice casual, but his gaze is intense. “What I didn’t tell them is more interesting, though.”

“What didn’t you tell them?” you breathe, close enough that when you speak your breath moves his hair.

He grabs both your hands. “I didn’t tell them a lot. I didn’t tell them about the time we were learning to ride bikes together, and we crashed into each other so badly that you needed stitches, but you wouldn’t let your mom drive away without giving me bandaids and pain medicine. I think that was the first time I realized what kind of person you were. 

“I didn’t tell them how I spent all our lives trying to stay close to you without really understanding my reasons for it. How I got angry every time you dated a boy that wasn’t me, and they mistreated you. How I looked for you in the eyes of every short-lived relationship I had with anyone else. And how whenever I was less than compassionate to myself, it was you that helped me be gentler. I left out the part where you were the one who taught me what it meant to be loved.”

He steps closer again, and you are so close that your noses are almost touching. He brings a hand up to your chin, tilting it up. “And I also left off the part where you knew me better than anyone, and vice versa. I didn’t tell them that being around you is the happiest I ever am, even on your worst days, even when you worry about not being able to be fun or happy or excited for everyone else. That you left home to follow your dreams, but you feel guilty about those you love that you left behind. That you can become emotionally attached to anything, even the cracks on the sidewalk. How every little thing with you — even just a sandwich or a walk in the park — feels like something special to me, because you make it that way. That everywhere you go, you bring some kind of small magic with you.” He is gazing into your eyes now, begging you to see what he’s trying to tell you. “I didn’t tell them a lot.”

“What did you tell them, then?” you whisper.

He smiles at you, his eyes gentle and full of joy. “I told them they would finally get to meet the woman I love.”

You feel yourself beaming at him. His thumb caresses your cheek before he whispers to you, “I also don’t think I’ll tell them about what happens next.”

And with that, he leans down and presses his lips to yours. You throw your arms around his neck, smiling against his lips, and laugh when he starts to kiss your cheek and temples and nose and jawline. “You love me?” you ask him as he lifts your feet from the floor, still showering you in kisses.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I have for almost my whole life.”

“I love you too,” you say, cupping his cheek in your hand and kissing him back. 

I do feel like I should mention that almost everything sensitive that I write about is stuff I have personally experienced. I say almost only because it’s not always the exact scenario I was in, just one with a very similar dynamic. My fics often include heavier themes because I use writing to process the trauma I’ve experienced (as well as therapy and other creative outlets). So when you read my work please remember that you’re most of the time reading the stuff that’s coming from my very real lived experience, and I hope it reminds you to be kind. I’m sorry if I write something that triggers you or isn’t similar to the way you’d have responded in the character’s shoes. I try to include trigger warnings at the beginning of each work, and I can’t write things from a perspective I don’t have. I can’t make my writing be any less like me!! So be nice. I’m always open to criticism if it’s constructive and helps me improve as a person, but blatant unkindness with 0 attempt to see me as a human being with my own background and perspectives will not be tolerated at all. I try my best, I really do.

WAIT ME TOO THIS IS LIKE ONE OF MY VERY FEW PHYSICAL TALENTS

I need a job where I just untangle strings and cords for people for hours every day

niall obvs and now its mingyu. idk i think i get it

carats! if you stanned 1d tag who your favorite member was and your current svt bias

Thinking my delulu thoughts

darl+ing being my top seventeen song is so real🎶

"so... when did you know?"

mingyu can see his breath in the cold night air when he speaks, and yet he doesn't feel it as much as he thought he would. maybe he's too in love with you to notice it, or maybe your presence really is warming him up. he watches the way you avert your gaze, lips pressed so sweetly together (and he'd kiss them now if he hadn't just asked you a question) as you mull over his question.

"i dunno," you say, rocking on your heels for a moment. mingyu notices that one of your boots is unlaced. he'll kneel down and fix that for you in a moment. "i just... one day i looked up and i realized how quiet it was."

he wants to laugh a little at that. "is this your way of calling me loud?"

you shake your head, as genuine as ever. your eyes meet his a moment later. "i... i really missed your laugh. i thought maybe i was being silly, but minghao said you hadn't been around in a while and everything just kinda clicked."

of course minghao said that. minghao knows. mingyu just smiles a little, reaching out to adjust your scarf a little. should he give you his jacket...? he has on a thin t-shirt underneath (your call came late into the night, and mingyu nearly ran out without it), but he'll manage.

"what about you?" you ask. "when did you realize...?"

"when i met you," he smiles. "is that cheesy?" it is, he thinks, but that's okay. mingyu cups your cheek. "i just mean... i can't remember a time when i didn't love you."

you curl your hands around his. "god, you're freezing, you big dummy." and then you unwind your scarf from around yourself, leaning forward to wrap it around him instead. "let's go get a coffee."

"is this our first date?" he teases.

and when you smile and press a soft kiss against the corner of his lips, he has his answer.