Mari Writes! - Tumblr Posts

— thorned, p.sh

wc: 1.1k || g: angst, best friends to enemies, gn!reader || w: explicit language, arguing || nets + tag list: @kflixnet @k-radio @enhypenwriters @ficscafe + @soobin-chois

Park Sunghoon is like a flower, you like to think. He's gracious and colorful, and you think he smells nice, too. He attracts people like pollen and bees, though he doesn't seem to enjoy the fact that he does.

He doesn't mind you, though.

The sun shines warm on his flushed skin as he watches you scribble and scratch a pencil against paper. "Having you draw me a portrait is flattering, but how long do I have to stay in this position? My arm's getting sore." Whines Sunghoon as he stretches his arm and rolls his shoulder.

Poking the end of your pencil to his thigh, you wipe the eraser residue off your notebook and sneer, "Oh, shush, you. I know very well Jay forces you to lift with him, so put that muscle into use for once."

"Oh, I will."

In a quick motion, Sunghoon lunges forward, fingers fisting the material of your shirt. You yell in attempts to slap his hands away from tickling your torso, wheezing a loud cackle as your sketchbook slides out of your lap.

"Park- Park Sunghoon you get away- get away from me right now!" Between laughs, you squirm and press your knee against his stomach, squinting when the sun glares it's light into your eyes because you'd fallen over.

Sunghoon makes an effort to shield himself over you, his hair ticking the top of your head when he asks if the sun isn't blinding you anymore. Your chest swells in something you don't want to admit.

Your best friend means the world to you. The bond you have means the world to you. But the gut feeling of something stronger than what you call a “friend” nulls out every rational thought in your being. It eats you up sometimes that it’s overwhelming and panicking, and you don’t think you can bear that feeling anymore.

"Look," You whisper. He hums, still in a playful nature as he raises his brows.

"I'm being serious, Sunghoon."

"I'm all ears, Y/N."

There’s a lump in your throat that swallows your words before you can spit them out, you don’t know if it’s one of fear of losing the one friendship you cherish with your life, or one of fear of finally admitting your feelings.

"Y/N? I didn’t make you shy now, did I? Or did drawing me enlighten you of your privilege as my best friend? You flat-”

“I think I love you.” Your words come out slow, almost as if the lump had tried to steal your voice before it’d come out. Sunghoon gives you a small smile and your body turns aflame in hopes that maybe, he feels the same way.

“I love you too.”

It’s absurd that Park Sunghoon has the power to make you hot or cold as if you were a light switch. Sunghoon smiles like what you’d said was a joke.

You frown. He won't take you seriously. He never does. Now you realize that from the start, he'd never listen. You don't think he'll ever. It's a spiral; he gets you high every time, but it all crashes down with another realization that he might never appreciate you as much as you do him.

“I’m not joking,” You bite, sitting up and pushing him off you. Again, the sun glares at you, but you don’t feel one bit warm.

You don’t fail to see Sunghoon’s smile falter, you never do. Sighing, a smile so sarcastic it twists your stomach plays his lips, “I knew you were too good.”

“What?”

“I can’t have something we have-” He pauses. “well, something I thought we had, without you taking advantage of the time we spent together.” You emit a scoff, one of shock. “Taking advantage of the time we spent together? Where the fuck did you get that idea?”

“Oh, don’t deny it, Y/N. You just told me you liked me, I’ll assume everything else you’ve been doing without telling me. Tell me, was it fun having me around like a little pet?”

“Sunghoon, do you hear yourself right now? Get your head out of your ass, you fucking prick.” You stand up, grabbing your sketchbook and supplies and shuffling your shoes back onto your feet. Following suit, Sunghoon doesn’t bother fetching for his shoes, the grass stinging his feet but he doesn’t care for it and rushes after you.

“Get my head out of my ass? You’re the one enjoying whatever I had to do with you. You’re not thinking about how much this is paining me-”

“You’re not thinking about it either!” Your voice cracks, something you sense Sunghoon hadn’t expected to happen. The wind carries your words through the field and back to where you’d been doodling his portrait, where Sunghoon had reeled out all the laughs you had in you, where you wished you’d be with a shut mouth.

“You think I want to love you? You think I don’t want things to be the same?” With your words, comes a weight pushing down against Sunghoon’s chest. “I don’t love you, Sunghoon. I love the person I’d spent those nights with. I love the person who’d run miles from his house to mine. I love my best friend.”

Your eyes are glassy and beautiful, realizes Sunghoon. They’re beautiful and enraged.

“You- this-” You push his shoulder away and he hadn’t realized he’d been inching closer to you. “This is not my best friend. This is not who I love.”

With your whole chest, you seethe through your teeth: “I hate you.”

He laughs, it makes you more mad. “I fucking hate me too.” You take one step, two steps away. “I pity you, Sunghoon, I really do.” The side of your mouth twitches up in a smile of disbelief. “But until you see anything more past that ego- or hate, I don’t know- of yours, I don’t think anyone could love you. I tried. I thought I did at one point.”

Sunghoon can’t seem hear properly— as if he'd been dunked underwater— when you start to walk away. He hears his heavy breathing, his heart beating in his ears. He hears cicadas buzzing and the faint rustle of grass following the image of your figure.

There’s something hot on his face. He wipes it with his fingers. It’s wet and hot. He’s crying, his breathing is quick and shallow and of panic. Sunghoon had pushed you away in fear of being hurt, but had hurt you in the process. It dawns on him the cost of it all.

Park Sunghoon is a flower, you like to think. He’s gracious and colorful, but he’s thorned. He’s thorned and masked and nearly untouched— he’d hurt the one person who’d made an effort to reach.

© riki-soba, 2022

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a/n: haha angst, how was it?