👑 be your own king icons
notes | 98 line, yandere au, slapping, swearing
requested? | yes
juyeon doesn’t have the patience to put up with your refusal
“don’t make me repeat myself again y/n, take your medicine, now.” he gave a serious glare
when you refused again, juyeon slapped your cheek
the impact almost made you start crying but juyeon grabbed your throat before you could make a noise
“i’m not putting up with your shit today, are you gonna take your medicine or do you want to stay sick and miserable?”
needless to say, you swallowed your medicine in a heartbeat
kevin shrugged, “fine, be that way.”
he left the room so you could rest properly and he thought of ways to make you take the cough medicine
he came to the conclusion that he could mix it in your tea and give it to you that way
so he did just that, he made you some tea and mixed in a small amount of the medicine so you wouldn’t notice
it worked like a charm, you didn’t even complain of an odd taste
“hopefully that’ll help you feel better honey.” kevin kissed your head, smirking to himself
“do you want to stay sick?” chanhee deadpanned, holding the nyquil cup up to you
“no, but it’s gross and i don’t want it.” you pushed away his hand
chanhee eventually backed off, putting the medicine aside
after hours of feeling gross yourself, you decided to call chanhee back into your room
“i think i want to try the medicine chanhee..” you admitted, hiding in your sheets
“that’s what i thought.” he smiled, “now open up.” he said, lifting the cup to your lips
“i’m not asking y/n. take it right now.” changmin grumbled
your constant refusal angered him to the point where he pushed you down and climbed on top of you
he forced your jaw open and poured the cough syrup down your throat
you nearly choked but changmin sat you up just in time
“that’s what you get..” he mumbled before getting up and storming out
he means well and wants you to get better but he just didn’t know what else to do
break your rules - chapter 24
masterlist / chapter 23 / chapter 25
member: changmin (q)
synopsis: being long-time friends means keeping boundaries. but turning friendship into love means crossing lines. are you and changmin willing to break the rules? will it be worth it?
tag list: @jaeminpeachy @tinisprout @flwrtbz @softforqiankun @artfulbarnes @jaerisdiction @wooyoung-a @bloom-bloom-pow @w8nuzone @deputyjuyeon @thehappy-go-lucky-blog @ju-kev-nyeon @mahalau @littleaprilcherryblossom @peachhyun @geniejunn @hakscafe @ikyk-leeknow @rindomo @skiez @chanhee-hee @byeongqueen @hanniiesuckle17 @seungcheoluwu @jakesahi
TVXQ 90s Heart Throbs // 1 2
💌 one ~ signing off [the boyz smau]
💌 pairing: bff!changmin x gn!reader
💌 genre: pure fluff, mild angst
💌 summary: just when you thought mutual pining is something you only read about in books… your best friend finds out you’ve been leaving him love letters.
💌 love letters: @lovehyuckz-main @artfulbarnes @xxluckydreamsxx @sun-seung @skiez @jakesahi
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- pairing/characters: ji changmin x reader, sunwoo, chanhee
- genre: mystery, retelling of a myth/story, strangers to implied lovers, university/college!au, moderate angst and horror (only during the nightmares described), very mild humor
- words: 10.4k
- notes (please read!): this story is a retelling of “bobaay dhora” for @wavesmp3‘s wonderful “tales as old as time” collab! it’s based off of a phenomenon that does not exist in real life but is still discussed in bengali culture (often by the elders) to explain sleep paralysis. please note that this is not, in any way, meant to represent it in full or accurately, and the light allusions to cultural items or the society is based off of my own point of view and are not meant to be taken as informational at all. there is some swearing and mentions of death, so please read at your own discretion!
I enjoyed writing this a whole lot, so I really really hope those that might stumble across this enjoy it just as much!! feel free to send an ask if you’d like me to clear up the mystery, as it’s left pretty vague in the story.
[remaining notes are at the bottom; it explains some of the terms used]
“If you’re really gonna stand around, at least make yourself helpful, yeah?”
“Huh?” Changmin blinks into the world around him. Clearly, he’s a few moments too late with how Sunwoo spares him a pointed glance before going back to focusing on the glass teacups that take up most of the small bar standing in front of him. He sighs, something akin to annoyance coating his frame as he leans over the counter to pop open a tin of sugar and throw in tablespoons almost too mindlessly into a teacup. The metal spoon clicks against the glass mug once, then swiftly, a second time, before it gets chucked to the sink with a noisy clatter.
Sunwoo’s curbside teahouse is the warmest haven in the neighborhood, especially on early winter mornings that resemble today's overcast skies and fog-lined roads. Aside from the old heater’s warmth from where it stands near the door and the static-y radio that buzzes out a chirpy newscaster’s voice, the kettle’s shrill screams may as well have been made of magic. It managed to attract lots of 9-to-5 salarymen along with early-rising students that live near the local Uni campus very well.
Even despite it being the early hours of the morning, the teashop today is as bustling as the clothing markets downstreet on the weekends. Here, people don’t haggle over prices and bargain over deals, though; it’s over the legitimacy of politics and the dust that’s kicked up overnight on the latest cricket match played by the local teams. There’s always some old man taking a drag of his stinking cigarette right outside the store and some lady near the counter, chewing on dry bread while chatting up a storm with Sunwoo about how her children aren’t doing well in school (as if half of the nonsense that he spews back about how “raising a kid to be kind rather than smart” is accredible when he’s nowhere near the age of being a parent). It would have been a laughable sight if it hadn’t occurred every morning and hadn’t been this early into the day either, Changmin figures.
He shakes his head unconsciously, tutting at the sight of everything; even himself. In it’s quaint space, he figures that there is an unconventional sense of comfort.
“Earth to Ji Changmin?”
It’s his turn to blink back to reality; again. “Huh?”
An exasperated sigh leaves Sunwoo’s lips before he thrusts a can of condensed milk into Changmin’s hands with an expression of utmost boredom.
The can is colder than his hand, Changmin observes while pressing his thumb over the paper label on its sides. It’s pretty. He guesses that he’s seen the bold red lettering too many times to truly appreciate its design.
“Yeah, that. It’s yours now,” Sunwoo’s nostrils flare as if he’s trying to dodge past a laugh, “You’re either gonna have to move out of the way of my dear customer over there, who’s been waiting so patiently behind you and crack open that can for me or I’m gonna give you your tea in one of these sharp-lipped open condensed milk cans instead of a teacup.”
Changmin snorts, taking a few steps to the side before grabbing an opener and puncturing the top of the can. “Don’t you reuse these shitty cans to give your cat food or something?”
As though at its mention, a tabby cat trots past the dusty boxes near the entrance over to the younger’s feet right then, choosing to lie down right at the edge of his black, worn-out plastic sandals. Sunwoo coos at it affectionately before turning to Changmin again with half a grunt and a smile.
“See? He doesn’t like you ‘cause you can’t even recognize his litter boxes.”
The lady at the other side of the counter laughs at that, eyes peering at Sunwoo with motherly warmth as he flashes her a mischievous grin and hands her a cup of hot, freshly brewed tea. It smells wonderful, unfortunately, and the wisps of heat blowing up from it do little to quench Changmin’s need for a cup of Sunwoo’s milk tea and breakfast.
“The tea and the flatbreads are on the house for you and your son today, Ma’am!” the younger boy’s voice lilts happily.
It’s only after about eleven minutes and approximately five more cans of milk opened by Changmin when the boy recalls that he’s not bound by Sunwoo’s request to help him by any means and that he has a class to attend in two hours anyway. So, he then scoffs and plops himself on the nearest chair and waits until Sunwoo’s done with what seems to be the last order for the morning.
“Have a nice day!” the boy calls out in the direction of the store’s opening before sauntering over to Chamgmin with both hands full. In one, his nimble fingers grasp onto two glass tea cups full of a swirling concoction of milk, sugar, and tea. In the other rests a plate of rolled flatbread that smells of lifelong familiarity, home, and a bit of omelettes.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” Changmin asks. He supposes that he can refer to Sunwoo as some sort of a friend by now, given the number of mornings that have passed where Changmin would be here to exchange his everyday stories for the younger’s listening ear.
The boy shakes his head, downing gulps of the aromatic drink on one go and dropping the glass onto the plastic table. He speaks while observing the way the cup stumbles with a ta-ta-tta-ttad, a partial beat. “This is my breakfast today.”
There’s a softer blend of voices and footsteps at this hour, with the roads only partly occupied by the late risers and a bicycle or two that rings its bells. Today, too, a red-rimmed sun barely rises past the horizon and above the clouds, Changmin notes.
Beyond the irritable static of the radio comes a nasal voice that reads off the day’s weather. The day’s meant to be as bleak as the past month or so has been. “The sun’s not gonna rise,” the voice adds, as though daylight itself was a miracle. It’s no lie that the pollution in the metropolitan city air makes it incredibly difficult for there to be clear, blue picture-esque mornings, but the dreary reminder of such a loss lands on no listening ear.
From Sunwoo, it earns a sigh and a sloppy grab for a newspaper that sits on the far shelf. “Politicians and their failure to do anything, pah. Can this have better headlines? It better, ‘cause we’re tired …” he mutters, unfolding the length of the newsprint and sifting through its inked pages before the other boy can even read what’s typed on the front.
Changmin sighs and lets it draw into a yawn, “Shit goes down and publishers’ voices rise. That’s that.”
A nod, “Huh, yeah. Guess the papers wouldn’t sell otherwise.”
“Yeah, what’s there to read in a newspaper anyway?” Changmin states offhandedly.
Sunwoo straightens the papers at the statement, flipping through the pages while scanning down the rows of text. The lightweight paper rumples under his hands before there seems to be a sort of finality in the boy’s gaze and he settles with squinting at the words in a particular column.
Changmin takes a sip from his tea, turning away to relish its mildly sweet, lukewarm comfort. He’s certain that it smells like home; like his mother at their family’s apartment in the compact kitchen. On the nights when she would brew tea, the rusted window frames would be opened wide to the starless, dark night to let the cool breeze in and the cicadas would sing their summer song. Tea smelled like early mornings where, before Changmin set out to begin the day’s monotonous duties, his mother would make him drink a sip from her mug and usher him to have some rooti while it was still hot from the stovetop, as if that alone could wave goodbye to the exhaustion in his bones.
He closed his eyes, breathing out a sigh. Oh, the tea was good.
“I was thinking about home and how, you know ... I need to move out of downstreet,” Changmin shifted back and began, fingers twiddling with the coarse flatbread on the plate in front of him before ripping a small piece and tossing it in his mouth, “The rent’s gonna be crazy high by next month.”
Before Changmin can send an annoyed glance towards the boy, convinced that his friend hadn’t been listening, Sunwoo proves him otherwise with a flick of his finger over the newspaper’s back page. A curious expression adorns his face as he points at a little box of text.
“Take a look at this. This is definitely the reason to read newspapers,” he crosses his arms, reclining into his chair with ease as he marvels at his find. It’s an advertisement.
He traces Changmin’s features now with his eyes, noting the way his friend’s brows furrow in question and his posture straightens as he brings the lightweight sheet of paper closer to his line of sight.
“‘.. renting out an apartment in Ranee complex near University road, with a full kitchen and a toilet, all for only a down payment and monthly pay of--’ a what the f...” he rolls off under his breath, scoffing and flicking his eyes to Sunwoo, all while looking absolutely appalled, “And you think that’s a legitimate deal? So little down payment for an apartment at Ranee?”
He earns a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders from Sunwoo as a response. Then, the young boy proceeds to sing a tune under his breath and stand to collect the now emptied porcelain cups into his hands with ease, ceramic clinking on ceramic. Right before he shuffles his way back mindlessly behind the counter, he meets Changmin’s gaze with an unnerving steadiness for once and settles with a last comment:
“Don’t know, maybe you should give it a shot and check out the house.”
There are four shard-like thoughts that pierce Changmin’s mind in the minutes following his sudden decision to walk over to the front of the looming, unfamiliar terracotta brick building.
One: It stood at the end of an avenue, tucked carefully away from the busy roads full of noisy pedestrians and leaving it to be, consequently, the only building that looks relatively like a sanctuary. Despite today’s downpour and dreary weather, the ceiling lights are lit up warmly at the front office.
Two: The apartment complex appears surprisingly .. legitimate. A weathered sign that barely hangs with loose tape on the glass front door proves that there is, indeed, a small apartment open to be rented out. Squinting past the curtains of pounding rain, Changmin even finds the words “to-let” scrawled on a piece of paper that’s put outside a first-floor window.
Three: the rain has the air frigid and the beads of it that are continuously clinging onto every portion of him are drenching his clothes. Changmin has no idea as to what prompted him to follow his friend’s suggestion and walk down through town to examine this apartment complex; he’s not even sure what the point of walking into the building would be.
A glance at the sky is proof enough to him that the rain has no desire to stop anytime soon. And, the building clearly can’t move on its own to shift closer to him either.
Grunting, the boy stuffs his hands into the semi-dry pockets of his rough-skinned jacket and reasons: Might as well give it a go.
With an air of utmost disinterest and a tiny pinch of curiosity, Changmin strides the last few lengths up to the front door and pushes it open swiftly. Immediately, he eyes lock onto the back profile of someone; a person who had been conversing with the man at the front desk. The familiarity of your appearance was enough to make every moving inch of him still into silence.
You. Changmin feels something stir inside his stomach, and he’s not sure if it’s anxiousness that makes it churn. The urge to run fills his veins with a spike of adrenaline.
How could a face that he’d so eagerly tried to forget, tried to run from, manage to reappear in front of him at the blink of an eye?
The bells strung on the door seem to chime a few beats too late with how the door swings shut behind him and he’s freezing all of a sudden, clothes uncomfortably plastered on skin and hair dripping wet. A turn of the jaw is all it takes for you to fix your eyes on his and in an instant, his gaze lands on yours, full of surprise for a split second before something akin to hurt, disappointment-- perhaps even resentment, flash by like a passing train to leave the two of you, who stand at distant platforms in your minds, bare against a gust of emotions.
Both of you angle your heads away desperately to fix your eyes on anything else in the room. To Changmin, the pattern of the floor tiles now appears extremely significant. He traces his eyes over the lines and earth tones detailing it as if his life depends on replicating it somewhere.
“Oh, hello there!!”
The middle-aged man at the counter is way too enthusiastic for the thick discomfort coating the air, Changmin thinks with an exhale. To enlighten him, though, he nods as an acknowledgement and walks closer stiffly to pretend as though the patchy interior design of the front office is something to marvel at. The shelves are made of brittle, old wood and are too static in contrast to the buzzing underneath Changmin’s skin. He sighs.
From his peripheral vision, he decides to cautiously observe you. The familiarity of the sound of your footsteps backing away, the sound of your voice as you greet a goodbye towards the middle-aged man, how you head into the rain and dash to the corner store across the street a little too urgently feels like intimate knowledge. Yet, as you truly leave his sight and he feels as though he knows the bend, the sound, and the hesitation in all the things you do, his head spins.
He can’t recall at just what moment he had turned to look at you through the glass doors to note how you’re running past the rain. A gentle cough from the counter makes him snap back to reality in an instant, though, where the man seems to be a little more than peeved by how Changmin has now drenched the WELCOME doormat by standing on it for too long.
“Excuse me, you’re Ji Changmin, right? The one that called and asked about renting out the apartment on the first floor?” he asks, clearly impatient.
With a quick glance out the window and a quiet sigh, Changmin realizes that you’ve disappeared somewhere into the rain fog, leaving him face-to-face with an irritated landlord. The rain still pitter patters relentlessly, and there’s a chill that has settled into his skin by now. But even the mundane can’t shake off the odd pool of unease that sits in his stomach; something about seeing you today makes the scene feel like nothing’s right and that time hasn’t been moving at the pace it should have. He should have waved to you or, at the least, greeted you with a smile. He should have said something.
“So… Mr. Ji Changmin? Would you like a tour upstairs?”
With a curse muttered under his breath and a quick job of plastering a ingenuine smile on his face to indicate some semblance of gratitude and apologies, a fourth thought full of annoyance springs up in his head:
He was so going to kill Sunwoo for today.
Large, cardboard cartons full of books, clothes, and paraphernalia had been secured with brown adhesive tape. These boxes feel rather light in Changmin’s arms as he carries them through the wooden doorframe of his new apartment swiftly, thumbs pressed against the brown, stiff material until he secures a good spot and then rests the carton's butt on the cold floor. With respect to how heavy his mind has been ever since meeting you at the front office of this apartment building, and adding the past week’s concerns of the rising rent, he was certain that this light strain to his arm muscles was nothing worth noting.
In truth, Changmin doesn’t own much to begin with: most of his heaviest belongings were textbooks for his gen-ed classes. It might as well have been boxes full of feathers; he wouldn’t have noticed the difference.
Heaving a sigh, he pauses to count the number of boxes he’s lugged up the flights of stairs that lie beyond the central corridors.
“One, two, three … and my bags. Great. That should be it,” he mutters to himself, hands on hips. With a blink, he brushes the dust off of his fingertips, only recognizing it after noticing the marks they left on the edges of his dark t-shirt.
A sigh escapes his lips as he examines his handiwork, both on his t-shirt and the floor of his new apartment that is now littered with boxes. The musty air of the room is oddly comfortable and the beads of sweat collecting on his temples are dried with one sweep of his sleeves over his forehead as he observes his surroundings for another moment.
He attempts to reprogram his mind to recognize the four-walled quarter as something fit for the label home. Changmin pictures the windows set wide open, balcony door set slightly ajar, floor cleaned with a mop and a desk on the far side that would most likely be littered with his notes on Bangla literature; an annotated copy of Shesher Kabita by Tagore perched on his hands while he reviews his notes before setting off to bed. He shakes his head, dismissing the ghost image of it in hopes that he’d manage to create even half of that image of a comfortable home, at the very least.
As of now, the quaint house looks much closer to a morgue than a home. The window hinges are rusted over and the outer Formica door is tiredly splintering at its every edge. Boxes littering the floor do little to dispel the manner in which the entire room appears dead; everything adorns the most unsaturated and unflattering colors, as though it itself were a wilting flower. The atmosphere inside felt ancient and brooding as well, if that were even possible.
According to the paperwork that Changmin had filled out last week, the apartment was only a little bit more spacious than his previous one. Instead of four windows, there are two, though: each sporting a shabby set of drab, mismatch curtains. On the far right is a small balcony with just enough ground for a person to merely stand in.
It’s decent enough to get a breath of fresh air at night, Changmin decides, twisting the hinge of its handle for a quick peek outside. It doesn’t budge an inch.
He doesn’t mind all of this space at all-- if it meant paying less on rent and, just possibly, putting an end to the recurring nightmares with this change of scene, he was desperate enough to take just about anything.
The thought of the said nightmares leave him walking over tentatively towards the side-turned mattress that leans on one of the walls. Positioning himself straight in front of it with two hands grappling the ends and a grunt, he pushes down the heavy material down to the floor.
A loud thud follows and a dust cloud rises dramatically, directly to his face and throat. In an effort to cough and hack off the dust in his throat, his vision blurs.
His mind is quick on its feet to produce a string of curses in response. The room is made of lines and colors, Changmin observes for a split second while trying to get rid of the burning in his throat.
Everything only further blurs into a fog right before he feels the air getting punched out of his lungs completely and as though someone had just dunked his head into a pool of disorientation.
Like water that drips onto a finished painting from the paintbrush of the wrong artist, the entire world dips in mistaken waves made of strong currents, each second diluting the pre-existing reality before his eyes. His ears ignite in the piercing silence, and the browns and greys in his eyes push him down, rendering him untuned with gravity and consequently, stumbling over on his own two legs and toppling over the mattress with eyes forced shut. The vibrant darkness on his eyelids are not any friendlier; they pin him down with brute force as though they have a will of their own.
It’s only when he feels a firm fabric hug his torso and the sweat on his temples dab away on some cloth that Changmin realizes that his coughing fit had simply made him trip over the edge of the mattress and effectively onto it. Mildly relieved, his muscles ease under its gentle embrace and eyes flash open, tears trickling through the brook nestled on the corner of his vision.
It’s odd. The room does not welcome him; Changmin is sure of it.
The image of the ceiling fan that he now stares straight up at corrects itself as the tears slip past. Its three wings are now equidistant, set with a circle holding it at its center. It looks normal, like three cricket bats waiting for their chance to score.
Changmin exhales, a memory weighing on his eyelids at that thought.
Some of his friends loved cricket, especially in middle school. Juyeon would show up with his red, taped up ball and go under the summer’s scorching sun, shouting to Changmin and the neighborhood boy, Haknyeon, to tell them to hurry up, hey, we don’t have all afternoon, he’d say, and you want me to die of a heatstroke? would be Haknyeon’s lousy attempt at saying no, only for Changmin to respond with I’m batting first then, ‘cause you didn’t even … last time… and … he would …
Sleep tucks his eyes and small frame away and off to a world where subconscious desires and memories weave into one. Before Changmin can decipher much more of the tender memory, the day’s exhaustion from moving in flutters his eyes shut.
Even without a blanket, without changing into his pyjamas, and without putting any of his luggage into place, he somehow feels completely at home in the room’s oddities.
“Again?” the concerned voice on the other end of the landline exclaims exasperatedly, “and why exactly haven’t you gone to an exorcist?”
Changmin wraps his fingers around the plastic spiral cord of the telephone languidly, exhaling, “Seeing this recurring nightmare isn’t altering my daily life, Chanhee. Sure, it’s terrifying. I doubt it has to do with possession of any kind, though, and all that’s changed since before is that now I know that the person who I see in it isn’t some random face that my brain conjured up; it’s literally probably my neighbor in this apartment complex. And that’s freaky.”
There’s a pause on Chanhee’s end, and Changmin’s almost certain that his nightmares cause his friend more distress than him himself.
“Alright. So you’re saying that you’re sure it’s them?”
He can imagine Chanhee’s pursed lips and the skepticism that would trace his every feature. Changmin nods unconsciously, making sure that his voice is firm.
“Yeah. It has to be them.”
“And … they didn’t recognize you?”
It’s his turn to pause. A beat passes, “I don’t know.”
“That’s-- Hold on, what do you mean you don’t know?”
Changmin draws out a sigh, “Tell me about it. They looked at me funny, but I’m starting to assume that it’s just because I was soaked wet from head to toe from the rain.”
There’s a jubilant laugh that Chanhee responds with, and Changmin simply grumbles, “Shut up, I feel so shitty.”
“Watch it be like one of those,” Chanhee wheezes, clearly enjoying teasing his friend a little too much, “one of those corny soulmate dramas. Like, you fall in love with your worst nightmare and they fall for their most obnoxious dreams!”
Chanhee laughs some more, “Watch it turn out to be like that. And then-”
“Yeah, I'm hanging up, Chanhee.”
Tonight, Changmin determines that he’s too fixated on the idea that a vital piece of his nightmares exist in one of the rooms next to his to be able to get a proper night’s sleep.
He’s unpacked everything already and the room appears much more habitable than before. Only one of the cardboard boxes was left to act as a makeshift nightstand next to the mattress that sat on the floor.
There isn’t much to spend the night through with, Changmin figures. Staying awake would be difficult given that every mindless little task had already been taken care of.
On the desk he currently sits at is a small, newly bought small lamp to study overnight with. The warm light looks like a lullaby, coaxing the day’s sleepiness out of him and placing it on his shoulders. With a soft yawn, Changmin glances at the clock, deciding that it was late enough to put away all the notebooks and textbooks sprawled over the desk.
Off went the desk lamp with a flick of a switch, and he then threw himself onto the mattress, making sure to situate himself to be able to observe the moon from the nearest window.
“Looks like a dot,” he tsks to himself. There is nothing exciting about it.
Again, his eyes grow heavy. The overcast night sky provides little view, and Changmin can feel himself slipping into an abyss of emotions, silencing all the protests he works up within himself to stay awake. Slowly, and gently, the riptide of sleep snags him out of reality and into a place he’s grown too well-known with.
At first, there is the familiar darkness that fills his headspace. He would have relished in its serenity if he could.
What follows is the sound of barefoot footsteps, or rather, one anklet’s cshh-cshh call from the little bells strung onto its fragile arrangement. The hollow sound echoes deeply, padding the center of his heart as though it were a tabla and it was meant to reverberate through his entire soul in a way that leaves him utterly vulnerable.
Changmin can never tell for certain if its that his heartbeat matches its pace to your footfalls, or the other way around. All he knows is that you’re in synchrony, too much in synchrony, and the sound draws closer and closer until he can hear your heartbeat in his ears and he is, all of a sudden, dancing on a chilly tile floor with the most precise and calculated steps.
One, two, three. Step. One, two, three. Step.
His eyes are stuck at his own recognizable bare feet. They move on their own, to your music; he figures that he dances, tonight too, to your melodious heartbeat. A hand then winds onto the embroidered stiff sleeves of his outfit like a snake and Changmin steels himself, aware of what would follow next as a result of the countless nights before.
His eyes travel up, past the gaudy clothes past the saturated robes that you adorn, albeit so beautifully. Past the marigolds pinned on your head that beg for attention with their scent and vibrant color, past the way you’re smiling so blissfully at him. Past the way his heart feels like it will be wrenched out of his body, past everything to look at your eyes.
Your eyes, which blink at him curiously, cautiously.
He isn’t the faint of heart but the way you look and happen to pull apart the stories in his eyes, rip them at their spine and consume the pages whole, Changmin is petrified. Your gaze simply holds him hostage, as though you are a flock of ravens with vulturous intent to rip out something inside of him that was, perhaps, never his to begin with.
Changmin’s certain, now, that you’ve never looked at him this intently. Even on the past recollections of the same nightmare, he knows there’s a fog between the two of you; it is never as terrifyingly unforgettable as this.
You lean closer to him, orbs of eyes searching him in desperation. He can’t hear the bells on your feet anymore and feels his own feet come to a halt, as though the stop of your heartbeat had blown out the candle of life in him. Smoke rises to his nose, and beyond that, he simply smells cinnamon.
It’s your scent, he knows. The warmth in it is enough to bring him to tears; he’s aware of that too. He’s known it since the first time he met you; the first time he witnessed the madness of these nightmares.
With that recognition, his body is in flames and the smoke that he sensed before is now a collection of dark, indiscernible shapes that lure out everything of him out of everywhere, setting everything on fire. You’re sobbing quietly, and it echoes like a melting stalactite hung on the far ceiling of the cavity in his heart for what feels like an eternity and yet Changmin can’t move an inch. His feet are planted to the ground; if they once had life, then it had departed just moments prior. His heart is aflame and so are you, he’s sure of it. You are beyond his eyesight, engulfed in darkness, but he feels with how ardently he desires to hold you in your arms that it is what you had desired, too, but the world is in flames. He coughs against the smoke desperately …
… and he’s wide awake on his bed, unable to jolt in surprise or cry out of pain. He’s completely paralyzed, as always.
The night is chilly as a result of how Changmin left the windows ajar before falling asleep, but it isn’t enough to dry the sweat that clings onto his every being. Beyond that, he can’t recognize much; it’s as though the night has shunned him and left him powerless. Even with eyes wide open, eyes on the ever-static old ceiling, he can’t process much.
All he knows is that he’s stuck, and it isn’t until the first rays of sunlight hit the tips of his feet that he’s able to move again or feel any part of his body. The morning sparrows are as happy as ever, and all Changmin can do is hope that his eye bags aren’t too noticeable-- at least, not to Chanhee. His friend would jump on him if he knew about the restless nights.
And, as usual, Changmin’s muscles are painfully tense as he shrugs on an outfit and heads for his morning class. Even sliding his arms through a shirt over his bare skin is effort and exhausting, but as time had tuned him, he was used to it.
The break in this cynical route occurs when you open the door to head outside just as he does, eyes locking into each other’s down the corridor that is full of the morning’s good-natured honey glow. His eyes are blank, and yours are mimicking his, so you raise a hand awkwardly.
“Oh. Hello,” you squeak.
Time is funny.
As Changmin lifts the ladle from the stewing pot of lentils to pour it onto a mound of white rice, he draws such a conclusion. The aroma of the steaming, hot rice hugs him in the small space and he feels completely at ease. How, of all people, had he managed to get to this current impasse of being at your cozy apartment at 11 p.m, of all times, to have dinner?
It’s the sound of your hands flipping open a wooden cabinet that hooks his attention back to the image of you in the present time. You are as calm as ever, facial features neutral and yet full of life in the details of you. Your eyelashes flick with each blink, there’s a papercut on your knuckle, and you occasionally hum to yourself an unknown tune. It’s human.
Perhaps it’s the way you are much less intrigued by Changmin’s appearance than you had been on the first day or your untimely meeting at the corridor earlier this week that determines, to him, that you resemble absolutely nothing of the nightmare. He would still, undoubtedly, recognize your face anywhere; the way you bat your eyes at him and raise a questioning brow is too precisely duplicate to his nightmares for it to be a childish jest by the universe. But you are a college student just as much as he is; you wear no flowers on the crown of your head but the light in your apartment crowns you its royal as you filter through the cabinets.
“Did you get some of the mango pickles? The ones my mom makes are out of this world,” You question earnestly with a firm voice.
Focusing on it is grounding, so he manages past a nod and answers with an additional smile too. He answers, warmth coaxing out the words rather than fear:
“I’d love to try some. Thanks for this, by the way.”
Your hands wave him over to where you stand, and with one quick motion, you pop open the glass jar and lift a spoonful of the syrupy concoction onto the side of his porcelain plate. Then, off goes the spoon to the sink with a clatter and the jar of pickles into its home at the countertop.
It’s fascinating to Changmin, to put it lightly, how easily his ears learn to follow every inflection in your voice as it travels past the furniture you move past and finally reaches him. You weave past the desk chair and standing lamp situated nearby to sit on your bed, the quarter clearly an inadequate space for two people, much less the two sharing a meal.
“Don’t mention it. I miss the home cooked meals here more than anything, so my mom sends some tupperware full of side dishes to me every so often. You said that you aren’t even from this district, right? So I bet it’s harder for you,” you mention as you situate yourself, gesturing for him to take the desk’s chair with the tip of your jaw.
Changmin nods, silent for a moment as he mixes the warmed meal. Your words ring true; he yearns, now more than ever, embracing his mother and sharing a meal at home. Strangely enough, the longing doesn’t weigh on him as much tonight. Perhaps, he thinks, there is some semblance of a home within any space which nurtures without question.
You are something like a campfire in the way even the arm’s length away that you sit away from him leaves him wondering what would happen if he dared move an inch closer. He fears the sting of it and is quick to dismiss it, rather choosing to savor the taste of the home-cooked food and the way the silence, aside from the night’s ambience, feels comfortable.
Cicadas and night birds add to the serenity of the moment, and Changmin can’t help but wonder if you revel in the night's crisp air as much as he does. The far window is thrown open, welcoming the sound of passersby and the occasional gentle breeze that feels moonlit.
You are made of stardust when you reach over to shift the textbooks on your desk further back so that he can rest his arms on the table more comfortably. There’s a brush of your knuckles over his wrist and Changmin thinks that he’s never been meant to pay this much attention to detail; it feels alarming to him that he does. He can feel your gaze stuck on him after that, reading his features and movements in the way an artist would their subject.
You start with the way his hair shines against the yellow back light of the lamp and travel to the way the sleeves of his checkered shirt crumple at his elbows in a way that looks the slightest bit uneven. On any other occasion, he supposes that there would be something on the spectrum of shyness to embarrassment that renders him stiff but oddly enough, being observed by you feels natural. It’s comfortable-- no, he … enjoys it.
A cough erupts in his throat at that thought and you are quick to pour him a glass of water from your cool, metal canister. He accepts it with a grateful nod, avoiding your eyes and gulping it all of the liquid down before attaching his attention to the granules of white rice and the way they mix with the side dishes’ gravy. Unfortunately, it’s only sufficient to ease the burn in his throat and not the burn that sets the tips of his ears and dusts his cheeks with red.
“No one’s gonna steal your food, relax. Chew your food and swallow slowly,” you comment offhandedly, a half of a smile sitting as a ghost on your lips.
It’s two nights later, after the two of you each have put away your respective teacups for already having downed the mildly sweet drink, that the conversation goes beyond the shallow, weather-talk type and plunges into untread territories.
“Can I ask you something odd?” is what you begin with. The question alone is enough to set sparks off of Changmin’s skin and tighten his breath. He nods to you casually, though, the fabric of his sleeve brushing your arm in the close proximity at which the two of you sit side by side on your bed.
Your nimble fingers are quick to cast whatever signs of hesitation and worry your posture carries off into nothing. Between your forefinger and thumb rests the ring you’re wearing on your other hand, and you twist it so that a different facet of it shows to the top each time. It’s calculative, and Changmin wonders if the ring is of any significance to what sits at the tip of your tongue.
“Have--” you pause, breathing your words in for a moment before letting it tumble off of the ravine of your mind, “Have we … met before?”
Changmin opens his mouth and thinks better of it, shutting it immediately with a dumbfounded expression. He blinks, the lamp light caressing your face flickering for a split second. Silence is an intruder that sits between the two of you awkwardly.
Neither the cicadas nor the night birds fill the silence; your windows are secured shut and the room in the air feels as though it grows more stale by the second.
Changmin twiddles his thumbs, tilting his head to a side. It’s as though he’s preparing himself to run before a major and possibly detrimental jump towards a hidden platform; he clenches his jaw and draws in his shoulders the slightest bit before starting into a run.
“I think we-”
Your eyes were squeezed shut but they flutter open now, eyes peeking only to be met by his glorious smile that curves his eyes at the sight of you and draws a small line on his cheek. He laughs, waving an arm in the air and patting over his lips as though it had acted on its own accord and he meant to apologize on its behalf for interrupting you.
“You can go ahead,” he ushers, murmuring the words. Why he chooses to lower his voice is beyond you, but you follow his lead and soften yours as well. He’s the only listener here anyway, you suppose, mustering up the courage to continue.
“I’m certain that I know you better than I should. Call me mad if you will,” you whisper, eyes ablaze and acting as a kindle to every bit of the flammable boy in front of you.
The air is taught like the top of a rope-bound drum that threatens to destroy itself at any sort of misuse. You play it fearlessly, raising your chin and steeling your heart as you exhale the words, “but I think I was supposed to meet you. I think we were supposed to meet.”
All he manages past his lips, past his glossy eyes and pounding heat’s thrums is a single sentence and it costs him everything, he thinks, having to look into the brilliant golden stars in your eyes all the while. You’ve even seized the breath in his lungs.
He shudders out an exhale, sewing his heart to his ribs before he speaking with clear conviction:
“Well, you’re the nightmare I dream of every night.”
A small fissure in the dam of your connection as strangers, if one may call it that, erupts as a result of that night. It creates a pool of wonderment in friendship with a boat of unwelcomed affection.
In the warmly lit quarter of your room where the two of you sit, knees almost touching the other’s while recounting as much as you can of how your lives intertwine, Changmin learns that your nightmares are of the same exact scene as his, the only difference lying in that it is from your point of view. He also learns, to his surprise, that you hate marigolds.
He now leans against the wall, back pressing on the pieces of paper you've stuck on there in an attempt to stay organized within this house full of clutter. It’s “organized but not the most neat” is how you put it, and he thinks that all these visits are making the inconsistent placements of items grow on him. Things like a potted plant sitting at the corner of the bed instead of the windowsill or desk are starting to grow its own charm.
You, much like those items, simply rest your elbow on your folded legs and chin on your hands to support your weight while you sit at the base of the bed. Conversation flows in tides, and you take the time to describe the details of him that you’ve memorized by now.
“You always have a look on your face in these nightmares and I don’t know what it ever means. It’s like you’re waiting for me to say something .. or .. oh, nevermind. I have no idea how to describe it. It’s just … odd,” you sigh.
Dismissing the curiosity to investigate whether your nightmares take a toll on your emotions nearly as much as his, Changmin inquires with a raised eyebrow, “If we experience the same thing every night, does that mean that you also can’t quite fully wake up right after it …?”
“The paralysis?” you ask and he nods, so you proceed tentatively with a click of your tongue, “It’s not what you think it is. ‘Cause I looked into it, right? And I asked whoever I could around town.”
“What did they say?”
You pause for a second, letting out a huff, “They all say that it’s the possession of a dead soul that’s stuck in this world and can’t move to the afterlife. It’s a form of bobaay dhora, if you’ve ever heard of it before.”
The way your voice grew uncertain at the end doesn’t go unnoticed, and Changmin straightens quickly, visibly perplexed by your words. Your eyes follow his movements like a trained cat’s would, reading into everything.
The lamp’s light brushes his features into something otherworldly, and for a second, you can’t help but wonder if he’s possessed at the current moment. Noticing how beauty is adjacent to the most human sides of him has recently been both your subconscious joy and an act that unnerves you greatly. Changmin is handsome, undoubtedly; but what irks you is that you find him beautiful when he laughs cutely or treats the world with gentle hands. His eyes are curious before any emotion. Even now, the worry in his eyes is offset with the resolve that’s written in his pursed lips and drawn eyebrows to find a way out of the current predicament.
At last, he adamantly shakes his head, dark hair fanning over his forehead. The silence wills you to tell him to condemn his fears somehow, to indicate that everything was meant to work out, but your usual firm resolve melts the moment his gaze fixes onto your down-turned, quiet one. You glue your attention to the loose strings that hang on the end of your clothes, twisting them as you saw fit.
A beat of silence passes before Changmin speaks up, a worried pout on his lips, “You know how the nightmares have been turning more and more vivid ever since we met?”
Nodding gingerly, you glance up for a split second before recognizing that the way he looks at you pointedly indicates that he’s waiting for your attention. So you give it, fingers now pausing their busywork as you look at him dead in the eyes.
His eyes are a swirling pool of dark earth, blinking at you as his pupils reach past your eyelashes to read between the lines. The distance between the two of you could have been ages or miles or a second or a breath; you were losing the proper state of mind to calculate anything past the fact that your heart beats fervently when he’s so close to you. Some part of your mind throws out a you could kiss him comment, leading much of your mindspace into a frenzy.
You simply blink at Changmin, though, trusting that you can remain an enigma to him as much as you are in his dreams if you desire. You desire to believe that your heart bows to your wishes, even if it means tucking itself away at the current moment.
“Although it’s scary … what if one of us stays awake, while the other sleeps?” he murmurs, eyes latching onto the way your eyes widen in response. Hastily, he clears his throat and shakes his head, “But only if you’d like to, of course; I’m not suggesting this out of anything other than the hope of bringing an end to whatever this is. Even if it’s bobaay dhora, the ghostly possession, we can figure out a way to get past it.”
A moment of silence passes by before you place your slam your hands on the mattress, making Changmin jump in surprise, “I say that’s a genius plan.”
In truth, the solution felt a little too perfect to both of you-- what better way existed to understand a joint nightmare that was led by possession? One clearly needed to stay on guard while the other slept. It was simple.
Knowing the obviousness in the drawn conclusion did nothing to ease the knots of concern wringing in your stomach, though. Even as it was decided that you’d be the one awake and he’d fall asleep in this familiar space of yours, the feeling of unpreparedness gnawed at your nerves.
“You okay?” Changmin’s voice was soft as he took off his jacket and placed it neatly on the chair to your desk. His hair was a ruffled mess, strands on the front somehow parting prettily.
Sighing, you heave yourself up to walk over to the other end of the room to pull out an extra blanket from your closet for him. Everything feels awfully quiet, the sound of Changmin’s breath is oddy audible.
You sense that there’s a strange comradery that’s holding the two of you together in the moment. He, too, fears all of it-- you assume that the heart-wrenching pain that you’ve been facing through the nights mirror his feelings. But he sets it aside for your sake as much as his own.
“I think we’ll be okay,” is what you respond to his question with, satiating the desire to comfort him and yourself in one run.
He turns with a genuine smile, the light from your lamp dim in comparison to the floodlights that his soul brandishes. With that, the grave night begins.
At first, there is the familiar darkness that fills his headspace. What follows is the sound of barefoot footsteps that brings one anklet’s cshh-cshh call from the little bells strung onto its fragile arrangement. The hollow sound echoes deeply within him, setting a soul through his entire soul in a way that leaves him utterly vulnerable and feeling fortified from something he can’t quite grasp.
Changmin knows for certain that his heartbeat matches its pace to your footfalls. You’re in synchrony, perfectly in synchrony, and the sound draws closer and closer until he can hear your heartbeat in his ears and he is, all of a sudden, dancing on a chilly tile floor with the most precise and calculated steps.
One, two, three. Step. One, two, three. Step. He was meant to do this.
Eyes stuck at his bare feet, he observes the way they move on their own, to music that resembles a heartbeat. Was it yours? he wonders.
A hand then winds onto the embroidered stiff sleeves of his outfit like a snake and Changmin feels a breath choke in his throat as he swiftly takes the hand in his own. It’s warm and familiar and it slithers around to intertwine his fingers gently with its own, and Changmin can’t help but think that he must have had spent more time holding these hands than not, for how else could it secure his entire soul to ground and cool the fire at the tips of his hands and heart?
His eyes travel up past the pretty robes that you adorn to look at you, who beautifies it. The marigolds pinned on your head that beg for attention with their scent and vibrant color are ripped off with your free hand in a matter of seconds and they wither at your touch as though you are death itself, wholly destroying by coexisting next to him. His eyes flicker back to you, an odd feeling crawling up his throat and eating him alive even before your eyes meet.
You sob violently at the sight of him, tremors shaking your shoulders as your hands clasp over your heart and you curl into the position, pain racking through every part of you.
Changmin feels his heart drop out of his chest, gravity throwing him to the ground.
Your eyes never let him loose, tears now a searing hot, blinding waterfall.
He wants to scream in agony. He wants to set the area into eternal flames out of the way everything feels as though it desires to ruin him. He wails now, but his ears choose to catch none of it.
You are a flock of ravens with vulturous intent to rip out something inside of him that is rightfully his. You lean closer to him, orbs of eyes searching him in desperation; he can’t hear the bells on your feet, you have blown out the candle of life in him and he really can’t withstand the pain much longer, he’s certain, especially not with you standing in front of him. Everything is dousing him in gasoline and setting him into flames.
In a split second, a strong scent of warm cinnamon overtakes his senses to an overwhelming degree and the world drops into utter darkness and turns black. The breath in his lungs are dissipating, and everything flicks out of sight and into a still, pitch black dark realm.
It’s your scent, he knows. The warmth in it is enough to bring him to tears as his heart swells, blinking desperately past the curtains of darkness.
The night cuts through sharply, and Changmin’s consciousness floods back in full force.
A weight spread across his abdomen is the first thing he notices. The second, right on its tails, is the sound of your whimpers, your breath tickling the base of his neck like an angel’s feather.
“Hey-” Changmin croaks, throat parched.
The voice sends you crashing into reality and a gasp tumbling from your lips.
Sniffling, you make an attempt to quickly lift yourself off of him; off of how your arms were currently wrapped around his torso snugly at the current moment, with your face buried in the warm bend of his neck and shoulder.
It’s a futile attempt. Breath catching in your throat, you feel a set of arms envelop you closer to him now and a hand positioning itself to support the weight at the back of your head.
Changmin draws gentle circles on your back, occasionally carding through your hair in the most tender ways. All of it, in addition to the previous moments of horror, builds up in your heart until you feel as though you’re drowning in it completely.
The only thing keeping you afloat is the boy who holds you in the raft of his heart and tethers you to its oars.
The thought of his warmth and the way this particular set of arms make you feel inexplicably safe is enough of a riptide to pull you under. You choke out a sob, feeling the worries escape out of your grasp and spill out an unruly sea from the corner of your eyes.
He holds you tighter, bringing your head closer to his chest, the material of his shirt soft on your skin as it engulfs you. The rise and fall of his chest is like a lullaby that smooths down your shaking shoulders, and his scent is of sandalwood; a rich, deep forest of gentle leaves. You can’t help but plead, in the depths of your mind to the skies that listen, that the way you desire to hold him like this and be held by him is something that can be eternal.
Tears streak past your cheeks and fall quietly into the fabric on his shoulder. If you are the ocean, his presence is one that mimics the moon. Your tides, you suppose, are his to pull.
Changmin exhales deeply, and you feel his muscles slowly relax around you as he caresses your head softly and finally murmurs, “It’s okay, I’m okay. Did I worry you?”
You steady yourself with a breath before replying exasperatedly, words muffled by his shirt, “How can you ask that after screaming like a banshee for the past half an hour?”
“I did?” surprise traces his clear voice, and you untangle yourself gently from the embrace to meet his eyes. It’s difficult to get any words out, though, with how he looks at you when your gazes touch in the short distance between the two of you.
His eyes are rimmed with a tinge of red and the realization strikes you; there are trails of dried tears on the curves of his cheekbones just as yours most likely do.
Your hands act on their own, reaching out hesitantly to examine his face and hold it, hold him, precious.
Leaning into your touch, Changmin exhales, letting his eyes shut for a brief moment. He’s exhausted and yet, under your touch, it’s as though an invisible quicksand pulls his heart out delicately on a silver platter and leaves it beating fast willingly.
“You did,” you whisper a breath away, voice still shaky as you stroke the bend of his jaw unconsciously, “and I thought that I wouldn’t be able to wake you up from whatever was tormenting you. I thought you … were gone, completely. I think I saw a dark figure jump out the window, too, right before you cried out the last time.”
“The bobaa?” he inquires, voice barely audible.
You nod in the darkness, eyes cast downwards in the night’s mellow stupor.
Changmin takes that as an invitation to describe what he had seen. Softly, he begins, “It looked like you; the bobaa, I mean. Or maybe it was you, I don’t know. But I had to witness you being in pain because I think you were fighting it on the inside somehow. You ripped off the flowers in your hair and I held your hand,” he pauses, voice low, “but I suppose ... that’s what the bobaa always wanted to do. Perhaps she passed away too early to ever hold the hand of a potential lover and to free herself. Seeing all of it was horrifying, especially with you in it, but I hope she’s free now. And you are, too.”
Despite the late night’s nature and how the darkness made you barely visible, Changmin can see a glimmer of the brilliant stars in your eyes before you draw yourself closer. There’s a shift in gravity and time, everything slowing into milliseconds of a flutter of a dove’s wings in the cavity of his heart. He’s in zero gravity, but you are strong and you break past it and press a quick kiss on his lips, expelling every anxious part of him into oblivion and leaving his heart a birdcage with a blooming white rose.
Your eyes are wide and face burns, and you hear Changmin giggling at you before tugging you closer again. The pads of his fingers are calloused but gentle on your skin as he guides you until your noses almost touch.
“Why do you seem surprised by your own actions?” he laughs and before you can respond, he closes the distance again and feels you smile into it, the pure affection in his features melting into yours.
Pulling away, you swat his arm gently and place your hands on the back of his head to play with the cropped dark strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Your voice is mellow as you speak, but the newfound lightness in it makes Changmin readjust his arms to keep you closer.
“It’s because you still don’t seem real, you fool. I thought I really lost you.”
“Damn, did something good happen?” Sunwoo throws a passing glance towards the boy who eagerly cracks open a can of condensed milk on this humid day. The curbside teahouse is bustling with people again today and in the busyness that the morning has entailed this far, Sunwoo hadn’t even noticed Changmin walk in.
Changmin stands at the side of the counter, busying himself as if he’s some sort of Sunwoo’s assistant. He lifts his gaze to Sunwoo, making sure to hold Sunwoo’s attention securely.
“You could say that,” he quips cheekily.
Sunwoo punches his shoulder lightly, chuckling at his friend’s change in disposition as he places teabags methodically into the individual cups in front of him. The voices mingling in the space are excited as well with the yearly festivities right around the corner lifting everyone’s spirits up. Even the sky isn’t nearly as overcast as other days; a sort of baby blue peeks through the clouds shyly.
“What, let me guess: you found the love of your life and it was like one of those cliché romance drama moments?”
Changmin pauses, turning around to face the younger boy as he lazily moves through his station of milk, tea, and sugar and nods to a passing customer with a smile. There is something infinite in him, Changmin recognizes, with how he seems to get along with everyone without revealing much about his own true feelings.
He’s seen Sunwoo have hard days and days where he looks as though his mind is perched on the fine line between falling asleep while taking someone’s order or being awake with bloodshot eyes through the day, but his kindness and observant nature never fall short. He simply goes in his own manner and moves through life with gratitude.
The said boy spares him a glance, his eyes unreadable. “What? I guessed right, didn’t I?”
Changmin considers it for a moment, tossing phrases around his mind before he chooses to leave the question unanswered. Instead, he asks, “Do you know Chanhee?”
“Who’s that?” Sunwoo speaks, no tinge of recognition in his voice. He stretches his arms over his head with a yawn and gets back to shoving teaspoons of sugar into the glass mugs.
Sunlight filters through the sides of the store and illuminates Sunwoo’s hands as it moves through the teacups and back to the shelf behind him in speed. The sunlight bounces onto his hair and into the glasses on the countertop as well, leaving pieces of light everywhere as though the morning’s glow had exploded in his friend’s bare hands.
“Nevermind, then,” Changmin shakes his head, “You said the same thing as him, so I thought you guys might know each other. Oh, and I meant to ask you earlier today; where’s the lady who usually hangs around the counter and talks to you?”
Sunwoo flinches, quickly muttering a curse and something about how he messed up the calculations on how many teaspoons of milk went into a single cup. He clicks his tongue and scowls, facing the other boy with a sigh, “Do you mean the quiet lady? She never spoke to anyone. But if you’re wondering where she went, she’s gone. She left.”
A look of surprise crosses Changmin’s features, and before he can inquire any further, Sunwoo sends him a tight smile and motions him over to the back table, where a plate of flatbread and two readied cups of tea await the two of them, “Now tell me about this love of yours in detail.”
Rolling up a flatbread and sitting down casually, Sunwoo grins, “And tell me about how they took your nightmares away in the process too. I wanna hear about it from you this time.”
Changmin stills, standing in front of the table dumbfounded. He was sure that not even Chanhee knew fully about the way you were practically woven into the nightmares and how the two of you were even connected in that manner.
So, how did Sunwoo know?
Blinking, Changmin recognizes the familiar blur of tabby fur as it rises off of the dusty floor and onto Sunwoo’s lap, where it meows at its owner affectionately.
Sunwoo’s quick to reciprocate with a gentle stroke on its back with the back of his other hand, chuckling at the little cat friend. Taking a casual sip of milk tea, he sets the cup down onto a sunlit patch of the plastic table, the light brown liquid swirling.
“So, aren’t you gonna tell me? I don’t have all day, you know,” he comments, a smirk on his face despite something heavy clearly tucked behind his words.
“Tell me,” he adds again. The sunlight that reflects off of the table swims in Sunwoo’s eyes.
ENDING NOTES: This story was a blast to write, especially because of the way I could bring up aspects of a place that’s very special to me! Thank you so much for reading through these 10k special words; they are what accompanied me through a recent patch of difficult events in life. Those events made it also difficult to post it on time, so thank you for staying patient with me and still very, very loving. Thank you to shawna as well for hosting this collab!
To whoever reads this, I hope this story can bring at least a bit of warmth to your day or night!
A small glossary: - rooti: flatbread - Ranee complex: a made-up housing unit. ‘ranee’ means queen - Shesher Kabita: an actual poem. the title translates to “the poem of the end" ;) - tabla: a traditional drum
bobay dhora: the myth/story this story refers to! it is essentially ghostly possession and it was a phenomenon created as an explanation to sleep paralysis of different kinds. separately, the words translate to "touched/caught by the bobaa". the word bobaa is a term used to call people that never speak (often, they would be people with speech impairments, which is awful. but the timeframe this takes place in is far before anything would be diagnosed in proper fashion, so I chose to reflect the concept in a way to show that all the characters do not see the bobaa as the enemy. it never was the enemy.) This idea is referenced for a major underlying suggestion about the plot and what is truly going on.
there is a lot more to unpack in the story, so i’m leaving those aspects vague for fun. happy reading! (✿◡‿◡)
- yours truly, n.
(based on venus signs)
sangyeon - venus in libra
very gentle, considerate & kind
"prince charming," classic love style
ideal type: lovely & elegant fashion style, well-mannered, good conversationalist
jacob - venus in gemini
witty & talkative
ideal type: bright mind, clever & spontaneous, can keep surprising him
younghoon - venus in virgo
likes servicing his partner
takes time to find love
conventional love style, mannerly
ideal type: wholesome, thoughtful, notices details, humble & sincere
hyunjae, q - venus in scorpio
wants to merge souls with partner
ideal type: can keep up with his intensity, seductive, mysterious & devoted
juyeon, kevin - venus in capricorn
wants stability & commitment
cautious until he feels secure
ideal type: successful, mature, classy fashion style & not too flashy
new - venus in pisces
gentle & thoughtful listener
idealistic, can be easily wounded
ideal type: pure/"soft" fashion style, selfless, emotional & compassionate
haknyeon, sunwoo - venus in aries
prefers to take initiative, direct
bold & confident
ideal type: strong, independent, sporty style, partner he has to chase
eric - venus in aquarius
friend to lover partnerships
wants freedom, can't be bound up
cool & detached
ideal type: quirky, unconventional style, easygoing, can give him the space he needs
☀︎ pairing: changmin x gender neutral reader
☀︎ genre: not quite angst, but also not quite fluff? an almost break up au (i’m so sorry)
☀︎ wc: 860
☀︎ plot: you weren’t sure what you had wanted out of this relationship with your supposed soulmate, because it was at that point where you weren’t sure where you had stood with him. the words you last said to him had stung to the both of you, but what was supposed to come next if you were scared of the inevitable end?
☀︎ a/n: welcome to week 6/track 6 of the storms of broken hearts series :)) for today’s oneshot, i used #16 of ficscafe’s dialogue event that is ongoing, and hope that you guys enjoyed this painful piece
☀︎ #16: “Is love supposed to be like this? Is it supposed to hurt?”
STORMS OF BROKEN HEARTS | TBZ MASTERLIST
You wanted to tell him many things as you were standing in the pool of your own tears, enveloping yourself into the comfort of your arms to shelter from the heartache and pain. Masking away the pain was better said than done as you wanted to throw almost everything that reminded you of him out the door, making sure that all traces of him were long gone because you didn’t want it lingering around anymore.
“Is love supposed to be like this? Is it supposed to hurt?” You whispered to yourself while staring into the wall in front of you, when your eyes averted over towards a framed picture close to your bed stand.
You envied the person that was staring back at you in the image, their smile that used to gleam so brightly as it was filled with what was once love and adoration for the individual they had stood with in that scenery. The Jeju trip that was cursed as the one trip that started this downhill was what you hated reminiscing about because it made you miss everything that you had felt when you were away from the stress of it all.
It was the last happy memory that you had with Changmin, because neither of you had cared about the reality of your lives.
“Y/N! Come look at these strawberries I picked out!” You remember hearing him call out that hot afternoon, when you had just finished hanging up all of your clothes onto the clothesline after finishing up the laundry.
The two of you had stayed on the countryside of the island, an idea to get away from all technology as you were carefree for the week that you stayed. Walking over towards where he had sat on the porch with his straw hat on, skin slightly tanned from being out in the sun all day, you giggled at his excited manner and took a bite into the washed strawberries he had picked out from the strawberry fields behind the house.
“These are really sweet, love. You really picked out some good ones.” You hummed, taking in the sweetness of the large fruits in your hand and that afternoon just so happened to be the last day that you spent in Jeju together before leaving.
A tear escapes your eyes as you wanted to know where it went wrong after that day, cascading to the endless screams and painful words that escaped both of your lips, knowing that neither of you had meant what you said because it was in the heat of the moment. However, your pride had refused to give in and find him in the living room to apologize for what you had said, because he wouldn’t even find reason to hear you out.
So you sit in the silence, thoughts screaming at you as you were looking for the right reason that you were still staying in the first place. You wanted to yell at him to take what he wanted and to go, but you were scared of him actually leaving because you were not sure of what it had meant for you in the end.
You loved him too much to actually let him go, unsure that you’d even find someone that could love you and be patient with everything that you had put up with fights. He was the storm against yours, and you were scared that this collision between you two was the final straw that could separate your hearts for good.
A knock on your door brings you out of your thunderous thoughts as your head perks up at the sound of it, eyes trailing to the door knob to watch it turn and reveal the familiar shadow that shyly peaks his head in from where he stood.
“You’re still awake.” He whispers, not realizing that you were curled up on your bed at the late hours of the night, and you give him a small smile in response, shaking your head as you nodded towards the rain that was pouring outside.
“I can’t sleep well with the rain outside, you know that,” You whisper quietly, tearing your eyes away from him as you wipe the remainder of whatever wet stains your tears left on your cheeks with the back of your hand.
“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”
Silence overtakes the rest of the atmosphere as there was a hitch in his breath, in which Changmin isn’t sure what to say in response to your question. He was just like you, where he wasn’t sure whether he should be the first to leave or watch you leave with his heart in your hands. However, he just decides to let his pride stay aside as he walks over to where you were sitting and takes your hands into his gently before looking at you in the eyes, as if it were the last time he was able to because he was also scared of losing you, the same way that you were scared of losing him.
“Let’s talk about this in the morning, okay? I’ll still be here when you wake up, I promise.”
Changmins inspirational really: famous and successful but also private, has a wife, two adorable dogs, is really attractive, excellent voice. What more could you want?
210622 → 6 PM KST • THE SHOW (E-CHAN @ SBS MTV
210623 → 5 PM KST • Show! Champion (E-CHAN) @ MBC M
🍞 pairing: tailor son!Changmin x baker!fem! reader 🍞 word count: 3.9k 🍞 genre: angst, fluff, sort of crush-to-lovers, Middle Ages!au 🍞 tw: swear words, jealousy 🍞 synopsis: your relationship with your sister has never been good, and you completely lose it when you see her flirt with your crush. 🍞 a/n: everytime I write for Changmin i have to tag you @sainthwngs 🤍🤍🤍 i hope you will enjoy this "small" work of him!! 🍞 requested: nope!
“Y/N, darling! Make some more bread after serving the Gatsby family, please!” your mother exclaimed from outside the shop as you actively kneaded the dough at the back, wiping your hands on your off-white apron before offering a smile to your customers.
The stretch on your face immediately disappeared as a sight on the other side of the street caught your attention. Sweat rose to your face, and shivers erupted in your body, resulting in you almost dropping the two loaves of bread you had subconsciously grabbed for the middle-class family. They didn’t even spare you a glance as you messily placed their order in the jute bag the servant was holding out to you, hands shaky as thoughts clouded your brain.
The woman threw a few crowns on the wooden counter with disdain before walking away, the servant hastily grabbing the bag and the son’s hand as the family walked out. You leaned your elbows on the counter and rested your hands against your forehead, biting your lower lip to prevent your tears from spilling out as your heart started hurting.
The tailor’s son Changmin was leaning against the shop doorway, a playful smirk painted on his face as he talked to your sister. While the man was completely oblivious of your feelings, your sister took the advantage of it. Much to your dismay, she knew that you liked him.
You didn’t want her to know at first, but you were a little too obvious of your attraction for the man when you stammered as you talked to him. He was really handsome, all the women wanted to marry their daughters to him, but he wasn’t interested at all. Changmin was nice to you, cracking a few polite jokes when he came to the bakery to buy some bread for his mother, making you feel like you could potentially have your chances with him. But you were wrong, oh so wrong. So naive and innocent to think that your sister wouldn’t seize the opportunity to plant you a knife in the back at this marvellous occasion.
You were trembling in rage as they were clearly flirting, and there was nothing more infuriating at the moment. You scoffed when she had the audacity to quickly turned around to check if you were in the shop, purposefully leaning closer to him with the same seducing smile she offered to every single of her conquests.
The relationship between you and your sister had always been difficult, her constantly accusing you to be your parents’ favourite child since you were born, and the time didn’t help at all. Many fights broke between you two for various reasons, but the most recurrent ones were about money. You were the most hard-working child, spending days and nights at the bakery to help your parents and make everything ready for each following day. Your sister, on the other hand, was busy roaming the streets, flirting and spending all the money you and your parents had given up hours of sleep to earn it in alcohol or street bets. You couldn’t even remember the last time you saw money in the clutch bag your grandmother sewed for your 18th birthday a few years ago, one of the many items your sister had the bad habit of stealing.
Anger boiled through your veins, letting the tears spill out of your eyes in rage. Stomping your ankle boots on the floor, you almost tripped on the pans of your dress as you went in the back office, slamming your fists on the table before crouching down while letting all the sorrow in your body come out in choked sobs. The smell of freshly baked bread gave you a small wave of warmth and comfort as you desperately tried to get this image of Changmin and your sister swooning over him out of your head, but it was to no avail.
And again, she had won. She was prettier, more confident than you, and there was nothing you could do against it. No matter how hard you fought, she’d always have the upper hand and take the slightest opportunity to ruin and humiliate you.
You don’t know how you found it, but you managed to gather some strength and get back to work as if nothing had happened. You were a bundle of nerves, kneading the dough angrily, imagining that it was your sister’s face instead of a pile of flour mixed with milk and eggs. Since you were the only bakery in town, you didn’t necessarily need to be nice, but you didn’t want any rumours to start about you. Some people got twisted brains and were ready to say some blatant lies to hear gossip and witness street drama.
Once you closed the bakery from inside, you walked upstairs and locked yourself in your bedroom without sparing your parents a glance. They asked you if you wanted to eat, but you just paid no attention to them, slamming the heavy wooden door behind you as an answer.
Without freshening up or eating, you drew the curtains and went to bed, head facing the wall. A few choked sobs escaped your pursed lips as you tried to control your emotions, but it was to no avail. You cried a major part of the night, your body fuelling with rage again when you heard your sister walking through the main door, shutting it like it was the middle of the afternoon, visibly drunk and in desperate need of attention. You almost went crazy when she stopped at your door and snickered, loving the way you had reacted to her provocations the same afternoon.
Chest heaving up and down heavily, you clutched your teeth to control your anger, not wanting to give her the satisfaction to get what she wanted. You heard your father scolding her for coming home so late and being so loud, and she immediately changed her tone, apologising to your dad profusely before going into your room. Your dad tried opening your door, but it was locked, whispering a few sweet words in case you weren’t asleep.
When you woke up a few hours later, the sun still hadn’t risen, but it was time for you to go to work. You felt sick to the stomach and dizzy, your lack of sleep and your self-inflicted fast from yesterday were not helping you to feel any better.
“Y/N, dear, come and eat something,” your father said as you got out of your bedroom, ready to start your day. His face saddened when he saw your tired state, resting a kind-hearted hand on your shoulder. You offered him a brief smile before shaking your head.
“I’ll eat some bread downstairs, don’t worry about me,” you mumbled, eyes flickering as you just wanted to go back to bed.
“Promise?” he said, raising his forefinger towards you. You nodded and offered him a tired smile before exiting your home.
Since you promised your father, you half-heartedly munched on some bread, watching the closed tailor shop in disgust. Your brain made you imagining again Changmin and your sister flirting together, your teeth angrily ripping apart a piece of bread from the small loaf.
“Woah, easy there Y/N, who came in your dreams and turned you into a beast? What’s gotten you so angry?” a deep voice got you out of your trans, mouth filled with bread as you noticed Eric, your childhood friend but also the farmer, holding a wooden crate filled with all the ingredients you needed to make bread.
“Sorry Eric, it’s just my sister again. Thank you for all of this,” you said as you walked around the counter and guided him in your workplace, putting everything in its place. “Your relationship between you two will never get better, will it?” Eric sighed while helping you in your task, only to see you half-shrug as an answer. “As long as she won’t behave, no, nothing will change. But it’s better like that, it’d be weird to have her being nice to me,” you said, and Eric shook his head. “I saw murder in your eyes when I arrived, I highly doubt it’s better like that,” he smirked, and you sullenly chuckled through your nose, walking with him outside the bakery, where his horses and his dog were waiting for him.
Eric’s hand landed on the side of your neck, his thumb caressing the edge of your jaw. His friendly gesture helped your muscles to relax, offering a small smile as a thank you, paying his products by sliding a few crowns in his pouch.
“Hey! That’s way too much, you’re not buying me a donkey! No please Y/N, take it back,” he said as he gave you back half of the coins you gave him, but you shook your head. “Take it as my way to thank you for being there for me since day one,” you sadly said, wrapping your hand around his to close his palm and pushed it back towards his pouch. “I don’t need your money to prove that you are my friend, I love you for what you are,” you rolled your eyes at his words and petted his dog’s head, who happily yapped at the display of affection.
You waved at him with a tired smile as he rode his horse further into the village, going back into the bakery once he was out of sight. This little encounter with your childhood best friend helped to clear your mind, reducing your anger close to zero. Of course, it was still there, but you will manage to tame it down for a moment.
However, this peaceful moment got interrupted when the bakery door creaked open, head peeking from your workplace, hands kneading the dough. Your heart skipped a bit out of anger as you rubbed your hands together to get rid of the flour before going behind the counter.
“If you’re looking for my sister, she’s still sleeping,” you spat as you stared at Changmin, who was surprised by your aggressiveness. “Well good morning to you too, Y/N,” he said, and you huffed, your hands gripping the edge of the wooden counter. “Well hello Changmin, welcome to the bakery. What can I serve you today?” you imitated the fake nice, high-pitched tone and body movements of your sister, your face falling back to neutral a few seconds later.
The tailor’s son was completely taken aback by your actions, not expecting this type of behaviour from you, who had always been sweet and helpful to him and his family. You placed the loaf of bread he usually asks for on the counter between the two of you, Changmin not moving an inch, still gazing at you with questioning eyes. His gaze fixated on you, and he was surprised when you didn’t blush and look away like you used to, your orbs boring into his with boredom.
“Anything else?” you dryly asked, and Changmin shook his head, extending a few crowns towards you. When you were to grab it, his other hand seized your wrist, your eyes widening. “What’s gotten you today? You didn’t look this mad when the farmer came here before me,” he said, and you raised your eyebrows. “Now you’re spying on me? Is everything alright in your head?” you frowned and freed your wrist from his grip, taking the crowns before turning your back to him. “It was hard for anyone to miss your little flirty moment in the street,” he bitterly snickered, and you scoffed loudly, feeling the anger boil back into your veins. All the hard work Eric had put into calming you just flew out the window in a millisecond.
You turned around to face the tailor’s son, your head shaking side to side at the boldness of his remarks. Changmin looked kind of angry, but it was nothing compared to your fury when you slammed your palms against the counter.
“The fucking cheek of it! You dare to accuse me of flirting in the street with my childhood best friend, when you and my sister were the ones making a spectacle of yourselves just yesterday, swooning and courting her like Romeo and Juliet!” you spat at him, feeling the tears rise in your throat. You swallowed them, as well as your pride, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you hurt by his words. Moreover, you never knew when your sister could appear, and you were not giving her the opportunity to humiliate you again in front of him.
“What on Earth are you talking about? I am not courting your sister!” he retorted, eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t try to act all innocent, it’s not gonna work with me, I saw yours and my sister’s little game. Don’t take me for a fool Changmin,” you said through gritted teeth and went back to your workplace, kneading the dough as a way to reduce your anger.
Once the front door closed, you fell onto your knees, tears flooding your cheeks. You felt so remorseful for talking to him that way, you were never this impolite and aggressive, but your anger spoke before your reason and values. But at least something was clear, your chances with him were reduced to zero. With the way you behaved this morning, there was no way for you to win against your sister. It’s not as if you had the slightest chance, but it’s always good to keep dreaming.
Later in the day, your mother asked you to go and get her and your dad’s shoes repaired to the cobbler down the main street. You sent a death glare to your sister as you noticed her smoking tobacco in front of the tavern with the innkeeper, who was around the same age as your dad, sometimes extremely inappropriate and shameful for your family reputation. She discreetly raised her middle finger to you, and you ignored her, her fake laugh sending chills of anger down your spine as you walked past her.
Despite being the richest man in town, the cobbler had always been humble and sweet with you. Maybe the fact that he was Eric’s uncle helped, but you always appreciated going there. The dim atmosphere and the smell of the different types of leather always made you think of the bakery, feeling like you shared something for your respective jobs with the old man. He loved making and repairing shoes as much as you loved making bread, so you understood the other when you enthusiastically talked about your passions.
“How’s your sister doing? I heard she got a job at the flower shop,” the cobbler chuckled at your flabbergasted state as he finished his sentence, readjusting himself in his seat. “My sister is jobless, flirting with every man she encounters and spending all the family savings in street bets and alcohol, I highly doubt she hit upon a job by Mr. Kim,” you said as he handed you your mother’s pair of shoes, thanking him with a nod. “This is what she told me last week when she came. She had this wonderful pair of black heels that got stuck in the pavement,” you nodded, clicking your tongue as you found out that she stole something from you, again.
“Hey, hey,” the cobbler shook your shoulder across the counter, trying to prevent you from crying as he noticed the tears of exhaustion filling your eyes. You nodded your head as if to convince him and yourself that you won’t break, smiling through your glossy eyes. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll deliver your bread tomorrow as usual,” you mumbled and he offered you a reassuring smile, almost seeing some similar features with your best friend, knowing that you could always go back to the Sohn family if you weren’t doing well. “Take care, Y/N, take care,” he said as you walked through the door, waving at him before wiping your eyes and walk back to your home.
For once, your sister was at the bakery, swooning excitedly over a flower bouquet resting on the counter in a clay vase. Your eyes widened at the sight of the bouquet, your sister swatting your hand away as you were about to touch a yellow rose.
“Stop it! You’re gonna ruin it with your ugly fingers. Plus they’re not for you, so you’re not allowed to touch them,” she spat, and you walked past her, purposefully bumping your shoulder against hers, making her whine like a child and take a few steps back to take in the shock. Your mother was cooking lunch in the kitchen on the higher floor, and she asked you who was making this much noise downstairs.
“Your daughter, Mother,” you dryly said, clearing your throat before continuing. “She apparently received a bouquet from a special someone, and she feels the need to let the entire neighbourhood know about it, just like when she has a man over. Here are your and Father’s shoes,” you said as you placed them down next to yours, your mother thanking you as she reflected on your words.
“Sometimes I wish she was more like you,” she said as she stirred the liquid in the cauldron, her words making you bitterly chuckle. “I don’t think that will ever happen, Mother, she despises me too much to even consider me as a family member. Anyway, I’m going back to work,” you stated and walked back to the entrance, hearing your mother disagree. “Y/N, dear, what do you mean? Y/N!” She yelled, but her words fell on deaf ears, closing the door behind you before going back down in the bakery.
Your sister and the bouquet had vanished, much to your delight. You breathed in deeply as you started working hard again, focusing on your tasks to forget everything that happened today that scarred your heart. The afternoon went by in the blink of an eye, but it seemed like your faith had prepared still more trouble to come.
Just as you were about to finish your last loaf of bread of the day the front door opened again, this time you didn’t even bother to look.
“I’ll be there in two minutes!” you yelled from the furnaces as you pulled out freshly baked loaves with your big, wooden spatula, letting them rest on the side. You quickly checked if they were baked all around and nodded, inwardly praising yourself for your nice job.
Once you arrived behind the counter, you huffed heavily as you noticed who is standing in front of you.
“You know that the door to our home is on the left side of the house, you can go and knock there if you wanna see my sister,” you stated, lazily showing him the wall. “Stop thinking I’m here to see your sister,” Changmin said, looking annoyed at your words, “I’m here for you.”
You snorted and immediately apologised, letting out a true laugh as you thought he was joking. The tailor’s son frowned at your reaction, making him look ridiculous. His tongue poked his inner cheek and waited for you to calm down, his serious expression making you frown.
“Why did you want to see me, then? You had to come back to humiliate me again since doing it this morning was not enough?” you said, a sarcastic smile on your face. “I don’t know who planted this idea in your head, but I am not in love with your sister. She does not interest me. At all!” he exclaimed, and you had to laugh again. “Of course, you want me to believe that. That’s why you delivered flowers here this morning, right?” you said, and Changmin’s face decomposed in front of your eyes, his shock state making you raise your brows.
“No. No, she bloody didn’t,” he said and swiftly turned around to look outside, a hand pressed on his mouth. He quickly turned back to you and leant over the counter, resting his palms on it. “It was a bouquet of white tulips and yellow roses, right?” “Yes, in a white clay vase,” you confirmed, “those are not her favourite flowers by the way. She prefers purple hydrangea,” you added.
“Is nothing ticking inside your brain right now? Your mind is so clouded by hatred towards your sister that you don’t understand where I wanna get at?” he said, his face nearing yours closer and closer at each word. “Mh, who do you think those flowers were for? Why would I be gifting your mother some, my mother did that for her birthday a few weeks ago. Then if it’s not for your mother nor your sister, who’s left?” You thought in silence for a second before opening your eyes wide.
“They were for me?” you whispered, suddenly feeling all the pressure and anger reducing in your body as you pointed at yourself. Changmin was so close that his breath fanned against your face as he sighed deeply, his eyes searching for yours as you took in this confession. “Of course they were for you, Y/N. Sunwoo’s father told me that yellow roses were gifted as a form of apology. I was asking for forgiveness with those. But of course, I now understand your reactions if you believed they were for her,” he said, and you glanced at him.
“I don’t know what you imagined or saw yesterday, but I was only polite with your sister. I don’t want to be one of her conquests or just a one-night stand, this doesn’t interest me at all. I wanna mean something for someone. All the times that I came here, your sister was working, except for this morning. I was happy that you were the one behind the counter, I wanted to have a nice chat with you, but everything became so confusing to me when you were this dry and rude to me. But now I understand, I understand everything,” he quietly explained, and you felt like an utter idiot, looking at his large hands resting on the wooden counter.
“I should be the one apologising. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, but I was just… close to exploding,” you said, head hanging low as you realised you behaved like a temperamental child.
“Y/N, I’m responsible too. I shouldn’t have assumed you and your childhood best friend were a thing. I guess I was... jealous and upset that you gave another man attention and probably scared to see you slip through my fingers,” you looked up at him, and he smiled, your heart skipping a beat as you feel like breathing again.
He was interested in you. Not in your sister, in you.
And that simple thought just stretched a smile on your face, your breath mixing with Changmin’s as you were staring in each other’s eyes, so close to the other. A delicious shiver ran down your spine as your nose bumped into his, smiling as he rubbed them together. You closed your eyes, still smiling, millions of butterflies erupting in your stomach as you felt his lips locking with yours in a sweet kiss. It felt even more magical than you had always imagined in your dreams, and a groan got stuck at the back of your throat when he cupped your cheeks with his slender hands to deepen the kiss over the counter.
And for once, you were the one winning. Your sister had better watch out, because you were already excited to rub your relationship with Changmin in her face, a feeling of sweet revenge creeping up in your stomach as you kept kissing your crush.
[#이찬] 'Pool Party' 연습 쉬는 시간에 찰칵 📸
[#E_CHAN] A snap during the 'Pool Party' practice break 📸
#다크비 #DKB #TheDiceIsCast #줄꺼야 #ALL_IN #풀파티 #Pool_Party #이찬 #E_CHAN #BB
⠀ 𓄹⠀ 𝕚.⠀ ど𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀⠀ ⵌ⠀ *⠀ 🌷⠀ 𓂅 𓈒⠀ chᥲngmın⠀ ♡⃝ ⠀⠀ t : bz ⠀ ꜜ⠀ の⠀ 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖⠀ 𓂃⠀ or⠀ #⃝reblog⠀ ꕤ ⠀⠀ ıf ⠀⠀ u ⠀⠀ % ⠀⠀ __ ⠀⠀ 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 !
a/n: this is purely made just for humor
◇ Lee Sangyeon
◇ Jacob Bae
◇ Kim Younghoon
◇ Lee Hyunjae
◇ Lee Juyeon
◇ Kevin Moon
◇ Choi Chanhee/New
◇ Ji Changmin/Q
◇ Ju Haknyeon
◇ Kim Sunwoo
◇ Eric Sohn
◇ Moonbae in that vlive
◇ Members about Sunwoo
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