our tomorrow is a brighter day

“i’m not,” he replies, flatly.

“sure,” seungkwan sings, disappearing down the hall.

woozi sighs and sinks further into his chair. you’re sitting cross-legged on the studio couch, scrolling through your phone, earbuds in and completely oblivious to the absolute chokehold you’ve put him in.

and that’s the problem. you always are.

you’re warm, expressive, a walking serotonin shot. you light up every room you walk into and talk with your hands and cry over dog videos and compliment strangers’ outfits just because. you're the type of person who remembers birthdays, texts people good luck before big meetings, and bakes cookies on random tuesdays "just because you felt like it."

and woozi?

woozi is the guy who pretends not to hear compliments because he doesn’t know how to take them, he expresses love through perfectly mixed vocal tracks and buying your favorite snacks and pretending he’s not checking his phone every two minutes waiting for your reply.

and yet you’re here all the time.

you come by the studio even when he doesn’t ask. you bring coffee and snacks and once a tiny plush keychain because "it looked like you and i couldn't not buy it." you ask about his day like you really want to know. you hug him goodbye even though he never hugs back (not properly, anyway).

and sometimes you sit quietly beside him for hours, just vibing, while he works on music. humming under your breath. asking questions about things he thought no one ever noticed. like the way he softens the instrumental under the bridge to highlight the vocals. or how he layers harmonies to make the chorus sound fuller.

you notice everything—and it’s driving him insane.

because he’s not supposed to feel this soft. not when he barely knows what to do with his feelings half the time, not when you smile at him like you know something he doesn’t, like you’re waiting for him to catch up.

“you okay?” you ask suddenly, pulling out your earbuds and tilting your head at him. he startles slightly, coughing. “yeah.”

“you were spacing out,” you grin. “thinking hard, genius?”

he huffs a laugh, turns back to his screen. “something like that.”

you shuffle over and peer at his monitor, chin on his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe. you’re close enough that he can smell your shampoo. something citrusy. fresh. “is this the new demo?” you whisper, like it’s a secret.

he nods.

“can i hear it?”

“it’s not done yet.”

“i don’t care.” you whisper, leaning in close to his ear.

and he sighs, already knowing that he’d lost to you with just one look. he hits play and pretends his heart isn’t doing backflips while you listen with that furrowed brow and soft smile. you always listen like this—like the song is a person you’re trying to understand.

when it ends, you turn to him, eyes wide. “woozi. that’s so good. it sounds like falling in love.”

he snorts, ducking his head. “that’s not what it’s about.”

“still feels like it,” you shrug.

he glances at you, a little helpless. you’re too close. too real. too much.

“you always say the dumbest stuff,” he mutters, but his voice is weirdly fond. you grin at this like you know you’ve won something. “you love it.”

and that’s the thing, isn’t it?

he does.

god help him, but he does. and his grumpy disposition falters as he rubs his palm into his eyes.

“i’m so undeniably screwed for this woman,” he mutters under his breath, almost too quiet to hear.

oh, but you hear it.

you blink, going still. lips part like you’re about to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, you stare at him with an amused look on your face.

his eyes widen slightly, and for the first time in a long time, he feels his composure crack.

“…shit,” he curses, throwing his head back. “did i say that out loud?”

you blink again. then smile, slow and warm and soft enough to melt him right there in the chair.

“yeah,” you say. “you did.”

a beat passes. he opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again.

“…okay.” he pathetically mumbles,

and then you’re laughing. again. that same fizzy, unstoppable laugh, and you bump your shoulder into his and say, “about time.”

he stares at you, and you stare back. then you reach over and take his hand—gently, casually, like you’ve done it a hundred times—and squeeze.

“don’t worry,” you whisper. “seems like we’re both in trouble, then. you make me feel like i got a few screws loose, lee jihoon.”

and woozi, ever the calm, composed, nonchalant musical genius that he is—completely short-circuits.

join here!

if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3 it helps my works and writing spread to other ppl very effectively !!

The old fishing pier required caution to navigate even on the calmest of summer days. No railings, and it wasn’t well-maintained, so there were the occasional splinters, nails, or loose wood panels. But you knew that, you came here all the time. Which was why you thought you thought you could do this in the first place.

You had gone to the beach in the middle of winter by yourself, and instead of just being content with all the pictures that you took from walking up and down the shoreline, decided that getting on the old fishing pier was a good idea. There were a couple boats further out that you wanted to get a better shot of, if you could just get a little closer. So you inched towards the end of the pier, sea spray from the waves crashing against the pilings hitting your face. There was ice that had been built up from layers of sea spray continuously freezing over itself. Which you realized exactly as your foot hit a patch of it and you slid right off the edge.

Panic shot through you as the freezing cold ocean swallowed you immediately. You kicked your feet in your heavy winter boots and desperately paddled to try to get back up. Your head broke the surface for just a second, and you tried to gulp in any air that you could, but were cut off by a violent wave, inhaling saltwater as the turbulent seas pushed and pulled you down again. All your thick clothes that had been keeping you warm in the cold air were now soaked through and weighing you down, down. You were already exhausted. You stopped trying to swim and instead started pulling off whatever you could reach. First your gloves, then you tried to undo the knots on your boots by feel, but your fingers were frozen and bumbling.

You squinted your eyes open, the ocean water stinging, to try to see anything that you were doing. It was dark, you were sinking further and further down. You were so tired from fighting the water that you couldn’t even lift your leg towards your face to see it. You’d have to leave your boots on. As you went to unzip your overcoat next, a movement caught your gaze. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest. There was something large swimming nearby, and you prayed it wasn’t going to get curious.

You were getting lightheaded now, fumbling with your zipper as you tried to work faster with the fear of whatever that was doubling up on your fear of drowning. Your eyes burned too much, and you closed them as you continued fighting with your zipper. Your lungs felt like they were on fire, and you held back the urge to cough up the saltwater you had swallowed earlier.

What felt like a hand grabbed your arm, and you involuntary screamed, the rest of your air escaping in a burst of bubbles as your eyes flew open. Something monstrous had a hold on you, flashes of pale skin, reflective eyes, long claws, and sharp teeth all you could see in the dark water. Black spots began to fill your already blurry vision, and you—

You were hacking up seawater, scrambling onto your side on the rocky shoreline to not immediately inhale it again. Your fingers and toes were numb, everything that you could feel was freezing cold, made even worse by the seabreeze whipping by.

“There you go,” a relieved voice said from beside you as a hand patted your back firmly. “Water out, air in.”

After you finished spitting the saltiness out, you turned your head to see who was next to you. Your head was still spinning, but you were pretty sure it was a young man about your age, dressed for the beach—in swim trunks. He offered you a bright smile, pushing some of his dripping wet hair out of his face.

“Take a few deep breaths. You should probably get checked out. Hypothermia, dry drowning, all that. You know?”

You weakly tried to sit up, and he helped you with a hand on your back. It took you a few inhales to get enough air to talk. “Were—” You sounded winded and hoarse, and every word hurt. “Were you… swimming?”

“Were you?” He laughed.

“Obviously not!” You huffed, gesturing to your outfit. “I fell in!”

“I didn’t see another car in the parking lot. Do you need a ride to the hospital?”

You patted your jeans pocket to find that your phone had somehow stayed put through this whole ordeal. Pushing the power button, that was where your luck ended. The screen stayed dark. It was entirely waterlogged. You groaned.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

The man stood up first, then grabbed your arm to help you to your feet. You thought about the creature you saw underwater, and looked back to the ocean.

“What happened?” You asked him.

“I pulled you out,” he said matter-of-factly. As he looked you up and down, a ray of sunlight finally peeked through the gray cloud cover, catching on a patch of iridescent pink scales on the tip of his button nose. “Can you walk?”

“Oh, you’re a siren,” you realized belatedly. “Did you see it?”

“See what?”

You hesitated to tell him about the sea monster now, feeling a bit silly as his wide eyes searched your face with great concern. Shaking your head, you changed the subject. “Nothing, I don’t know. What’s your name?”

“Shotaro.” He beamed at you again, and you spotted the telltale extra cuspids that sirens had. “And my roommate Sungchan is actually waiting up in the car, so it should be nice and toasty for you.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“Can you walk okay, Y/N?” Shotaro asked again.

“I-I think. I can’t really feel my feet though…” You admitted.

“Here.” He offered his arm out to you. “In case you trip.” You grabbed his forearm with two hands, already feeling more stable. “Thanks.”

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