Hell no!

It is a very, very, very abnormal day. Not in a bad way - definitely not in a bad way. For once, inertia, and everything else not in your control, are working in your favor. It feels like the universe has finally seen enough of the tragedy that is your life and decided to send you a singular compensatory gesture.

Said compensatory gesture whistles as you fall on him. Again.

"If I were you, I'd take a guy out to dinner before falling all over him."

"Shut up, Haechan!" You roll your eyes. The compensatory gesture is a 5'8 man with gorgeous, gorgeous skin and a siren-like voice.

You know him. He knows you. You are coworkers.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

You also have a crush on him. No big deal. The nickname definitely didn't cause your brain to short circuit. It isn't making your stomach do all sorts of stunts like it's possessed by Bruce Lee's soul. Nope. No.

"What happened to your motorcycle?" You try small talk. Or maybe you are just curious. Public transport isn't really his thing.

"Maintenance," he sighs dramatically. You simply roll your eyes. He is one of those people with an unhealthy obsession with their motorcycles.

You are not one to complain. The sight of Haechan getting off his motorcycles, one hand taking off his helmet as he shakes his head to tame his hair, the other twirling the key in his hand-

Yeah. You wipe the metaphorical drool dripping down your mouth.

A very uncomfortable silence fills the space between you too (uncomfortable only for you, he looks pretty relaxed with the way he's looking around everywhere but you- wait...).

"Uhh..." you say intelligently.

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "I am aware I tend to have this effect on women, you know. I tend to leave them speechless~" he sing-songs.

Aforementioned compensatory gesture also happens to be an ass.

You slap his (toned) biceps. He catches your hand. You make eye contact. His smirk drops to give way to something softer. You begin to think you are the protagonist of a kdrama. He parts his lips to say something.

Cue the perfectly timed brake that sends the two of you staggering towards the floor, assissted by the pull of gravity.

Oh.

Gravity.

Another one of Newton's concepts playing cupid today. Two is not a lot but it's weird it happened twice. On the same day.

Haechan falls on his ass, and somewhere during the fall his hands had secured themselves around your waist, so you fall square on his chest. You hear him exhale sharply, but before you can scramble to get up, you meet his eyes again.

And you both are so, so close. His eyes are wide, not a trace of his usual smugness visible on his face. A slight dust of pink decorates his cheek. You feel your own face heating up.

Fuck.

Some passengers help you get back to your feet. When the bus starts again, there's more tension between the two of you than the tension at the top of a vertical string supporting a weight. You clear your throat. Not very helpful.

When you finally arrive at your destination after a stifling 6 minutes and 33 seconds of awkwardness, Haechan slips something into the pocket of your coat before he leaves without another word.

You pull a note from your pocket. It’s his number. Below it, in scrawled handwriting: “Gravity’s a bitch. Call me.”

That's how in the span of half an hour and a bus ride, you isaac newton-ed your way into Haechan's heart.

(You got married in a public transport themed wedding ceremony 3 years laters.)

-

notes

if you liked the story, please reblog and comment. it motivates me to write more. constructive criticism is welcome:) requests are open.

Hell no!

It is a very, very, very abnormal day. Not in a bad way - definitely not in a bad way. For once, inertia, and everything else not in your control, are working in your favor. It feels like the universe has finally seen enough of the tragedy that is your life and decided to send you a singular compensatory gesture.

Said compensatory gesture whistles as you fall on him. Again.

"If I were you, I'd take a guy out to dinner before falling all over him."

"Shut up, Haechan!" You roll your eyes. The compensatory gesture is a 5'8 man with gorgeous, gorgeous skin and a siren-like voice.

You know him. He knows you. You are coworkers.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

You also have a crush on him. No big deal. The nickname definitely didn't cause your brain to short circuit. It isn't making your stomach do all sorts of stunts like it's possessed by Bruce Lee's soul. Nope. No.

"What happened to your motorcycle?" You try small talk. Or maybe you are just curious. Public transport isn't really his thing.

"Maintenance," he sighs dramatically. You simply roll your eyes. He is one of those people with an unhealthy obsession with their motorcycles.

You are not one to complain. The sight of Haechan getting off his motorcycles, one hand taking off his helmet as he shakes his head to tame his hair, the other twirling the key in his hand-

Yeah. You wipe the metaphorical drool dripping down your mouth.

A very uncomfortable silence fills the space between you too (uncomfortable only for you, he looks pretty relaxed with the way he's looking around everywhere but you- wait...).

"Uhh..." you say intelligently.

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "I am aware I tend to have this effect on women, you know. I tend to leave them speechless~" he sing-songs.

Aforementioned compensatory gesture also happens to be an ass.

You slap his (toned) biceps. He catches your hand. You make eye contact. His smirk drops to give way to something softer. You begin to think you are the protagonist of a kdrama. He parts his lips to say something.

Cue the perfectly timed brake that sends the two of you staggering towards the floor, assissted by the pull of gravity.

Oh.

Gravity.

Another one of Newton's concepts playing cupid today. Two is not a lot but it's weird it happened twice. On the same day.

Haechan falls on his ass, and somewhere during the fall his hands had secured themselves around your waist, so you fall square on his chest. You hear him exhale sharply, but before you can scramble to get up, you meet his eyes again.

And you both are so, so close. His eyes are wide, not a trace of his usual smugness visible on his face. A slight dust of pink decorates his cheek. You feel your own face heating up.

Fuck.

Some passengers help you get back to your feet. When the bus starts again, there's more tension between the two of you than the tension at the top of a vertical string supporting a weight. You clear your throat. Not very helpful.

When you finally arrive at your destination after a stifling 6 minutes and 33 seconds of awkwardness, Haechan slips something into the pocket of your coat before he leaves without another word.

You pull a note from your pocket. It’s his number. Below it, in scrawled handwriting: “Gravity’s a bitch. Call me.”

That's how in the span of half an hour and a bus ride, you isaac newton-ed your way into Haechan's heart.

(You got married in a public transport themed wedding ceremony 3 years laters.)

-

notes

if you liked the story, please reblog and comment. it motivates me to write more. constructive criticism is welcome:) requests are open.

Hell no!

It is a very, very, very abnormal day. Not in a bad way - definitely not in a bad way. For once, inertia, and everything else not in your control, are working in your favor. It feels like the universe has finally seen enough of the tragedy that is your life and decided to send you a singular compensatory gesture.

Said compensatory gesture whistles as you fall on him. Again.

"If I were you, I'd take a guy out to dinner before falling all over him."

"Shut up, Haechan!" You roll your eyes. The compensatory gesture is a 5'8 man with gorgeous, gorgeous skin and a siren-like voice.

You know him. He knows you. You are coworkers.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

You also have a crush on him. No big deal. The nickname definitely didn't cause your brain to short circuit. It isn't making your stomach do all sorts of stunts like it's possessed by Bruce Lee's soul. Nope. No.

"What happened to your motorcycle?" You try small talk. Or maybe you are just curious. Public transport isn't really his thing.

"Maintenance," he sighs dramatically. You simply roll your eyes. He is one of those people with an unhealthy obsession with their motorcycles.

You are not one to complain. The sight of Haechan getting off his motorcycles, one hand taking off his helmet as he shakes his head to tame his hair, the other twirling the key in his hand-

Yeah. You wipe the metaphorical drool dripping down your mouth.

A very uncomfortable silence fills the space between you too (uncomfortable only for you, he looks pretty relaxed with the way he's looking around everywhere but you- wait...).

"Uhh..." you say intelligently.

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "I am aware I tend to have this effect on women, you know. I tend to leave them speechless~" he sing-songs.

Aforementioned compensatory gesture also happens to be an ass.

You slap his (toned) biceps. He catches your hand. You make eye contact. His smirk drops to give way to something softer. You begin to think you are the protagonist of a kdrama. He parts his lips to say something.

Cue the perfectly timed brake that sends the two of you staggering towards the floor, assissted by the pull of gravity.

Oh.

Gravity.

Another one of Newton's concepts playing cupid today. Two is not a lot but it's weird it happened twice. On the same day.

Haechan falls on his ass, and somewhere during the fall his hands had secured themselves around your waist, so you fall square on his chest. You hear him exhale sharply, but before you can scramble to get up, you meet his eyes again.

And you both are so, so close. His eyes are wide, not a trace of his usual smugness visible on his face. A slight dust of pink decorates his cheek. You feel your own face heating up.

Fuck.

Some passengers help you get back to your feet. When the bus starts again, there's more tension between the two of you than the tension at the top of a vertical string supporting a weight. You clear your throat. Not very helpful.

When you finally arrive at your destination after a stifling 6 minutes and 33 seconds of awkwardness, Haechan slips something into the pocket of your coat before he leaves without another word.

You pull a note from your pocket. It’s his number. Below it, in scrawled handwriting: “Gravity’s a bitch. Call me.”

That's how in the span of half an hour and a bus ride, you isaac newton-ed your way into Haechan's heart.

(You got married in a public transport themed wedding ceremony 3 years laters.)

-

notes

if you liked the story, please reblog and comment. it motivates me to write more. constructive criticism is welcome:) requests are open.

Hell no!

It is a very, very, very abnormal day. Not in a bad way - definitely not in a bad way. For once, inertia, and everything else not in your control, are working in your favor. It feels like the universe has finally seen enough of the tragedy that is your life and decided to send you a singular compensatory gesture.

Said compensatory gesture whistles as you fall on him. Again.

"If I were you, I'd take a guy out to dinner before falling all over him."

"Shut up, Haechan!" You roll your eyes. The compensatory gesture is a 5'8 man with gorgeous, gorgeous skin and a siren-like voice.

You know him. He knows you. You are coworkers.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

You also have a crush on him. No big deal. The nickname definitely didn't cause your brain to short circuit. It isn't making your stomach do all sorts of stunts like it's possessed by Bruce Lee's soul. Nope. No.

"What happened to your motorcycle?" You try small talk. Or maybe you are just curious. Public transport isn't really his thing.

"Maintenance," he sighs dramatically. You simply roll your eyes. He is one of those people with an unhealthy obsession with their motorcycles.

You are not one to complain. The sight of Haechan getting off his motorcycles, one hand taking off his helmet as he shakes his head to tame his hair, the other twirling the key in his hand-

Yeah. You wipe the metaphorical drool dripping down your mouth.

A very uncomfortable silence fills the space between you too (uncomfortable only for you, he looks pretty relaxed with the way he's looking around everywhere but you- wait...).

"Uhh..." you say intelligently.

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "I am aware I tend to have this effect on women, you know. I tend to leave them speechless~" he sing-songs.

Aforementioned compensatory gesture also happens to be an ass.

You slap his (toned) biceps. He catches your hand. You make eye contact. His smirk drops to give way to something softer. You begin to think you are the protagonist of a kdrama. He parts his lips to say something.

Cue the perfectly timed brake that sends the two of you staggering towards the floor, assissted by the pull of gravity.

Oh.

Gravity.

Another one of Newton's concepts playing cupid today. Two is not a lot but it's weird it happened twice. On the same day.

Haechan falls on his ass, and somewhere during the fall his hands had secured themselves around your waist, so you fall square on his chest. You hear him exhale sharply, but before you can scramble to get up, you meet his eyes again.

And you both are so, so close. His eyes are wide, not a trace of his usual smugness visible on his face. A slight dust of pink decorates his cheek. You feel your own face heating up.

Fuck.

Some passengers help you get back to your feet. When the bus starts again, there's more tension between the two of you than the tension at the top of a vertical string supporting a weight. You clear your throat. Not very helpful.

When you finally arrive at your destination after a stifling 6 minutes and 33 seconds of awkwardness, Haechan slips something into the pocket of your coat before he leaves without another word.

You pull a note from your pocket. It’s his number. Below it, in scrawled handwriting: “Gravity’s a bitch. Call me.”

That's how in the span of half an hour and a bus ride, you isaac newton-ed your way into Haechan's heart.

(You got married in a public transport themed wedding ceremony 3 years laters.)

-

notes

if you liked the story, please reblog and comment. it motivates me to write more. constructive criticism is welcome:) requests are open.