DOODLE ENTHUSIAST

Really, gender-segregated dorms were one of mankind’s most annoying inventions, and unfortunately, it was one the Kirlian Institute thought was a good idea. Minho thought they were supposed to be smarter than that. Minho thought they were supposed to be above most human concepts. Minho thought they were supposed to be finding a better way to do things, but he didn’t think this was a better way of doing things at all. If it weren’t for these stupid dorms, he wouldn’t have had to sprint across campus after dark. If it weren’t for these stupid dorms, he wouldn’t have to be sitting in a tree right now, hoping that Whittaker would still be awake. The point was if it weren’t for these stupid dorms he would be having a much easier time, and seeing as he was currently having a “this is a pain in the ass” kind of time, clearly these dorms were not, in fact, a better way.

He’d been about to knock on Whittaker’s window when he realised she was already standing in front of it, fiddling with the lock–it’d startled him a little, and by “a little” he meant he’d jumped and nearly fallen off the branch. Whittaker threw the window open and hissed a “what are you doing here?” but she was also already helping inside her room, so Minho (smugly, mind you) figured she wasn’t too irritated to see him, if she was even irritated at all. 

“Were you waiting up for me?” he teased, and Whittaker stifled a laugh.

“I heard you cursing when you nearly fell off the tree,” she said with a barely concealed smirk, and Minho made a mental note to maybe figure out a better way of getting to her dorm room. One that didn’t involve as much falling out of trees. “Why’re you here, anyway?” she asked, turning on the lamp that sat on her nightstand. It dimly illuminated the room in yellow-orange light, bathing their skin in a warm glow.

“Uh,” Minho said, because he was suddenly very distracted by the way the light changed the colour of Whittaker’s eyes and the way her wild hair framed her face when it was left unclipped. “I–” He watched as she flicked on the fairy lights she’d strung up around her room, interspersed with polaroid photos of their friends taken during various meet-ups and misadventures. Minho had thought of an excuse before he left his dorm–it’d been something about wanting help studying. But he was aware she’d see right through that anyway, and he was finding it harder to lie, even if it was just to be funny. “I wanted to see you,” he said simply.

Whittaker laughed a little. “What, do you not see me enough at school?” she asked, dropping onto her bed. “You’re clingy, Moon.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “What? No, I see you en–I mean. Not that I’ve had enough of you or anything or–uh–”

“Relax,” she said, raising her hands. “I was just teasing.” She paused, leaning back on her hands and staring at the wall, her lips pursed. “I wanted to see you too,” she said, as her cheeks slowly pinked. “Maybe I’m… also a little clingy,” she said, a shade too casually, with an overly casual shrug, and a casual expression that denoted trying too hard to look like she wasn’t trying at all.

Minho’s expression quickly transformed from a flustered, defensive look of panic to a goofy grin. He walked across the room and dropped onto the floor, resting his head on his arms–which he was resting in Whittaker’s lap. “Did you miss me, then?”

Whittaker’s face was now so red it was practically glowing. “Minho,” she said, though it came out more like a strangled squeak. Minho’s response was to raise his eyebrows expectantly and beam–his expression softened to one of contentment when Whittaker hesitantly ran her hand through his hair. “Guess so,” she said softly, and Minho got up and sat down next to her.

“You’re a dork,” he said, slipping his hand around her waist and pulling her closer, almost into his lap. He traced the side of her face with his index finger, feeling very pleased with himself when her eyes fluttered shut. “A very pretty dork, but a dork nonetheless,” he added, before leaning in to press his lips to her forehead. 

Whittaker leaned against his chest with a quiet sigh, playing with the fabric of his sweater. “Says the one who broke into my room at midnight just because he missed me.”

“I didn’t break into your room! You let me in.”

“Same thing,” she said with a grin. Before Minho could argue, she asked, “Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?”

“I can miss it.”

“Mm.” Whittaker pursed her lips and Minho wondered if she was going to kick him out, but instead she kneeled on the bed and tugged at his coat. “You should take this off then.”

Minho stared, his brain momentarily going blank. Whittaker gave him a strange look and cocked her head in confusion, quietly asking him what was wrong–Minho grinned at her as he collected himself, and then he said, “That’s pretty forward of you, ae-in.” 

Whittaker frowned, her confusion deepening. “What?” She stared at his coat, half of which she’d already pulled off of Minho’s shoulder–her eyes widened in realisation and she jumped back, burying her face in her hands. “I-I wasn’t–I didn’t mean–oh my god,” she whined, as Minho laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed. “It’s not funny,” she wailed–as close as Whitaker could ever get to wailing, anyway. “I was just–it’s just hot.”

Minho pulled off his coat and dropped it over her, snickering when she grabbed it and pulled it further over her head. “I would say undressing someone’s pretty hot, yes.”

Whittaker squealed and curled into a ball, disappearing under the coat entirely. “Shut up,” she whined again, and Minho wondered if it would be bordering on mean to point out the way her voice cracked. “You know I meant–you’re so mean, Minho; you’re turning everything I say into an innuendo.”

“Well. I’m not the one wrapped up in–”

“I could kick you out,” Whittaker mumbled. “I could magic you back to your dorm. Or I could make you walk across campus again.”

Minho nodded sagely before realising she couldn’t see it. “You could,” he said, before lifting up the edge of the coat with a smile. “But are you gonna?”

Whittaker stared at him for a few seconds before crawling out from under the coat, sitting up, and leaning against him. “No,” she said, huffily. “But I could.”

“But you’re not gonna.”

“No. You should take your shoes off too.” 

Minho didn’t need to be told twice–he kicked off his shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed, twisting so that they were sitting face to face. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, taking both of Whittaker’s hands in his. “Or are you mad?”

Whittaker stared at his hands and then looked back up at him before climbing into his lap. “I’m not mad,” she said, placing both hands on his cheeks and pressing her lips to his. “I guess it was kind of funny. In hindsight, anyway. Kind of funny,” she repeated, and then she pressed a kiss to Minho’s jawline and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

Minho turned pink. “Well. I–uh–” He could smell hints of her peach shampoo and feel her eyelashes brushing against his skin. He felt her shift in his lap–she placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him closer, planting her lips squarely on his temple, and he felt his face begin to get hot. “You’re. You’re just cute when you’re flustered,” he mumbled, and Whittaker laughed and kissed him again.

“So are you,” she said, caressing his cheek. “You know you’re glowing now, right?” She tapped his nose and then dropped back into his lap, leaning against his chest once more. “And you’re very warm. You’re like a cuter version of a personal heater.” 

Minho was staring at the wall, his mind having gone completely blank. This wasn’t something he experienced too often–Minho’s mind was often racing. Racing to figure out new solutions, racing to figure out a joke, racing to find the best way of getting around certain more annoying rules, or at the very least, how to break the rule and not get caught. But Whittaker, he was finding, had a different effect. Whittaker, he was finding, had the tendency to make his mind just stop–to pause, to hurl all thoughts out the window. It appeared to mostly happen when she kissed him, but Minho decided just to be sure, he would kiss her again.

“Were you cold, then?” he asked, gently tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear. Whittaker leaned into his touch and he took the opportunity to run his hand through her hair, brushing it away from her face. “Before I got here? Is that why you were still awake?" 

“Perhaps,” she said. “You also could’ve just woken me up by nearly falling out of the tree.”

“Did I wake you?”

Whittaker shook her head. “No. I was having trouble sleeping again,” she said with a pout, before twisting off Minho’s lap and laying down behind him, hugging her pillow to her chest and facing the wall. “It’s so annoying,” she huffed. “I can be tired but I still won’t be able to sleep at all. And then I’m just tired the next morning, and the morning after that, and the morning after that–” Whittaker cut herself off and rolled over to face him, burying her face in her pillow. “I don’t even know what it is! I barely drink coffee. I don’t touch my phone before bed. I don’t even read before bed if I can help it.”

Minho snorted and then twisted to be able to lean on the bed’s headboard. “Maybe you’re just an insomniac,” he said, gesturing for her to come to him–she wriggled closer and then rested her head on his lap, sighing when he began stroking her hair. 

“I would like to stop being an insomniac, then,” she mumbled, her face still half-covered by the pillow. “It’s extremely inconvenient.” 

Minho stared at her for a few moments, his eyes tracing over her form. "Gimme a second,” he said, reaching over to the nightstand to turn off the lamp. “Want the fairy lights off, too?” he asked, pointing at the lighted strings hung above her bed. “Or are you still afraid of the dark?” he teased, and Whittaker sat up, suddenly subdued.

“I think I’d rather leave them on for tonight,” she said quietly. Her grip on the pillow tightened and her cheeks began to pink, and she focused her attention on tracing the floral pattern of her comforter. “If that’s okay.”

Minho softened and leaned in to kiss her nose, gently tugging the pillow out of her hands and placing it back where it was supposed to be. “Of course it’s okay,” he said, cupping her cheek and swiping at the corner of her eye with his thumb. “It’s okay." 

Whittaker was still refusing to look at him. "I just… I just think they’re pretty,” she said, biting her lip. “That’s all.”

“I know.” Minho paused, thinking about the best course of action to take before deciding to just kiss her again, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “You don’t have to explain. If you want them on, we’ll leave them on. It’s alright.”

She appeared to be shrinking where she sat, her cheeks burning, her eyes still glued to the comforter. “I’m sorry." 

"And what are you saying that for?” he asked. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to be sorry for liking your lights.” He waited, smiling when Whittaker finally looked up at him. “You’re tired, ae-in,” he said softly. “I think you should go to bed now.” He offered her his hand, adding, “C'mon. We have class tomorrow, anyway." 

Whittaker stared at his hand before taking it in hers, and saying "okay,” allowing Minho to pull her towards him and wrap his arms around her, letting him bury his face in her hair. “You have some very nice arms, by the way,” she murmured. Minho laughed and fell back against the pillow, taking her with him.

“That’s sweet of you,” he said, as Whittaker began to snuggle against his chest. “I suppose you would know, yeah?”

Whittaker was quiet for a moment. “I love you, you know,” she practically breathed. “I meant to say it sooner but I could never find the right… moment, I guess. But I like this one. I don’t think I’ll find a better one.” She was biting her lip again, fiddling with the fabric of Minho’s sweater. “That’s all.”

Minho felt his mind go blank again, but in a different way this time. All trains of thought had stopped, yes–all except for one. “I love you too,” he said, with barely a moment’s thought. “I may have. Also been looking for a moment. I think you’re right about this one.” He looked up at the ceiling and frowned. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it first,” he muttered, and he heard Whittaker giggle. 

“Go to bed, Moon." 

"You first.”

“You’re not just gonna leave when I fall asleep, right?” she said, with a small, breathy laugh. She was still fiddling with his sweater, and Minho took her hand in his and kissed the palm.

“I would never,” he replied, tracing the lines on her palm with his thumb. Whittaker twisted her hand so their palms were facing each other and then intertwined her fingers in his, rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I love you, again." 

Minho grinned. "I love you again too.” He wasn’t sure when he finally drifted off to sleep, fairy lights dancing in his blurring vision like stars, but he remembered thinking that despite the trouble these dorms caused, despite the lack of a better way–he’d do it again, and again, and again if he had to.

And if it led to more moments like this one? Well. It was worth it. And it would always be worth it.

They would always be worth it.

~*~*~*~

IM BACK AAAAA ive actually been writing a lot but i just havent been posting

i have a new project called the kirlian institute–these are two of the mains!! whittakers a witch/medium and minho’s ¾ths human and ¼th fire elemental–theyre also both 20 years old and in the institute’s college

their full names are whittaker de la rosa and moon minho btw, and minhos korean (obv) while whittakers biracial, specifically british/filipino

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OP’S MIND

NAME A BETTER WRITER ILL WAIT

sorry i died lol have this shit