stone heart, wings of gold

“all groups securing the bunker, report to the central hub! i repeat, report to the central hub!”

woonhak swallows at that announcement. “that’s me.”

“i know.”

he’s grasping your hands, fingers playing with yours absent-mindedly as he stares down at the worn floor. you let him, watching as his hair falls in front of his face. you wriggle one of your hands out of his hold, reaching up and tucking the dark strands out of his eyes. his head tilts up to follow your hand as you do so, his eyes tracking the movement as your palm rests against the side of his face.

the look he gives you is heartbreaking.

“hakie,” you murmur, watching the edges of his dark irises waver as his eyes fill with tears. he shakes his head slightly, a small smile pulling at his cheeks.

“i’m going to miss you calling me that.”

so am i, you want to say, but you can’t speak over the lump in your throat that’s starting to grow.

“all groups traveling outisde of the safe zone, please report to the south exit of the bunker! i repeat, please report to the south exit!”

you really should go. your entire team is probably waiting for you. the longer you stay in this compromised bunker, the longer you’re putting everyone else at risk - of exposure, of infection, or worse.

“all groups securing the bunker, report to the central hub! i repeat, report to the central hub!”

woonhak tenses, and you brush your thumb over his cheek gently. he reaches up and clasps your wrist, exhaling shakily. “i should go. jaehyun is going to be so mad if i’m late.”

“so should i,” you breathe, but neither of you move.

“final call! all groups traveling outisde of the safe zone, please report to the south exit!”

 your temporary refuge is no longer safe. you and so many others are leaving to find a new one, or make one if need be. but just in case you can’t… woonhak and his team are staying behind, implementing a last-resort effort to save what’s left of the place that has protected you for the past few months. your vision blurs, and suddenly your throat is so tight and painful that it takes you a few moments to speak. “will i see you again?”

his mission is a futile effort, and you know it.

woonhak meets your gaze. “i can’t… i can’t make any promises.”

you sniffle, closing your eyes for a moment before leaning forward to kiss him. he kisses you back, pulling you closer to the warmth of his body. everything about him is warm - his kisses, his hands against your skin, his love. his love in this bleak, forlorn world.

tears spill over your cheeks when you finally pull away, pressing your forehead to his. he exhales slowly, and when your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s already looking at you.

“don’t wait for me,” he murmurs, voice soft. he brushes his fingers over your cheeks. “no matter what. you keep on moving with everyone else, okay? i’ll find you again. i promise.”

you nod, your lips curving upward as you hold up your pinky finger in a silent question. he smiles back, linking pinkies with you and pressing his thumb to yours firmly.

“final call! all groups securing the bunker, report to the central hub! i repeat, report to the central hub!”

“woonhak.”

“hm?”

“i love you.”

he grins at that, even as his eyes fill once more. “i love you too, y/n.”

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ want to check out the planetarium's other exhibits?

“all groups securing the bunker, report to the central hub! i repeat, report to the central hub!”

woonhak swallows at that announcement. “that’s me.”

“i know.”

he’s grasping your hands, fingers playing with yours absent-mindedly as he stares down at the worn floor. you let him, watching as his hair falls in front of his face. you wriggle one of your hands out of his hold, reaching up and tucking the dark strands out of his eyes. his head tilts up to follow your hand as you do so, his eyes tracking the movement as your palm rests against the side of his face.

the look he gives you is heartbreaking.

“hakie,” you murmur, watching the edges of his dark irises waver as his eyes fill with tears. he shakes his head slightly, a small smile pulling at his cheeks.

“i’m going to miss you calling me that.”

so am i, you want to say, but you can’t speak over the lump in your throat that’s starting to grow.

“all groups traveling outisde of the safe zone, please report to the south exit of the bunker! i repeat, please report to the south exit!”

you really should go. your entire team is probably waiting for you. the longer you stay in this compromised bunker, the longer you’re putting everyone else at risk - of exposure, of infection, or worse.

“all groups securing the bunker, report to the central hub! i repeat, report to the central hub!”

woonhak tenses, and you brush your thumb over his cheek gently. he reaches up and clasps your wrist, exhaling shakily. “i should go. jaehyun is going to be so mad if i’m late.”

“so should i,” you breathe, but neither of you move.

“final call! all groups traveling outisde of the safe zone, please report to the south exit!”

 your temporary refuge is no longer safe. you and so many others are leaving to find a new one, or make one if need be. but just in case you can’t… woonhak and his team are staying behind, implementing a last-resort effort to save what’s left of the place that has protected you for the past few months. your vision blurs, and suddenly your throat is so tight and painful that it takes you a few moments to speak. “will i see you again?”

his mission is a futile effort, and you know it.

woonhak meets your gaze. “i can’t… i can’t make any promises.”

you sniffle, closing your eyes for a moment before leaning forward to kiss him. he kisses you back, pulling you closer to the warmth of his body. everything about him is warm - his kisses, his hands against your skin, his love. his love in this bleak, forlorn world.

tears spill over your cheeks when you finally pull away, pressing your forehead to his. he exhales slowly, and when your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s already looking at you.

“don’t wait for me,” he murmurs, voice soft. he brushes his fingers over your cheeks. “no matter what. you keep on moving with everyone else, okay? i’ll find you again. i promise.”

you nod, your lips curving upward as you hold up your pinky finger in a silent question. he smiles back, linking pinkies with you and pressing his thumb to yours firmly.

“final call! all groups securing the bunker, report to the central hub! i repeat, report to the central hub!”

“woonhak.”

“hm?”

“i love you.”

he grins at that, even as his eyes fill once more. “i love you too, y/n.”

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ want to check out the planetarium's other exhibits?

JAEHYUN 명재현

he knew he should have just stayed home, it was a mistake to let himself be persuaded by sungho. and he only has himself to blame as he downs another drink, watching as you giggle another quiet whisper into another man's ear

we all know jaehyun wears his heart on his sleeve, his emotions raw, so evident. all this time, the pain, a dull ache he's been trying to push down comes back up.

he's angry? and sad, tired, and jealous. he feels his heart shatter, gripping desperately to pick up and glue the pieces back together. and he finds himself crying in his arms, his other hand gripped against the empty glass of alcohol.

he wants to hate you. he really does, he wants to hate you for moving on so quickly. hate you for the way you walked out so easily, the way you smile while he's still suffering and himself for losing you, himself for letting you go.

and he peeks at you for a bit. would you still laugh with him the way you laugh at them? would you still smile at him the way you smile at them?

but what really breaks him, what tears him apart, is that he sees you're looking at them the same way you used to look at him.

SUNGHO 박성호

it happens on a sunny morning where sungho starts his day as normal; makes his bed, washes his face, brushes his teeth, takes a shower and goes into the kitchen to make his breakfast 

except there are two plates, two meals, two glasses of water but only one person at the table. it was a habit, an old one. sungho laughs at himself — a horrible, empty sound — and tears sting his eyes as he looks down at the food. 

he thinks he looks stupid. dumb even, the table is set for two but he’s the only one eating. and it hits him, again and again, that you’re no longer with him.

the break up itself is a blur – all he remembers is the feeling, really. the defensiveness that swelled up and burst from inside his chest, the way he said some things he’d meant and other things he didn’t. 

and sungho swallows hard. a sad smile drawing itself on his lips before he eats a bite. the house, it feels — he feels so empty without you. 

there’s a shaky sigh that leaves his lips, as he downs his drink. it breaks him that he won’t have it anymore, he won’t have you anymore. 

RIWOO 이상혁  

it's when he listens to the playlist you made together; all the songs he liked best now reminded him of you, each lyric and sound had a little bit of you that made him break. 

he knows it’s not healthy, he knows it’s not right and that he should just let go. but sanghyeok has the tiniest sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe you’ll come back to him. 

and hits back his head rested against the top of the chair. he chokes up a silent cry, trying to distract himself from anything and everything. his nail presses deep into his finger, maybe it’s just a dream. just a dream, right?

he angrily wipes away his tears threatening to fall down. no hugs. no kisses. no sound of you softly humming to the music while you dance with him in the living room. 

and it’s all his fault. would things have changed if he had just listened to you? would you still be together? 

it’s quiet. and the room is empty. he feels empty. sanghyeok’s his fingers glide to the volume button. and now as the playlist shuffles and another song plays, the same songs that you dedicated to each other horribly reminds him that you’re never, ever coming back.

TAESAN 한동민

it hits him when he's met with your voicemail. his hair disheveled, still in pajamas, phone pressed to his ear. dongmin practically jumped out of bed at the exciting news he got.

and before he knows it, he's clicked your contact, a grin painted across his face. it became a habit when he hears good news that makes him so excited -- his first instinct is to call you and tell you about it, but the phone rings, and rings, and rings

then it hits, finally it comes to him that the two of you aren’t together anymore and his smile disappears, and tears start forming in his eyes, and his lips start to quiver and it's too late, he hears your voice mail and oh god, he doesn't know how long it's been since he's heard your voice

dongmin didn't mean to say all those things, he didn't mean to say it was over between you two. he's quick to wipe his tears, but they keep coming and soon enough he's crying into the phone.

it's becoming all too familiar, how long has he seen you? when was the last time he held you? he feels like he might just break down right then. dongmin hopes you'll listen to the voicemail and call him, just once.

LEEHAN 김동현

it’s when he finds a note from you, tucked away in his jacket pocket. it didn’t say much, just a slight reminder to take care of himself and be safe, with a small heart and your name, scrawled onto it. it’s a bit crumpled and faded but he can recognise the small my love, written next to his name.

the weakened adhesive is already starting to peel off, softly, slowly and donghyun swallows hard. he finally lets out a dry laugh, knowing he won’t be able to take good care of himself even as you wanted.

and his fingers brush across the paper ever so lightly, tears stinging his eyes, biting back a cry. 

but he fails, he fails like he had failed you and feels an actual ache in his heart as he thinks about the smile on your face you had, while you were writing the small note.

it’s blurry, he can’t see the note but he holds it so preciously in his hands. he can’t take care of himself, not when you took a part of him with you.

WOONHAK 김운학

it's when he's curled up under his blanket, late at night, looking through your social media

he just wants to see if you're doing okay, is what he tells himself. what he keeps telling himself.

and when he looks at your Instagram feed and sees that his pictures and your couple photos are no longer there -- it's the realization that it's really over; traces of him erased from your social media and your life.

knuckles white gripping the blanket, sobs start to leave his lips. and he tries to hide it, but his screen starts to become blurry and tears start staining his cheeks.

and woonhak curls himself further, going back to his own feed to see what you guys once were, crying a string of sorry's, before shakily pressing the 'delete' button on all of them.

© dogsd2y, 2023.

the air smelled faintly of instant ramen and cheap coffee, the scent clinging to your uniform as you absentmindedly ran the rag over the counter for the third time. your thoughts drifted—mostly to woonhak, as they often did during these long, uneventful shifts.

woonhak was at the back of the store, stacking boxes near the stockroom. from where you stood, you could see the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms as he effortlessly lifted each box like it weighed nothing. he made it look easy, just like he made everything look easy.

you bit the inside of your cheek, annoyed at yourself for staring. it wasn’t like he was going to notice anyway. he never did.

at first, you tried convincing yourself that he was just quiet, that maybe he was the type of person who kept his distance from coworkers. but that theory crumbled quickly when you watched him chat effortlessly with customers, throwing in the occasional charming smile or polite nod. even when his friends dropped by, he greeted them with a grin, his usual composed expression softening into something warmer.

but with you? nothing.

sure, he said hi when your shifts overlapped. he’d ask you to stock shelves if he was busy handling the register. but that was the extent of it. no small talk. no casual conversations about school or life outside the store. just simple, impersonal exchanges that made you feel more like background noise than an actual person.

it was frustrating, really. and the worst part? you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

you sighed, leaning against the counter, when a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

“you missed a spot.”

you jolted, your grip on the rag tightening as you turned to see woonhak standing beside you, peering down at the counter with his usual unreadable expression.

you blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a second. “what?”

woonhak pointed to a barely visible smudge near the register, his tone as casual as ever. “right there.”

you quickly wiped over it, heat creeping up your neck. of course, the first real thing he says to you all shift has to be about cleaning. not school, not work, not even some throwaway comment about the weather—just that.

when you looked up again, he was already walking away, disappearing into the stockroom like the moment hadn’t even happened.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, staring after him in disbelief.

was he really that oblivious? or was he doing this on purpose?

either way, it was driving you insane.

the more time you spent working at the store, the more you started noticing the little things about woonhak. not the obvious things—like the way customers always gravitated toward him or how effortlessly he balanced school and work—but the smaller details, the ones you weren’t sure anyone else even paid attention to.

for instance, the way he hummed under his breath when he thought no one was listening. it was always something soft, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerators. sometimes, it was an old song playing faintly through the store’s speakers; other times, it was just a melody with no real pattern. you caught yourself lingering near the aisles whenever it happened, pretending to fix the same row of snacks just to hear it a little longer.

he also had this habit of organizing snacks by color. at first, you thought it was just him being efficient, but then you realized he did it even when it wasn’t necessary. the chips, the candies, even the energy drinks—if he was stocking the shelves, they always ended up arranged in a neat, color-coordinated gradient.

“you know, no one really cares if the ramen cups go from red to yellow,” you teased one evening, watching as he rearranged a row of instant noodles.

woonhak didn’t even look up. “yeah, but it looks better like this.”

you tilted your head, studying his expression. he wasn’t doing it for the customers. he wasn’t even doing it because his dad expected the shelves to look nice. he just liked things a certain way. it was oddly endearing.

but the thing that really got to you? the way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

it started small. you’d glance up from the register and catch his eyes flickering away too quickly. or you’d be restocking the shelves and feel the weight of his gaze just before he turned back to whatever he was doing. at first, you thought you were imagining it, that maybe you just wanted him to look at you so badly that your mind was playing tricks on you.

but then it kept happening.

like that time you were leaning against the counter during a slow shift, absentmindedly fiddling with a snack wrapper, when you felt it—that unmistakable pull of someone’s stare. you turned your head just in time to see woonhak, standing by the fridge section, looking right at you.

his expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something unfamiliar, something you couldn’t quite name.

the second your eyes met, he looked away, pretending to check the labels on the bottled drinks.

your heartbeat stuttered.

maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought.

—

the storm rolled in without warning. one moment, the sky outside the store was a deep navy, the streetlights flickering lazily against the pavement. the next, rain was hammering against the windows, wind howling through the cracks in the doors. then—darkness.

the hum of the refrigerators cut out, the overhead lights flickered once, then died. the only thing left was the soft, eerie glow of the emergency lights lining the walls.

“great,” you muttered, setting down the inventory clipboard you’d been pretending to work on.

behind the counter, woonhak sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. he tapped the screen. “no signal.”

of course. just your luck to be stuck in a blackout, in a convenience store, alone with woonhak.

you shifted awkwardly, glancing at him. “should we, uh… do something? or just wait it out?”

he looked around, eyes scanning the dimly lit store. “well, we can’t close up, and we can’t leave.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

with nothing else to do, the two of you sat down on the floor near the counter, backs against the shelves stocked with instant noodles. the emergency lights cast a faint, bluish glow over his face, making his features look softer, almost unreal.

for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like something unspoken was lingering between you. then, out of nowhere, woonhak let out a small, breathy chuckle.

“this is kinda weird, huh?” he mused.

you turned to him. “what is?”

“being here like this. we’ve worked together for months, but this is probably the longest we’ve ever talked.”

you blinked, taken aback by his sudden honesty. “yeah. you’ve always been... kind of hard to talk to.”

he raised an eyebrow. “hard to talk to?”

“i mean, you’re quiet. you don’t really say much unless it’s about work,” you admitted, hugging your knees. “honestly, i wasn’t sure if you even liked me.”

woonhak tilted his head slightly, studying you. “i never disliked you,” he said after a pause. “i just… don’t always know what to say.”

you looked at him, waiting, sensing there was more.

he exhaled, leaning his head back against the shelves. “it’s kinda dumb, but… i feel like i don’t have time to just—talk. i’m always thinking about what i should be doing next. school, work, helping my dad. it’s a lot, you know?”

his voice was quieter now, the usual steadiness replaced with something more fragile.

“because you’re the eldest?” you asked softly.

he nodded, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. i don’t really have a choice. my dad relies on me, and i don’t want to let him down. sometimes, i think about what i actually want to do, but then i feel guilty, like i’m being selfish.”

for the first time, you saw him not as the woonhak that everyone admired—the perfect son, the dependable coworker—but as a boy who was just… tired.

hesitantly, you said, “i get it. maybe not in the exact same way, but… i understand what it’s like to feel like you have to be something for everyone else.”

he turned to you, intrigued. “yeah?”

you nodded, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “i’ve always felt like i had to prove something. like if i don’t push myself hard enough, i’ll just… fade into the background. i guess that’s why i’ve always been so frustrated with you.”

he blinked. “with me?”

you let out a small laugh. “yeah. you make everything look so easy. it’s like you don’t even have to try, and meanwhile, i’m over here struggling to keep up.”

woonhak was quiet for a moment, then—to your surprise—he smiled. not his usual polite smile, but something softer, more real.

“i didn’t know you thought that,” he murmured. “if it makes you feel any better, i think you work harder than anyone else here.”

you felt your face warm, looking away. “you’re just saying that.”

“no,” he said simply. “i’m not.”

the air between you shifted, something settling into place. and for the first time since meeting him, you didn’t feel invisible.

—

the change was subtle at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it.

woonhak was everywhere.

he was always near, always teasing, always finding little excuses to talk to you. he stopped treating you like just another co-worker and started acting like… well, like someone who actually wanted to be around you.

one evening, after an unusually slow shift, you were restocking shelves when you accidentally knocked over a row of neatly stacked chip bags.

“careful,” woonhak drawled from behind you, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “you break it, you buy it.”

you huffed, bending down to pick up the fallen bags. “do you ever actually help, or do you just stand there and make fun of me?”

“oh, i definitely just stand here and make fun of you,” he said, grinning.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

and then there was the way he waited for you after shifts. at first, you thought it was a coincidence—maybe he just happened to finish work at the same time as you. but then it happened again. and again.

“why are you still here?” you asked one night, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets as you locked up the store.

woonhak stretched lazily, as if he hadn’t been waiting outside for you. “it’s dark out.”

“so?”

he gave you a pointed look. “might as well walk together.”

you narrowed your eyes. “but your house is—”

“doesn’t matter.” he started walking ahead, then glanced back at you, raising an eyebrow. “you coming, or what?”

you hated how easily he did this—how effortlessly he inserted himself into your routine, into your life, like he had always been there.

you groaned, but the truth was, you liked it. you liked how he matched his pace with yours, how he walked on the side closest to the street, how he never let the conversation die out even when you weren’t sure what to say.

and then there were the snacks.

at first, it was small. a bag of your favorite chips left near the register, a cold drink placed beside your bag without a word. when you asked about it, he’d just shrug.

“it’s nothing.”

but it wasn’t nothing.

one afternoon, after a particularly long shift, you found a neatly wrapped rice ball waiting for you in the breakroom.

you picked it up, turning it over in your hands. “did you—”

“you haven’t eaten, right?” woonhak interrupted, not looking at you as he busied himself with the stock list.

you blinked. “how did you know?”

“you always forget when you’re working.”

your heart stuttered at his words.

he noticed.

he was noticing you now. really noticing you.

you unwrapped the rice ball slowly, trying to ignore the way your hands felt unsteady. “thanks,” you muttered.

woonhak finally looked at you then, and for once, his usual teasing expression softened into something quieter. “don’t mention it.”

and that was how it was. little moments, little gestures, little things that all added up to something bigger.

you weren’t sure what it was, not yet. but you liked it.

and just as you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was turning into something more—

you overheard the conversation.

—

it was late, your shift nearly over, when you heard woonhak’s father speaking in hushed tones near the back of the store.

“it’s a big opportunity, woonhak. you’d be crazy to pass this up.”

you froze, your hand tightening around the stack of receipts you’d been organizing.

“i know,” woonhak replied, his voice lower than usual. hesitant.

you inched closer to the back of the store, staying just out of sight behind one of the shelves.

“then what’s the problem?” his father pressed. “you’ve worked hard for this. this isn’t just about the store—this is about your future.”

there was a pause. a long, heavy silence.

then, woonhak exhaled. “it’s just... sudden.”

“that’s how these things work. you don’t always get time to think. you have to act.” his father’s voice softened slightly. “listen, i know you worry about me, about the store, but i’ll be fine. this is your chance to do something more, something bigger than this place.”

your stomach twisted.

what was he talking about? what opportunity? where would it take him?

and why—why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers before you even had the chance to hold it?

you heard woonhak sigh, the kind he let out when he was deep in thought, troubled.

“i just need time,” he murmured.

his father didn’t push him further, only replying, “just don’t take too long, son.”

you stood frozen behind the shelves long after the conversation ended, your heart pounding in your ears.

because you already knew.

whatever this was—whatever had been growing between you and woonhak, however slowly, however subtly—it wasn’t going to last.

the next few days felt different. not because anything had changed—woonhak still teased you, still left snacks by the register, still waited for you after your shifts like it was the most natural thing in the world. but now, there was something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

you weren’t sure if he knew you had overheard. part of you wanted to pretend you didn’t, to pretend things were the same. but you weren’t sure how long you could keep up the act when every moment with him suddenly felt like it had an expiration date.

then one night, as the store’s closing time approached, woonhak finally said it.

“can we talk?”

you turned to him, heart pounding. “yeah.”

he hesitated before pulling you outside, the cool night air wrapping around you both. the neon lights from the store’s sign buzzed softly above you, casting a faint glow over his face.

for a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to memorize something. then, he sighed.

“you heard, didn’t you?”

you swallowed. “yeah.”

woonhak let out a dry chuckle, looking down at his shoes. “figured. you’re not exactly subtle when you eavesdrop.”

“shut up,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “it’s a scholarship. a really good one. i’d be studying abroad for a year—maybe longer, if things go well.”

your chest tightened. “that’s… amazing.”

he scoffed. “you don’t sound like you mean that.”

“no, i do.” you forced a smile. “this is everything you’ve worked for, right?”

“yeah,” he said, but his voice was uncertain. he wasn’t looking at you anymore, staring out at the empty street instead. “but… i don’t want to leave you alone.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

he turned back to you, his usual teasing expression replaced with something raw, something real. “i mean it. the thought of being somewhere new, somewhere exciting—it should make me happy, right? but all i can think about is how i won’t be here. with you.”

your throat felt tight. because a few months ago, you never would have imagined hearing those words from woonhak. back then, you weren’t even sure he noticed you. and now here he was, standing in front of you, telling you he didn’t want to leave you behind.

but you couldn’t let him stay just for you.

you reached out, poking his forehead lightly. “you’re an idiot.”

he blinked. “what—”

“you have to go, woonhak,” you said softly. “you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

he frowned. “but—”

“but nothing,” you cut him off, smiling a little. “you won’t lose me.”

he stared at you, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback.

you took a deep breath. “i’ll wait for you. no matter how long it takes.”

woonhak exhaled, shaking his head with a small, incredulous laugh. “you’re serious?”

“dead serious.” you tilted your head at him. “what, do you not trust me?”

“no, it’s not that,” he muttered. “it’s just… funny. the you from a few months ago didn’t even think i knew you existed, and now you’re out here promising to wait for me.”

you felt your face heat up. “shut up.”

but woonhak was grinning now, his usual self creeping back in. “you’re kind of romantic, you know that?”

“don’t push it.”

he laughed, then—to your surprise—reached out and ruffled your hair. “alright, fine. i’ll go. but only because you said you’d wait for me.”

you swatted his hand away, scowling. “like you weren’t gonna go anyway.”

“nope. i was seriously considering staying.” he gave you a lopsided smile, and something about it made your heart ache. “but i guess i have to make this count now. wouldn’t want to keep you waiting too long.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

and when he walked you home that night, he stayed a little longer by your door, hesitating like he had something more to say.

but instead of words, he reached out, carefully intertwining his pinky with yours.

a silent promise.

“wait for me,” he murmured.

you squeezed his hand, grinning. “i already said i would, didn’t i?”

and as woonhak laughed, shaking his head like you were the most ridiculous person in the world, you realized something.

for the first time, you weren’t afraid of losing him. because somehow, in his own way, woonhak was waiting for you too.

“all groups securing the bunker, report to the central hub! i repeat, report to the central hub!”

woonhak swallows at that announcement. “that’s me.”

“i know.”

he’s grasping your hands, fingers playing with yours absent-mindedly as he stares down at the worn floor. you let him, watching as his hair falls in front of his face. you wriggle one of your hands out of his hold, reaching up and tucking the dark strands out of his eyes. his head tilts up to follow your hand as you do so, his eyes tracking the movement as your palm rests against the side of his face.

the look he gives you is heartbreaking.

“hakie,” you murmur, watching the edges of his dark irises waver as his eyes fill with tears. he shakes his head slightly, a small smile pulling at his cheeks.

“i’m going to miss you calling me that.”

so am i, you want to say, but you can’t speak over the lump in your throat that’s starting to grow.

“all groups traveling outisde of the safe zone, please report to the south exit of the bunker! i repeat, please report to the south exit!”

you really should go. your entire team is probably waiting for you. the longer you stay in this compromised bunker, the longer you’re putting everyone else at risk - of exposure, of infection, or worse.

“all groups securing the bunker, report to the central hub! i repeat, report to the central hub!”

woonhak tenses, and you brush your thumb over his cheek gently. he reaches up and clasps your wrist, exhaling shakily. “i should go. jaehyun is going to be so mad if i’m late.”

“so should i,” you breathe, but neither of you move.

“final call! all groups traveling outisde of the safe zone, please report to the south exit!”

 your temporary refuge is no longer safe. you and so many others are leaving to find a new one, or make one if need be. but just in case you can’t… woonhak and his team are staying behind, implementing a last-resort effort to save what’s left of the place that has protected you for the past few months. your vision blurs, and suddenly your throat is so tight and painful that it takes you a few moments to speak. “will i see you again?”

his mission is a futile effort, and you know it.

woonhak meets your gaze. “i can’t… i can’t make any promises.”

you sniffle, closing your eyes for a moment before leaning forward to kiss him. he kisses you back, pulling you closer to the warmth of his body. everything about him is warm - his kisses, his hands against your skin, his love. his love in this bleak, forlorn world.

tears spill over your cheeks when you finally pull away, pressing your forehead to his. he exhales slowly, and when your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s already looking at you.

“don’t wait for me,” he murmurs, voice soft. he brushes his fingers over your cheeks. “no matter what. you keep on moving with everyone else, okay? i’ll find you again. i promise.”

you nod, your lips curving upward as you hold up your pinky finger in a silent question. he smiles back, linking pinkies with you and pressing his thumb to yours firmly.

“final call! all groups securing the bunker, report to the central hub! i repeat, report to the central hub!”

“woonhak.”

“hm?”

“i love you.”

he grins at that, even as his eyes fill once more. “i love you too, y/n.”

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ want to check out the planetarium's other exhibits?

you’re sitting there organizing your things and prepping your documents for this assignment. it was suggested to work in groups as to get the work done faster, and you already know who will be showing up at your desk. but when you look up, there’s an unexpected face staring at you instead; taehyun. he’s another classmate of yours and a good student. “hey, if you’re not busy i was hoping we could work on this together? yknow split the work up a bit?” you’re about to reply when a familiar voice rings in your ears. “oh im sorry, was i interrupting? i was just trying to get my partner so we can work together.” of course it’s sungho. he’s not even sure how he got here so quickly. all he remembers is a weird feeling swirling in his gut. why is he with you. doesn’t everyone know sungho only works with you? you’re so smart and kind, always working with his ideas and adding your own thoughts. taehyun doesn’t even know the face you make when you’re focused, so why does he think he can just walk up to you like he doesn’t exist?? taehyun flashes a quick apologetic smile, completely unaware of the battle sungho is fighting in his head. “partner? sorry dude i had no idea you guys were dating, my bad!” his eyes go wide and almost immediately his ears burn a bright red. “WHAT—?! no not my partner, she’s my class partner! like we’re paired for the project!!” his eyes flash over to you, wildly gesturing with his hands. “we’re not dating no- i mean, i’m not saying i wouldn’t date you.. you’re amazing— L-LIKE in a ‘you’re super smart and hardworking’ way, you know? but i- im not trying to ask you out now, i’d have more class than that! i’d take you out somewhere nice and ask you properly— NOT THAT I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT BEFORE!!” he’s beet red and out of breath by the time he’s done over explaining himself. taehyun takes his leave awkwardly and you’re stuck staring at him with a bewildered expression. “sungho. get to the fucking table already.”

- he’s speechless after that, completely confused as to what made him act out like that. he seemingly can’t comprehend why it made him so… upset to see you being someone else’s partner.

- and that word, partner, is what makes the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. he might like you a lot more than just a classmate….

- sungho is traumatized. by himself. and vows he’ll never do something that embarrassing again. therefore, he now has to confess to you properly and keep his word of asking you out after a nice dinner!

riwoo — the cutie

- you and riwoo met in elementary school, bonding over having the same pencil case and liking the same music. but him moving away after the fourth grade unfortunately had you forgetting about him. well, until now.

- of course you’re happy to see him after all these years and can’t wait to catch him up on your middle school horror stories. but he’s not just some school gossip, he’s a man now! a man ready to confess what he couldn’t all those years ago.

- his confidence has always been what pushes him forward and there’s no denying that now with how much prettier and interesting you’ve gotten. but with everyone else seemingly fighting for you..? what if he stands no chance…

- no, he can’t think like that. he knows he can trust in his cute charm, so he’s not worried about his “competition” since there’s really no better choice than him!!

- besides, there was no going back for him once he’s heard you’re going to the same high school now. he needs to make up for lost time :

“ah- riwoo?” he’s snapped out of his thoughts and turns his head to the sound of your voice. there you are. just as pretty as he could’ve imagined. your hairstyle suits you, he thinks, it frames your face in a way that brings out your eyes. and your smile— wait. respond, riwoo don’t just go silent! “yn! it’s so nice to see you, how have you been? i know it’s been a while,” does he hug? handshake? a simple nod?? god, when has he ever been this nervous.. after you go in for a hug, you pull away and hum, “cute glasses,” and he swears he feels light headed. you almost immediately start talking afterwards and for that he’s glad. there’s no awkward transitional phase where you’re silent, it’s like you’re just resuming a conversation. he smiles to himself because you still talk the same. just as animated and excited when recreating stories with the same habit of talking with your hands. it’s like you’ve actually known each other all these years. oh but now he’s overthinking it.. what if this is too casual. are you this comfortable because you just see him as a close friend? what is he thinking, you’ve been talking for 2 minutes not 2 months! there’s no way you could— “..riwoo?” his gaze shoots up to yours, “i said, what about you? i’d love to know how you’ve been doing.” and his nerves calm because the beam of your smile is all the reassurance he needs.

- however, no matter how many years have passed or how he’s grown into his features, riwoo is still scared that you’ll always see him as the friend you had on the playground.

- he also might have a bit of an unacknowledged one sided beef going on with these other guys because they don’t see him as a threat..

- but that’s not gonna stop him from winning your heart, he’s technically known you years longer than anyone else here! plus, he’s charismatically handsome and a lot funnier so why wouldn’t you choose him?

jaehyun — the overachiever

- jaehyun juggles the many tasks of being the class president, captain of the boys soccer team, and is now trying to be the schools genius. however you’re a pretty tough candidate to beat.

- you’d assume he would come for your spot in being top of your class but he actually really admires you for it! he starts making an effort to get on your good side because in his head, you’d be an unstoppable duo.

- it’s during a study session for a group math competition that the warmth in his chest becomes unavoidable and he comes to terms with the fact that being just the top students isn’t all that he wants.

- at first, he tries winning you over with expensive gifts and elaborate plans to take you out. he thinks he can win you over by just impressing you. but you’re just not falling for him yet.. so he almost gives up

- but he realizes that you actually enjoy nerding out and appreciate when someone really listens. you light up with an animated expression when you talk about your interests, he caught the look in your eyes during your conversation with the “weird fish guy” and couldn’t get it out of his head.

- he starts paying more attention to what you’re really passionate about instead of going off of the surface level things he sees :

the sun begins to dip under the horizon as you finish your last assignment for the week. you don’t even notice jaehyun walking up until he’s sitting across from you at the table. he’s still a little sweaty from practice but changed into a fresh pair of clothes. you notice he’s acting weird, normally starting the conversation with a loud greeting or a laugh. but he looks… nervous. not making eye contact, unusually quiet, and playing with the strap of his backpack awkwardly. “are you.. okay? you’re acting really weird.” you laugh it off but concern is laced in your tone. “i got you something,” his voice is weaker and even a little embarrassed, like he’s not sure if he’s saying the right thing. “myung jaehyun, i told you to stop getting me things! you’ve spent way too much money and i don’t—” your throat goes dry when he turns his phone over to you. the screen reads YOU GOT EM! with a recent picture of your favorite idol group that’s just announced their tour. your eyes trail down and are caught on the subtext. meet and greet. jaehyun’s heart pounds against his chest in anticipation, he can’t read your expression. did he go too far? what if he got the group wrong. what if you can’t even go that day? what if— you launch out of your seat and practically tackle him, “OH MY GOD. YOU DIDNT- HOW DID YOU EVEN—? THEY’RE SO EXPENSIVE WHAT??” you’re spewing out thank you’s and your face is so close that all he can muster is a “are they okay..?” you pull back with a huge grin, “OKAY?? jaehyun this is PERFECT! thank you, oh i LOVE YOU FOR THIS!” and his brain short circuits.

- now that he knows the true way to your heart, jaehyun takes the time to assure you he’ll support every interest you talk about. the expensive gifts don’t stop, instead becoming more thoughtful and relevant to what you’d actually love.

- he listens to your advice of slowing down and stop trying to get ahead of his future, focusing on you is his main priority and he can only hope he isn’t too late.

taesan — the quiet one

- you’ve heard of taesan before, some calling him the rude emo that makes garage band music.. but the guy has been no where to be seen as of late.

- an awkward interaction with one of your love interests leads you to take refuge in a music room you had wrongfully assumed to be empty. unfortunately, no one takes your schools band seriously so the practice rooms are usually unused and left unlocked to whoever wants to make an attempt at making music.

- you’re giving yourself a pep talk on how to not be so awkward when the most monotone voice scares the living daylights out of you

- “..are you done?” and that’s where you meet him!!

- you magically start noticing him around your campus a lot more and he soon starts waving back when you say hi.

- he eventually catches himself enjoying your company and once he opens up, you realize he’s not the “gothy grump” everyone makes him out to be.

- it isn’t until the festival that’s coming up that taesan realizes he might have to confront his feelings sooner than he’d like. he overhears jaehyun saying he’s gonna confess to you during the fireworks and he can’t have you wasting your time on that “tryhard” :

just before you finish getting ready to leave the house and meet jaehyun, a message pops up on your phone from taesan asking you to meet at your usual spot because it’s urgent. you rush over because he’s never texted with such…emotion before. except when you get there, he’s calm as ever saying he needs your help with his equipment and writing lyrics. “taesan- i don’t have time for this.. the festival starts soon and i had promised jaehyun I'd—” “hold this,” he cuts you off and hands you his electric bass as if to distract you. you freeze. taesan has said how this is like his prized possession. how he saved his paychecks from his job at the dead end music shop to pay for it. and he’s just handing it to you so naturally. “you know how to play?” his hands ghost over yours, cold and much larger than yours as they position your fingers in the correct spot. he teaches you the beginning melody of a song he’s working on and it gets stuck in your head. you can almost catch a glimpse of his notebook with the lyrics. lines are scratched out and others are penciled in messily, and you swear a scribble at the top resembles your name but you don’t get the chance to read any of it before he swipes it from the desk and turns his attention back to you. you end up talking a lot in that room, the night feeling endless as time goes on. your heart sinks when you hear the fireworks cracking outside, realizing you’d broken your promise to jaehyun. taesan tries bringing your attention back to him but is too late before you’re grabbing your bag and running out the door. there’s a twinge of guilt in his chest but it’s ultimately drowned out by the ache in his heart when the warmth of your hand lingers on his palm.

- the music room becomes your safe space when things get too overwhelming and you know taesan will be the silence you need

- he likes your company as he works on his music, watching your face as he plays the backtracks of “your song” without explicitly saying it’s for you just to see if you like it

- he hates how distracted you are with all these other losers so he can only hope his music gets stuck in your head and into your heart.

leehan — your nerdy friend

- you’re not entirely sure how or when you had become so close to leehan. all you remember is asking him to help you get a bag of chips out of the vending machine because they were stuck and he was the only one around. he kinda just assumed you were friends now and has lingered around ever since.

- hanging out with him is a nice change of pace though, like a person you really can be yourself around. you take turns info dumping about things you’re into and get equally as excited with each other.

- he’s always super sweet, walking you to class and waiting for you outside before it finishes. he’ll even hold your bag despite your protests of being fully capable to hold it yourself.

- even on your hangouts to the aquarium or a museum he’s a saint. if you want pictures taken then he’ll turn into your personal photographer and smiles when he sees himself tagged under your instagram post.

- ever since the new year has started, leehan has noticed you’ve been around him less. he’s always been very observant like that, so of course he’s aware of the time you don’t spend with him.

- he gets a little sulky, sure, but he only suspects that to be normal because of all the new friends you’re making :

leehan hasn’t had a reason to doubt your closeness anyway. you have matching keychains and go out with other around the town basically every week. you always have something (and someone) new to talk about so he doesn’t see much of a problem because you’re so happy when you talk. but today he’s heard some news that’s seemed to have reached everyone but you considering how calm you are about it. “i heard from riwoo that you’re going out on a.. date pretty soon.” there’s a lilt in his tone that isn’t necessarily insecure, but more so curious as to what you’ll reply. “oh yeah that’s right! he said there’s this super cute pastry shop downtown that we should go to!” he’s not a fan of the way you perk up. “you’re actually going??” you almost flinch at his change of tone; accusatory and almost offended. “well.. yeah? riwoo’s nice and i mean no one else has really stepped up to take me out so i don’t see why it’s so bad to go out with him.” confusion is written all over your face because why would he care? you’ve barely mentioned any of the other guys you’ve met to him. he scoffs, pouting and breaking eye contact with a huff, “and you didn’t bother to tell me?” “it never came up! besides, why do i need to tell you everything? it’s not like we’re dating.” it goes silent. “….we’re not?” you stare at him for a long time before breaking the silence, “why would we?? you haven’t asked me out or called me your girlfriend— we don’t even see each other everyday!” “i just thought.. we were really secure…”

- turns out, all leehan needs in a relationship is attention, a great listener, and an aquarium buddy. but now he thinks he can do better than that..

- these other guys don’t even know you! he’s the only one who recognizes the video game character you have as your profile picture and the music you listen to while you study.

- so after a few awkward explanations, leehan is determined to prove to you and everyone else why he should reclaim his spot as your official boyfriend.

woonhak — the eager one

- you didn’t necessarily have a choice in being in woonhak’s life, it was more like he chose you to be in his.

- he begged you to tutor him in biology and hasn’t really left your side since. he kinda claimed you as his friend and now you have no say in the matter.

- he’s always coincidentally at the same places you are. he’ll walk by your class and wave at you through the window or offer to buy you lunch since your schedules surprisingly match up.

- but despite how..random he is, woonhak always manages to put a smile on your face every time you're around him. whether it be a dumb joke or his clumsy mistakes, he's always managed to get you out of a bad mood.

- traces of you are left all around him now; your notes and doodles in the margins of his notebook, random stickers left on his water bottle, even some of your pens that he stole borrowed from you. while other people have gained suspicion, you both only see it as a ‘really good friendship’…

- one day, you go out grocery shopping with your mom and stop dead in your tracks when you make eye contact in the cereal aisle :

he’s immediately on his best behavior to make a good impression on your mom and of course she loves him. he has that boyish charm that wins her over and makes your stomach do a weird flip. you excuse yourself to grab a carton of eggs and a breather. it’d be silly to overthink this, it’s a grocery store not a manhunt, so why would it be crazy to see him here?? either way. your mom taking such a liking to him wasn’t exactly on your bucket list. of course you’re questioned on the way home and asked about who he is but there’s not many answers to give. later that night, you hear a knock at your door right before dinner is almost done. but you’re completely dumbfounded when woonhak is standing at your doorstep with a cheesy smile and a bouquet of flowers. “your mom will like these, right? i wasn’t sure if she was more of a lilies or peonies type of person, but she suits both!” your own mother plotted your demise while you were grabbing eggs. and worst of all? you’re in your home outfit. a well loved band tshirt, sleep shorts that have seen better days, and your hair sticking every which way. but woonhak’s smile almost melts like he finds it endearing, and that just makes this all worse!! he’s invited in by your mom and you rush to change into something more presentable before setting the table. you completely expect the table to be awkwardly silent or for someone to end up embarrassing you but it’s surprisingly pleasant. woonhak compliments your moms cooking and gets into an entertaining conversation with your dad about baseball. he fits in all too well and, without either of you realizing, it makes you both a little nervous.

- he definitely will help with the dishes after and your mom will insist he comes over more often. she’ll even bring him up like “that woonhak boy is so sweet, you should bring him over more!” and you don’t know what kind of spell he’s cast over her.

- since he’s a little younger than you, woonhak is just trying his hardest to prove himself to you and the universe is working in his favor every time.

so, who would you choose?

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“Listen—” you start, looking around for help but finding no one to back you up. Riwoo hears you mutter a curse under your breath at how Kim Woonhak and Han Taesan were backstabbing baboons who would be dealt with once you got out of this tight spot. Then you meet Riwoo’s eyes once more, putting on your most innocent, lovely smile. “You see, the principal’s been wanting to renovate this wing anyways. I was lending a hand—literally, haha.” You add jazz-hands for flair, hoping it’s at least entertaining enough to warrant a giggle.

However, Riwoo remains unimpressed. His brows meet in the middle of his frown, lips a thin, straight line, the muscle in his cheek twitching in annoyance. Or exhaustion—whichever you plagued him with first. 

“You finger painted…hand painted?—graffiti on the new student council room… My room.”

“Yep!” You nod, flashing all your teeth at him, happy to have helped. “It looks so much more vibrant like this, see—” You gesture towards the mural that looks like a unicorn shat rainbows all over it (with your chin, since your hand is in no state to be moved around freely, not when it's dripping pink and purple onto the ground). “Before I came in, this was all gray. Like concrete, ew. But I fixed it!”

“Fixed it…” Riwoo repeats, every nerve in his body fighting the urge to catch fire and explode like a cartoonic grenade. 

You nod again, wilder this time, getting your hair in your mouth but continuing to speak in spite of it. “Gotta make sure the stuco prez has a nice view.”

The sixth lash from the right on Riwoo's left eye twitches madly. His fists are balled up in the crooks of his elbows, arms crossed over his chest lest they decide to grow an impulse and slam themselves into his own skull. Not that he doesn't deserve it—he probably does—given this was all his fault for letting you get away with your delinquency all this time. 

“Vandalism,” he punctuates, gritting the word between his front teeth, “is against the school rules.”

You aren't convinced, rolling your eyes in easy dismissal. “It's called artistic freedom, look it up.” 

“I did. In the handbook. That I was asked to edit and enforce.”

“Dude, you need to chill out and like, dip your feet in a waterfall or something,” you continue, still too casual for Riwoo’s liking, like his position and power are simply dirt under your fingernails—or paint, in this case—to ignore. “Chase a dragonfly, like your vice president does sometimes.”

Riwoo’s patience is thinning, but he says, “Leehan is a special case. He gets distracted easily, that's all.”

“And that’s why he doesn't look constipated half the time and you do.”

That’s it. He's done being a doormat; he is going to put his foot down and make sure to whip your personality into shape if it's the last thing he does. 

He is so sick of your inability to sit still and follow rules for once. There's always something for him to clean up after: the busted pipes in the girl's bathroom from when you wanted to orchestrate a school-wide water fight for ‘team building’, the time he found out you were selling bootleg DVDs under the table (quite literally) for cash, the time he almost slipped and died from the loose papers you'd left scattered on the floor in a hurry to run to the toilets, because, apparently, peeing yourself is more of an emergency than preventing his potential funeral. 

Not anymore. 

You will respect him, and you will pay for your sins. 

“5 PM, after school. You're fixing this mess or I’m giving you another demerit.”

“But…” Your eyes widen, hands slowly dropping to your sides and getting colourful stains on your uniform. “That means suspension.”

“Good, so you have read the handbook.”

“No, you recite it every time you put me in detention,” you correct, and then regret it immediately. “Uhhhh…. I mean… Can't I just paint your face up there and call it a day?”

“Are you bribing me…?” Riwoo is offended if not confused, blinking an unnatural number of times at your audacity. “You're bribing me…with my own face?”

“Yeah! Is it working?” Not even the tiniest bit of guilt slips out your mouth when you speak, just hope. 

“... No.” Riwoo remains stern, despite the Herculean effort it takes to not give into your foolish smile. He straightens his spine, meets you head-on when he says—“5 PM. Or you find a new school midway through the year.”

And then, before you can get a word in, he speed-walks out of there without looking back, ignoring every single word of protest that makes its way out your mouth and echoes through the wooden door, until he's far away enough to give his heart, and brain, a rest.

The pen scratches against the paper in a smooth tempo, the spine of the ledger occasionally thumping against the desk when Riwoo presses the tip with a little too much force. Sunset orange spills through the murky glass and onto his visage, dappling amber through strands of his hair, his lashes, the raise of his cheek, through the lens of the glasses on his nose-bridge. 

Serene. That's what he feels. 

At least until—

“This is so harddddd. Let me go home!!”

Your whines are met with feigned oblivion and a glide of the page as he prepares to look over this week’s club accounts. Budgeting is a beast, and he's the only person capable enough to make sure no one goes over the limit and plunges the school into a debt they certainly cannot pay off. The principal has already threatened to cut funds and force them into begging on the streets if they were to keep splurging on puppy therapy days and useless visits to the aquarium like three times a year. (This is Leehan's fault, not his.)

(Well…it is his fault for not saying no to the vice president’s whims. But in Riwoo’s defense, he was way too preoccupied with attempting to wrangle you into line.)

“Prez. Yo, prez. Prez!?” you keep repeating petulantly, marching over to wave your scrub-cloth in front of his downturned eyes, failing to snap him out of his work. “Lee Riwoo, I can't do this anymore!”

“Less whining, more cleaning,” he says simply, not looking up for even a second. 

You pout, grumbling at how the paint is too stuck into the surface to come off without boiling hot water and a bone-breaking amount of scrubbing. You'd already struggled to fill and carry a heavy bucket all the way here, then almost collapsed from the level of effort required to reset the wall back into its original state. 

Riwoo hasn't moved an inch from the teacher's desk in the past one hour, no matter how much you attempted to strike up small-talk or huffed or sighed very loudly. He just sat there, writing. Doing math was certainly better than talking to you. 

He thinks you've given up on it after trying and failing too many times than he's bothered to count. Riwoo is swallowed up by tiny numbers floating above the blue lines, by mental additions and subtractions and estimations running across his mind as he mutters quietly under his breath, careful not to lose track of his place. He thinks you've already gone back to cleaning when—

When something soft and feather-like brushes across his cheek, and a looming shadow falls over him. He sucks in a sharp breath, feels goosebumps prickle up on his neck, feels something eerie crawl through his abdomen as he slowly turns his head to check…

“HOLY SHIT—!” he yelps as he jumps out of his skin—and off the chair, straight onto his butt on the floor. 

You blink down at him in confusion. “What? I was just curious about what you were so focused on.” And without regard for his privacy or the fact that he's still flat on his ass, you lean in to poke your head into his ledger, your face getting more impressed as you read down the page. “Damn, you run this place like it's the military,” you note, nodding. “Wait, do you take suggestions?”

“Huh?”

“The athletes get all the funds and us arts kids get morsels. Can't you update the instruments in the music room at least this year?”

“That is not my jurisdiction,” Riwoo says as he finally gets up, brushing the dust off his pants and straightening his tie, pushing back his rimmed glasses. “Also, weren't you the one that busted up a hole through the drumkit?”

You have the shame to look sheepish, flickering your eyes away from his pointed stare. “Uh… Yeah, maybe?”

“Right.”

You pout again. “I had too much sugar, okay? Sometimes I can't control my energy, and sometimes my drums suffer because of it.” 

Riwoo can sense a migraine strutting its way to him; he’ll have to do breathing exercises again if you keep threatening his health like this, and there are not enough ways to inhale and exhale in the world for him to recover from the damage you do. So he pulls himself together, climbs back into his spot at the table, and lets you move to meet his eyes properly. 

“If I say I’ll think about it, will you get back to cleaning the wall?” he asks, drumming the back of his pen on the wood in impatience. 

“Mayhaps,” you reply, but you're smiling when you do it, suddenly in raised spirits. “Will you actually talk back to me and not let me die of boredom all alone over there?” 

Riwoo chews on the thought—considers the pros and cons of saying yes to your request. 

Pros: you do your job, he doesn't have to nag. He doesn't get in trouble by the faculty for enabling your terrible habits. 

Cons: you…you talk a lot. Non-stop. 

“My wrists are sore. I had carpal tunnel once and that was the worst time ever. Swore I'll never get it again, and now look at me.”

And when Riwoo doesn't respond with the empathy you expect him to, you go, “Does the student council also cover medical bills?”

“No.”

“You swore you'd keep me company.”

“I am,” he tosses back. “I'm breathing very loudly so you can use it as white noise while you scrub. Now go on.” 

You huff and puff, but still return to squeezing water into the bucket. Then five minutes after—

“Hmm… I should've used more red on the cherries. Maybe glitter too… Shame that you're making me wipe all of it off…” Then—

“Prez, Prez, why do you wear glasses half the size of your face? Does it not hurt…? But you look nice though, so it's not all that bad.” 

And—

“Have you ever wondered what would happen if babies came in adult sizes? Like, imagine a giant baby in your house, just crawling around,” you're rambling as you lay on your back on the floor, cloth abandoned somewhere to the side, hair coming loose out of your ponytail and fingers stretched to the ceiling as though any further and you could touch it. Evidently, you have made no actual progress. “You’d need a giant cradle. And a giant milk bottle. Oh! And giant diapers, woah…”

Riwoo’s pulse has been climbing with every word you say, effectively building up into a mini explosion in his brain. It's been a slow tick of time while you talked yourself through nonsense, getting distracted with the task at hand with every pressing minute. He tried to reel you back in with his tuts and coughs, but it took a simple turn of his head away from you for you to give up and dramatically throw yourself onto the ground.

It's like he's taken away your life's purpose—of breaking every rule in the book and dragging him through mud along with it.

Also, turns out—and he should have expected this, really—you suck at sticking to a chore. So much so in fact that you do anything not to do what you were told to. 

It's leaking shadows into the room, sun well below the horizon, when you trudge back from your momentary break with a mop in tow. 

He presses his cheek into his palm when he asks, even though he knows without needing to. “What are you doing now?”

“Floor’s all dirty. I'm mopping.”

Of course you are. “You didn't finish the walls yet.”

“I'll get to it after the floors, duh.”

You don't. In fact, you don't even finish the moping before you've moved onto your next activity. First it's brushing cobwebs out of the dusty corners of the window, then you try to budge the window-panes open with no luck before giving up entirely, then you sit there with a pair of scissors you'd found from god-knows-where, snipping up old test papers out of your backpack for no reason at all other than wasting time. Once you've run out of things to cut up, Riwoo sees the way you eye his ledger and has to lunge to move it out of your dangerous reach. 

He's beginning to wonder if the duties of a school council president involved babysitting too…

And right when he thinks you've given up, when you're trailing the minute hand on the clock while wringing out the washcloth, while he's marking up the last bit of his work, while he's distracted just the slightest…

You pounce for your bag and book it for the hills out the door.

…

Riwoo doesn't know what's just happened. You were here at first, and then you're gone with the wind, like some metahuman speedster keyed up on high-functioning steroids, you've just…

Vanished. 

He picks up his pen off the desk first, then his mind off the floor, before realising that he should follow you and drag you back before you’ve completely evaded the responsibility he's placed upon your shoulders. 

Riwoo sighs deeply before sprinting after the direction you left, trying to not let the creepy hallways scare him into cowering, discreetly muttering consolations to himself when the broken lightbulb blinks once before dying, somehow trudging through a hellish field of weeds until he sees a figure throwing something over the back fence of the school’s perimeter.

A ghost, he thinks at first, but then he hears the signature jangle of the keyrings on your book-bag clattering to the ground and he knows it's no ghost.

It's just the devil incarnate, apparently.

“Y/N! Get back in there now!” he shouts through cupped hands, lungs burning from the run. But you're already stepping on top of one of the empty flower pots and trying to reach for the tall fence, determined to jump over. Riwoo acts fast, albeit exhausted, scurrying through dirt and moss until he's looking right up at you.

“Just a little more—” You're muttering to yourself, elbows propped up on the ledge as you try to push higher. But you make the mistake of looking down and almost die from the shock. 

Your grip loosens, and down you come tumbling, straight into Riwoo's arms.

Or at least you would have…

Had it not been for his terrible reflexes and weariness from having overworked himself the whole week. His hands are just too stiff to reach out, okay? Maybe that's why he's fallen onto his back, in a terrible imitation of the mishap from before in the classroom, and you're there, caging him with both your arms on either sides of his neck, hair a curtain around his face.

And Riwoo—he processes it slowly, eyes flickering from your widened eyes, then to the slope of your nose, and then to your parted lips, a millimetre away…

Badump. 

“I—” you begin, and he gulps just for the sake of needing something to do. This is weird—but not bad weird. Just…so new. 

Okay, that's a lie. He knows the way his heart jumps out of his ribs is not dissimilar to all the times when you've invaded his personal space with zero account for his well-being—for the heat on his neck and the butterflies in his stomach. For the way he’s always on high alert when you're near, an inbuilt radar in his brain for your misbehaviours. 

You are so close. And he is so doomed. 

“Y/N…” he says, mouth moving on its own accord, the badump badump badump growing wings in his chest, threatening to take flight and melt into the pulse between the two of you, in the slowly thinning gap between your lips. 

His fingers twitch where they lay stuck between your bodies, but he doubts he could have reached out even if it weren't. Because the way you look at him, moonlight reflected in the pools of your eyes, the tip of your nose almost grazing his own skin. And then—

You reach out first, gaze going from surprised to crinkled warmth, a hand lightly brushing over the plane of his cheek. He feels it move to place his glasses back onto his nose—and only now does he realises that it had come sliding off when he'd stumbled on his feet before. 

“There,” you whisper, and he's never heard you speak anywhere close to this softly. “It’s perfect again now.”

He is an idiot and his mouth is a traitor, because it goes on to ask, in an undeniably gentle voice— “Perfect?” 

“Hmm… Wait, not quite.” Then you adjust them so that it's not skewed to the right anymore, brushing back the strands that fall over his forehead and scorching every exposed part of him in bright red. And before he can count to ten and calm himself down, you dip lower and something plush meets his skin. 

Your lips. Soft and lovely and pressed against his cheek, right below the mole under his eye. 

The heat is gone as soon as it comes, when you lean back to take your weight off of him and stand up, so quickly he barely registers or remembers anything that's happened in the past 24 hours. There was a wall involved, he thinks. 

He's still splayed out on the dirty ground, dazed out of his mind, when he sees you shoot a dazzling smile of victory down at him before jumping up to grasp the fence-ledge again, calculating momentum—this time, successful in leaping over the boundary. 

It happens in slo-mo in Riwoo’s vision, a blinding halo around your silhouette, a choir of cherubs singing down from the suddenly sunny skies. He thinks he sees rose petals cascading down, and also a pair of wings on your back. 

Either you were a real-life angel—or he'd hit his head a little too hard during that fall.

Or…

Or he was simply beyond the point of going back on these feelings starting to sprout inside him when he looks at you. 

It's only after he hears your feet landing on a crunch of dried leaves that he manages to regain balance and sanity.

“That's a demerit!” he manages to squeak out in a yell—but both you and him know that he's not going to get you in trouble. 

Not when his cheek is still singed with the burn of your kiss. And certainly not when he’s considering keeping the mural up just to have an excuse to get you alone again.

Riwoo is so doomed.

a/n: again again happy birthday to my unofficial official child, i hope you have an awesome day ahead!!! everyone go wish the coolest 14 year old alive and give them all the love at @beomtomie !!!!

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—

and he is sinking. he can feel it, in the depths of his soul and the marrow of his bones. he can feel the grief leaking in through the cracked walls of his heart, haphazardly put back together after shattering at the loss of you, his soulmate.

and the worst part, james knows, is that you aren’t there to see your shadows, together, dancing on the wall as the last dregs of daylight filter in through the blinds.

he can’t hug you when you’ve had a bad day anymore. he can’t kiss your forehead when you’re sick, he can’t make you breakfast in the morning, he can’t drive you to work when you’re running late, he can’t try and convince you to skip work and stay in with him anymore.

and when he lets the grief pour in, just for a moment, he catches himself mourning what could have been.

fourth of july ; sufjan stevens

sanghyeok watches you with a curious look in his eyes as you approach. you give him a small smile, and he smiles back, the corners of his pointed eyes crinkling slightly.

“sanghyeok,” you grandmother gestures towards you, “this is my granddaughter, y/n. y/n, this is sanghyeok. he works in my shop, has been for a few years.” 

oh. 

no wonder they seem so close.

“it’s nice to meet you.” you hold out your hand, and he takes it, giving you a handshake.

“it’s nice to meet you too.”

his palm is a bit rough against your own, and you can feel tiny nicks and cuts from what you assume must be flower thorns. you glance over at your grandma, who’s looking at the both of you with happiness in her eyes.

well.

maybe you weren’t worried about what would happen this summer after all.

my upcoming summer fic !! (please pray for me...)