till the stars know your name

genre: angst

synopsis: your smile was so bright it could light up the whole world… too bad that smile wasn’t for me

we were close... once.

we were like magnets, always sticking together through thick and thin. you were my anchor, always there to keep me rooted, always there to pick me up. we scraped by two years together, helping each other out, keeping each other sane. keeping each other happy.

you always led me to do spontaneous things. it was… fun.

“hey, wanna get some bingsu after school?”

“yeah, sure, why not”

you were my main supporter, my closest friend. you were there every step of the way.

but then, you changed.

genre: fluff

summary: the thing about wonwoo, you see, is that he thinks too much.

it’s the smell of books, old and new, that wonwoo takes refuge in whenever he has a spare moment. it’s the feeling of paper, rustling between his fingertips, that wonwoo relies on in order to fall asleep. it’s a ziploc bag containing a different book every three days that makes up most of the weight in his backpack (which the other members know not to touch or else), that wonwoo steals a few minutes from break during practice to read, feels his muscles relax and his mind calm a little as he sinks into worlds filled with endless, sprawling forests, filled with winter, filled with leather and stinging metal, filled with dirt and dust and trundling wheels on cobblestone, filled with wonder and light and spectacle that has his blood singing with excitement before he resurfaces, body lighter and senses sharper to the point where various other members have started bringing their own books to practice.

it’s lying awake at night after the final chapter of a particularly good book, staring up at the ceiling where seungkwan’s top bunk was in their old dormitory, and wondering to himself what kind of book he’d be. it’s asking the other members what they think, only to get twelve different answers – they’d all seen him reading vastly different books at one point or another – and coming away feeling only more confused than he had to begin with. it’s the second day in their hard-earned three-day holiday, jun singing softly in the kitchen, the smell of stir-fried noodles slowly filling the recesses of the dorm, when wonwoo wakes up with a hunger in his belly and a blossoming world in his mind, itching to be explored.

and, well. it’s different, somehow, from writing lyrics, simply because of the sprawling, complex nature of this world – there are actions and consequences and consequences upon themselves that ache to be explored and wonwoo just loves that, loves being able to walk silently in the rain-grey streets of his mind’s own creation, documenting the struggles in the alleys, the gutters, the conflicts in the shiny, sleek buildings, the fights, both mental and physical, that spark between the occupants of that world. wonwoo no longer brings books to practice at such a frightening frequency, and instead, more often than not the weight in his backpack is because of his laptop, which he pulls out as soon as soonyoung calls for a break, chest still heaving, and his fingers fly across the keyboard even if his eyes begin to droop from exhaustion.

the members notice, of course. soonyoung notices first, as he always does, tucking himself into wonwoo’s side one night after they’ve stumbled into their dorms and the younger members are clamouring for the showers, wonwoo having made a beeline for the butt-shaped crease in the corner of the l-shaped sofa where he always sits. soonyoung looks at wonwoo expectantly, then looks pointedly at the laptop resting across wonwoo’s thighs, and then back up at wonwoo, who frowns at him. “what do you want?”

“i want to see what you’ve been doing on your laptop, like, every time we get a free second,” soonyoung says, casually. too casually. “and, you know, i’m really bad at these things,” he continues, gesturing widely in wonwoo’s general direction, the grey streets ensconced in the winding paths of wonwoo’s mind, “so i was, uh… wondering if you could teach me?”

wonwoo narrows his eyes at soonyoung, amusement threatening to tug the corners of his lips upwards at the way soonyoung looks away, as though afraid that wonwoo will see his true intentions in his eyes. “spit it out, soonyoung,” he says, elbowing him gently, and soonyoung deflates.

“i just– i’m just really stressed out for this comeback,” soonyoung tells him, voice small, shoulders hunched in on himself, and wonwoo moves the computer off his lap and onto the couch beside him, scooping soonyoung into his arms instead.

“it’s been hard on you,” wonwoo whispers, and seungcheol, apparently, notices from across the hall, because no sooner has wonwoo told soonyoung, “you’ve worked hard, soonyoung,” seungcheol’s flopping over the back of the sofa to wrap his arms around as much of the both of them as he can. soonyoung giggles, a little watery laugh, and there’s a clatter as mingyu careens out of the kitchen, followed by a thump and a muffled ‘oof’ from beside the trio as mingyu jumps onto the sofa, scrambling over wonwoo to drape himself across his lap and pat soonyoung on the head.

“what’s happening?” comes jihoon’s slightly disgruntled voice from down the hallway, and when wonwoo calls back, “group hug around soonyoung!” jihoon’s footsteps, followed soon after by seokmin’s, probably, and jeonghan’s, patter down the varnished wood until three more bodies are wrapped around their gradually growing solar system, revolving around the hiccuping sun that is soonyoung.

by the time the clock strikes 2 am, all thirteen of them are thoroughly tangled up in each other, snoring lightly and shifting in their sleep as they dream of roaring pink-and-blue stages, and sunlit days filled with the laughter of their friends.

wonwoo, for his part, dreams of grey, stormy streets made brighter by twelve other lights.

if you asked wonwoo what he thinks his worst fault is, he’d say that it’s probably the fact that he thinks so much. if you asked wonwoo what he thinks his greatest strength is, though, he’d answer without hesitation; it’s the fact that he thinks so much. because although wonwoo sometimes finds his mind so filled with swirling thoughts at night that he wakes up feeling even less rested than he was when he fell asleep, it means that he always knows exactly what to do whenever his friends are feeling down, which, honestly, is what makes him happiest these days.

it’s tagging along with junhui to his favourite chinese restaurant and paying sneakily for both their meals, it’s sending a quick message to seungkwan’s mom and sisters between concert rehearsals when he notices the younger man drooping slightly and waking up one morning to find seungkwan weeping in a nest of scattered letters, it’s bringing home a bottle of the best wine he could find only to hide it in the room that mingyu and minghao share (and giggling maniacally to himself when he hears mingyu call minghao into the room, a note of awed bewilderment in his frantic cries). it’s dragging joshua out of the hotels when they’re on tour to explore wherever they can and getting so wonderfully lost that seungcheol calls them and threatens to send a police search party out to look for them, it’s organising a marvel marathon for the members and exchanging increasingly more and more far-fetched theories in hushed voices with jihoon and chan when the other members pass out on the sofas, it’s playing with jeonghan’s hair when he falls asleep on wonwoo’s lap in the middle of the performance team’s rehearsals and trying not to wake him with the force of his giggles when seokmin plants himself behind wonwoo and maneuvers wonwoo such that his head is in seokmin’s muscled lap.

and it’s filling the pages of his story with words that sound like they’d been said to him or around him by one of twelve other voices, nurturing the world he’s created and watching as it blooms into fifty pages, a hundred, three hundred, a million words swimming in the pages of the document when he finally surrenders to sleep.

his story makes the rounds around the dorm over the next few weeks, and for the following months it seems like it’s all the members ever talk about; “why did hyeong-jae go down that alley? when it was raining????” and “where did shin-gyeol go after he fought lee-hak?” and “it was really cool when yoo-ri and lee-hak were in the observatory!”, and texts from mingyu and seungkwan; “pls tell me more abt joo-ae and shin-gyeol”, “wow i just got 2 chap 18 what kind of monster r u”, “wait hyung no spoilres but also @wonu i dont get what happned 2 hyeong-jae in chap 13 u kno what part im talkin abt u beaufitul demon”, “y did u kill woo-hyuk”, “R U SATAN I LOVED WOO-HYUK”, and wonwoo saves them all to his phone so he can giggle at them in the darkness of midnight when the cursor mocks him, blinking endlessly.

wonwoo’s suspicions are first aroused when he notices seungkwan, jeonghan and minghao speaking rapidly in hushed tones in the corner of a practice room, huddled around what looks like an impressive sheet of administrative paperwork for… is that a printing company? but then jeonghan looks up – he’s always been the most observant – and not-so-subtly covers the top of the sheet with his phone. wonwoo opens his mouth, ready to ask exactly what they’re doing, but jeonghan does something super weird with his face, kind of like winking except it also looks like he’s pouting, and wonwoo’s mouth clacks shut before he registers walking swiftly away.

his suspicions are given cause to intensify when he overhears soonyoung and seungcheol whispering to each other. wonwoo thinks he hears something about a manuscript and pages being bound before mingyu, sitting on the couch a few feet away from wonwoo, clears his throat very loudly before standing up, stretching far too extravagantly for a man of his height, and trying his best to not look like he’s power-walking to where the two leaders are gathered. it’s all very, very strange, and very, very suspicious.

soonyoung’s always been by far the worst at keeping secrets, especially from wonwoo, but when wonwoo corners him after practice one night, soonyoung tries valiantly to look wonwoo right in the face. he succeeds, but also manages to look about three seconds away from either throwing up or crying.

“what are you guys plotting?” wonwoo demands, and soonyoung’s eyes cut frantically towards the door, where most of the other members are filing out of the practice room lethargically, the weight of hours upon hours of practice dulling their movements. nobody notices, but jun and jihoon are still gathering their things on the other side of the room and are bound to notice the little wall-slam vignette wonwoo’s somehow manoeuvred them into, so wonwoo knows he needs to make this quick. “why have you guys been sneaking around and what has it got to do with my story?”

“um– um– it’s– it’snothingdon’tworryaboutityoujusthavetowaitonemoredaytofindoutohheyjun!” soonyoung yells, so loudly wonwoo recoils, and before wonwoo has a chance to grab soonyoung and tickle him into submission, soonyoung’s darted off to jihoon and jun, who are looking strangely at wonwoo.

great. wonwoo supposes he’ll just have to wait and see what dastardly things they’ve planned.

wonwoo’s never really been one for extravagant gestures when it comes to birthdays; his idea of a birthday well-spent is a twelve-hour movie marathon with cake and maybe a birthday song. cuddling is always good, lots of food is a given whenever the thirteen of them are together, and surprise parties are such a mainstay in the seventeen dorm at this point that wonwoo has taken to looking around every corner before he walks around it. and while wonwoo was never the most perceptive member of them all, he would never had said he was too far down the list, he somehow doesn’t notice all twelve of his members sneaking up on him until seokmin is jumping on his back and they’re all yelling assorted birthday salutations at him and there’s confetti for some reason; wonwoo thinks he sees seungcheol dragging a garbage bag filled with what looks like books before there’s cake being shoved in his face despite his protests and his indignant yells of “i’m wearing glasses–”

it’s a whirlwind from there, and wonwoo remembers there being a whole lot of cake and other food but mostly a lot of movement around him from the most hyperactive members, the usual suspects – seungkwan, jun, mingyu, seokmin, soonyoung, seungcheol – and even some of the members who wonwoo wouldn’t normally classify as excitable but who are now practically bouncing off the walls at 3:38 am. wonwoo kind of remembers them making such a racket in the cars on the way back to the dorms that their managers threaten to make them walk back, and only sort of recalls a joke he made about falling asleep on his feet and falling over the railings on the way to their floor, to which someone – he can’t remember who – made a very loud noise of distress, followed by maybe five members flanking him to make sure wonwoo didn’t fall to his death.

wonwoo wakes up to the sounds of the dorm waking up around him, and there’s a crinkle of paper when he throws back his blankets. there’s a parcel-shapes lump in his blankets when he sits up to check, and when he pulls back the sheets to reveal a sleek grey hardback book with silver letters emblazoned on the front, he notices that the dorm has become quiet, as if holding its breath, waiting for wonwoo’s reaction. ‘after rain’, the silver letters say, ‘jeon wonwoo’.

ahhh thank you so much!!!! i’m really glad you like it, i had a lot of fun writing them!! it really means a lot to me that you like my writing, and i hope you continue to support us!!

genre: fluff

synopsis: soonyoung is expecting a big surprise for his birthday this year and he’s really excited

“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to The Cutest Hamster Prince, Amazingest Choreographer Extraordinaire, Hoshi! Heheheh Happy birthday to you! Woohoo!!!!”

“Why yes thank you, you’re so sweet! You’re also reaaaally handsome, if I do say so myself. Love the eyes!”

Soonyoung couldn’t help giggling to himself in the mirror. Okay, technically it wasn’t his birthday yet. There was still about 15 minutes before midnight, but there was no harm celebrating early, right? He flopped backwards onto the ground, wiggling around in glee.

He was excited, to say the least. He had been practicing till late today, going through new choreography and fine-tuning portions of Hurricane to burn off the excessive adrenaline from the excitement. Though he always pretended he didn’t realise or acted as if he didn’t care, he always looked forward to the surprises the other members had for him on his birthday. (His acting is great okay, everyone totally falls for it. Soonyoung can definitely keep a straight face, yep!) He hummed a small tune to himself, thinking about what kind of surprise they had in store this time around.

“10 more minutes.”

He peeked at the door of the dance studio, trying to spot any silhouettes hovering nearby. Surprisingly though, he didn’t hear or see anyone. Maybe they taped Seokmin’s mouth shut and tied Jun up so he couldn’t burst into the room early? Soonyoung laughed a little at the outrageous thought. He got up to a sitting position and started drumming his fingers against the floor, grin never leaving his face as he thought of the possibilities.

“5 minutes to go.”

Soonyoung was starting to get jittery from sitting down so long, so he got up and started rearranging the stuff in the room. Oh, look, there’s the missing left sock that he lost last week during practice! It was surely his alright. The thing was neon orange with pineapples printed everywhere. Initially, he wore the socks ironically, but then it started becoming less ironic, and then he even began to like it. He even got a matching pair for Seokmin (highlighter green with strawberries), and Seungkwan (neon pink with yellow bananas). Jun had said jokingly that they should wear these awful neon socks during one of their BooSeokSoon performances.

(They did, by the way. It was a wonder how they didn’t get caught.)

Bouncing happily, Soonyoung put away the sock, as well as all the other random knick knacks he had found lying around the room. There was still about a few minutes before it was officially his birthday, so he decided to psyche himself up with the latest SHINee comeback track. By the time there was 10 seconds left, Soonyoung was practically vibrating where he stood.

“5 seconds left.”

Maybe he should look like he’s doing something? Like stretching?

“4”

Should he act shocked or not? Ohh he just couldn’t wait.

“3”

“2”

“1”

“…”

“…”

“…”

But no one came.

“Ah,” Soonyoung huffed, stretching his arms out, “Maybe they’re just running late.”

5 minutes passed, and yet no one came.

His smile was slowly turning into a small pout. He fished for his phone, hoping to see any notifications from the members. None. Sighing, he opened his front camera. “Hmm… Maybe I’ll go take a few selfies to upload later.”

10 more minutes passed, and still no one appeared.

He had been reading birthday wishes from the Carats, as well as his parents. Usually, the rest of the members would have said something by now.

30 minutes passed. It was almost a full hour now.

They couldn’t have forgotten, could they? Sure, they were all tired from Japan promotions, but they wouldn’t miss out on his special day, right?

It’s already 1am. There's no one else in the dance studio except for him.

Did he do something wrong? Why weren’t any of his members wishing him happy birthday? Did they really forget? Before he knew it, Soonyoung had begun sniffling. He started rubbing at his eyes, trying to get rid of the salty tears forming. Heh, pathetic. Maybe he should just go back to the dorms already.

At 1.30, the phone rings.

Soonyoung was startled back into reality. He had been staring dejectedly at the ceiling, contemplating if he should leave the studio since it was already so late. He took a look at the caller ID.

It’s from Jihoon.

At 1.31am, Kwon Soonyoung picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Soonyoung, where in the hell are you? We’ve been looking for you for ages,” Jihoon snapped. Soonyoung would wince if he didn’t hear the underlying worry in the other’s tone.

“Um,” he responds. “I’m in the company's dance studio.”

“Ah shit.”

Soonyoung heard some faint yelling from the other end, and a mishmash of voices before Jihoon spoke again.

“Soonyoung, just wait there. The manager will come pick you up okay?”

“Um okay.”

Soonyoung was a little confused. But this was fine.

At 1.45 am the manager picked Soonyoung up. At 2 am, they arrived at the location.

Surprisingly, they arrived in one of the external dance studios they booked a while back for filming. The manager led him to the door of one of the rooms, ruffling his hair before turning to leave. Soonyoung was left standing in front of the door, hand on the handle, before he walked into the dark room. His hand fumbled around for a light switch, but it wasn’t needed. The room was suddenly filled with bright light.

“SURPRISE! Happy Birthday Soonyoung!”

Hehe. Looks like they didn’t forget after all.

--

(“Wow guys, I’m really shocked. I thought you all forgot about my birthday,” Soonyoung had begun tearing up, but his mouth was turned up in a smile.

“We wanted to surprise you, but I guess we heard you wrong and thought you were going to be here instead? Heh, my bad, sorry!” Seungcheol had apologised.

“Yeah, we were waiting for you for so long, we thought you left already. That would have been a shame though, we were planning this for a few weeks. Even Chan helped us to plan this, you know?” Seungkwan pouted, crossing his arms, a shout of “Hey!” could be heard from the youngest.

Oh boy, here come the waterworks. Soonyoung was beginning to sniffle already. He looked at everyone in the room, to the cake that was on the table, to the decorations strung up around the room - streamers, some strange memey photos of him, and a bunch of balloons. He was honestly really touched.

“Why would we forget about your birthday, silly? You’re important to us and we all love you very much,. You’re our lovely little dancing hamster!” Jun had come up to hug the other, petting his hair in hopes that the 10:10 angel would stop crying.

ah hello!!! thank you so much this is such a cute message!!! you really made my day, i’m so glad you enjoyed it!! i hope you enjoy your stay(??)!!!

!!!! thank you so much, this means so much to me!! i’m really glad that my writing could make you feel so good!!!! thank you for the support and please continue to look forward to what we do in future!!

genre: fluff

summary: our contribution to seventeen’s third anniversary.

close your eyes now, and on the count of three, listen only to my words.

one.

two.

three.

open your eyes.

you’re in a room. there’s light filtering in from the window on your right, and above you, stars hang suspended in the endless dark. you can feel dreams opening up around you as their owners sleep, oblivious to the world.

are you curious?

alright then, this is the easy bit; choose a dream. whose dream calls to you most?

have you found it?

good.

now find him.

seungcheol’s dream

jeonghan’s dream

joshua’s dream

junhui’s dream

soonyoung’s dream

wonwoo’s dream

jihoon’s dream

minghao’s dream

mingyu’s dream

seokmin’s dream

seungkwan’s dream

hansol’s dream

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

the night is dark but the stars are bright, suspended overhead like flickering sparks to mirror the ones flitting from your little handheld fireworks. the wind whispers softly across the beach, tousling your hair and teasing at your clothes, and beside you, soonyoung’s sparkler goes out.

he makes an affronted noise, as if the wind extinguishing his fireworks had personally offended him, and reaches into the paper bag you’d brought for another one, which he lights with your sparks. behind you, the waves lap peacefully against the moonlit shore, and as you look up at soonyoung, the wind blows again. this time it’s your sparkler that dies, but you don’t notice it, too spellbound by the way the firelight dances and bounces off soonyoung’s skin, the way the sparks look in soonyoung’s eyes.

too late, you realise soonyoung was saying something to you in the exasperated-yet resigned grin he sends you. “head in the clouds again?” he asks, and his voice lilts teasingly in the wind.

“no,” you reply, watching his face carefully, “i was just admiring how pretty you are.”

soonyoung’s startled giggle-honk soars away in the breeze. “of course,” he replies, and you’re pretty sure the pink-orange in his cheeks is a blush and not the reflection of the fireworks like he’d like you to think. probably in an effort to distract you, he gazes up into the stars – except it backfires, and you end up staring at his eyes, the way they seem to hold the universe.

“you’re really handsome,” you tell him, unsure of where this straightforwardness has come from, but determined to see just how red he can get. soonyoung’s flustered giggles are broken only when he muffles them in your chest, sparkler long forgotten, and the stars twinkle down upon you.

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

it’s an autumn day, early in the afternoon. the leaves are just turning golden, the winds just beginning to chill, and the light as it flits through the trees is pinkish in hue.

you can hear, faintly, the bouncing of a basketball. then, the soft notes of a man singing, slightly out of breath. it’s seungcheol, and there’s a dog, almost as big as you, bounding alongside him as he comes closer, still bouncing the ball, and his smile nearly blinds you in its brightness, full of joy. he says your name, laughter in his voice, tugs you by the wrist into a hug, his warmth enveloping you. faintly, in the hammering of his heart, you get the feeling that he worries a lot about you, but he gives the best hugs you’ve ever had. the dog – somehow, you know its name is prince – dances around you, licking excitedly at whatever skin it can reach, and seungcheol’s glee is loud in your ear as you yelp and laugh, swatting at prince. seungcheol laughs too, his amusement clear even if you can’t see him. “you can’t love him more than me!”

then, a ball appears in his hand. he throws it, and prince streaks off after the ball. there’s a twinkle in his eyes, a smug look as he pulls back to grin at you, and then runs away from the basket hoop, stopping just at the three-point line. “watch this!” he yells, and tosses the ball cleanly through the hoop. the net bounces lightly, missing its touch.

he bounds back to you, eyes brighter than the afternoon sun. “i’m cool, right?” he asks, grinning goofily at you, and you couldn’t disagree with his beaming face even if you wanted to.

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

you’re sitting at a piano, fingers skimming the keys to find the right pitch. the room is quiet, honey-coloured sunlight pouring through the windows, and outside, a bird is building its nest, flitting back and forth, in and out of the frame of the window. beside you, disgruntled curses and distracted mumbling kept — for the most part — under his breath are the only other source of noise in the room. minghao isn’t the best at the whole subtlety thing.

“these lyrics,” he says suddenly, and you turn to him expectantly, “which do you like better?”

you study them. they’re as different as spring and autumn; the first like the gentle blooming of flowers as love in the budding sunlight, the second like warm leaves falling in the wind as lovers falling for one another. “the second one,” you reply eventually, and minghao nods, looking pleased. he turns back to his notebook, his long fingers curling around your hand, and this time, his mumblings are calmer, less agitated.

minutes pass in silence — or hours, maybe; if time flies when you’re having fun, it must have broken the sound barrier at least once while you were playfully trying to sneak glimpses of his lyrics, his melodic giggles like the song to his scribbled words on the paper.

finally, minghao leans into you, grinning like he knows a secret that only the two of you share. “wanna listen to them now?” he asks, and you do.

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

there’s a very comfy couch beneath you, and it’s the only thing keeping you off of the floor right now, sagged into the cloud-like consistency of the couch as you are at the moment. it’s also apparently a very complicated couch, which is a jab aimed not at the assembly manual but at the direction-following skills of the man currently laying, flopped, half-on, half-off a beanbag by the coffee table.

jihoon makes an incoherent groaning noise, flapping one hand weakly before evidently giving up. it’s kind of pathetic, but you repeat the gesture, flailing briefly at him with one socked foot before grunting and collapsing back into the couch. “do you know where everyone went,” jihoon mumbles into the beanbag, his face smushed into the fabric.

you think for a moment, the sleep-addled gears of your mind turning and turning. “a museum. the aquarium. a restaurant. shopping. and either karaoke or barbecue, but i can’t remember which right now.”

silence for a heartbeat or two. “so it’s just us?”

“yup,” you reply, and you can almost hear his own gears turning. “you wanna order in food?”

“hell yeah,” he says, suddenly grabbing his phone with a new energy. “come and sit over here; you’re too far away.”

“if you wanted to cuddle, you could just ask,” you tell him playfully, rolling off the couch onto his body, and the two of you stay like that, tangled in each other, until the food comes.

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

you wake to the sound of humming, the kind that’s kept under one’s breath; a quiet, hopeful strumming of vocal chords and soft, curling lilts of notes high in one’s throat. it’s not a song you’ve heard before. your eyes open, your mouth stretching in a yawn of your own accord, and the first thing you see is joshua, smiling gently down at you. “did you sleep well?” he asks, eyes sparkling.

“yes,” you tell him, and the sunlight catches on his teeth like breath catching in a throat.

joshua’s eyes glitter with mischief. “you’d better have,” he replies, and pokes your nose with a finger. “because your head is heavy and i can’t feel my legs.”

laughter fills the quiet room as you bat at him, swatting at his giggling face; too far away and far too shadowed by the sun. “of course, your head is only heavy from all the knowledge in your brain,” he adds posthumously, his words broken by his giggles. you scrunch your nose at him, the sun falling in your eyes as he leans down, his lips pressing a feather-light kiss against the very tip of your nose. “anyway,” he says quickly, before you have a chance to argue, “do you want to hear the song i was thinking of writing?”

of course you do, and besides, there’s a tinge of hope in his voice that you know he was desperately trying to hide, so you nod, a fond smile growing on your lips, and joshua begins to sing.

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

you’re at a beach. the waves are lapping at your bare feet, and there’s a strong wind lifting hair off your forehead; still chilly even though it’s summer. it’s peaceful.

then, a hand at your back, pushing you, footsteps pattering in the wet sand, a familiar voice cackling and growing further away as jeonghan runs away from you. a piece of seaweed has washed up onto your foot; you pick it up, grinning a wicked grin of your own. he’ll never see you coming.

jeonghan makes a particularly pterodactyl-esque squawk when you throw the seaweed on top of his head, turning towards you with arms outstretched; he tries batting you away, his eyes slitted against the wind that’s carrying away his outraged shrieks. you run, this time, your feet kicking up clouds of fine sand, and your heart soars as you hear his battle cries growing louder by the footstep, drowning out your gleeful laughter. you swerve to the side, tossing another ribbon of seaweed at him, and he dodges into it. you laugh so hard he manages to catch you.

he tackles you into the sand, and the two you roll into the waves, a shrieking log covering itself in wet sand and cold seawater. you untangle yourself from him as the waves submerge his legs, racing up the beach towards land as he screams your name indignantly, a righteous-sounding (but soaked) eagle, and as you gasp for air between your laughter and panting breaths, jeonghan grabs you around the waist, pressing his soaked chest against your relatively dry back. his cackles drown out your disgusted yelling, and the wind carries you both away into the setting sun.

jeonghan complains of catching cold for the next six days, but quieting him is no more difficult than pressing lips to his warm cheeks.

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

you’re sitting draped across an armchair, drifting into unconsciousness. the sun is warm across your legs; a welcome change from the last few autumn days, which have been so cold that you’ve resorted to stealing huge sweaters from the man currently wearing a hole into the carpet with his agitated pacing.

“hey,” mingyu says suddenly, startling you out of your daze, “can you help me run lines?”

in response, you muster up the energy to give him a noncommittal grunt, hauling yourself into a relatively upright position as you rub the sleep from your eyes. mingyu finally stops trying to burn through the carpet, pulling a pillow towards the armchair and sitting on it, looking up at you expectantly. you look down at the script he’s handed you and immediately start coughing, your cheek muscles straining with the effort of not laughing. “what’s up with this script,” you gasp, “who even says things like “even if the stars fall from the sky, i’ll never fall for you”, that’s so funny-“

“the main character is this supposedly cold yet hard-to-get angel person who all the people in school are in love with, and i’m — my character is trying to get them to fall for him.”

you snort, shaking the script out dramatically, and clear your throat. “even if the stars fall from the sky,” you tell him, eyebrows waggling aggressively, your voice pitched an octave higher than normal, “i’ll never fall for you, kang tae-gyeon.”

“what if i give you the stars?” mingyu replies, straight-faced, but the glimmer of amusement in his eyes gives him away. “will you fall for me then?”

and, watching him dissolve into embarrassed giggles, you wonder to yourself who wouldn’t.

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

you’re in an arcade, the sounds of cheap sound effects assaulting your ears from all sides. on your left, laser guns scream into the arcade; behind you, the revving of a motorcycle startles a kid so badly they start crying. in front of you, chan stands in front of a claw machine, hunched over the control panel, the serious, concentrated expression on his face the one he usually reserves for heated discussions about upcoming choreographies.

“you realise these things are rigged, right?” you ask him, bringing your hand up to rest lightly on his shoulder as you walk towards him. he spares you barely a glance, his full attention trained on the biggest toy in the machine.

“well, yes?” he says absently, operating the joystick with such careful precision you almost make a joke comparing him to the doctor in the medical drama you’ve been watching lately. you don’t, though, because watching him now is much more amusing. “but you said you liked this character, right?”

you pause. “that’s true, but how much have you spent on this game already?”

“far too much, probably,” chan replies, still concentrated on the claw hand. he takes a deep breath, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and presses the button. the claw closes around the toy, and you watch over chan’s shoulder with bated breath as it carries the toy, agonisingly slowly, to the exit chute. beside you, chan’s fingers curl around yours in a death grip.

the toy falls safely into the chute, rolling out and to a stop at your feet. there’s a beat of silence as you look at the toy and chan looks at the toy and then you both look at each other, and then chan starts cheering, dancing around you, your hand still stuck in his.

when you walk home together later, you’re holding the toy in one hand and your love in the other.

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

you’re in a house, outside a room, atop a carpet, your bare feet sinking into the fluffy material of the rug. it’s quiet, but you can hear the sweet sounds of someone singing, and the sizzling of a frying pan. as you listen, your eyes closing to better appreciate the sound, the smell of spicy food tickles at your nose, and you enter.

jun looks up at you when the door creaks open, grinning his usual goofy grin as his hands fry the noodles with the kind of expertise that only comes with years of practise. you hop up onto the table, and he frowns playfully at you, the sides of his eyes crinkling their crow’s feet. “we eat on that table,” he says petulantly, and you’re not surprised to see one of his feet stomp against the floor.

“you’re such a kid,” you tease in response, and jun gasps exaggeratedly before turning back to his pan with a huff.

“if that’s the attitude you’re going to take, you don’t have to eat my cooking.”

you slide off the table silently, a grin of your own growing on your lips, and you creep up behind him, your feet silent on the wood-panelled floor. your arms loop around his waist, resting against the fabric of his ridiculous – frilly black and emblazoned with “kiss the cook” – apron, your cheek pressing against his back, and you can feel hid heartbeat speed up through the thick cotton of his oversized sweater.

“i’m sure the pretty one in the relationship is supposed to be receiving the back hug, not giving it,” jun comments mildly, but his racing heartbeat and the way his hands have stilled betray just how flustered he is.

“if that’s the case, i don’t see anything wrong with the current arrangement,” you reply lightly, desperately fighting the blush growing in your own cheeks, and jun’s delighted giggles join the sounds of noodles sizzling in the pan.

quiet.

now close your eyes; these dreams are best watched with no sight, so listen carefully.

you’re standing, awed, in the middle of a busy, bustling street, staring up at a towering shrine, its gilded rooftops shining brightly in the street lights, passing cars and motorcycles around you providing a soundtrack to your awe. by your side, hansol smiles at you, wearing a ridiculous hat and an even more ridiculous shirt. you sigh, glancing at it out of the corner of your eye. it’s so ugly, and yet he somehow makes it work.

the air is cold, your breath misting in beautiful clouds in front of your face, and as hansol’s fingers, warm and sturdy and tangled together with yours, adjust their grip and squeeze a little tighter, you pretend you’re a dragon for a minute. hansol notices, grins his signature face-scrunching smile at you, and tugs you forward.

“come on, let’s go get some food,” he tells you, and before you have time to snort and tease him about that time you asked him to choose between food and sofia and he hesitated for a full ten seconds before saying sofia, he’s off, pulling you along with him as he picks a winding path through the night market, guiding you expertly through the bustling crowds.

“is it always this busy?” you ask him, pulling closer to him so you’re pressed to his side.

“pretty much,” he replies, brow furrowed in concentration. “my dad used to bring me and sofia here all the time when i was in middle school.”

the lantern light passes golden-orange and red over your skin; you stop, briefly, to look at a hat that matches the ridiculous one perched on hansol’s head. you look up, grinning, and find him engaged in conversation, hands moving animatedly around his face as he talks to the stall holder in rapid korean.

you count the exact change quietly, hanging back, and place the hat carefully on your head before making your way over to hansol, whose eyes take in your hat and light up instantly. it’s adorable, and you tell him so. the auntie running the stall grumbles good-naturedly about kids ruining her business and shoos you off, so you go,  fingers tangled in each other, off on your seemingly unending quest to find food.