#fncnet

He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was buying it, you just weren’t paying attention—too caught up in the pretty colors and cute things showcased under the fluorescent lights.

But feeling the way he immediately tensed, silence colliding, you let go, stepping back a moment. You hung your head low in its wake, lip fighting the urge to jut out in a pout.

“Sorry…”

It was hard coming to terms with the fact that your boyfriend didn’t really enjoy skinship, especially in a public setting. However, that’s because you were the complete opposite and showed your love through physical affection.

And you loved him.

So, that’s why you never tried to change that fact about him. It’s just who he was, and not everyone could be as into it as you; between friends, family and anything in between, you loved to hug, to hold hands, to have legs pressed together under the table. You needed it and Siyun, while in private, tried his best to accommodate.

It didn’t help that you made him feel so damn comfortable. You made it so easy for him to let down his walls. To relax.

But his silence was still loud…until it wasn’t.

He noticed the way you shifted, the plushie squeezed between your arms, pressed to your torso in some sort of makeshift prison. One he wanted to be locked up in.

“Why are you sorry, love?” he asked, a soft smile causing you to angle your head up slightly again. “Come here.”

And though hesitant, you didn’t need to be told twice. You wrapped your arms around his neck once his arms opened for you. He didn’t tense this time—not being caught off guard, though if you’d stayed a little longer, the shock factor would’ve worn off, he was sure of that. It always happens that way.

You brought out a different side of him, one he, at first, couldn’t recognize, but it was you; rubbing off on him, molding him. You were laced up in his veins, heart strings tangled as one.

“It’s okay,” he sighed out to you, “I love you, so don’t be sorry.”

It was you. It was always you.

He said it tickled, but you knew otherwise. He just didn’t want you to finish, too prideful to ask you to continue to play with his hair. And now, because you were oh-so competitive, it was a game to see who’d give in first.

You lightly tugged the pieces into place; Three sections, one over the other until you formed what resembled a braid. If you could even call it that, noticing the loose humps and baby-hairs that wouldn’t stay in place.

It was the second time you’ve unraveled the strands on the left side, starting over, already having finished the right perfectly. You had to laugh too—of course, it was under your breath. You’d never give Seungmo the satisfaction of knowing that whatever he was doing worked.

“Third time’s the charm!” you prevailed, starting from the hairline (once again) to try and make the two braids look like sisters instead of your friends-cousins-dogs-pet fish; Instead of distinct, put simply. “If you stop moving your damn head, seung, I’ll put some cute little hair clips.”

You tried enticing, bargaining, even bribing him, but he wouldn’t budge—no, actually, that’s all he was doing. Silently squirming like you did with your mother all those years ago, complaining that it was too tight or hurt. But, Seungmo didn’t even complain, he just caught your annoyed-attention every time you’d grab a new piece.

“Your hairstylists must hate to see you coming, babe,” you commented, especially after they dyed his hair something as fadable as dark-red. “I know I would.”

Then suddenly he was moving again, but this time it was to face you with a dramatically-offended look. You made a high-pitched sound of disapproval when your hand slipped from your best attempt yet.

“Seung!” you whined, “You’re actually kidding, I was almost done!”

Under his breath he said, “That’s the problem.” and you made a confused sound as he looked to the side—almost as if he was shying away in embarrassment. “If you finish the braid then you’re done.”

Your eyebrows knit. He usually didn’t have that hard of a time telling you what he wanted (even if you already knew).

“And?”

“And you love me, I love you. So, you’ll keep braiding my hair, right?”

You were studying your most difficult class yet—the one you had lecture for in a couple of hours—after you begrudgingly crawled from your sheets (and your boyfriend's arms), wrapping a sweater tightly around yourself and plopping into your desk chair. 

That, of course, was forty-five minutes ago when you woke up anxiously scrambling to make sure you didn’t have anything secretly due that you somehow missed when looking…damn near, a million times. You even made Brian look (more than) a couple of times last night to make sure your eyes weren’t lying to you. 

Now, all your notebooks and highlighters littered your desk and surrounding area, your textbook opened to God knows what page at this point. 

You skimmed the chapters over and over, really hoping that it’d stick. Well, that was until you heard a soft shuffle behind you, close enough to break you from your concentration. 

“Babe,”  the voice was groggy, obviously still half in dreamland. “What are you doing? Studying again?” 

You’d been caught red-handed. Obviously, Brian didn’t think that going to bed at 1:30am, after he practically had to drag you there, and then waking up sometime before 6:00am was an ideal studying habit—especially when he knew you had class on top of it. 

And you knew that a regular sleep schedule would probably benefit you more than studying hours upon hours at a time. But, you were stubborn and determined, a nasty combination, to get a good mark on the exams. 

Nonetheless, when you turned your head back to your papers, Brian took hold of the rolling chair and pulled you back from the desk. Comically, your arms flew out in front of you as if you were getting dragged away from something you loved, desperate to stay together. However, your feelings were quite the opposite. 

His voice was soft when he spoke again, spinning you around to face him instead of your scribbled notes. His hair was messy, t-shirt wrinkled. “Aren’t you tired? Don’t you know that you should get around eight hours of sleep every night—you were the one who told me that sleeping was just as beneficial as studying relentlessly. If you’re tired later you’re not going to remember anything.” 

You pouted, crossing your arms childishly, but he just thought it was cute. 

“Okay, erm-actually, I’m actually not ti—“ but before you even had a chance to lie, a yawn clawed its way up your throat and out, cutting you off. 

He smirked. “What was that?” 

“You’re not funny.” 

“Come back to bed,” he stated, though phrased like a question, like it was actually your choice. “Your class isn’t until ten. You can get at least two more hours in.” 

And then he was ushering you up, despite the spews of your complaints, ones he just ignored, and back onto your side of the bed. He pulled the blanket over you before walking to his side and laying next to you again—like it should be, like he wanted it to be. Then, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you to his chest tightly (mostly so you didn’t escape again). And his warmth, and rhythmic-beating heart against the silent air lulled you to sleep—like it should be, like he wanted it to be. 

You had to admit, though, it was much better than studying.

Then, and only then, when he knew for sure that you'd stay, did he let himself fall back asleep too. Keeping you tied down to Earth was his top-priority; But, you knew he’d always take care of you anyways. 

“What are you doing here, Seungmo?” you asked casually, going back to the blade you were sharpening; It was for hunting animals to keep your siblings alive, not people, though you were pretty sure you’d do anything if they were put in harm's way. “You know they’ll come looking for you, and—“

“They won’t find me, not until I hit a clearing. You know they don’t come in these parts of the forests.” 

You huffed a breath out of your nose, watching as he suddenly—as if breaking down—sat, and then laid his head on your lap, eyes immediately closing like he’s never felt comfort so overwhelming before. 

“But you do.” you barely stated over a whisper, and if he heard it, he ignored it. 

You were taken aback, but he went on casually. “They’re scared of the rumored elf-assassins.” He didn’t even seem to care about the weapon you were practically dangling over his perfect face. Or the fact that you were the (animal) assassin he was referencing. 

You set it to the side, though, before running a finger over the tip of his pointed ear: The proclaimed Elf King of Ikigai. He hated when you referred to him as a prince, as anything but his name. 

He giggled quietly, eyes remaining closed, and you stored away the fact that he must’ve been ticklish there. 

Your heart beat at an unsteady rhythm as the silence overtook; Besides the crickets and birds chirping in harmony, or the melodic echo of wind through the trees. It was peaceful, maybe that’s why Seungmo liked it out here with you. 

“We should run away together,” the smile on his face was almost as bright as the sun, contrasting the uneasy one on yours. Your hand was wrapped tightly by his fingers, grounding you in an all-but proposition. “We could get married a few towns over, maybe in Noeul. And-and then, I don’t know—we could go north, up to the forests of Sori. You always talk about those from your childhood.” 

“Seung,” your hand fell to his cheek, thumb running over the untainted skin. “You can’t.” 

His features fell, and he backed off of you. It sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine, like the grasp of ‘what-if’ was tight around the vertebrae’s. 

“Let’s go,” you could barely see through the water-splotched painting that was your eyes, voice a mockery of what it normally was. Seungmo shot his eyes open, more in confusion and shock. “Let’s leave.” 

He sat up, turning to you once again. “What? Are you serious?” 

“Let’s go to Natsukashi. Tonight-today, let’s get married and—” 

You were suddenly cut off by his lips on yours, swallowing any confession or statement you were about to make. 

Your palms fell to his cheeks, pulling him closer to you, as close as he could possibly get…until you toppled to the floor, the mood lightening in the wake of a cloud passing the sun. 

His eyes were bright, stars dancing behind them, and it made you wonder what he saw in yours. Was it the melancholic glow of the sunset, or the ranging abyss of the deep-ocean? You wondered where he saw the beauty, the willingness to run with you for the rest of his life. 

You wondered if he really understood the risk of leaving it all behind in Ikigai. 

“I love you.”

But he was your prince now, not theirs. And he never liked being called that anyways.