The diner is practically empty in the middle of the night. Only a few trucks parked on the neon-lit graveled lot, the sign noticeably flickering and buzzing if one stands under it or in silence. The drivers are scattered here and there, sometimes clumping together to discuss their work, route, games or family. A long tedious job, lonely even.
You pour coffee into their empty white mugs. There are many things you hear, many you feel too. Maybe your job is just as lonesome as theirs, working at a diner in the middle of nowhere. Beside the road, there are only the electrical towers and the flat open red desert. There are hardy aloes, big cacti and tumbleweeds. The view of the moon is something else at night while the day is sweltering under the relentless sun.
Itâs rather peaceful in a sense. The lone TV providing white noise as you work and the petrol station a few miles down does help with the business. Sometimes there are unsavoury patrons but nothing like silence and a shotgun to the face that couldnât fix. You have to thank the owner for that.
Thereâs a distant sound of motorcycle rumbling mixed with the coffee brewing machine in front of you. The bright headlight flashes through from the windows, momentarily illuminating the diner. You smile as you watch the biker dismount from his beloved darling. You could hear the crunching of gravel inside your head and in reality the bell chimes prettily along with the bass of combat boots on the black and white tiles.
âYeosang, itâs always nice to see you.â
With a helmet through his arm and a fitted leather jacket around his shoulders, Yeosang greets you with much friendliness. His dark tresses that seemed to be slicked back are now slightly messy.
Yeosang is a mystery. He appears out of nowhere one day with his bike, always spotless as if he hasnât ridden through the vast dusty desert. He has a sweet tooth which you think is rather endearing, a contrast to his tough appearance. Though Yeosang has an incredibly gorgeous face, sculpted by Aphrodite herself. You told him once and he blushed while giggling and thanking you.
The French toast you serve him comes with a vanilla milkshake. You are always impressed he could eat such a sweet breakfast for dinner then again, time is obsolete in this place. People come and leave when the time is right. You know one day, he wouldnât be coming on this road anymore. For now, Yeosang will be here and he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, marked with an angelâs kiss on one of the corners, oh so fond and a tad bashful in his confidence.
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Rin, maâam⌠itâs been awhile and you changed the layout?! I love how it looks so much đĽşđĽş If thereâs one fic that embodies âstorm writerâ itâll be the mafia-undercover cop YunGi⌠my favourite đ
HI LEO <333 and yes! im loving the new look too after sticking to purple/space theme for a very very long time hehe,, and aaaaaaa i always doubt that fic because im not very satisfied with it but im glad u like it đ𼺠also, how have u been!!
well now that cheollie is back, (i internally scream CHOI SEUNGCHEOL every time) i want to take him out on walk at the park. itâs winter but when the sky is clear and you could feel the sun on your face. to walk beside him whether in silence or in convo seems really nice. howâs seoul, tay?
seoul was nice while it lasted before my study abroad program canceled our semester and sent us home. i will definitely post pictures or share the insta i made for my study abroad adventures that were cut short. im currently back in the US fighting jetlag still from the +15 hr time difference.
but yeah. I hope youâve been doing good leo! and i really love this idea.
seungcheol would be all bundled up even though it wasn't too chilly outside, maybe like a few degrees celsius. despite the breeze the sun shines brightly reflecting off the snow like glimmering stones. conversation with seungcheol would come up occasionally but there would be no pressure to try and converse. your arms would be linked as you walked through the quiet park. it would be one of those moments where nothing else is as important as spending time together. which i think is sweet.
to my dearest soulmate and biggest supporter. hello leo! i think you know who exactly this is just by the address. i hope you're doing well, angel. i'm sorry to have left so abruptly and without any proper explanation whatsoever but spontaneity and recklessness have always been (sadly) part of who i am. i miss you very much, leo. but i also want to thank you. even though i'm not actively present anymore, i've seen the support you still give me and it warms my heart so much. you've been around for nearly as long as i've been writing and without fail, there hasn't been a time where i'm not overwhelmed by your words and actions. you're very precious to me leo and i wish you all the best!
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a.n/ HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BELOVED @moonchildsaurora!! Itâs not much but here is a little something for you! Aye, itâs queued Iâm all tuckered out under my blanket and safe in dreamscape when this goes up. Hyuk needs to stop by your port faster. I love you so much and may you have a wonderful day, my other half of tea4two!
t.w/ none
The black marble floor is cool under your feet, the only light shining into the lavish place is the moonlight streaming through the ceiling reaching windows. Hades!San guides you around the ballroom. Ever the gentleman, he too is barefooted, the King of the Underworld didnât want to step on your toes with his dress shoes.
To unknowing mortals, the palace only serves as a historical architecture but to him who holds you dearly in his arm, it is more than just a building. Anywhere could be heaven with you even in the darkest corner of his home. You bring him life. The warmth of the sun and the blooms of spring.
âSanâŚâ
âYes, my dearest?â
The inaudible song playing in his head muted to give you his undivided attention. From his first life to the current cycle, he has never forgotten you. He searches for you every time. He looks at you as if you hold the universe and to him you do. You are his universe, the life to his death, the colours to his monochrome.
Your hands cupping his face has him sighing with contentment, he cooled his eyes and nuzzles into your touch. You are always so warm compared to him.
âI love you.â
San breaks into a smile, his dimples showing. He rarely smiles yet with you itâs so easy. He knows. You know. As sure as the ichor running through his veins and as sure as the first bone chilling winter, he never once doubted you.
a.n/ happy birthday to our strong mountain, sannie! a long over due piece that was collecting dust since last summer. if you see any mistakes, you didn't.
playlist/ ânightly attractionsâ
t.w/ profanities, sexual themes (no smutty actions), one night stand
Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. The announcement said it was railway signals trouble. It was alright. You didnât mind the extra time given to you unexpectedly. The summer storm didnât let up and you were far too comfortable tucked into your seat by the open door, letting bits of raindrops showered you when strong gusts of wind blew past. Way into the late night, the train was sparsely filled, the passengers made themselves comfortable, each taking a corner of the cushioned benches. It would be a while until the signals were fixed.
The earphones clinging in your ears played the local night radio. You caught something along the lines of Playlist Saturday, âNightly Attractionsâ. Maybe it was fate toying with you because the moment the first song played, a stranger stepped onto the train and sat across from you.
A little bit older, a black leather jacket. A bad reputation, insatiable habits. He was onto me, one look and I couldn't breathe.
You bit the inside of your cheeks, profanities halted behind your teeth. Camila Cabello shouldnât be this on point.
Sharp fox-like eyes bore into yours, twinkling with dark mischief. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Rosy bitten lips quirked into an insolent smirk and you wanted to smack it off his face. The slightly oversized leather jacket framed his physique like it was only made for him. Everyone had a leather jacket, his shouldnât be this supple and perfect. It bothered you. How could a person be so fatally charming? Fuck this physical attraction.
It reminded you way too much of your ex. Because there was a slight familiarity in his appearance. Strangers at arms. You had seen him around before but always in the company of your exâs friends circle. Ex. He wasnât even your boyfriend, friends with benefits at best. Park Seonghwa wasnât your boyfriend and never did he ever introduce you to his friends. He could fuck anyone he wanted and so could you, neither of you was exclusive. It shouldnât be a crime for you to check out his friend but it left you with a tinge of guilt. You didnât even know his name. The stranger across from you shouldnât be your rebound for a heartbreak of unrequited feelings.
You wanted to move to a different carriage yet here you were glued to your seat. Hopefully, you have ironed your face to stoicism. You were not sure how you were going to keep your composure if the train didnât move soon. All you needed was to transfer to Line 3 and hoped the familiar stranger didnât have the same stop as you.
I don't give a damn about your bad reputation. Baby, I don't play with that pretty ting.
He raised his hand in greeting. You felt your heart sink slightly. You didnât know he recognised you. So much for a peaceful stormy night, you pulled out one side of the earpiece, letting the other stay lodged to provide you some distraction.
âA bit late for you isnât it? Had fun with Seonghwa?â
You scoffed at his question, what a menace. You didnât work the night shift to be associated with that bastard. His smirk widened at your reaction.
âWhy? Wish it was you, pretty boy?â
His eyes turned into little crescent moons as he laughed, dimples showing on his cheeks.
âI wouldnât mind really. But would you tumble to bed with someone so close to your⌠hmm, not boyfriend⌠Ah! fuck buddy!â
There was a guitar riff playing in your ears, tantalisingly sexy, you could move to this song slowly if you were at the bar or club somewhere. You stared at the man in front of you, you were not angry, just mildly pissed. He got under your skin so fast. Never judge a book by its cover indeed. So sweet. So sharp. Your words unintentionally matched the song.
âGo fuck yourself.â
The announcement crackled through the train. âWe are sorry for the inconvenience-â You didnât bother to hear the rest. The doors closed and the train lurched, rocking you and the leather clad menace in front of you. He didnât say a word but merely gazed at you with a neutral expression, observing, being in tune with your mood. Your phone buzzed and you rolled your eyes at the notification, head thrown back, smacking against the train wall with a thud.
[do not reply]
you free tonight?
wanna fuck?
After being ghosted for two weeks and feelings toyed for months? Yea, no. You were not free. The quirk of his sharp eyebrow tempted you. He was just convenient, you told yourself. No strings attached.
âHey, pretty boy. Whatâs your name?â
His eyes narrowed, piercing you to your seat. He was smart. You gave him that much. Much sharper than he let on, âDonât you think itâs rude to use someone? You would know best.â He nodded to your phone, âAgainst my own friend nonetheless.â
You shrugged. âHeâs neither my boyfriend nor friend. Like you said, we were fuck buddies at best. Didnât you say you wouldnât mind?â
âTrue but didnât you also said and I quote âgo fuck yourselfâ?â
You scowled at him before shrugging, whatever it wasnât a big deal anyway. You were only wanting to get back at Seonghwa. His loss for letting go of a one-night stand offer.
âFor Line 3 please change here.â You stood up and went to the door, it happened to have to open on his side of the carriage at your stop. He stood up too, he had the same stop as you unfortunately, the almost predatory presence made your skin tingle. His eyes were dark and mischievous, the shit-eating grin was back on his face, more playful than his âif looks could killâ gaze. His finger laced with yours, pulling you along to the empty platform.
âItâs Choi San by the way. So you know whose name to scream.â
But you know that it ain't real, know that it ain't real.
g/ hospital!au: angst, hurt/comfort, friendship, slice of life
w.c/ 1.6k
a.n/ inspired by âhospital playlistâ, i originally wanted to post this on mingiâs birthday but decided to save the angst for a different time. i also didnât finished it on time.
t.w/ character death
âI make paper hearts because I want and will keep on loving. This body might wither but I donât want my love to go with it.â
Song Mingi, third in the line on the heart transplant waitlist, always surprises you. Third might not seem bad for many but within the healthcare system, there are more patients needing transplants than there are donors. The third could be fatal, so does the second and first. Simply with the state of preserving organs before its expiration time of mere hours, it could go to a different centre first.
The colour of a heart is red, the anatomically correct one that is. To Mingi, pink is a heart colour. All the origami hearts in the mason jar, a little bit fuller every time you see it, are a pretty shade of cherry blossom. You see him during your break when youâre not busy, he is often accompanied by his parents during early visiting hours and his friends in the evening hours.
You should have been in the night shift room, napping in the top bunk, close to the ceiling where you bump your head on every waking time. Yet here you are folding paper cranes next to Mingi who is folding paper hearts. Colourful cranes because he never uses any other colour when making his hearts. He scribbles a wish onto the papers before folding them, keeping a tight lip whenever you ask what he wishes for because it wonât come true if he says it out loud.
âHow often do you make them, Mingi?â
His hands have long stopped moving and you are on your twelfth cranes. Before Mingi is discharged you want to make a thousand cranes. Doctors donât believe in superstition or myth like such but itâs a charming thing. You hope to make one wish for Mingi and youâre halfway there. Thirty-three cranes a day, more the following day if you donât meet your quota. You donât know where this newfound passion is burning from mayhaps Mingiâs habit rubs off on you. His to remain loving and you to remain hopeful. Something controllable in the constant of uncontrollable.
âTwo per hour. I make more in the morning to catch up on the hours Iâm asleep.â
No wonder the jar fills up so fast. 48 hearts a day. If only they have that many donors. A life for a life, a recycle or living beyond death in another person, from the brain dead to the living, humans are fascinating. âWeâll do our best.â âWe donât know yet.â Because truly there are many unexpected variables. There are many miracles and losses in a hospital.
You smile, reaching for another paper, Mingi slides the stack towards you with a grin. Youâre both the same. He fondly shoo you out to get your sleep after the thirty-third cranes of the night are threaded through the strings. The bunch hangs by his window, bringing much colour to his room instead of the fake plants.
Exactly eight hundred cranes later, Mingi starts to look thinner but his smile is still radiant as ever. You start to worry, thereâs no change on the list. His friends and family are still desperately hopeful yet so are you. âWe still have time.â How much time does Mingi have?
âDonât get too attached.â
You close the door of room four silently, nodding at the blue scrubs clad man waiting outside. The nurse accompanying him looks appalled at the blunt words but you know he means well. Mingi is not giving up and neither is the doctor in front of you, you too are far from giving up. Even if hoping hurts, you keep on hoping. Thereâs no other way other than to stay strong.
Mingiâs laughter reaches you as he greets the new guest, the nurse bowing slightly before disappearing behind the door. You walk out of the VIP ward with a lighter heart. His words ringing in your mind as clear as the blue sky outside.
He has a hand over his chest, feeling his heart beating with the assistance of the VAD machine. The jar of paper hearts is almost full, the lid is never screwed on.
âDonât you think itâs amazing? You can be hooked up to a VAD or ECMO to help the heart pump blood. Cardiopulmonary bypass to artificially keep the body alive while the heart is temporarily stopped. Modern medicine has come a long way.â
He folds another pink heart, taking his time and you observe his hands, soft golden skin from being kissed by the sun and long fingers that bends gracefully. You diligently watch how he folds his paper heart. He holds it up between his fingers and against the light, he peers into it with searching eyes. The same gaze pierces through you almost as if heâs looking at your soul. He probably is.
âMetaphorically, it can be broken many times and it will still beat. Mended and stitched together with time, a salve of healing words and acceptance. It always seems to know when something is starting and when itâs ending. Terrifyingly brilliant.â
Mingi isnât in his room when you loop through the final crane. The only pink crane in the bunch. He pouted when you asked for a leaf of pink paper but gave it to you nonetheless with a bright grin. One thousand cranes for one wish. You know your wish for him at that moment but you didnât tell him.
You sit on his made bed, staring out of the window. The sky is painted in many different shades, only a few visible to human eyes. Other than blues and oranges, the sky is overtaken by a gentle pink. Heart coloured. You glance at the jar of paper hearts, full to the rim and still not closed. You smile, knowing Mingi he would say, âlet the love overflow!â You continue to watch the sun slowly sinking beyond the horizon, lighting the other half of the works while yours turn dark. When the light disappears, your phone rings. Your heart knows before your mind does.
âGet your suit.â
Amongst the sea of black and white, Mingiâs soft smile shines the brightest and unmoving. His eyes were in permanent soft crescents, still twinkling even in monochrome. A pile of white chrysanthemums lay unobtrusively around the photo frame. When the rest of the hospital staff, families and friends have left to a different room for their bereavement meal, you stay behind to bask in the comfortable silence between you and Mingi.
You sit down in front of the long table with flowers. Pulling out a heart coloured origami, his smile seems to brighten slightly though it is all in your mind. Your fingers mimic his movements, folding them into what he folds diligently. A heart. You place them on the table. You donât know if your heart feels heavy or light. It might not feel like anything at all. Youâve braced it for this moment.
âYou should eat, he told me to make sure you eat. He got your favourite.â
You think Mingi just smiled. You look up to one of his closest colleagues, he is looking straight at the monochromatic photo with a slight frown. Mingi is a vibrant person after all. He holds a fist out, he nods toward the photo. From Mingi.
A pink paper heart lands on your palm. A gift that keeps on giving. You can only chuckle at the âopen my heartâ scribbled neatly on it. You unfold it gently, his handwriting speaking to you with the deep voice you can hear in your mind.
âHello! Knock knock! Can I come inside your heart? Now you have my heart in your hand. I donât want you to be sad! I went happily under much loving care and precious time. I donât have any regrets even though I wrote my will at such a young age, itâs still a blessing to be able to write one. I have a selfish request to ask of you, itâs mentioned on the other paper too⌠Will you take my position as the chief of cardiothoracic surgery? You have every reason to turn it down, I will respect your decision. This is burdensome but I now live through you. Thank you for housing me within your hopeful heart even when you know how it would end. Your heart is strong! Keep on loving for me!â
âIt was a match, the donorâs heart. But due to complications during the procurement, it had to go to a different centre. I suppose he wants to love with his own heart till the very endâŚâ
You nod, eyes blurring momentarily before you blink the haze away. There are many unexpected variables in a hospital. Even if the margin of human error is minimised to its barest existence, life and death will always be out of human control.
âHe left the jar for you.â
Of course, he would and you canât help but laugh, out of the sheer preparation and endless thoughtfulness Mingi put forth.
âEveryone always thought of what they have achieved so far and what they want to or will leave behind, Iâm lucky enough to be able to think of that. Donât be sad for me. Donât grief for me for too long. Let there be more hearts to open in your good days than in bad. The sun will always shine again just like how the heart will warm and beat once more.â
Standing up, the dizziness almost makes you think Mingiâs eyes are twinkling. The unmoving gentle smile somehow warms you. One thousand cranes for one wish. Your wish for Mingi has been granted. To keep on loving.
