#idtaekyoon

—send me 🎄 to know how/if my muse has decorated for christmas this year

it’s a well established fact that kim sungyeol was at the very least three fourths grinch. he did not care for christmas, his apartment staying clean from any hint of the holiday throughout many years he’s lived alone. however, this year he dragged a tree into the twelfth floor apartment by an exclusive request from to other than lee sunjung. because frankly, if the barbie wanted a tree, he was going to get her a tree (his many complaints of cleaning, decorating and disposing ignored and left forgotten in his car).

“my house smells like the inside of an old audi that was turned into a cab with furry seats,“ a very specific description for the pine aroma slowly sinking into the walls of his apartment. 

needless to say, he refused to decorate it further than to place it at a flattering corner of his apartment. any decorations that ended up on the tree were a signature of belair, as sungyeol pretended to be busy with some sauce for a home-made christmas eve dinner. 

and that’s where the decorations ended for him.

@idtaekyoon, SBS studios

To say that Erin was bored would be an understatement. A massive one. She was bored at 8:30, after all the Koala.T trainees had settled in and the wait began for their turn to rehearse. That was four hours ago. The trainees were under strict instruction to not leave their assigned area and, for once in her life, Erin couldn’t convince anybody to break ranks with her. What good was an adventure if she was going on it alone? It wasn’t like the trainees had been provided with any sort of entertainment. They were set pieces, props, more than anything. Little care was given to how they felt. This was just another sacrifice on the road to becoming an idol; everyone understood that. Even Erin. Still, when the time to eat lunch rolled around, she was the first one out the door. She was happy to get the chance to stretch her legs, maybe shake off some of her cabin fever. 

The SBS cafeteria looked like any other cafeteria. The only differences between it and the cafeteria at a local office building were the idols that scattered about, filling tables and buying food. Erin had only been to the SBS studios a few times before, to backup dance for Nightmare as she was for the Gayo Daejun. For her, the place still held a sense of novelty. Erin smiled as she and the rest of the Koala.T trainees made their way through. She did a fair bit of gawking, too. All of the trainees seemed energized just to be around new, different idols from competing companies. Erin was no exception.

The trainees filed out a couple of tables and their manager — babysitter, really — went to go collect the food. Immediately, the gossiping began.

“Ahh, are those the boys from 1nferno?” one trainee asked in an excited whisper. “They’re even cuter in person!”

“I heard that one of them is dating another idol,” another said, knowingly. This was met with hushed demands that she say who. Erin was more than happy to join in, telling stories from her time at Singularity to her new Koala.T friends. Soon enough, the food arrived. 

“The famous Inkigayo sandwich! Oh, I hope there’s something in mine!” Erin’s neighbor exclaimed. Erin looked at her blankly. “You don’t know?! They say that idols exchange numbers using the sandwiches.

“Wouldn’t they just eat the number by accident?” Erin asked, only half joking. She could definitely see herself munching through a piece of paper mixed in with all the strange ingredients. But now, she was curious. Everyone began eating, carefully unwrapping their sandwiches to search for a phone number secreted away inside. No one found anything. Except for Erin, that was. 

“No way.”

Tucked inside the plastic wrap was a small slip of paper. There was a phone number on it. A phone number. The girl next to Erin squealed when she saw it. “You have to text them!”

Erin didn’t need telling twice. She typed the numbers into her phone, quickly creating a new contact. Without pausing for a moment to really think about what she was doing, Erin fired off a series of messages.

[sms; sandwich person] hey

[sms; sandwich person] hey hey hey

[sms; sandwich person] heyyyyyyyyy [image attachment] 

                that’s the paradox of loss. how can something’s that gone weigh us down                 so much?                                                                                           — j. picoult ( @idtaekyoon )                                                                   ★

it hurts too much. it hurts too much to be with young taekyoon.

because he broke her heart, maybe---or rather, she broke his. she still remembers it vividly: the break-up, that is. his face, his expression. it was around this time, in fact---a cold, winter day in december. the weather clouded with gloominess, as if in some sort of foreshadowing. she remembers she couldn’t look him in the eye the whole time, not even once, because she knew that if she did, it’d be over. she’d lose.

if that’s what makes you happy, hyera. she wonders if, after four years, she can confidently say that,  that she’s happy?

but the answer still remains clear, even without words---it speaks through hollow eyes, empty movements. through unconscious isolation, the relentless throwing of self into work as a distraction from such a fact. through the scattered beer cans on her floor, the sudden text message of her asking him if he’d like to catch a drink the middle of the night. and then, she’s reminded---that she’s not happy ... at least, not when others are.

kiss her! it’ll be cute! why can’t people just mind their own fucking business?

for with their drunken stupor and blissful ignorance, they don’t notice---how painful it is, to look at him and realize that a part of their past still lingers (and bears no sign of letting up any time soon). is this what they wanted?---their jeering, did they know that, instead of bringing them together, it succeeds with the complete opposite? did they?

how is this fair?

because of them---because of complete strangers, with no awareness of their history (of their baggage)---she’s on the verge of tears, eyesight blurring as she makes contact with the floor. she pushes him away, obviously, to a distance that feels like miles apart. her jaw clenches, eyebrows furrow---why did he have to do that?

“it’s not fair.”

her fingers furl inward, hands balling into fists. “i worked so hard---these past four years, i did everything. to avoid you, to forget about you, so why---” her breath hitches, lips quiver.

at first, he doesn’t notice the mistletoe. iseul’s eyes are drawn to taekyoon fingers carding through kirby’s thick fur. he scratches between his ears as kirby prefers it; the cat’s blue eyes shine a shade radiant, overly content. this is normal, waking up in the morning to a visitor, to taekyoon paying him a surprise.

a good morning indeed.

iseul smiles, wide and elated. worries of the cold nipping his nose and cheeks are washed away when he hears taekyoon’s laughter: hearty, full. such a pretty sound iseul wants to script to memory to a beat in his head. is it weird to say he can make a song about his best friend’s laughs? he surely has penned a poem about it somewhere. (iseul mentally pins the remainder to include that in taekyoon’s gift.)

only when salem paws at taekyoon’s back does iseul curiosity spark. the black cat, too observant for its own good, nudges and prods. its nose twitches and ears perk. “do you have food with you? i’m starving!” it’s what he figures. taekyoon probably made him something scrumptious. something they can feast on as two cats play at their feet.

but it’s not food. not anything edible, iseul assumes.

he barks loud, scattering the felines to cower behind curtains and under a christmas tree.

“i think you’re supposed to hold that up over my head for me to kiss you.” the smirk he wields is almost sly. like the type he tosses to fans from stage. the flirtatious, charming smile that elicits screaming mayhem. but to taekyoon, it comes too naturally. like iseul’s looked at him like this before.

maybe he has.

so he crosses the living room, stands under the mistletoe taekyoon’s holds over both their heads and laughs some more. they’re both snickering, but iseul can’t help being drawn to the staccato of taekyoon’s voice. so melodious, so charming, infectious. iseul forgets why he’s chuckling, anyway. perhaps because taekyoon is, and the response itself is automatic.

greed for more takes over. as does the tradition of mistletoe hanging above them. hands move effortlessly through the air, cupping taekyoon’s face. he’s warm to the touch. their foreheads kiss first. then their noses. finally, he makes taekyoon’s laughs his.

lips collide in a manner akin to passion. iseul kisses taekyoon hard. kisses him as much as he adores him. as much as he’s thankful for him. he kisses him with all he has and then some. time stops a second before eight. sunlight seeps in, mars their façades golden when actually, iseul’s is slightly pink.

Send me ❄️for my muse’s response to being underneath mistletoe with your muse.

sixth day of christmas: mini holiday meme❄️ / what is hyera’s response to being underneath mistletoe with taekyoon, on purpose?

{a chance encounter with @idtaekyoon}

sejun feels his eyes falling closed as he continues to move along with the heavy beat that falls over the club, the bass resonating from his chest and fueling his bones to keep moving. it’s been a long time since he’s had fun like this, a moment to just drop the mantle and breathe free. he’s lost track of the amount of dance partner’s he’s had, moving through the crowd and changing hands with a change of songs. he’s hot, sweaty, and feels his shirt sticking to the swell skin of his back. plucking at his t-shirt, he fans his chest and pulls himself back from his latest dancing partner, an apologetic smile gracing his lips.

crossing the floor, he heads straight for the bar, intending to continue the pleasant warmth that had settled over him. sejun leans against the slightly sticky and wet bartop, scrunching his nose in disgust as he flags down the bartender. while he waits, his fingers drum against the wood and although he left the dance floor behind, his body continues to slightly bob along with the music. it seems like only moments before two shots are slid closer to him. he grins at the bartender and quickly down one of the shots. he leaves it behind as he pushes himself away from the counter and lets his eyes rove over the floor, planning out his next move.

( green, 1gp ; noah plays the arctic version of chubby bunny with @idtaekyoon. )

noah isn't as drunk as he appreciates, but he wishes he is.

his vision isn't marred around the edges. there's no faint fog of liquor clouding his sight. there's no mental distortion that tarnishes logic. his breath doesn't reek. doesn't send people away with hands waving in front of noses. (it’s coming. creeping in.) so, he's a sober man with a white sheet draped over his shoulders. (“is that a cape?” “are you wearing a toga?”) neither; he's a ghost because he's lazy, and he's really only here for the booze.

and because he has to be, but he doesn't pay too much mind to this. instead, he's focused on the group chat, the dares, and the odd points tied in with everything. now, he has never been a fan of saw and after being embroiled in a similar game, noah can safely conclude he won't ever like it. but at least... at least it's just playing a rather frozen rendition of the infamous chubby bunny challenge that plagued the early days of youtube.

he might risk frostbite, but at least he isn't cutting off a foot. or taekyoon's foot because as self-absorbed as noah is, he can't hurt another member. especially taekyoon. call him bias or whatever. he won't deny the soft spot he has for the younger imperial member. he likes him. thinks he's exceptional. admires him. just don't tell anyone. it will clash with his quiet, man of few words, ice prince image.

on the bright side, they'll just get frostbite together. yay. friendship goals.

gagging, noah wants to vomit, and it's not because he's drinking his beer too fast but because the alcohol percentage is too low, it physically disgusts him. sad. the bottom of the bottle leaves a crescent smudge on the tablecloth once he downs what's left. no increase in body heat. no asian glow.

nothing to protect from the cold. how thrilling.

“so,” he begins, picks up a cube of ice from a bucket, then hisses and drops the frozen liquid because it's far too cold, and he's far too sensitive to below zero temperature. this is a bad idea. a stupid dare. “are you sure about this? won't our mouths become numb or something? or is you being jack frost granted you some kind of immunity to the cold?”