#memseni

↳ the rng chose . . . *drum roll* . . . Chanté!

@memseni  in response to this. 

milk&honey. ( badboy!samxpoetrystudent!jamie back at it again )it’d been something of a joke. 

sam doesn’t particularly like black coffee, it’s no secret to the people close to him that he likes milk and honey in his iced coffee. it’s assumed by the rest of the world that he prefers it black and dry and devoid of any love and emotion. and to keep up the persona he’d settled for adding the milk and honey to his cold brew only after he reached the comfort of his studio. the disgust on the barista’s face. or even the gall of some of them to say they’d never date a guy who drank black coffee.

irrelevant. because one, who cares what coffee he likes. and two, he’s off the market. completely totally, without question.

which is where the question comes in.

what do you say to the person you’ve somehow become hopelessly devoted to?

 after a few motorcycle rides of small hands around his waist, and suddenly he’s feeling incomplete without it. with a kiss on the cheek as jamie’s running off to class, something a little sweeter than the loads of honey he has to dump in his cup. hopelessly staring after her because it’s the morning after the note she’s left on the coffee table. staring after because she’s bought the coffee this time, with milk and honey.

and he’s made the joke of saying thank you honey when he’d received it.

sam’s not one for thoughts like this. consuming thoughts maybe, but the kind that are so saturated in a beauty that covers and fills every corner, he’s not used to that. laughter, smiles, little touches and bright blushes. he’s really not used to that.

love? he’s hopeless at that.

or so he thinks.

but he’s doing the best he can ( or so his mom says ) while he sips out the coffee and she nags at him for drinking so much of it, and comments on how spaced out he’s become. how full of life his paintings are. how enthralled he is that she could see it on his face. like the joker she is, his mother takes a screen capture of his face on video call just to show it off.

‘he’s in love’ she tells his stepfather. sam doesn’t say anything.

instead, he opts for paying attention to how jamie’s face lights up when he suggests going to the beach. how she jokes that it would ruin his image and he jokes that he’d let her be the one to ruin it.

‘meaning?’“the beauty to the beast?”‘he kidnapped her.’“i’m kidnapping you to the beach aren’t i?”‘you make it sound as if we’re eloping.’

sam considers a response to that. considers multiple responses to that, and instead revs up the engine to get going.

he hasn’t mentioned it. or rather, neither of them have mentioned the letter really. as if jamie would, as if sam knows how. he’s really only known how to do rather than to talk. do like fixing her helmet snug and leaning back to kiss her a few times when they’re stuck at a light. a few more times when she shies away and tells him to go when there’s a green light.

so he goes. and they get there. jamie’s off and heading towards the shoreline in seconds. sam’s on her trail, sketchbook never far from his hands. he’s been caught in paint for a while so he figures it’s a good day for simple drawings. she’s yelling at him from the shore and he’s too busy outlining how the water stills when it falls around her. how it seems so silly but so real. how the light starts to extend each time she laughs and waves in his direction.

unreal.

until it is. and she’s right above him. observing as always, dripping water and full of questions.

‘you’re sketching?’“you’re dripping.”

but he has a towel ready, because it’s as nice outside as it is a little chilly. 

‘that’s me?’ despite the water dripping, he’s leaning to snag another kiss.“it’s always you.”

because that’s the truth. it’s always her nowadays. and he’s readily accepted it rather than question it. it’s why it’s so easy to say it, even as he continues with his work. sam’s used to jamie watching him sketch sometimes, but he’s more used to the questions she often has, so the silence has him looking up.

‘always me?’“i always sketch you, you didn’t know?”

now she’s beside him, shoulder against his, water just a little chilly but jamie warm as ever.

‘can i see?’

so he shows her. flips through the past pages, the small doodles, the unfinished ones, the elaborate ones and abstract ones. flips and recalls what each day was, days she was late, days that she was studying while they went for coffee. flips until he’s back to this, and the letter that’s pasted conveniently before it. the little letter of love she’d left on the coffee table a few days prior. at this point jamie’s head is against his shoulder, cheek plastered so close that he can’t tell if it’s just warm from body heat or her blushing.

he doesn’t ask.

“sketches are meant to be as realistic as possible, but i do abstract designs a lot so a lot is just from my perspective. if it looks strange - sorry about that.”‘no - it’s fine. it’s not strange - it’s - that’s how you see me?’“as a complex set of lines?”‘sam.’

“hm. the sketches - don’t quite come close. even if i drew them as realistically as possible. that answer your question?”

ironically it’s answers his own question.

because what sam can’t say. he’s always found he’s better at drawing, painting, conveying on canvases, much how jamie conveys to pen and paper. he’s been worried about expressing, forgetting that when she curls into his arm like this - he can’t be doing too bad of a job.

“ i’m sorry. “ 

The smell of the sea draws her out from the bathroom where she had been getting ready before Insoo had woken up that morning. The warm breeze kissed her cheeks as the curtains fluttered in the wind from the waters below. A grin curled up her lips at the sight of his silhouette against the rail of the balcony. She considered pinching herself to see whether she was still asleep. The entire experience had been dream like. From landing a new job to a celebratory vacation to him. The prince who had materialized out of thin air and now stood so present in her life. It was hard to wrap her head around it so she never bothered to.

Instead she made her way behind him, loosely wrapping her arms around his shoulders so she could perch her chin on his shoulder. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Looking out to the turquoise waters under them only made the experience even more surreal. The morning sun had just risen to its position, blanketing the expanse with a warm glow. Streaming through her golden locks, and elucidating a dreamy sigh from parted lips. Closing her eyes for a second she let the sounds and feelings wash over her. One second, and then just another to soak it all in.

Letting her arms fall back to her side, she leans her back against the balcony, off-white dress light enough to dance with the wind. She offered him that bright grin that he always said he adored, before reaching out to take one of his hands in hers. “And so? What’s the plan for today?” It was Insoo who had suggested the trip, and was often the one who took initiative in their outings. If it were up to Ara, she would have planned their destinations three months in advance and made sure to find every coupon code while she was at it. Although she was working her way up her career, Ara didn’t have the luxury of wealth that he did.  

a thread with @memseni (Harin)

+

Meeting someone new after his last break up had not been an urgent matter on Han’s agenda. It was traumatizing nor noxious, a delightful kind of love even that Han often thought he didn’t deserve the amount of affection she gave unconditionally. People say you shouldn't take things for granted, and up to some point, Han might have become dependent on that kind of comfort. It faltered as unhurried as how the season changed, natural and inevitable. So when the opportunity to meet someone knew came to his door, it took Han a while to realize he has been single for months now. Works and new opportunities had been taking most of his time which was the only reasonable excuse he could give whenever his friends asked him to go back socializing. 

The ‘stop being boring and bring back the old Han we know’ comment fumed him a little. 

So when the sun was up on the next day, he was already on his way to the meeting point of a cafe he had never heard before. It seemed the neighborhood had made minor changes, yet enough to fascinate him how much it had opened up to different stores and constructions. According to the map, the cafe was hidden far from the main street, only accessible through smaller roads where fewer people passing by. It was rather unusual for Han to walk around that side of the block as if it opened up to different universe he barely visited before. He checked on his device again and made sure the board sign hanging ten feet away from the road was the right place he was heading to. He took a deep breath and entered the cafe.

It was quite empty even though the time was close to lunchtime, but from the number of seats he counted when Han walked in, it seemed it was not an ideal place for a heavy meal. There were only a few sets of tables with 4 seats on each one, clustered on different corners in the room. He looked around, to see if the person he was supposed to meet that day already arrived. There was a middle-aged woman with her puppy in one corner, but Han didn’t think his friends would prank him to meet up with an older lady. Another person with long black hair down to her shoulders was sitting deep into the room; if he didn’t catch her making a light move, Han would think he was seeing a ghost.

@memseni

‘don’t you have something you should be doing?’ “i do.”

well responsibilities and him are far from a match made well. by his own choice really - hyuncheol has the ability the  - capability to be responsible. he’s just selective. and rather lazy and apparent about the fact. it’s residue from a childhood that tries too hard to cling. the thing is - his carelessness is still responsible. careful.

like how he’s waited until it’s early where the sunlight starts seeping into the room to drop by. ( not necessarily drop by see jinsoo wouldn’t have opened the door if he’d knocked this early - he’s simply extended his stay and was woken up by the sound of slippers and coffee. ever the studious one. )

but daylight means that those who would cause harm, stress or anything of the sort, have half a mind. strategic enough to know to leave him alone in the daytime, to give up chasing him into the late hours of the night. that’s how he finds himself here. not a risk seeing as he’s parked the bike quite a distance off. he’ll walk it when he feels like getting back up.

which is no time soon.

because jinsoo’s sitting at her desk, pouring over her notes, glasses sitting lopsided on her nose, but her image still pristine this early. pristine - but cute. he hasn’t moved from his spot on the bed, wondering when she’s going to kick him off. seeing as she’s too focused he’s taken to playing with the bear seated up against the wall. a stretch, a few tinkers with the necklace around it’s neck and he feels her gaze - quick and piercing.

‘seriously?’ “let’s go eat.” ‘you go eat.’ “come with me, i’ll get a discount if i go with a pretty girl.” ‘i’m not going so you can say i’m your girlfriend.’ “i’ll say it whether you go with me or not.” a shrug is his response, the early morning yawns and stretches not eough to clear his mind from it’s sleep-driven fog and raw exposed words. even as hyuncheol says the words, even as he awaits whatever response jinsoo’s got up her sleeve, he doesn’t take it back. he’s never been the type of person. learning how short life was has made it so. perhaps - it’s this approach to life that also makes it hard for his words to fall past face value. because as quick as jinsoo’s pausing at him, she’s back to her work.

“did you name any of them?” ‘any of who?’ he feigns offense, holding up one of the bears as display. “your children, our children.” ‘why do I have to name them. you got them.’ he tries not to grin too hard at the lack of correction. “i provide the money you provide the love.” that gets a miniature stapler thrown at his head. ‘try again.’ “your names will be far more appealing than mine.” ‘the truest thing you’ve said all day. still won’t do it.’ “but their love.”

jinsoo doesn’t respond to that. in fact she gets silent for a few seconds, diverts her gaze from the bears ( how even they’re adorable ). but hyuncheol grabs the other two and starts to make a makeshift dance and song about how they receive no love from their mother and she’s fixing him with another cold one.

‘again - don’t you have anything better to do.’ “this is my better thing to do." ‘bothering me?’ “talking to you.”

this time the silence is appreciated. this time her hand even stops it’s path across the paper. hyuncheol is grinning silly, still holding the arm of one of the bears mid-dance as she places the pen down. it’s a relief, he was half a step away from getting lead-poisoning.

victory.

@memseni //( note: italics are bo’s native language )

‘what does that mean again?’

they’re strolling through the produce market, bo being a fan of picking fresh fruits for breakfast and tossing them in a smoothie or a salad - oatmeal if his mother is around. he’d indulged in loaves of bread and butter this morning as a bit of a cheat, he still thinks it’s important to get some fruits early in the day. they’re refreshing and it’s always a pleasure to see the workers who greet him with baskets and open arms. the joy of his country happens to be the traditions that still thrive in modern economies. the original backbone that his parents break their backs to make sure it stays intact.

in this case it’s a woman who’s handing him her own basket of strawberries and bo who’s lending his manpower to relocate the rest of her cart to a shaded, more resourceful area. sometimes with crowded markets it’s difficult to find a spot that will get the most traction from incoming travelers as well as the locals. they can only do so much to preserve the traditions, and the markets, it’s a much harder job for the farmers and producers to match their own circle of competition. he does what he can. even if it’s as small as a smile in the morning and a few coins spent in a cart he knows has been doing bad.

the strawberries are worth it. the flowers for joy who’s been strolling alongside him. well - she’s been strolling with him, always a tad behind or a tad ahead when something piques her interest. especially the carts near the bread stands. she’s spending an awful lot of time there. he doesn’t mind though, keeps an eye out for the hat over the crowd of people so he knows exactly where to follow and where to fit through.

he likes it like this. unassuming and un-bothered. he likes being able to watch her from across the street side and smile without reservation. it’s the freedom the markets give him, the fresh air and the bustle too occupied in daily life to bother with him. the privilege is not having to be caught up in that all - in that he can actually ignore it all in favor of finding her smile and sliding the flower between her ear, smiling and shaking hands with the lady who’d gifted it to him.

‘for whom you adore.’his smile is automatic, joy’s one of curiosity.

it’s obvious that he’s taken with her. comically obvious. tabloids don’t even bother discussing it as much anymore, his parents having discovered his new affection from the way he skipped out the mansion grounds one morning. it’s not that bo’s affections are hidden. he’s never been reserved as his parents are very openly loving people. their care and adoration for their people are one of the things that keeps them loved and keeps him humble. to put the people above them, to hold them higher because of the love and the devotion that they’ve already pledged to him and his family.

bo’s always reciprocated it tenfold. it’s why he knows the names of cart owners, knows their families and hardships as if they were his own.

it’s that he has so much affection to give that it’s almost impossible to not notice when there’s a difference in this. when it’s not solely love for a country and it’s people. or love for family and friends. it’s because the way he looks at her has grandparents recounting tales of when his father met his mother.

comically - painfully obvious. charmingly straightforward.

“what does what mean?” he’s caught between thanking the baker for his services and switching to answer her effectively while handing the loaf to her.‘it’s sweet.’ is the first thing she says and bo takes the moment to adjust the hat on her head, eyes taking how her expression changes with each bite.“it is. i told the baker to pick one that embodies you. though,” the moment, is halted when he takes a thumb to brush aside the sugar that’s spreading thinly across the corners of her mouth. tempted, his thumb goes for his mouth next. “it’s probably not sweet enough.” that has her covering her words in the next mouthful and bo delighting in the way her eyes dart elsewhere, the way she hurries after something else and his laughter follows at the ends of her hair.

as he comes upon her, he finds that she’s naming the ingredients at a spice stand the best she can. his language is an oral one, not strictly but traditionally and so - it’s often hard to pull manuscripts of written lessons. he could, but joy’s insisted on doing this her way. and that means combining all the things she’s interested in into one. bo watches, leaning comfortably against the pillar. he’s usually doing this, watching, admiring, wondering where someone quite as exquisite and intricate as joy could’ve come from. wondering if he’d met his quota in his duties to deserve the luxury of just being able to be here.

to observe.to adore.

she’s calling out the spices to the best of her ability, the baker looking every bit as impressed as bo must. though, intelligence on her is something more than commendable. it’s alluring, quite unhinging. and then there’s the smile, each time the baker nods at her getting it right and her picking a small pastry as a reward.

‘be still.’ he utters to his heart. the baker hears. smiles and gives him the same knowing look his parents had. the same one that seems to follow every person that finds them together. more and more as joy takes her time exploring, allowing him to show her around, though it’s more her wandering and him being compelled to follow.

compelled - damn near enchanted.

she’s busy going over the ones she’d gotten wrong, with bo whispering the pronunciations to her and joy busy trying to nudge him away and get them on her own. the baker comes out with a small jar and a note wrapped in thread.‘for whom you adore, you’ll translate yes?’  a bit stunned, caught like a schoolboy sneaking an apple while skipping afternoon lessons. bo nods his response, noticing joy’s attention peaking each time she hears words she doesn’t quite know. but the baker hands her both items, catching her hands in a gentle hold when she reaches for them. ‘for you.’ bo repeats the words by her side. ‘the secret ingredient’s something you can’t quite find, even though you’re lucky - it’s already all around you.’ joy’s head tilts, the puzzlement apparent as she unravels the note, scanning the words delicately, seriously. as always she does everything with such dedication, polished precision that’s almost too easy.

“you’re sure you’ve never been a princess in another life?” she glances up and he finds she’s already taken to tasting the spice, jar open and finger stuck between her lips. bo laughs, his adoration slipping out in a few words as he takes the jar to cover it for her while she grabs a tissue to wrap her hand in. ‘you still didn’t tell me what that means yet.’“what what means?”‘i’ve heard a few people mention it. for - for something.’“for whom you adore.”

he repeats it with the patience and practice of years of culture and the affection that’s built up the past few weeks. joy is looking at him, eager as always and bo doesn’t think the phrase comes close. and yet - it’s the only one to accurately explain it.

“it’s a saying here, you’ve got to be this tall to learn the secret.” joy’s pretty tall otherwise and the wedges she’s been sporting make it hard for him to stay above her height. her on the tips of her toes and bo raising his chin just to keep the inches apparent. he’s laughing, arms held out just in case she loses her balance and she’s holding on whether she needs to or not.

she doesn’t.he pulls her in anyway, arm wrapped delicately around her lower back. he’s careful. maybe cautious that something might break the dream. that the vision in his hold really doesn’t exist.

but joy’s frowning up at him, nothing too serious cute more than anything.“how i do adore you,” it sparks her interest and bo is quick to help her back to her standing posture, lest he forget the manners he’s sworn to uphold. ‘what’s that mean?’ she’s fixing her hat and he’s reaching to grab the flower that’d fallen.“it means looking at me like that is asking for a kiss.” he’s handing it back to her, watching how she averts her attention to it, fiddles with it between her fingers. he lets the silence sit, lets his own heart delight in her presence alone.

‘so?’ a pause. and joy’s looking up, shyness still showing in her eyes but something more challenging. different from the woman he’s followed around with all her curiosity and enchantment. still the same person but a different facet, a little hopeful, a little vulnerable and bo has to be careful with what he’s presented with. for all the trust he’s given her, this a step in something a little more precious. uncertainty, matters of the heart. he holds his hand out, tapping at the petals of the flower she’s holding, never breaking eye contact.“so.”

‘seems strange that the princess has to ask.’

it takes two and a half steps to get a breath’s distance from her.it takes two more beats and breaths to say the words, “i adore you.” it’s whispered by her ear, whispered into skin, by her temple. pressed firm with a kiss. “how i adore you.” he holds it there and joy’s hold becomes her hands fastened against the front of his shirt.‘it sounds nice, whatever it means. i hope it’s nice.’“the nicest. will only be reserved for you.” as she deserves it. and more.

his lips remain pressed until he’s glancing down, feeling the fidget of fingers in the fabric of his shirt.

‘the nicest? still doesn’t tell me what it means.’ bo smiles, weakens quite frankly.as he leans down, the kiss is sweet. coupled by the tug of her fingers, the quick intake of her breath against his. her nose as he feels her smile against his mouth, giggle shy and sweet in his arms when she steps back. bo isn’t too keen on letting her go so he keeps his hands clasped.“it means that.”