#onew fic

Onew's favorite fan letter is one he received while on vacation. 

"I don't' have to wear a mask," he thought on his walk to the park closet to his hotel. "Nobody will recognize me when I am so far from home." 

It was rejuvenating— breathing deeply, feeling the early autumn wind breathing on his face, living among the goldening trees in this beautiful moment of clinging to life before the death of winter. Winter, the time when the sun hides and twinkling Christmas lights sometimes— often— always fail to replicate warmth despite their beauty. Winter, the time when all reflect on the past and all at once, for better or for worse, all feel it in their bones: just how much has changed. 

Onew closed his eyes as he eased himself onto the park bench below the line of pine trees, welcoming the rising flood of memories. There was nothing to fear; he would not drown. When his eyes opened, they did not fill with tears despite the needle piercing through his heart and tapping to the tempo of ever-fleeting time. Peace found him once somewhere in a dream; peace wouldn't leave; peace was hard to forget when living for a moment among the trees and the sunlight. 

Then she appeared, wearing a bashful smile, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, trying to hide the words "SHINee World" written on her sweater. Holding out a page likely torn from the blue notebook clutched in her hand, she said in his language, in a distinctly American accent: "I love you." 

Maybe that was the only phrase she could say in Korean. 

All Onew could think as he accepted the papers and scrambled to return her kindness with the quick bow of his head was that this girl leaped over language barriers to speak to him on a day that he hadn't expected— he hadn't dreamed of being recognized. 

After he thanked her, grinning down at the page in his hand, marked with English words he could not read, the girl bowed and turned to continue on the hiking trail lined by pine trees. The name on the back of her sweater— not his name but His name— took his breath away and reminded his eyes how to tear. 

Onew stayed awake well into the night to type the girl's night into a translating app. He though the effort paid off when he read: 

I'm sorry I can't write in a language you understand, and I'm sorry that my handwriting is so terrible. I am trying to write this quickly as I try to gather the courage to share this note with you before you disappear. Please know that your voice— your literal voice and your solo album— is among the most beautiful in the world. Please know that your voice is such a comfort, such an inspiration, one of the brightest lights in the darkness. Thank you, Onew. 

You had fallen out of the habit of dating, electing to instead focus on advancing your career. Once you earned that long-awaited promotion— just another thing marked off your list of goals— you wondered what harm could be in just one date. 

So you casually asked your most trusted friends if they knew anybody worth meeting. And almost immediately, over a cup of coffee in a local cafe, your friend gushed, “I know the perfect person.” Then, perhaps sensing your anxiety, she hummed comfortingly, “Don’t worry— it’s one of Minho’s friends!”

“Oh no!” You groaned somewhat jokingly at the mention of her boyfriend, who you had known for far too long. “Now I’m really worried!”

She swatted at you playfully, unable to restrain her giggle. “Yeah, I admit Minho can be a piece of work sometimes.” When you eyed her challengingly, she admitted with a sigh, “Okay, he’s a handful most of the time. But Jinki isn’t like that. He’s really, really nice.”

“A double really?” You inquired. Your friend always called someone ‘really, really nice’ when she was concealing some kind of flaw. 

“Yeah,” she said confidently. But as she scrolled through her phone for a picture of him, she admitted, “I mean, he’s a little accident prone. . .” She trailed off as she held her phone out to you. 

Of all flaws, being clumsy wasn’t the worst. So as you accepted the phone, you defended the man you hadn’t even met yet. “He can’t be that bad.” And as you looked through the pictures, you acknowledged, “He’s cute—”

“And nice,” your friend reminded once more. You returned her phone, and she said, “Look, Y/N, nice people are hard to find. Anyway, I’ll tell Minho to give Jinki your number, alright?”

“Sure,” you consented with a shrug. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

You spent the next week texting Jinki at every opportunity. What started as a bored venture into dating somehow evolved into a heart fluttering adventure. It was as if you were holding your breath between every interaction, so when Jinki asked to take you on an official date, you may have reacted with an overly enthusiastic yes, contrary to the popular tactic of playing hard to get. 

He met you at your apartment with a broad smile and offered his arm as he escorted you toward the setting sun. “I’ve heard so many things about this place,” he said when you asked where you were going.

“I’m sure it will be lovely,” you assured. But you hadn’t expected to be led to a five star restaurant. 

And when you glanced at Jinki’s wide eyed, slack jawed expression, you reasoned that he must have been surprised too. He only reluctantly approached the hostess’ podium when you nudged him forward, and you could have sworn that when asked for a name, Jinki whispered, “Choi Minho.”

But you were too overwhelmed to question what you heard. You and Jinki both, although well dressed, clearly did not meet the standard of this restaurant. You knew it— but so did everyone else, staff and fellow patrons alike, judging by their unbroken stares as you followed the hostess to the table.

Thankfully, this didn’t distract Jinki from acting like a perfect gentleman. So as you slipped into a conversation, you easily forgot about the critical stares of strangers. Until the first incident, that is. 

Apparently the waister tipped over Jinki’s foot, and he unceremoniously toppled over, spilling drinks all over the table and your white blouse. The ensuing chaos turned heads, of course, but you only cared about Jinki’s thousand apologies. 

“Hey— It’s okay.” You laughed as you assessed the damage to your shirt; thankfully, you had worn an undershirt. “It’s just water.”

But that didn’t prevent him from racing over to your side of the table to offer his jacket to conceal your stained shirt. On his way, he stepped clumsily over the waiter, who had crouched onto the floor to pick up the cups. The waiter glared at Jinki as if his life had been threatened, and you had to stifle your laughter. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jinki repeated as he draped the jacket around your shoulders.

“My apologies.” The waiter stood and spoke through gritted teeth. “Let me sit you at a different table.” And once you finished the walk of shame to a corner where, you’re sure the waiter hoped, you would attract less glares, he promised to return with new drinks. 

You tried to interest Jinki in a new conversation, but the blush seemed to have permanently settled on his cheeks. 

As you finished your meal, Jinki repeated, “I’m sorry I turned this into such a disaster.” And before you could argue that you were actually enjoying his company, he continued, “Let me just get the check—” and he raised his hand to call for the waiter.

But in the process, he hit the waiter in the face full force. The loud SMACK once again led stares to your table; the waiter appeared to be holding his breath and Jinki, now a brilliant crimson, couldn’t even will himself to look at the waiter.

And you knew you shouldn’t laugh. The cutting silence that overcame the entire restaurant made that evident, but you couldn’t help it. Suddenly, you were overcome by a laughter that seized your entire body. Before you could hide your face against the table cloth, you were sure you saw Jinki smile shyly at your reaction. 

“Please,” the waiter begged as he pressed the bill on the table, “never come back, Mr. Choi.”