#youngbin

Living flesh, warm and soft. A fully functional mind, already spinning with observations and questions. A soul—one that seemed to already know you, already love you.

"I can't find the muffins," he says helplessly.

You smile fondly and set down the piece of clay you had been wedging. "The coffee ones? You already ate them all, Bin. They're gone."

Youngbin frowns in disappointment. For the past month your coffee muffins have been his favourite. When life was first breathed into him, they were practically the only food left in the house (you had been putting off grocery shopping). You were apologetic when you handed him over that sad espresso infused muffin at first, not anticipating his face would light up in pure elation at the taste. You've made those same muffins every three days since to feed his growing addiction.

Youngbin is a very easy person to please. Although he's still learning the full range of his emotions and feelings, he's settled into something that complements your own temperament for now. And it feels right. It feels like him. He's quick to smile, always searching for warmth or contact in some way, and he grasps onto every word that comes out of your mouth like he needs it to breathe. In many ways, Youngbin is everything you have ever longed for.

You still don't understand how he came to be. The only explanation you can reasonably seize is that this is the universe sending you something good for once. Whether Youngbin is meant to be a distraction or a starting point, you aren't sure. Your loneliness had been all-consuming in the past. Some nights, it still is. But now, for the first time, you have someone. It's exciting and terrifying all at once.

Youngbin is still a bit rough around the edges. You had to teach him how humans worked those first few days. How to eat, when to drink water, how to get used to his body and understand its signals. He was clumsy and adjusting for the first week. But it gave you a purpose. From his first breath, he's been a quick learner, so you never had any doubt he would come into his own. Even after the first hour spent with him, there was no denying it. Youngbin—your work of art—was human.

"Can you make more? Please? We didn't run out of instant espresso again, did we?"

You sigh as you feel Youngbin's truly unreasonable pleading skills work on you. He has such a hold on you, such a specific place in your heart and life. It hasn't been long, but you've forced to become comfortable with Youngbin immediately. Your apartment didn't lend itself to privacy for two people. You even share your bed with him now after you felt bad about his neck pain sleeping on the couch.

You feel like you've known Youngbin for a lifetime. Perhaps it was the weeks you spent carving him from wet clay, sculpting something out of nothing. Or maybe the idea of him has lived in your mind for much longer than that, waiting to be translated into something reality could touch.

For Youngbin, you are his beginning and end. Having only been conscious for a little over a month, his only point of reference is you, and he's convinced you are nothing less than angelic. Even though he's seen other humans on walks or tagging along on your errand runs, they aren't you. He had no interest in anything except you. One of the first traits you noticed in him was stubbornness.

It was only a few hours into existence that he was first met with your negative self-talk, and for someone experiencing everything for the first time, it was clear he hated it the most. He shut down any pessimistic comment you made towards yourself. The pedestal he put you on was immediate and overwhelming. You can't blame him for thinking so highly of you. You did create him. But you couldn't get used to the praise. You've never had anyone so determined to convince you that you are amazing. No matter how many times you told him you were nothing but a regular struggling adult with nothing but a 500 square foot apartment, dwindling art commissions, and crippling anxiety to keep you going, he simply would not buy it.

To you, your life was practically falling apart at the seams, hitting all-time lows. but to Youngbin, he was in awe. It's clear in every gaze and every thought. Every moment he pauses and just takes you in. The reality is always at the forefront of his mind.

He wouldn't exist without you.

You gave him being. You fashioned him out of clay in your little studio that doubled as your bedroom. Youngbin—your sculpture—was a final cry of wanting. And your desperation was answered in the form of unconditional love. He was new to this world, but he didn't need anyone to tell him how to love you. That part came naturally.

You pretend to focus back on your work, picking up your mound of clay and slapping it back on the table a few times. "I think you'll have to work a little harder to convince me to make you another batch of muffins. You ran through the last one in less than 48 hours and—"

Your words stumble into silence when Youngbin's fingers slide against your wrist. He grazes it gently; slow and steady, enough to get you to turn back towards him. His eyes hold weight to them, and his stare is more intense than you think a plea for muffins should warrant.

His hand closes around yours fully, and he takes a step back, leading you with him. The room is small, and the space between your desk, bed, and sculpting space is nearly nonexistent. With both of you holding the rest of the space in the room, there isn't many options for where to go. Youngbin chooses the wall across your bed, gently but sternly setting you against it, hands firmly on your shoulders.

You can't help but swallow, a little dry with anticipation as you try to ignore the fire that lights up inside you. Maybe you shouldn't have left him with free access to all the dramas on your computer to pass the time. He seems to have picked up a few things from them, and you are absolutely not prepared for it.

You want to say something, but you can't conjure up the words. Not under his stare that seems to cause you to sunder. He opens his mouth and you hold your breath, waiting and ready for whatever comes next. But Youngbin's grip loosens after a moment, and his brow creases in a way that reveals his confidence is lost.

That's when you break. You pull him towards you before he can step away, lips against lips in something that has been building for weeks now. With his shirt crumpled under your fists, bits of soft clay transferring onto the fabric, you turn him around, forcing him against the wall. Your touch is firm but gentle, purposeful but incomplete, like you're afraid to fully commit.

He gasps, eyes fluttering shut once he feels you push your body against his. You feel lost at first, pressing your lips against his without any real direction or thought behind it, just determination and emotion. You've never done this before, only imagined how it might feel. You didn't think your first kiss would be against the lips you spent hours carving, forming, shaping into the perfect plumpness, soft but not too big. You know them already, as if you've kissed him a thousand times. Everything about Youngbin is familiar. His body is your own doing.

He puts you in a trance when he grabs your waist and pivots again, this time stumbling in the direction of your bed. Your mind doesn't register anything except his kiss, capturing his lips again whenever he separates for even a split second. When your back hits the soft mattress, head protected by Youngbin's shielding hand, you sigh.

You've fallen into a rhythm now. A perfect dance between your lips and his. He pushes, you pull, and each second you fall deeper into each other. You want it to last longer, savour his taste for hours, but Youngbin separates first. His breath is heavier than yours, hitting just below your neck. You take a deep breath too as your mind races to catch up to the present.

When you open your eyes you're met with the wonder in his. He looks at you like you've just created him all over again. Like you've given him new life.

You blink, letting the fire burn down until there's only simmering embers left—warmth that leaves you smiling uncontrollably. He mirrors your expression, and then he flusters and ducks his head down.

"All this just for some muffins, huh?" You question, staring at the ceiling, biting back your grin. Youngbin's bangs tickle your neck as he buries his head against your chest and mumbles something equivalent to a 'yes'.

Your fingers curl around the ends of his hair and your fingertips trail the line on his neck that leads down to his spine. Every muscle, bone, and vein is there. Humanity in every breath, every emotion, every expression. It still leaves you awestruck when you think about it for too long. You close your eyes and focus on the weight of his body lying on top of yours. How comforting it is to be held by him, kissed by him, adored by him.

That loneliness that once consumed you is a distant memory. Youngbin has vanished every trace of it. His arms that wrap around your waist hold you a bit tighter, reminding you that from now on, it will always be him. Just like you, he savours the feeling of your warm skin under his; your breath on his head, your fingers in his hair, your perfume hinting under the fabric of your shirt.

"I can't make you those muffins unless you move," you whisper, teasing. He doesn't make any moves to get up. In fact, he nuzzles his head against you again and mutters a few words in that soft voice of his.

"I just want to hold you right now."

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