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mirohed · 5 years

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han jisung | better off dead (i’ll be juliet)

{ HAN JISUNG + GENDER NEUTRAL!READER }

zombie apocalypse au, college au, best friends to lovers

fluff, angst

10.5k

playlist / title insp (yes it’s a thg fansong from 8 years ago)

content warning: this work contains the following: copious amounts of swearing, the mention and underage consumption of alcohol, the mention and use of weapons (guns, knives, blunt weaponry), descriptions of violent acts, and character death. read at your own risk.

a/n: happy 100 (technically 107) days to me and jisung 💓💓 special thanks to @tyongu for screening this fic and giving me the motivation i needed to pick this fic back up from its 5 month long hiatus && to @offonoffs for being a fellow member of jisung nation & expressing interest in this fic ,, it means a lot.

reviews are greatly appreciated !

You used to think that zombies weren't a realistic sort of monster—not as real as climate change or capitalism, anyway. They were better suited to being enjoyed from the comfort of your couch as you curled up with a bag of chips on a Friday night.

This, of course, all changes the night you get that fateful emergency alert.

You're at Chan's house when it happens. He's invited you and the rest of campus to his frat house for one of his famed end-of-semester ragers. He spots you not long after you enter, catching you in a one-armed embrace, full cup of beer in hand.

"Hey, glad you could make it! The night's still young, but Felix said he'd set his Switch up for some Smash up later. You should join them if you get the chance." A girl from your communications class (Ryujin?) calls out to him, waving him to join her and a few unfamiliar faces for a game of beer pong. "Sorry, duty calls. If you ever get tired of the beer, you know where to find the good stuff," he says, shooting you some quasi-finger guns and leaving you to fend for yourself.

You slip past a few couples pushing themselves up against the walls on your way to the kegs, and fill a cup of your own. Minho's there, leaned against the refrigerator and taking small sips of his drink. "Surprised you haven't switched to Woojin's vodka yet," you joke.

"Usually, I have no qualms about...sampling, but taking from him's a death wish." Taking another sip, he grimaces. "If that means putting up with the cheap shit all night, I'll take it." You mumbled an "amen," knocking your matching red cups together in a toast. You both regretted the swig you took.

"Yeah, I can't do this." You dump the shitty alcohol in the drain. "You know where Jisung is?"

"No clue."

"Damn. Well, if you manage to find something to sample, give me a call. I'm gonna go find him."

You scour the entire first level of the house, weaving through clouds of marijuana and vaguely cotton-candy scented vape juice. Unfortunately, your best friend is nowhere to be found. You don’t bother trying his phone; if he was drunk (which he probably was), all you’d get in response would be unintelligible cheers as he “gets his party on.” You ask around for a bit, but each new set of directions sounds more ridiculous than the last. (You're still not sure if Yukhei was drunk and fucking with you or being completely serious when he said Jisung wasn't at the party at all. You wouldn’t be surprised either way.)

You call it quits after about a half hour, trudging upstairs and feeling both hungry and a little sorry for yourself. Sure, you had other friends, but the one person you wanted to get wasted with was nowhere to be found.

As you head upstairs, you notice the bathroom door is wide open. A glance to your left is all it takes to see Hyunjin kneeling on the bathroom tile, puking his guts out as Jisung rubs his back in a feeble attempt to provide comfort. You make eye contact with Jisung, and he nods his head in the direction of Chan's room at the end of the hall. "'Lix set the Switch up, but Hyunjin's busy being a lightweight." He shoots Hyunjin a withering look, but Hyunjin's too preoccupied to notice. "Take over for me? He picked Isabelle, and we both know how bad I get my ass kicked when he does," he grumbles, helping Hyunjin stand on both legs. "We'll join you guys in a few."

You're planning your victory against Felix (Jisung probably picked Lucario for the "cool factor," which didn’t mean much when all he did in rounds was button mash and hope for the best) when your phone goes off, loud and insistent. Jisung's goes off less than a second later, with Hyunjin's buzzing on the bathroom counter. Based on the way Felix pokes his head out of the door, phone in hand, you can only assume he got it too.

The official alert glares up at you, a few simple sentences in all capital letters.

EMERGENCY ALERT

ZOMBIE OUTBREAK. THE DISEASE IS CONTAGIOUS. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

You exchange a look with Jisung and Felix, all seeming to share one thought: This is bad. You had heard news of this disease before; highly contagious, with nonspecific symptoms that were often misdiagnosed until it was too late and necrosis set in. Scientists had found out that it was a mutation of a disease that was supposed to have been eradicated a century ago.

Even people that were updated with their vaccinations could catch it; it was transferable via bodily fluids. If someone infected so much as got a drop of saliva or sweat on you, you were at risk. ("Just goes to show you what happens when people don't vaccinate their fuckin' kids," Minho had said, changing the channel to a rerun of Friends.)

Chan shuts the party down, kicking everyone sober enough to walk out and housing the wasted. He urges them all to find shelter and head for safety as he waves them out. "Listen, if you ever need anything, I'm just a call away," he tells you as you return to your dorm.

Seungmin, the frat's designated driver for the night (that’s a lie—it was supposed to be Changbin, but he conveniently “forgot” and left the job to Seungmin), gives you a ride back at Jisung's request. ("I'm not letting you walk back and get infected," he had insisted, arms crossed.)

The first thing you do after getting home is call him. You spend most of the video call packing your bags, just in case, tossing cans and clothes into the biggest bags you can find.

"I'm starting to think those apocalypse planners had the right idea," you say, trying to cram another bottle of water into your bag. "I could use an apocalypse bunker right about now."

Jisung dries his freshly washed hair, draping the towel around his neck. "Maybe we should beg them for shelter."

"Maybe."

“Remember when we had that plan to build our own bunker back in high school? I wish we never threw those plans away.”

“Wasn’t it you that was like ‘we’re never gonna use these, what’s the point?’” you tease, voice dropping an octave to mock Jisung. “I, for one, always thought they were a good idea.”

“But you let me throw them away!” You put down the shirt you’re folding and plug your ears, shouting that you can’t hear him. He calls you a child, but the conversation makes you feel better about what might happen after tonight.

You’ll be fine, you tell yourself as you lie awake that night. This is just in case things go to shit.

Surprise, surprise, it doesn’t even take a full week before things go to shit.

"Get in!" Jisung shouts, driving down the road at a reasonable enough speed for you to keep up with. You don't bother asking why he has a horde of zombies chasing (hobbling, really) after him. Instead, you sprint behind him, tossing your bags into the truck bed before leaping on yourself.

"Where'd you come from?" you ask, panting as he hits the gas and barrels down the road. There are a few bags, full to bursting, in the trunk with you. "The city?"

"Yeah. We're going back." Your head cranes to look at him from the glass window at the back of his hand-me-down pickup truck in surprise. "Felix is out there somewhere, and we're not leaving him behind. Chan took the others, and we're meeting up with them after we pick 'Lix up. I called Chan earlier, so the cell towers should still be up by the time we get there."

"Can't we meet him halfway? No offense, but if we go back, we're gonna fucking die."

There's no compromise. The ride's silent, save the wind whistling in your ears as Jisung drives as fast as he can (it takes him awhile to realize he can go way over the speed limit; what are the cops gonna do, stop him?) Going back might not be a bad idea anyway; he needs more fuel to keep his truck up and running, and you don’t know about him, but you’re not exactly prepared to hunker down for the long term.

It's absolute chaos in the city. Buildings burn in the distance, smoke billowing out into otherwise clear blue skies. Corpses of the undead (who are now, with any luck, actually dead) litter the streets. People have already gone feral, welcomed the lawlessness of the new world with open arms. You turn down familiar streets and see families in a hurry to leave their homes and get out of the city as fast as possible.

"You stay here," Jisung says, parking across the street from the nearest megamart. You can barely make out the action going on outside the store, but you don't think there'll be much left for Jisung to take by the time he gets there. "Call Felix. I'm gonna see what I can take."

You sit on the roof of the truck, Jisung's worn old baseball bat (now outfitted with barbed wire) in hand. Trying not to cut yourself on the sharp edges, you call Felix.

"Hello?"

"Oh, thank god. I was scared the cell towers were already down. Where are you?"

"I made it to the outskirts of the city. There's a house up here. Jisung'll know where it is, we come up here all the time.”

“Alright. You doing okay?”

“Yeah, just a little shaken up, of course,” he laughs. “Didn’t think this was how I’d be spending my time after finals.” You murmur an agreement, and he continues talking. “Don't waste your battery, alright? See you guys soon." He hangs up, and your fingers itch with the urge to text someone, make another call, but Felix was right. It's not like Instagram's up right now; everyone's got bigger things to worry about.

After what feels like an eternity, Jisung comes running with a full backpack and...a suitcase?

"Where's Felix?" he pants, handing you the heavy suitcase and tossing the backpack in the back of the truck.

"He's in a house on the outskirts of the city? He told me you'd know where it was."

"Should've known. We gotta haul ass, though—I might've pissed off, like, a ton of people." Your eyes widen; there is, in fact, a group of angry people headed your way as you take a seat in the truck bed. Jisung floors it before any of them come close, letting them eat his dust.

“Where is this house anyway?” You’re yelling over the wind, but Jisung catches it nonetheless.

“The frat’s been going there for years, I heard. It’s some tradition to get shitfaced there for initiation, so we all had to go and drink whatever Minho gave us. I must’ve blacked out, because I barely remember it. We go up there sometimes, when we need to get away.”

You leave the city and go off-road, running over new grass. There's a house you've never seen before at the top of a small hill, and it's there that you see Felix. He's managed to attract one of the damn things, but he's definitely holding his own against it, landing a few impressive roundhouse kicks on it. He's whacking at it with a metal rod when you drive up the hill, but the zombie catches on and turns it into a game of tug-of-war.

Wrenching the rod away, he returns to kicking at it, staggering the zombie with one good hit to the ribs.

But the zombie seems to have caught on to that too, and it's as you pull up to the house that it grabs onto his leg and sinks his teeth into him. Felix cries out, his skin punctured and blood dripping onto the grass underfoot. He tries to yank his leg back, but can’t seem to summon the strength, his other leg hopping about to maintain balance.

Now that he's injured, the zombie drags Felix closer, clawing at his head before—

You can't watch, and neither can Jisung. There’s a sickening crunch, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

The next thing you see is Jisung running the fucker over. A distant part of you wonders if that's bad for the car, but it doesn't feel like you're there in the moment at all.

It's like you're watching the whole thing from a third-person view. You see yourself leap from the truck bed as soon as Jisung shifts the truck into park. You can almost see the seed of unease, of we're-so-screwed begin to sprout in the pit of your stomach.

You can’t tear your eyes from Felix’s body. He’s lying face down (thankfully), but he’s stained the grass red, his leg twisted at an odd angle. You can make out the scratches along the side of his cheek from here, skin broken and bleeding.

It’s red. It’s all red. Everywhere you look, it’s—

And then you're back in your own body, throwing the car door open to yell at him. "You fuckin' idiot!" you hiss. "Why'd you do that?" Definitely not the right thing to say, but you can't take anything back now.

"What do you think? I killed it before it could kill us." He ventures into the house, purposefully shoving past you with a harsh bump of his shoulder. You follow despite his clipped tone and tense shoulders. Together, you loot the house. Jisung seems to know where everything is, handing you everything from bags of chips stored away to bottles of whiskey. (You're about to ask about the alcohol when he mutters "Molotov." You figure it's not the only use they've got.)

You come upon Felix's pack. It's the backpack he used during the school year, most of the space taken up by his clothes. Jisung shoulders the bag wordlessly before turning to leave. All you can do is follow behind.

You watch the sun set as the busted speakers play some playlist he must have put together. (You admit it'd be a good road trip playlist if not for the fact that you were in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.) His knuckles are white against the wheel, and part of you wants to talk about what happened, but you take one look at his clenched jaw and hold your tongue.

Night falls. The two of you camp out in some crop-bearing fields. He starts a fire and speaks for the first time in hours.

"Do you want to take the first shift or should I?" He's looking right at you, but there's none of the usual light in his eyes.

You think that when Felix died, part of Jisung died with him.

You end up taking the first shift, judging time based on the occasional glance at your phone. You keep an eye and an ear out, watching the fire frame Jisung's sleeping face in subtle orange.

He doesn't want to talk about it, you tell yourself. And who would? You're not exactly eager to bring the topic up yourself. You lean back on your hands as you try to think of anything except what happened to Felix.

Before long, you nudge him awake. He's a little disgruntled, but you bug him until he sits up. "Yeah, yeah. I'm up. Get some rest." You curl up in the sleeping bag (Felix's sleeping bag, but you're still trying not to think about it) and shut your eyes.

The fire crackles lowly. You hear Jisung's bones crack as he stretches. You don't sleep.

When you crack your eyes open after god knows how long, the sky is still dark. "Can't sleep?"

"What do you think?" The corner of his mouth quirks up, just a bit. You swear you hear a faint chuckle. "You know we have to keep going, right? Without..."

"You can just say it, you know. Without Felix. Without our best friend."

"Yeah. Without our best friend." You cast the sleeping bag aside, staring at the flames. He pats the grass next to him, and you crawl over to his side. When he wraps an arm over your shoulder, traces meaningless patterns and letters into your arm, you don't complain. Maybe you even lean into his touch, knowing that it might be you and Jisung versus the world for awhile.

You think you're fine with that.

When the sun rises, you and Jisung make plans to meet up with Chan and the others; there's some safety to be found in numbers, after all. Neither of you mention having to tell them what happened to Felix.

Jisung calls Chan. Then Minho. Then Woojin. Then Seungmin. Then Changbin. Then Jeongin, who's still in his last year of high school, but is an unofficial member of the fraternity regardless. Then, as a last resort, he calls Hyunjin. Nobody picks up. Changbin and Minho's phones don't even ring, instead kicking him straight to voicemail. "Maybe their phones died," you offer.

"Disappointed, but not surprised." He pockets his phone with a huff. "The cell towers are probably down. How's the radio?" You've been playing with the radio while Jisung tried calling his friends, trying to find a signal.

"I'm about to rip out the stupid dial and crush the damn thing under my foot, but other than that I'm good," you snipe, throwing him a look and a fake smile. You turn the dial all the way in one direction, more than a little annoyed at all the static you seem to be catching. To your surprise, you hear broken, unintelligible chatter. You move the radio between you two, chasing after the signal.

"-vivors...proceed to... -ary base...infec... -on entry...supplies will be rationed...gates will close once maximum capacity has been reached." The message cuts out less and less as you fiddle with the radio, and once you wait for the announcement to repeat, the full message plays.

"Attention, all survivors. If possible, we ask that you proceed to the nearest military base or encampment. The military will be on patrol to execute zombies and the infected as well as rescue clean civilians and bring them to the nearest base. All civilians will be checked for infection upon entry and routinely throughout their stay. Supplies will be rationed for as long as possible. Gates will close once maximum capacity has been reached."

You and Jisung exchange a look as the message plays once more. When he breaks into a wide grin, you mirror it with a smile of your own. "We're saved!" he cheers, wrapping you in a big hug and knocking the radio on its side. You relax in his embrace, sighing into it. You don't make any moves to break the hug, and neither does he, even after it stretches on longer than a hug between friends should.

"One problem…” you start, voice muffled as you speak into his shirt, “where's the nearest military base?"

There’s a small hospital up ahead, the white building stark against all the browns and greens you two have been seeing the past few days. “Should we check it out?” Jisung asks, eyes flitting to you. “You never know when we’d need medicine or bandages.”

“No. Before you ask why, I know we’re gonna run into zombies. I can feel it in my bones.” Jisung flattens his lips into a straight line, clearly unhappy with your verdict.

“Your bones don’t know shit.”

“Picture this: first semester of our freshman year of college, right before midterms. You’re barely passing your world history class because you don’t go to lecture. I help you cram for two days straight and tell you I can feel you getting an A in my bones,” you say, clenching your fist to emphasize your point. “When you get your midterm results back, you got an A, not only on the test…”

“...but in the class,” Jisung finishes with a roll of his eyes. “Okay, fair point. But what if you got hurt and I couldn’t save you because I didn’t have the medicine for it?” He’s pulling into the parking lot, but doesn’t shift the truck into park. You can still talk him out of it.

“Then you just let me die? It’s not that deep. Like yeah, it’d suck, but at that point there’d be nothing you could do.”

His voice is so earnest that it forces your eyes to snap to him. “We both know I can’t do that.” There’s something behind his words, an undercurrent carrying a feeling you can’t name. Carding dirty nails through his hair, he gnaws on his bottom lip. “I think I’m gonna risk it. Besides, it’s out in the middle of nowhere. I doubt there’ll be too many zombies. You sure you don’t wanna come with?”

He stares at you, and you groan, giving in. “God, park the truck somewhere more discreet. We both know I’m gonna have to bail your ass out anyway,” you sigh, opening the glove compartment and withdrawing the knife Jisung had nabbed from the frat house’s kitchen. “Might as well come with and save myself the trouble of going in there to find you.”

“That’s the spirit,” he grins, and you feel like you’ve been played.

The inside of the hospital’s dark and completely devoid of that sterile scent you don’t want to admit you liked. Instead, there’s a musty smell that pervades the building, and your nose wrinkles as you take deep breaths in an attempt to get yourself acclimated to it. “Stay close to me,” you tell him. “I don’t want you wandering off.”

“You think I’m gonna get lost? What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

He doesn’t respond, instead muttering something under his breath. “Whatever. Let’s see if we can find something.”

You creep along the corridors, breathing as light as possible. The whole hospital seems to be moth-eaten and abandoned, but you’re not sure if you and Jisung are alone or not. The rooms you enter are a mixed bag; you manage to get to the small cafeteria and bag some soon-to-be stale chips as well as several bottles of water, but you don’t get much in the way of medicine.

“Where do they keep all the medicine anyway?” you ask, turning away from the spoiled ice cream in the mini freezer, nose wrinkled. The light bulb goes off in Jisung’s head, and he smacks his face with his hand.

“The pharmacy. They keep the medicine at the pharmacy.” You take a water bottle and make as if you’re going to whack him with it when you hear a noise. Both you and Jisung tense at the clattering of equipment from outside the cafeteria. You two stick your heads out the door, Jisung scanning the left side and you scanning the right. The coast looks clear, so Jisung leads the way out the way you came.

You’re almost home free when you spot a zombie ambling about at the end of the hall, back turned to you. Jisung holds up his palm, signalling for you to stop moving. “Okay, what now?” you ask.

“It’s just one zombie,” he starts. “Give me the knife, I got this.” He hands you the backpack with everything you’ve looted, and you hesitate before giving him the only weapon you two have. He sneaks up on the zombie, getting closer and closer…

And then it rears its ugly head, letting out an ugly gurgling noise that scares the shit out of you. One arm’s in a sling and the other hangs limp; you don’t think broken arm would bother the undead too much. It charges, quicker than either of you were expecting (did zombies that were athletic as humans keep that athleticism?) and almost smothers Jisung, who loses his balance and falls hard on his hands. He manages to roll to the side in time for it to knock its head against the smooth tile floor.

“Change of plans,” he says, zombies dressed in scrubs and hospital gowns alike beginning to come out from the corner of the hall, “we’re leaving!” You help him up, slamming your heel on the neck of the zombie that almost attacked Jisung. There’s a satisfying crunch, and then you two are off, turning corner after corner trying to escape.

You don’t stop running until your feet hit cement instead of tile. You don’t stop moving until you’re both in the truck, trying to catch your breath. “You were right,” his voice is shaky, and you take his hand in yours, squeeze it in an attempt to calm him down. “We shouldn’t have gone.”

Even after his breathing returns to normal, he doesn’t let go of your hand.

You're not sure when things start to change between you and Jisung. Maybe it's when you catch yourself staring at him as he drives, right hand on the wheel and the left resting on the lowered window. (He insisted on keeping the windows down as much as possible; the air conditioning in his truck was busted, “just like the rest of the damn thing.”)

Maybe it's when you stop bothering with arguments over who takes the couch and who takes the bed. You've slept in the same bed before, sure, but that was when you were children. You remember the night it started, not long after the trip to the hospital:

You wake up with fingers already tangled in the sheets, a cold sheen of sweat on your forehead. Every blink of your eyes treats you to the sight that haunted your nightmares: Felix, one of your best friends, with eyes gouged out and flesh hanging from his cheek as he opens his mouth so wide his jaw unhinges. His tongue sits lamely in his bloody mouth as he lets loose an unending wail—

You can’t stay here. You force yourself out of bed and find Jisung still awake, staring down at his hands in the darkness. He seems to hear you coming, because he says, “You too?” before you’re even in the living room proper.

“Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” He feels around for the lantern that was left behind when the former residents evacuated and flicks it on, the warm yellow light a welcome sight. You both take a seat on the couch Jisung had been sleeping on as you try to find the words to describe your nightmare.

“It was Felix. We were at school and I...I saw him from behind, and it’s like we were all alright again. I was calling out to him from across campus, but he couldn’t hear me. Then I turned him around and then…” You shudder, and Jisung’s quick to wrap the blanket he took for himself around you. “He looked like he did after that day we found him. His mouth wouldn’t stop opening. I-” You don’t even notice your hands are shaking until he takes them in his own.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Take your time.”

“I miss him, Jisung. I miss when the three of us would fuck around and spend all our money on food and video games and have to cram just to pass our classes. I miss having to kick his ass in Smash because you never could. I miss our group calls where we make fun of him for playing Fortnite because it’s not relevant anymore.”

“I know,” he shushes, pulling you into his arms. “I miss him too. He was in my dream, at the very beginning.” He tucks your head under his chin. “It was the night of the party and he told me not to do something stupid because I could lose you. Next thing I knew, we were at the hospital and it was you facing those zombies and not me. They,” he swallows heavily, “they got you. All I did was stand there. And then I was all alone.” You stay silent, twisting the ends of his hair between your fingers.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss college.”

“You and me both.” Before long, you switch the lantern off, breathing becoming steady. Your eyes get heavier and heavier until you let yourself fall into a deep sleep.

Sleeping by his side wills away most of the nightmares. You get the best rest you've gotten since the night it all started, so good that after that night, you rarely sleep apart.

(You ignore the twinge of...something in your heart when you wake up first. There's something about his sleeping face that makes him look at peace, something about the way his arms snake around you as soon as you lie down next to him, that makes you feel something you think you shouldn't be feeling.)

"Do you think we'll make it?" he asks one night. You're both sitting cross-legged in the back of his truck, taking inventory. He picked up a map from one of the houses you've been squatting in on the way; you're halfway to the base. "Survive, I mean. Not just long enough to get to the fort, but...you know. In general." You glance up from the knife in your hands, humming.

"I hope so. Besides," you start, dragging the knife along the sharpening stone, "we've made it through everything so far, haven't we?"

"Yeah," he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit, "we have." The stars wink down at you as you work under the light of the moon and a small lantern. With any luck, things will get better once you've reached the safety of the base.

You open and close the drawers of the house you and Jisung have stopped at to gather supplies, trying to find something to take with you. The house hasn't been ransacked yet (or at least, you don't think so; the locks were in place and everything looked tidy before you broke in), but the owners sure did a good job of clearing the place out. No canned goods, no bottles of water, nothing except for some office supplies and a worrying amount of rubber duckies in the bathroom.

The lights are all off, and you're pretty sure that the house's supply of running water ran out a long time ago. The midsummer heat makes your clothes stick to your skin just as uncomfortably as the duct tape you and Jisung have taken to wearing along your arms and legs. After what happened at the hospital, Jisung didn’t want to take any risks, no matter how much you both sweat under the adhesive.

You're poring over the drawers in the bathroom when your eyes get drawn to a small box in the corner of your vision. It's a little beat up, but the saccharine pink and white box grins up at you all the same. You're not quite sure what use Hello Kitty bandaids would serve—they're not even that big, really, the most they could do is patch up a paper cut—but you do know they'd make Jisung smile.

And if you're being honest, you've come to miss that smile. It's been hard to come by recently.

Nobody breathes a word about the change in dynamic. There's no angsty "what are we" talk that threatens both your friendship and your budding relationship. It's just you and Jisung, the same as it's always been.

You get used to resting your head on his lap, to having his hand interlaced with yours as he drives. You throw away the excuse of sleeping together “to get rid of the nightmares” (though that’s still a very compelling reason). The word boyfriend is always on the tip of your tongue, but at this point, labels like that don’t mean much.

You learn to enjoy the little things, the way the blues and blacks of night fade into pinks and purples with streaks of pale orange to greet the world each morning. You learn to enjoy the little things, like the weight of Jisung’s head on your shoulder as you run your thumb down the side of his hand. It’s humbling, you think, how the sun rises and sets, how the world keeps spinning despite it all. No matter how much has changed, some things stay the same.

”You ever realize how insignificant we are?” you ask one morning, eyes focused on the sky above. “Life goes on, with or without us.”

”Yeah,” he shifts to look up at you from his place in the crook of your neck, “but you know what?” You hum as the birds begin chirping, signifying the start of the day, eyes closed as you bask in the morning glow. “I don’t think I could ever feel too insignificant when I’m with you.”

You scoot away, causing Jisung to start whining. “We’re in the middle of the zombie apocalypse and you’re flirting with me?” you scoff, incredulous.

“And you’re surprised?” He’s got this cheeky smile on his stupid face that you swear makes the world, your world, a better place. You lean in, pressing your lips to his for just a second. With your eyes closed, it feels like you’re a normal couple watching the sun rise on a normal world. It feels like nothing is wrong, and you’re right where you’re meant to be.

You’re digging through your backpack to find the beat up paperback you were planning to finish reading and use as fuel for the occasional fires you and Jisung would light when camping out when a set of Polaroids fall out of your bag. You’d crammed them in there long before the thought of a zombie apocalypse ever crossed your mind. There’s one that catches your eye from the night you celebrated your joint graduation with Jisung. (Seungmin and Hyunjin went to different high schools, and Felix was still in Australia at this point; you’d meet all of them on the day of orientation.)

It was the largest party you’ve ever been to, with your families and your friends taking up all the parking in the neighborhood. Avoiding awkward conversation with aunties and uncles was your specialty, and you spent much of the night dodging questions like “So what are you planning to major in?” and “Are you dating that Jisung kid?”

There were drinks in the cooler that you were expressly told not to touch (not like that stopped you both from sneaking out two beers and chugging them in your room, away from prying eyes), music playing from the Bluetooth speaker you’d never used, and laughter everywhere you looked.

“Can’t believe we’re adults now,” you said, one arm dangling off the side of your bed. “Feels like I only met you yesterday.” You set the bottle down on your carpet, eyes focused on your ceiling fan as it did its rotations.

“I’m glad we’re going to the same college,” he confessed, setting his bottle on your nightstand before you barked at him to put it on the carpet lest the condensation damage the wood. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Jisung’s parents had brought out a cake, the icing congratulating you two on graduating from high school. All eyes were on you as you held the knife just above the cake, and you felt weightless as the blade divvied up the dessert.

“Wait, I wanna do it too,” Jisung whispered, bumping shoulders with you.

“What? No, this is my house.”

“Well, my parents were the ones who bought the cake!”

You try to think of a retort, but when none comes, you hand him the knife. “Here. Don’t mess it up.”

“I never mess up,” he said as you took the biggest chunk of cake for yourself. You watched him cut the cake into what were initially equal portions, but grew less and less balanced as the cake went on.

“See,” you told him once the cake was all gone, “what’d I tell you?” You take a dollop of the cake’s whipped cream and planted it on his nose. “You never listen, Han Jisung.”

It’s then that a flash went off, stunning you both. Yeji grinned as she handed you the developing Polaroid. “Save it for the wedding,” she joked. (It makes you sad to know that although you stayed relatively close in high school, you lost touch in college. You smile when you see each other on campus, but it’s not the same.)

“What are you looking at?” Jisung asks, pulling you back to the present. You stare down at the image, the almost child-like smiles on your faces. It feels like a lifetime ago, when things were easier and the unknown was something you thought you were ready for.

“Remember our grad party?” He takes one look at the picture and you swear you see the lines of stress on his forehead fade away as he laughs at the face he’s making in the photograph.

“God, I miss those days.”

"There it is." The base stands tall, barbed wire promising shelter from the uncertainty of whether you'd spend the day forced to fight for your life or not. You drum your fingers on your thighs as you approach the entrance, chest full to bursting with anticipation. You're half listening to Jisung's stupid hour-long playlist, half relieved that you managed to find a base so close.

He stops at the gate, waiting for a guard to emerge and check you two for signs of infection. He takes your hand in his, squeezing it tight. This is it, the gesture says, we're gonna be okay.

You wait.

You wait some more.

Your hands get sweaty.

"Is anyone there? You'd think for a military base, they'd have someone come out by now." Jisung turns the volume of the car speakers all the way down. He's met with the noises of his truck's engine...and an incessant scratching at the gate.

Exchanging a look, you hop out of the car and try to peek through the slits of the covered chain-link fence. Your first mistake is getting too close; they all seem to catch your scent and greet you with a chorus of grunts and groans as the horde focuses their attention on you.

Your second mistake is looking too closely at who's behind the fence. You make eye contact with the husk of a man, a glazed look in his eyes and skin broken along one side of his face from where he’s been clawing at it. He's dressed in all black, and when you take a second glance (you really shouldn't have), you realize he looks like someone you know. You're almost certain that if he smiled, you'd see dimples. You're almost certain that if you could see his hair—torn out in clumps, his scalp bloody—it would be curly since he wouldn't have access to a straightener in the middle of nowhere.

"Chan?" you whisper. There's no response, but a taller figure pushes into him, forcing his way to the front. When his mouth opens, all you can see are swollen, bloody gums and blackening teeth from weeks of neglect. Despite that, you know exactly who this is. You've tag-teamed toilet duty with Jisung at enough parties to know what Hyunjin's neck and back look like as he lurches forward, trying to ram the gate. "Oh shit." Felix and Jisung did say that Chan took the rest of the boys somewhere, didn't they?

That conversation feels like a lifetime ago, when the term "zombie apocalypse" was just the name of an overdone genre. It was better suited to being viewed from the comfort of your couch on a Friday night and Han Jisung by your side to complain about the shitty effects and act like he wouldn't need to sleep over because he'd get too scared to drive home.

You creep back to the truck, taking slow steps backward to avoid alerting the horde more than you already have. Releasing a heavy breath when you slip into the passenger seat, you try not to think about what you saw. Jisung looks at you expectantly, and you can't bring yourself to break his heart even more. He's already lost his best friend; you don't have the heart to tell him that the rest of his friends, his found family, are most likely locked behind that gate as well.

"You okay? What'd you find?"

"Just some zombies, nothing important. Let's go."

The first time you kill a zombie with a gun, it doesn't end well.

Sure, the deed is done and the zombie's dead (like really, fully dead), but it's what comes after that sucks.

You’re on a supply run, a hunting rifle you jacked from an abandoned house in your hands. You guess the house must not have been as abandoned as you thought, since there are two zombies in front of you and Jisung. You've come to notice that zombies get slobbery. The sight of decomposing flesh slick with saliva isn't very appealing, and that's not including the stench of it all.

No matter which way you slice it, eau de zombie just isn't for you.

You don't have much experience when it comes to firing a gun. (Or any experience, really.) But you figure it's an aim-and-shoot sort of situation, right? You've seen Felix play video games before, and he's always made it seem simple. So you line the barrel of the gun up with their heads and pull the trigger. One. Two. Three.

The shots echo, and for a moment, you feel on top of the world as the first zombie falls backwards, blood oozing from the bullet's exit hole.

But in that moment, you also realize that recoil is a bitch when you're not prepared, and the second shot misses the other one entirely, the gun skewed too far to the left. You stumble back into the kitchen island, but Jisung's quick enough on his feet to decapitate the remaining zombie without much trouble.

"Hey, you know what I remembered?" he asks, wiping zombie blood from his brow.

"What?"

"Guns make noise."

"Yeah, no—shit." With those gunshots, you gave away your location to any unfriendly forces, human or not.

"You don't think zombies have working ears, do you?" You hit the kitchen with renewed vigor, gathering some essentials—a few knives, some canned goods left behind—and set the rifle down.

"I don't wanna find out. And even if they don't, other humans sure as hell do." He turns the house upside down looking for more bullets. If there is a higher power out there, you guess they must be looking out for you, because the former owners of the house left their safe unlocked. You decide to relieve them of their two pistols and every bit of ammunition you can get your hands on.

Of course, if there is a higher power out there, you guess they must be fucking with you, because minutes after getting back on the road, you hear the roaring of motorcycle engines. They surround Jisung's truck, and their leader stares you both down before yanking his black mask down and rapping two knuckles on the window Jisung forgot to roll down.

"You two should've known better than to wander 'round here," he tuts, running a finger through his hair. "So young, too. Almost makes me feel bad for what I'm about to do." To one of his cronies, he barks, "Mingi! Take what's in the trunk." You don't see this Mingi person, but you feel the truck get weighed down as he leaps on and loots everything worth taking. "Don't take it personally. At the end of the day, it's all about survival. I've got eight mouths to feed, and you've only got two. Only makes sense that we should, ah...relieve you of some of that weight you’re carrying."

Jisung's fuming, fists clenched in his lap, but you know he sees the guns slung along their backs and holstered at their hips and stays silent. The pistols you two picked up are in the glove compartment, and the ammo's strategically buried underneath a pile of clothes at your feet. It's okay, you try to tell him, meeting his eyes. We prepared for this.

One of the leader's other cohorts pulls his own black mask down and whispers into the leader's ear. When he's given permission to speak, the young man looks straight at Jisung and asks, "Are you Han Jisung?"

"Who's asking?" Jisung shoots you a look, but you can only shrug in response.

"There was a group of guys looking for their friend. Their description matched your face, but I guess it doesn't matter now. They went to the base a couple miles south." The young man nods in the direction of the base you were at only a couple days before. "Probably more undead than alive at this point."

"What...do you mean by that?"

"He means," their leader snaps, "that the military base down south got infected. Don't know when. But it was a group of seven, led by some guy named Chad or Chan or something. We tried to get 'em to join, but they were deadset on finding shelter.” He snorts. “Their funeral."

Mingi's finished taking your things, so the leader and the younger man (you catch his name when the leader calls out to him—Wooyoung?) pull on their masks and take off, leaving you and Jisung in the middle of the road. He's silent again, driving down the vast expanse of nothingness with only his playlist to serve as background noise.

"Where to now?" you try, eyes searching his face to gauge his reaction.

"Did you know?" It's a whisper you almost don't hear over the wind in your ears.

"Did I know what?"

"Did you know that they were..." He doesn't finish his sentence. The way your mouth clamps shut, gaze falling to your lap, tells him everything he needs to know.

His grip tightens on the wheel, and you jolt forward when he comes to an abrupt halt, throwing open the door and walking off, slamming it behind him. "Jisung?" You follow him out, but he whirls around to face you, face scrunched as he crooks a finger in your direction.

"You lied to me!"

"Look-"

"I fucking trusted you! You were the only person I had left! I saw my best friend get murdered with my own two fucking eyes!” He’s blinking back tears as he shouts at you. “I've spent god knows how long hoping that the rest of my friends were alive, and the fact that you saw them on that base...the fact that you fucking lied to me..." He takes a deep breath, eyes screwed shut. It’s silent for a long time. His shoulders loosen, hands falling flat, but when he opens his eyes, you feel a chill run down your spine. He's built a concrete wall between you two, locking you out with four simple words: "You're on your own."

"Jisung, what-"

"You heard me." The sentence is curt. He's wiped away years of friendship and whatever romance you might've had all in one fell swoop. (But maybe you did that yourself when you lied to him.) "You're on your own." He enunciates each syllable as clearly as possible, lacing them with as much venom as possible. You wither under his gaze.

He tosses one of the pistols at your feet. No extra ammo; you only get what's already loaded. He drives off without you, and you're left with nothing but the bag you packed that first night, a pistol, and the clothes on your back.

So yeah, the first time you kill a zombie with a gun, it doesn't end well.

You learn how to get by alone, rationing what's left in your bag and clinging to the shadows to avoid a fight. You learn to ignore the rumble in your stomach in favor of focusing on other things, like the distant noise of motorcycles. (You hold your breath when you hear them, pray they don't come close. They’ve taken enough from you already.)

It's lonely. You and Jisung might not have always agreed on everything, but the weight of solitude, real solitude, drags you down like a ball and chain fastened to your ankles, making each step forward unbearable. Some nights, you see his truck parked in the distance, in the garage of old houses or partially masked by foliage. You want to approach him, beg for forgiveness, beg for what you had back.

Instead you tiptoe past, giving the vehicle a wide berth.

You spend some mornings thumbing through the rest of the Polaroids you have. Most of them (unsurprisingly) are of you and Jisung. There’s one of him posing in front of the most expensive cheesecake shop in town (he’d been drooling at the window displays for weeks), one of you facing the ocean, back turned to the camera (you begged him to go for spring break), and one Hyunjin took of you two playing beer pong at one of the frat’s many parties (you were never quite sure why drunk Jisung had better aim than sober Jisung; you ended up losing these matches).

You don’t know why you do it. You know that taking a trip down memory lane is the single worst thing to be doing, but you do it anyway. Maybe you’re lonely. Maybe you miss Jisung.

Maybe you miss yourself.

The next time you see Jisung, you're in a convenience store infested with zombies. You weren't planning to enter, having heard the tell-tale noises of confrontation, but you caught a glimpse of who was doing the fighting and couldn't walk away.

Jisung's backed up against a corner, trying to beat away the zombies surrounding him with a hatchet. (Keyword being trying: he's just one guy against five disgusting bags of meat trying to kill him.) You see blood all over him, dripping onto the floor, and decide to intervene. He should be grateful when you bash their heads in with his barbed baseball bat, left discarded across the store, but—

"I had that under control."

"Jisung, I-"

"Save it." He wipes the blade of the hatchet on the ragged pants of one of the creatures that attacked him. "Thanks. And keep the bat. You look like you need it."

"Jisung, just listen to me."

"What could you possibly have to say to me? The damage has been done."

"I was trying to protect you!" He rolls his eyes, and you're worried he'll walk away, but his feet stay planted. "How was I supposed to tell you that all your friends got infected, huh? How do you tell someone that? Hell, I wasn't even sure if it was them!" He refuses to meet your gaze, refuses to respond. "Dammit, Jisung..." You screw your eyes shut, but there’s not even a hint of reaction from him.

“You know what, if you’re not gonna listen to me, then fine. I’ll go.” Swivelling on the balls of your feet, you make to walk away, to return to solitude. You don’t look back.

“Wait!” There’s a desperate tone to it that almost makes you want to cave, almost makes you want to return to what life was before you reached the base. You barely manage to keep your head forward, even as you stop in your tracks.

“What?”

"I'm sorry.” His voice comes out soft, something above a whisper but far below his normal speaking voice. “I thought about it after I kicked you out, and you were right. I wouldn't have told me either. Guess I was too stubborn to admit I was wrong," he chuckles. "If you don't forgive me, I get that. You can take some of my food, and we can part ways again, but for what it's worth...I missed you."

You sigh, looking out the cracked store window. "Look, I'm sorry too. It was a tough choice, but I should've been honest with you." It's kinda gross to be trying to make amends here, what with one foot stepping in zombie excrement and all, but your head hangs low in apology anyway.

Your head snaps up when you hear him sniffle, and his eyes are struggling to hold back tears. When you open your arms, he's quick to wrap his arms around you and crumple into your embrace, voice muttering broken apologies. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles. "I missed you so much." You two stand there and let the moment drag out, let Jisung dampen your shirt for what feels like hours.

There might not be much hope left in the tumultuous reality you've found yourselves in, but as long as you're together, you think you stand a chance at weathering the storm.

"Shit," Jisung hisses that night, wiping blood off his arms with a damp cloth. He should've taped himself up before going on a supply run, but he'd been running out of tape; that was the reason he risked entering the infested store at all. The bite marks on either side of his forearm run red and raw, and Jisung fixes his gaze to the popcorn ceiling to avoid throwing up then and there.

A glance is all it takes for him to gag, and he washes the cloth off, red water spiraling into the sink. He caps the water bottle he used and takes a good look at himself in the mirror.

There's blood across the right side of his face. (He's not sure if it's his or not.) There are deep lines in his forehead from months of stress, dark circles underneath his eyes. He figures he should've gotten more sleep while he still could, remembers all the times you bugged him about going to bed early.

He never listened.

He never listens.

If you were with him, he wouldn't have gone in alone, wouldn't have gotten surrounded, wouldn't have gotten bit. Maybe he wouldn't have even gone in at all. Lord knows you've always been his impulse control.

That's it, then. I've got a day or so left then... He wraps the clean(ish) cloth around the bite and resists the urge to squeeze until he bleeds out on the bathroom floor. There's only one thing left to do.

You're in the middle of shaking the dust off the former tenants’ couch cushions when you notice Jisung emerge from the bathroom. "I did some digging around, and I think these'll fit you." He catches the clothes you toss him wordlessly. "You good?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Kill me."

Okay. Well. You were expecting something more along the lines of "check if the truck is locked" or "kiss me."

"Wh-" The word gets lodged in your throat when he lifts his hand to show you the bite. His whole forearm's red at this point, blood trickling from it despite the sopping red cloth in his hand. He tries for a lighthearted grin.

(It doesn't work. Jisung's never been a good liar.)

"Please. I want to die on my own terms." To himself, he mutters, "You always deserved better, anyway. All I ever did was get angry and leave you behind." He's focused on the way the blood runs down his arm and fingers before falling down, down, down. The hardwood floor takes it like a champ, he thinks.

It's really kinda funny how he can think things like that when he knows he has to die, and he has the audacity to laugh. Maybe he’s only laughing because he’s losing a lot of blood.

You cup his face with both hands, the couch cushion tossed to the side, and he hesitates before leaning in. "How- how do you get to decide what I deserve? Decide what I want?" your voice breaks, vision blurred from tears. "You're all I want." Your foreheads touch as you sob, tears mingling with Jisung's blood as they hit the floor. "This isn't fair! I just got you back and- and-" The cry that rips itself from your throat is guttural, a bubbling noise produced from the back of your throat. This time it's Jisung who lets you cry into him, your face buried in the crook of his neck.

"You're so fucking stupid! I hate you!" you scream, nails digging into his shoulders. You may as well be telling the world where you are, but your mind doesn't bother registering it. Before you know it, you're slipping, legs unable to keep you up. You're so tired. It's been a long, arduous few months. "I hate you so much!"

But you don't mean it. You never could.

You weep at his feet, clutching at his jeans in an effort to pull yourself up. "I hate you..."

Maybe it's the look on his face when you pull away to gulp down air like your life depends on it; broken, beaten. Maybe it's the crushing hopelessness that hits you; when Jisung's gone, so are you. Hellish as this world may be, Jisung's the only thing that makes you feel like your last moments might not be so bad. He's your home, your tiny shred of sunshine and hope.

When he tugs you back to eye level, you smash your lips onto his, hand on the back of his head. He responds immediately, mouth moving against yours, hand tugging at your waist (closer, closer, closer).

But then his brain catches up to his body. "Wait," he turns so you're leaving wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, "wait, this- this isn't right." He steps back, eyes wide as he puts distance between you. "Now you're-"

"Infected." You think back to the news coverage of the disease. All it took was a drop of saliva for someone to be at risk. You wring your hands, tear your eyes from his forearm (his veins bulge as if they're fit to burst). "I guess I just realized, you know?" A nervous chuckle escapes your lips. "Who else...who else is gonna..." Your voice breaks again, eyes brimming with tears. "Who else is gonna put up with you in the afterlife?"

He's in front of you again in a heartbeat, wiping your tears. With a scoff, he says, "God, what would I do without you?"

You bandage him up properly after that, spend the night talking until you're asleep, head rested on his chest. It's comforting, he thinks. He wishes he could have held you like this back when your only concerns were your uptight Calculus professor and the stress of finals.

"Better late than never, I guess," he whispers, breaking the silence. Your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, your cheek smashed against his chest as you sleep. "Though I guess we might've been a little too late, huh?"

The sun rises, golden light in your face forcing you to blink your eyes awake. Jisung stirs at your movement, his good hand tightening around you as he tries to stay asleep.

"Wake up." You press a kiss to his knuckles. "We don't have much time."

His voice comes out deep and gravelly, speaking for the first time in a few hours. "I know. Just five more minutes like this, I promise. Five more minutes..." And he's asleep again, mouth open in a little "o." You curl into him, listening for his heartbeat; weak, but still there. He’s still alive and so are you.

You think five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

"Ready?" you ask. The pistol shakes in your hands; you might not be the best shot, but you can't afford to miss now. You try to will your nerves into complacency. (It doesn't work.)

"Wait!" he says, eyes wide. His veins are clearly visible along the infected arm, snaking up his shoulder and kissing his collarbone. You raise an eyebrow, and he gives you a stupid, million-watt grin. "I love you. Even, uh, even if I am pointing a gun at you." He waves the other pistol a bit to prove his point. "I just wanted you to know before we, you know. Blow each other's brains out."

"Hey." You catch his attention, match his smile for the last time. "I love you too. Just thought you should know before I blow your brains out." He laughs, and it's a real, genuine laugh blooming from his stomach; it’s a loud, hearty sound and makes your heart feel so full that you can't help but laugh with him, laugh at the fact that you're about to shoot the boy you love, laugh at everything that landed you here.

Then the laughter calms down. The wind itself holds its breath, refusing to let even a slight breeze slip through. "On three. Ready?" Jisung nods, starting the count.

"One."

(It's sad you two will never get to see the end of it all, or if there's an end to begin with. Who knows, maybe there are enough true leaders left in the world to make something out of nothing. You hope that this world learns to heal from its wounds, no matter what. But in the end, you guess it doesn't matter. The sun will rise and set regardless.

“No matter how things change…”

“...some things stay the same.” With those words, you and Jisung taped up the cardboard box labeled “TIME CAPSULE” in black Sharpie. “Man, I hope future us doesn’t hate past us too much for this,” Jisung said, managing to find a space for the large box in his closet. “It’s gonna be a long four years.” Right below the time capsule label read “OPEN AFTER GRADUATING FROM COLLEGE.”

You’d nodded, hiding the box from view by moving Jisung’s clothes in front of it. “There we go. Now we won’t be tempted to open it.” The rest of the day was spent getting ice cream way too close to dinner to be healthy and trying to find out what the other wrote in their letter to their future self.

You don’t know why you’re remembering the makeshift time capsule you two spent half a day filling, but knowing that you’ll never get to open it makes your toes curl with an unpleasant sadness.)

"Two."

(In a way, you think you're almost grateful for what happened. Despite how twisted and fucked up it all was, you doubt you and Jisung would have ever found each other, truly found each other, without it. In your final moments, you think back to a conversation you had with him the week of the announcement.

"You know what I realized?" he had asked, making himself comfortable on your bed.

"What?"

"Parallel lines stay so close to each other, but they never meet. That's so sad."

"Jisung, are you crying over lines?"

"You know what else I realized?" he asked again, wiping tears from his eyes. "All the other pairs of lines meet once and then drift apart forever."

You ended up comforting him, leaving your homework behind. "Promise me we'll be like parallel lines. Promise me we won't start drifting." His eyes were shiny with tears as he held his pinky out to you, your pinkies interlaced in eternal promise.

Staring down the barrel of the pistol in Jisung's hands, you start to think that this is the part where you start drifting.)

"Three!"

134 notes · View notes

mirohed · 5 years

Text

[1:17 PM]

jisung’s digging through the old shoebox again. he’s not sure what he’s trying to accomplish here; the contents remain the same, and he’s seen it all before, but there’s something special about today that’s driven him to bring the box out from under the bed. he rests the box on his lap as he sifts through ticket stubs and pictures until he digs out the polaroid he’s looking for.

it’s a picture of you two at an amusement park, blue cotton candy in your hand and pink in his. you wear matching grins for the camera. who took that picture? was it felix? jisung can’t remember, runs the pad of his thumb against the faded image. “happy anniversary,” he murmurs, putting the picture back.

it’s been well over a year since he lost you, but he can’t seem to move on.

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mirohed · 5 years

Text

[almost like we’re running out of time]

when you open the passenger door of mark’s car, the first thing he says to you almost makes you want to punch him in the face.

“you’re going out dressed like that?” he asks, head tilted. you’re about to get out of the car, hand poised on the handle, when he stops you. “hey, hey, i was just joking. you’re gonna get cold.” digging around in the backseat, he hands you one of his hoodies. “here. put this on.”

so you do. you plug your phone into the aux, let your playlist fill the silence as you settle in. you don’t catch the way mark’s gaze flicks to you from time to time, the twitch of his right hand, eager to hold yours. “are you gonna tell me why you called? you don’t have to, you know. but talking helps.”

you heave a heavy sigh and tear your eyes from the window. “i don’t know, i guess it just got too much for me. we’re graduating soon, you know? these are the last few moments before the rest of our lives. i just feel like i’ve spent too many nights awake doing homework and not enough actually living? and having fun?” you flip the hoodie so it partially hides your face from mark’s view. “i don’t know, i just thought this whole thing would be easier. i thought i’d regret less.” you don’t regret the seven-hour video calls you would have with mark as you both worked on homework; those were often the highlight of the late nights and early mornings you two spent cramming for tests or writing notes.

“sure, we’re top of the class, but at what cost?” your voice breaks, tears spilling out unbidden. mark knows the feeling well; he’s spent countless sleepless nights chipping away at essays and projects and worksheets, declined offers to party or attend football games in favor of maintaining his gpa. he reaches for your free hand, squeezes it with as much force as he can muster.

“it’s okay to cry.” you’re not sure if his words trigger a happiness or a sadness in you, but you cry all the same. you never let go of his hand. the world passes in a big blur as he speeds down empty roads. before you know it, you’ve stopped. “come on. we’re buying ice cream.”

the second you step out of the car, mark’s arm finds your waist, and your shoulders bump as you walk. “remember what you told me when we first started dating? you said you hated pda. guess we’ve become the clingy couple you used to complain about,” you chuckle. his grip on you tightens, pulling you closer.

“leave me alone,” he huffs, ears tinted pink. “i just wanna make sure you’re okay.” when he spares you a glance, he frowns at your shit-eating grin. “god, come on. ice cream’s this way.”

you’re not sure what the future holds for you and mark, but you know that as long as you faced it together, you’d be alright.

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mirohed · 5 years

Text

[the quickest way to the heart is through the stomach]

“i’m not too sure this is gonna help your chances,” you tell jisung as he takes batch number five of chocolate cupcakes out of the oven. “what if these cupcakes flop, huh?” jisung had made the impulsive decision (without your guidance or advice) to help bake cupcakes for the cheer team’s bake sale. all yeji had to do was bat her eyes and say please, you think bitterly as you pipe the frosting onto the last cupcake of batch four.

“they won’t! when have i ever flop-” you raise an eyebrow, forcing him to quickly backpedal, “-actually, don’t answer that, but still. they were made with love, so they can’t go wrong! that’s what everyone good at baking says, anyway.” tossing the oven mitts aside, he leans back on the kitchen counter, marveling at the desserts. “thank you, by the way. everyone else wasn’t good enough to help without burning the place down, woojin’s busy, and seungmin just wants to see me crash and burn.”

“that’s valid, especially because i did most of the work. now frost the damn cupcakes,” you say, shoving the piping bag into his hands. “i made thirty cupcakes for you and frosted eighteen of them. make yourself useful while i take a well-deserved break.”

“alright, alright.” you wash your hands and sit on the kitchen counter. when you glance up at him after a quick scroll through instagram, he’s focused entirely on the cupcakes, eyebrows furrowed as he pipes the frosting as neatly as possible. he really wants to ask yeji out, huh?

it’s bittersweet, really. part of you wants to be nothing but supportive and overjoyed at the fact that your best friend’s finally found someone he liked enough to go after. but part of you was hoping, more than anything, that it would be you and jisung til the end, just the way it’s always been.

maybe you were asking for too much.

#stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #stray kids drabble #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #han scenario #han imagine #han drabble #han fluff #han angst #han jisung scenario #han jisung imagine #han jisung drabble #han jisung fluff #han jisung angst #han #stray kids #ari.doc #j.one and only🐿💗

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mirohed · 5 years

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[sorry can’t save me now]

“i knew i’d find you here,” jisung says, sitting next to you on the sand. you don’t acknowledge him, focused entirely on the gentle crash of waves on the shore. he doesn’t speak (you might’ve snorted at his silence; since when was he quiet?), and the two of you sit together. it’s just you and him and the ocean reflecting the night sky. the moon and stars watch from above, like an audience you never asked for.

“so, that’s it then?” you lean back on your palms, feel grains of sand get under your fingernails. “you’re gonna give up on us just like that?” you hear him inhale sharply from beside you, see him rake his fingers through his hair in the corner of your eye.

“it’s not giving up-”

“it sounds like giving up to me.” you brush yourself off and walk away. nothing stops for you. jisung sits and gapes, even makes like he’ll chase after you, his mouth in a little ‘o,’ but he doesn’t. he never has. the moon and stars laugh from above, like an audience you never asked for.

the waves break on the shore. if you listen closely, you can almost hear the sound of your heart shattering alongside it.

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mirohed · 5 years

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[wish i may, wish i might]

the stars have always been beautiful, you think, swinging your dangling legs over the rooftop. for the longest time, they were the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. think about it; burning orange, white, even blue, light years away from the tiny rock you call home. sometimes you think they were meant to be seen, meant to give light and wonder to everyone who could see them.

“you ready for tonight?” chan asks, pillows and blankets under his arms as he climbs up the ladder to join you on the roof. tonight is the night of the first (and likely only) meteor shower you’ll ever see. you begged chan to let you watch the skies from the roof, and with a carefully placed set of puppy eyes, he accepted.

“of course. i’ve been waiting for this all my life,” you breathe, eyes scanning the sky, searching for constellations. he sits down next to you, wrapping an arm around you to bring you closer. it’s then that your head turns to see what’s right in front of you.

from the day you met chan, you thought he was ethereal, with a chiseled jaw and a smile that sent you over the moon. his head is tilted up, tugging at your sleeve. “look, it’s starting!”

there are streaks of white blinking across the sky, and you and chan point them out as you share a bowl of snacks. it goes on for a few minutes before you massage your neck and peer at chan from the corner of your eye.

the stars have always been beautiful. you think you might’ve found your own star to behold.

dt @petunia1622 !! its me, your favorite acorn 💖💖

#stray kids scenario #stray kids drabble #stray kids imagine #stray kids blurb #stray kids fluff #bang chan scenario #bang chan drabble #bang chan imagine #bang chan blurb #bang chan fluff #chan scenario #chan drabble #chan imagine #chan blurb #chan fluff #bang chan #stray kids #ari.doc #i hope you like it !! i also hope we can become closer friends now that im off anon !!!!!

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mirohed · 5 years

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stray kids | pokemon au

this was just gonna be some headcanons about each member living in the pokemon world, but then i saw detective pikachu and things got more than a little out of hand.

im probably going to say it in the notes of each individual fic, but extensive knowledge of pokemon is not necessary to read and enjoy these fics!! i tried my best to make it as general as possible, including a gender neutral reader across the board <33 these fics take place in the same universe across the (known) pokemon world.

♡ for the nerds: i gave each member of 3racha a dragon-type pseudo-legendary (yes, in reference to dragon three), each member of the vocal line an eeveelution, and each member of the dance line an oricorio ! if you wanna pick my brain on why i assigned a pokemon to a member, send me an ask; i could talk abt pokemon all day no joke LMAO

KIM WOOJIN :: PETAL DANCE

teddiursa / cherrim / jumpluff / espeon / milotic / ampharos

johto born and raised

owner of the sunny day flower shop

former participant of the battle frontier tournaments in hoenn

BANG CHAN :: TRICK

infernape / luxray / staraptor / floatzel / steelix / garchomp

sinnoh born and raised

was offered the position of gym leader in sunyshore city, but declined

battles in exhibition matches in his hometown of sunyshore during their annual festival of light

LEE MINHO :: REVENGE

liepard / mienshao / oricorio (baile) / salazzle / alolan persian

unova born and raised

currently in alola for a vacation

really passionate about hau’oli city’s battle buffet

SEO CHANGBIN :: CRITICAL HIT

hydreigon / clefairy / honchkrow / bewear / bouffalant / aggron

unova born and raised

currently residing in unova’s ryme city

a powerful underground battler with a vicious team

HWANG HYUNJIN :: HEART SWAP

lucario / roserade / altaria / cacturne / oricorio (pa’u)

sinnoh born, hoenn raised

up-and-coming coordinator traveling across hoenn to participate in contests

wanted to be a trainer before realizing his true calling as a coordinator

HAN JISUNG :: WEAKNESS POLICY

pachirisu / arcanine / feraligatr / dragonite / slaking / absol

johto born and raised

formerly known as j.one in the hoenn underground battling scene

returned to johto to take on the league challenge

LEE FELIX :: DESTINY KNOT

decidueye / ribombee / golisopod / oricorio (pom-pom) / alolan ninetales

alola born and raised

making his way through the island trials

malasada enthusiast

KIM SEUNGMIN :: AMULET COIN

leafeon / leavanny / whimsicott / komala

unova born, kalos raised

marquis at the battle chateau

has lived among kalosian nobility essentially his whole life

YANG JEONGIN :: LUCKY PUNCH

eevee / braixen / herdier / kirlia

kanto born and raised

moved to kalos to take on their gym circuit

tries his best to rollerskate but tends to fall on his face

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mirohed · 5 years

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park seonghwa | the trouble with twenty

pairing: park seonghwa + fem!reader (theres ONE mention of the reader being female im kinda mad i thought this was gender neutral the whole time)

wc: 3.0k

genre: fluff and angst (but the fluff wins)

warning: mentions of death

concept: when you fall in love with someone that isn’t your soulmate, you give a piece of your soul to them; failure to find your soulmate before running out of soul to give results in one’s death + you stop physically aging when you hit the age of twenty.

a/n: ok holy shit i ,, never finish my wips 99% of the time so im glad this could b the 1% !! s/o to @akokj @cheelix @lvryeol @trulyjaehyuk & finally a big big thank you to one of my irls who’s been w it since its beginnings in early january SDHJS

The universe, you find, seems to work in mysterious ways; you meet your first boyfriend in high school. The both of you are wide-eyed teenagers with no sense of how love works, but it's fine as long as you're together. It's Jongho that sits across from you at the diner and sips from your shared milkshake. It's Jongho that takes you to drive-in theaters and plants a nervous kiss to your lips on the ride home.

It's a sweet love that blooms in the summer, a whirlwind sweeping you higher and higher, and you relish the view. Being with him comes with this sweet, bubbling feeling ("Like soda?" he had joked one afternoon) that begins in the pit of your stomach, spreading outward until you sport matching carefree grins and aching cheeks.

The year is 1939, and you're on the cusp of your nineteenth birthday when all that has gone up begins to come crashing down.

You're about to fall asleep one night when you sit up, a sharp pain shooting through your whole body. You know what this feeling is; you've had to help Jongho through it when he went through the same thing.

Everyone says losing a part of one's soul is both a tragedy and an expected outcome. You've always maintained the opinion that the universe enacts its own cruel, unusual punishment on those who love anyone besides their fated partner. Those you love more than life itself are the ones who end up killing you.

Loving Jongho burns. It sears your whole body with an inhuman heat, and your mouth opens in a silent, pained scream.

And just as quickly as it had come, the pain vanishes, leaving a faint heat under your skin.

You turn nineteen. You still live in the same town you were born in. You reexamine your life.

Growing old isn't for you; too much to do, too much to see. You're meant for things greater than wasting away as his housewife and nursing his children.

A few nights later, you disappear with nothing but a few bags, whatever fuel remains in your car, and the road ahead to keep you company.

You wish you could say you lose track of time from there, but you don't. Time passes, and the world patches itself from years of war and anger. You return to what could be considered the new normal a little hardened from harrowing times, but otherwise no worse for wear.

You spend time with others — enough to break a few hearts. The feeling of new life, pieces of other people’s souls, being breathed into skin that grows older is a high unlike any other. You push down any thoughts of love, running from town to town the second things feel too real for you. Your body stops aging, and it’s a little jarring at first, but you grow used to seeing a twenty-year-old you in the mirror, even as you age far past it.

Your friends and family are still alive and well. You write to them sometimes, letters with no return address. You know your family wants you back, wants you to find the one your soul aches for, wants you tied down. You tried to understand it, you really did, but all it got you were sympathetic looks and a divide that wedges itself deeper and deeper and deeper.

At some point you realize that the letters you wrote, once full of emotion, have become monotonous, mere updates with no real commentary. You stop writing them.

The transition from summer's vivid green to autumn's dusty orange marks your arrival in a new town. You're idly swirling a drink in your hands when you lock eyes with a leather-clad young man from across the bar.

It's 1953 when you meet Mingi. He's exhilaration, speeding down empty land on a motorcycle he keeps pristine. He's everything your parents might have frowned at, bruised and bloody knuckles that have seen one too many bar fights. You come to find that he keeps a surprisingly soft heart locked behind it, one that opens easily to you.

The two of you are on a road trip when you feel that familiar rush, and you help him pull over. He grips your hands, bites into the blanket in the backseat, until it's over. He lets you take the wheel until you reach a rest stop.

You remember the night you gave the second piece of your soul away. It's a chilly autumn night — your anniversary. You hadn't listened to him when he had told you to dress for cold weather, and you were paying the price. Shivering, you run your hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm up as you get off his motorcycle. It doesn't work, and Mingi notices, doing his best to hide a grin.

"What did I tell you?" he teases. You're about to open your mouth for a retort when he shrugs his jacket off (that same worn leather piece you saw a year ago) and helps you fit your arms in the sleeves. It's an action he's used to, but there's something about the atmosphere tonight that makes your breath hitch. You look up at him, and he grins before leaning in.

The kiss is slow, his mouth moving languidly against yours as the city sleeps below. He pulls away first, biting back a chuckle when your lips try to follow. “I love you,” he whispers as he pulls you into his embrace.

And again, the pain that makes your blood boil. Somewhere in the haze of pain, between bunching your hands in his shirt and loud curses into the night, you tell yourself this is the last time you give your soul to another.

You feel a subtle pain in your chest as you head to the next town, leaving Mingi and the memories in the rearview mirror.

Time passes, and you see enough winters to make you sick of snow. You become the longest-lived person in known history, and it makes you famous.

You're contacted to speak about your accounts from major historical events (none of which are particularly useful), and find yourself in movies and documentaries, on talk shows, and more than once as a speaker for a new museum. There was a point where you could turn a corner and someone would recognize you as the only living "immortal."

It's one of those corners turned, on one of those countless winters, that you run into a young man. You don’t miss the way he swallows lightly before clearing his throat to apologize.

You've long since lost track of time when you meet Hongjoong. (But if you had to give an estimate, you'd put it around the 21st century.) You don't think it matters when he takes you for coffee, pulling you into a cozy corner cafe. He draws you in, little by little, and you pretend to not notice.

Where he is open, you are closed — on your fifth date, he tells you that he doesn't think he'll find his soulmate anytime soon.

("The world is too big," he says, bumping shoulders as you walk side by side. "I'm too old to keep going."

"How old?" you ask. He hums, takes a preparatory sip from his drink.

"Almost forty by now, I think."

You wonder if he's forgotten that you must be more than twice his age. Instead you say, "Really? You don't look a day over twenty." He grins at that, a beautiful thing that leads to a laugh you could never tire of hearing.)

You stay with him for much longer than you need to, long after he's given one of the last pieces of his soul to you. You wait for the "right time" to leave, but the right time never comes. Time passes. Seasons change. The two of you stay together for many winters before you finally come to your senses.

It happens one morning when you wake up shivering because he's hogged the blanket (again). As you try to reclaim it, you feel the familiar heat threaten to boil over.

You barely manage to get to the bathroom before the pain begins to crash over you in full force. After it's over, you remove your hand from your mouth, refusing to look at the tooth marks left behind.

There’s no more waiting for the right time, you think over the klaxon that blares in your head. It’s here and now.

Leaving Hongjoong is a terrifying thought, and somehow even harder to follow through with. His love isn't like Jongho's, sweet and awkward; it isn't like Mingi's, a fast-paced adrenaline rush; it's different. Softer. He reminds you of home — or at least, as home as a person can get for someone like you.

And unlike with Jongho and Mingi, the thought of staying with Hongjoong is very realistic. You've caught yourself picturing it more than once, and had to chastise yourself each time.

You pack your things for the millionth time, but as you glance back at your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, you realize you can't just leave him without an explanation. The years you’ve spent together mean more to you than that.

Hongjoong wakes up hours later to a tear-stained letter. (By the time he finishes it, the ink is smudged and barely legible. His tears have mixed with yours in a sort of last kiss between them, and the thought causes him to sob once more.)

Joong,

If you’re reading this, I guess I must have already left. I wish things could be different I know you, and I already know that you’re gonna take this personally and blame yourself for not being enough. You are enough. You’re more than enough. I think I’m just selfish

Anyway I just want to thank you for...everything. The past few years have been better than I can express, and I think that’s what scares me. You’re the You’ll find your soulmate soon, whether they’re your meant to be or not. I’m sorry it couldn’t be me.

I love you.

Goodbye.

You definitely keep your guard up after that. Through every date you go on and every significant other you burn through, your walls stay up.

You've grown nostalgic over the past decade. Using the wildly advanced technology of who-knows-when, you track down a list of death sites.

You visit your family first. Your heart breaks a bit seeing the empty space in the shared family headstone. This was where you were supposed to be laid to rest. You turn away from the dilapidated cemetery, pulling up the coordinates to your next destination.

You find yourself staring at the fountain in the middle of a shopping mall. According to your holotech, this is where Jongho is buried. Your lips form a disapproving line as you close your eyes and try not to think about how he would have loved this place. You try not to think about him taking you here and nudging you in the direction of the arcade or food court as you rush out the doors.

They've gone and built a neighborhood over the cemetery where you would have found Mingi. From the looks of it, it looks like its residents are particularly affluent, and you can hear him snort in your ear. Even after years apart, you swear you can still smell the strong scent of cigarettes that followed him like a lost puppy. He would have hated his fate, and you offer a morbid chuckle in his memory.

You're crouched beside Hongjoong's tombstone, running a thumb over the warm stone. The birds chirp amongst themselves in a nearby tree, and you're thankful for the distraction. He wasn't buried with another person; you hope he managed to find someone regardless. You read the inscription — To you, forever and always — and swallow the lump of guilt that’s lodged itself in your throat.

It's on a calm spring morning that your holo rings. The centennial edition of a documentary you were in is currently being filmed, and the staff is requesting you interview with them again. You were going to accept anyway, but the producer piques your interest when she mentions another similarly...long-lived person. The trepidation in her voice is obvious, but you ignore it. Instead, you ask for the name of this immortal and to be interviewed with them. ("I thought I was the only one around," you had laughed into the phone. "It'd be good to make a new friend." The producer gave a pitying hum before agreeing.)

You try to search for any evidence of this new immortal, but come up with virtually nothing. You're more than a little disappointed that this person isn't milking their age for all it's worth, but you suppose they’re just more private than you are; after all, their existence is a relatively recent discovery.

When you first meet Seonghwa, you find it difficult to breathe. He's handsome, with a tall frame and a cute smile that would have caught your eye regardless.

Seeing him also hits you with a feeling you've dreaded for hundreds of years that makes your chest tighten. (In hindsight, you should have known exactly who he had to be, considering his similarly long life.) When you make eye contact, you can tell he feels the same immediate attraction. He has the audacity to smile.

"Finally," he murmurs. It's reverent, as if he's finally fulfilled his life's purpose. Your clench your jaw, ball your hands into fists so tight your knuckles go white, and narrow your eyes. Your heart's going a mile a minute, and you're choosing to interpret it as anger.

You've spent centuries building your fame on a foundation of nothing but broken hearts and your own ambition, and for what?

You're not sure how old you are when you find yourself on the downswing. You know that your body will start to physically age, and in about sixty years, you will have met the same fate as everyone you've left behind. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you swallow it, at least for the time being.

The interview goes off without a hitch, and you make to leave after thanking the staff when —

"Wait!" Biting back a curse, you continue moving (and make an effort to go faster). Unfortunately, Seonghwa's more than capable of keeping up with you.

"Look," he begins, running a hand through his hair, "I don't claim to know your relationship situation, but I'd at least like it if we were friends." He focuses on the polished toe of his shoe and gives an anxious chuckle that seems to be more for himself than you. "After all, we're soulmates. You might not believe in them, but I've imagined what it would be like to finally meet my soulmate since I was young."

You don't know how (you blame the universe), but you go out for lunch with him after that. Much of the meal is spent in silence (although you've got to take the blame for this one), and it's not until you're almost done that he strikes up a conversation.

"Were you hiding?" He twists the straw of his drink between two fingers before making eye contact.

"I don't hide. You've probably seen me around in some ad or another on the holo. Maybe even before that, when people still used computers and printed newspapers." He narrows his eyes a bit, trying to remember, but comes up with nothing. "I always thought it was you that hid. I've been all over the world, but this was the first time I've ever heard news of another immortal."

"I believe in fate. I've taken things as they came because I knew that in the end, it would be you and me. Turns out I was right."

You don't know how (you're still blaming the universe), but you exchange contact information. You go on more...friendly excursions with Seonghwa.

("Why not cut out the middleman and call them dates?" he asks, settling down on the couch next to you.

"They're not dates. We're not together, are we?" You turn the movie on, marking the end of the conversation.

When you fall asleep latched onto his arm, your head on his shoulder, he plants a soft kiss on your forehead. You wake up that morning wrapped in a blanket that wasn't there last night.)

You don't know how (actually, you do), but "friendly excursions" eventually turn into dates.

(The two of you sit at a park bench, listening to rustling leaves and the distant noise of cars passing.

"Is this a date?" you ask, taking a spoonful of his ice cream, your own sitting empty on your lap.

"They're not dates," Seonghwa parrots. "We're not together, are we?"

"Let's change that. Date me?"

"I thought you'd never ask.")

Dating Seonghwa is much like being wrapped in a warm blanket. He's caring and sweet and so thoughtful that it makes your head spin. You realize that somewhere along the way, you had lost the joy and wonder that came with life. Luckily for you, each date (whether it's a shared pizza in his apartment or a hike somewhere new) restores an optimism that you didn’t know you missed.

Decades pass, and the two of you are on your daily walk. Your bodies start to show their age, but when you look in the mirror, you still see youth alight in your eyes.

("When we first met, I thought that it was all downhill from there, but I was proven wrong."

"It's been a long time since I've heard you say you were wrong."

"And each time, I tell you to not get used to it.")

When the life slips away from you both, you promise to meet each other in the next life and every one that follows.

The universe, as mysteriously as it may work, hears this request and tucks it away, ready to see it through.

#ateez scenario #ateez imagine #ateez fluff #ateez angst #seonghwa scenario #seonghwa imagine #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa angst #park seonghwa #choi jongho #song mingi #kim hongjoong #seonghwa #jongho #mingi #hongjoong #let this show up in the tags #ari.doc

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mirohed · 5 years

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[11:24 PM] “you look comfy,” san chuckles as he watches you bury yourself in his (admittedly extensive) collection of stuffed animals. “if, at any point, you want to cuddle with your boyfriend and not his plushies, let me know.” you shake your head at him—or at least, as much as you can shake it from your position—but the second he slips into bed next to you, the stuffed toys are quickly abandoned; when it comes down to it, you’d take being in san’s embrace over his plushies any day.

dt: @gaegurikyu !! happy valentine’s day from your favorite cupid ;) expect one more gift hopefully within the week ♡

#san fluff #san imagine #san scenario #san blurb #choi san fluff #choi san imagine #choi san scenario #choi san blurb #ateez fluff #ateez imagine #ateez scenario #ateez blurb #choi san #san #ateez #ari.doc

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mirohed · 5 years

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☎️ 1-800-LUV-LINE :: THREE

two :: masterlist :: four

⇝ in which a mutual is gained, points have been made, and you really hope this pans out.

[a/n: YES hyuck’s contact name for norenmin includes the thumbs down emoji LMAO but !! i got a new phone, so hopefully this au’s less ,,, unpleasant to look @ now FHDJSJSJ]

#neowritingsnet #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct social media au #nct fluff #haechan imagine #haechan social media au #haechan fluff #nct dream scenario #nct 127 scenario #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #haechan x reader #haechan #nct #1800luvline #ari.doc #god im so glad i got the new phone this part looks so much betterhdjsj #puppy don’t look

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mirohed · 5 years

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1-800-LUV-LINE :: MASTERLIST.

pairing: lee donghyuck + fem!reader, mark lee + fem!reader :: side norenmin

genre: romance, fluff, lots of crackhead antics,,, ive got too many reaction memes on my phone maybe angst at some point idk i prob wont be able to help myself

synopsis: in which you, a struggling student in desperate need of a distraction, contact the school’s resident matchmaker, lee donghyuck. after all, the only thing that could make you forget your load of honors classes and your job at the mall is...a boyfriend. that’s how this works, right?

profiles.

preview :: one :: two :: three :: more to come !!

#neowritingsnet #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct social media au #haechan imagine #haechan scenario #haechan social media au #haechan #nct #1800luvline #ari.doc #ive never done an sns au but 🤠🤠🤠#we’ll see what happens #im posting the mlist quietly so i can add to it tmrw LMAO

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mirohed · 5 years

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☎️ 1-800-LUV-LINE :: ONE

preview :: masterlist :: two

⇝ in which mark is an unsupportive piece of shit and you regret arming him with reaction memes and stan lingo.

[a/n: turns out i’m not getting a new phone for a few months so Bear With Me,, i know my imessage is dated 😔]

#neowritingsnet #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct social media au #nct fluff #haechan imagine #haechan social media au #haechan fluff #nct dream scenario #nct 127 scenario #haechan #nct #1800luvline #ari.doc #if im being honest im not proud of this part #ill work on her .. the comedic timing #google search how to be funny JFJSJSKS

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mirohed · 5 years

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[1:59 AM] “oh, the twist is so obvious,” minho complains, trying to toss some popcorn into his mouth. it misses, and the kernels make themselves at home in your hair, much to your chagrin. “they’re gonna save the day, he’ll get the girl, but it’ll all be just a dream. the end.” he rolls his eyes, fishing the popcorn out from your hair and throwing them at the television screen. “lame.” he draws the word out, and you can’t help but think he sounds like a dissatisfied child.

“what if i actually wanted to see it play out?” you ask, adjusting yourself to face him from your spot in his arms. “for, i don’t know, entertainment?”

“i can think of better things we could be doing,” he whispers, lips already ghosting over yours, “for, i don’t know, entertainment.” you want to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face, but you know there’s only one way to do that: giving in.

so you leave the movie behind. you have a much more entertaining night (though you’re loath to admit it) than you would have if you finished the movie.

#stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #stray kids blurb #stray kids drabble #stray kids fluff #minho scenario #minho imagine #minho blurb #minho drabble #minho fluff #lee know scenario #lee know imagine #lee know blurb #lee know drabble #lee know fluff #lee know #stray kids #ari.doc

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mirohed · 5 years

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song mingi | meant to be

pairing: song mingi + gender neutral reader

genre: soulmate au + angst 🤠

wc: 1.2k

synopsis: some things are meant to be.

Some things are meant to be.

The sun rises and sets. The waves crash against the shore. You’ve got Mingi by your side, no matter what.

You watch the sun dip below the sea together, lean into his touch as burnt orange seeps into the sky and sets it aflame. He runs his thumb along the sweeping black marks on your exposed skin. He doesn’t look to read the name; he knows it is not his. You know that on his body, wedged between his shoulder blades, there is a name that is not yours.

The universe and the powers that be tell you that you can’t. You can’t be with someone whose name isn’t etched on your body. The universe doesn’t work like that. You and Mingi prove that you can. It’s been years, and you two have no plans of splitting. As long as you have him, you think, you don’t need to meet “your person.” Mingi is already “your person,” the one who traces circles into your skin when you’re feeling nervous, the one who kicks your ass in Mario Kart, the one you’re meant to be with. You’re sure of it.

It starts like this: your first year of high school, and the winds of change. A lanky boy, not yet used to his height, in your math class. A friendship, and the promise of something more hidden between the lines.

“You’re not my soulmate,” you tell him. It’s all you can think to say after he holds his whole heart out to you, his true feelings out in the open. You’re walking side by side, a cold drink in one hand. The other is empty. Your fingers twitch; Mingi’s hand is right there, but you can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

“And you’re not mine. But it’s just a name. The same of someone I might never meet. But you?” There’s a soft smile on his face as he stops, leans in, the touch of his lips feather-light against your own. “You’re right here.”

He changes your mind about it. For so long, you had felt like you were chained to one person, someone you’d end up with, sure, but someone you didn’t choose. The feeling Mingi gives you reminds you of flying, of freedom. And when he tells you he loves you for the first time, over some shared takeout, you think that he also feels like home.

It ends like this: you wake up one morning, his side of the bed cold. There’s a post-it note stuck to your phone screen, a message scrawled onto it by your boyfriend.

went to the grocery store to pick up milk

You peel the paper off to see your notification center flooded. Ten missed calls and what appears to be an endless stream of texts fill the screen. You manage to read the most recent ones. They’re all from Mingi.

[8:05 AM] lovebug: im sorry

[8:05 AM] lovebug: im s o sprry

[8:05 AM] lovebug: youre prbably still as leep

[8:06 AM] lovebug: i love you

[8:06 AM] lovebug: i lov e yiu so much

[8:07 AM] lovebug: ims ory

It’s been about fifteen minutes since his last text, and you gnaw at your bottom lip. When you ask what happened, there’s no reply. You settle for keeping your phone close while you make the bed. Your phone never goes off, but the door to your shared apartment opens, bringing you out of the bedroom in a flash.

His hair’s unbrushed, and he’s still in his pajamas. But what kills you is the look on his face, void of the goofy grin you’ve come to associate him with. The gallon of milk he picked up gets placed on the counter without a word. He refuses to meet your eye when you ask him what’s wrong, when you move close and take his hands in yours.

It’s then that he begins to sob, and you hold him for what feels like hours. He doesn’t return the embrace, but at some point, he looks up at you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking as tears run down his face. He wraps his arms around you, but this time it’s different.

You’ve received countless hugs from Mingi; bone-crushing ones after the last day of school, shy ones from when your relationship was new, tender ones prefacing a kiss to the forehead. He holds you tight, but there’s no fervor or excitement behind it. You run your fingers through his hair as he shakes, body wracked with grief.

It’s then that you realize it. For the first time, he’s holding you like something that might break in his hands if he got too reckless. You’re something priceless, something precious, something fragile.

“I met him,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck. “Yunho.”

You know that name. You’ve seen it, said it, traced its letters along Mingi’s back. Your mouth falls into a silent “o.” Everything makes sense now. The world as you know it rips itself apart and swallows you whole.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” you tell him. “We knew this was gonna happen, and I’m not gonna stop you from being with your soulmate.”

He comes face to face with you, so close that your noses touch. He cups your face in his hands (again with that sense of fragility) and wipes away tears you didn’t know you had. “I love you. More than anything. And I know… I know that we said that you don’t need a soulmate to be complete, or your own person, that it’s all a load of shit, but when I was with him…” He pauses, blinking away tears of his own. “I felt whole. Complete.”

His next words are a whisper, barely audible over your weeping. “I think we were wrong.”

That hurts more than anything, slams into your gut with staggering force, knocks the wind right out of you. All you can do is clutch at the fabric of his shirt and let it all out.

Mingi begins to move out, and you get to meet his soulmate. Jeong Yunho is just as tall as Mingi, with a similarly silly smile that he seems to grace everyone with. Even you. You try to get angry, try to hate Jeong Yunho, but you can’t. You can’t help but marvel at the power of soulmates when he seems to know Mingi better than you ever could.

Every trace of Mingi begins to disappear from the apartment. His toothbrush. His clothes. The scent of him on his side of the bed. In your darkest hours, through a wine-drunk haze, you hope that the memory of him is soon to follow.

(You don’t mean that. You never could.)

When you scroll through Instagram and see a photo of them together at the beach as the sun sets, you’re left with one thought:

Some things are meant to be.

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mirohed · 5 years

Text

kim seunghun | love me, love me not

pairing: kim seunghun + gender neutral reader

wc: 3.7k

genre: hanahaki au + angst

synopsis: daffodils represent unrequited love. is that why you keep coughing them up?

warnings: implications of suggestive content, descriptions of illness (and mention of surgery), mention of alcohol

playlist: love me, love me not.

a/n: happy birthday to me!! im glad i finally got to finish and post this (its,,, been in my wips since at least february LMAO) !! they prob wont read this but i wanted to thank my irls for dealing w me and my kpop bullshit (esp bc none of them stan ygtb 😔)

It's getting worse.

Your knuckles turn white, gripping the porcelain of the toilet. Tears and blood alike fall into the bowl, disturbing the gentle peace of the water. You pound at your chest, the action causing you to hack up yellow daffodil petals stained suspicious red. It's a monotonous process at this point. Pound. Cough. Pound. Cough. Repeat until the damned coughing stops.

It takes ten minutes before you return to normal. Or at least as normal as you can get. You got lucky this time.

You watch the petals spiral downward into the gaping hole in the toilet and get flushed away.

Being with Seunghun wasn't always accompanied by a tightness in your chest and petals tickling your throat.

june 19, 2005; 2:52 PM.

"I wanna grow up," you had grumbled, your hands squeezed around the chains of the swingset. You and Seunghun had been riding your bikes for the first time since getting the training wheels off. You had sped down a hill ("First one down’s a rotten egg!") and lost control, falling off and scraping your knee on the pavement. He rushed you to your parents' house, supporting your weight with an arm around your waist. The two of you had settled for playing on the swingset in your backyard instead.

"Me too," he said. "I think." He'd been rocking forward and backward on the swing, eyes focused on the blades of grass underfoot.

"You think?"

"I don't know." You stayed silent, trying to gain as much height as possible with your uninjured leg. "I don't wanna grow up and stop being friends." That got you to stop right in your tracks, your leg planted on the ground.

"What?" You sent an incredulous look his way. "Why would we stop being friends?"

He had let go of the swing, his hands finding his lap. "Some of the older kids stopped being friends when they grew up," he mumbled. "I don't wanna stop being friends, but neither did they..."

You got off the swing, limping over to him and wrapping Seunghun in the biggest hug your six-year-old arms could muster.

"We're gonna be best friends forever. Don't forget that."

"Best friends forever." If he wrapped his arms tighter around you then, you didn’t pick up on it.

[09:54 PM] huniebee🐝: i had fun today :^))

[09:54 PM] huniebee🐝: i wanna adopt a puppy!!

[09:55 PM] huniebee🐝: will you promise to help me take care of it

You brighten as the messages come in, your phone's vibrations distracting you from the way your throat clogs.

[09:56 PM] you: ofc

[09:56 PM] you: well be the best puppy parents the worlds ever seen

[09:57 PM] huniebee🐝: wait i need to send the pics from the pet shelter

[Attachment: 8 images]

You save each picture, cooing over the puppies you got to meet. This time, you only get a precious few minutes of relative clarity before things get too distracting to ignore. You return to the bathroom with a resigned sigh that devolves into a fit of coughs.

You cough and retch and cough some more. By the time you're done, there are less petals and more blood in the toilet bowl. Your chest still feels full of something you can't quite spit out.

Then you hack up something new: a bloody stem with wet flowers still attached.

There's nothing left to do but cry, your whole body wracked with pain both physical and emotional.

august 29, 2011; 3:15 PM.

"Today was fun," you said, making yourself right at home on Seunghun's bed. Your new backpack hadn't lasted more than a couple minutes in his house before getting neglected on his carpet. Your best friend hummed in acknowledgement, already sitting at his desk with his workbook out. "I'm glad we got to meet some new people," you continued, "but that Hyunsuk guy? Seems like a major pain in the ass."

"Give him a chance."

"I know, I know. I will. But still," you huffed, “it was his first day too. No need to act like a know-it-all."

"I know. But it's the first day. Maybe he'll even himself out with time."

The conversation ended there, and you spent some time staring at his ceiling fan, the blades going round and round in a big, beautiful blur. Before long, you had grown bored, looking over at him only to see his pencil flying across the paper.

"Hey. Let's go to the mall and get pretzels." Seunghun spun around to face you, a foot stopping his chair from going too far.

"Sure," he gave a placid smile. "Do your work first."

You groaned as loudly as you could, sounding much like a petulant child straight out of elementary school. (Which was more or less the truth, but you thought you were better than that.) After a few minutes of uninterrupted whining and failing to get Seunghun to break, you spoke up. "Why do I need to do my work? You're Mr. Hardworking, Mr. Teacher's Pet."

"We're in middle school now," he had said, and you remember thinking you were in for a long lecture, "and pretty soon, we're gonna have to go to high school and take entrance exams and decide which university we want to go to and..." He averted his gaze, put down his pen. "We need to start growing up."

"We're still young," you reasoned, sitting up and letting your legs dangle off the side of his bed. "If anything, this is our time to experience things and, you know, make mistakes before we become adults!"

He was silent for a few long, agonizing moments, long enough to make you think you'd won. The pretzels were within reach; all you had to do was ask for them.

"I call a compromise."

Shit. Compromises were common in your friendship. Seunghun was always a little too good at stopping you from making stupid decisions. The worst part was that you could never argue with them. "We go to the mall to get pretzels—my treat—if, and only if, you do your work. We don't go until we're both finished. Deal?"

You opened your mouth, determined to pick the proposal apart, but his reasoning was (unpleasant, yet) bulletproof. Instead, you reached for your backpack with a heavy sigh. "First of all, fuck you. Second of all," you said, tugging your own workbook out, "you're impossible."

"I know. Do your work."

"Fine."

The math problems had been difficult, definitely harder than you were used to, but doable. If anything, the greasy mall pretzels that were way too salty to be healthy made it all worth it.

Seunghun gets understandably very worried when you text him from the hospital, but he comes to see you nonetheless. In his arms is a bouquet of daffodils.

"They symbolize friendship," he says, setting it down on the table next to you. You stare at the pristine yellow petals and flatten your lips in a tight smile. How ironic, you think, that he doesn't know they also symbolize unrequited love.

"The doctors wouldn't tell me why you're here. Classified information, they said." That much is true; nor much is known about the disease outside of shitty romance movies with unrealistically happy endings. Seunghun always believed in them. You never did.

You don't think your story's gonna have a happy ending.

You didn't want him to know anyway, lest he worry. (And you don't want to think about what would happen to your friendship if he found out he was the cause of it all.) "You don't have to tell me," he begins, sitting himself down on one of those rigid hospital chairs, "I just wanna know if it's bad. Like, well...you know.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Terminal."

"Like if I'm gonna die?"

"Yeah," he rubs the nape of his neck, a bit abashed, "more or less."

"I don't know. Sure hope not," you chuckle. That brings on a coughing fit, and Seunghun looks on, brows knit together. He moves close to offer what little comfort he can, but you hold your hand up to stop him; having him near will only make things worse.

Petals threaten to spill out of your mouth, and panic bubbles in your chest when he asks if you're okay. Your doctor, bless her, chooses that moment to enter. She shooes him out "to speak to you in private." Seunghun, to his credit, obliges and flashes you a smile and a thumbs-up as he goes. You try to mirror his expression (and hope your smile isn't more of a grimace).

The door closes behind him with a soft click. "Friend of yours?" the doctor asks.

You spit the blood-stained petals into your hand, your doctor graciously looking the other way as you toss them into the trash. "You could say that."

october 4, 2013; 5:11 PM.

You tugged at your clothing, feeling more than a little uncomfortable as you waited for your best friend to show up. The DJ, a former student, was already hard at work inside the gym. You heard the bass-boosted beginning of the Cupid Shuffle and shot a frantic text to Seunghun.

[05:11 PM] you: holy shit theyre playing the cupid shuffle can you PLEASE hurry up

[05:12 PM] you: idc if this is our first homecoming you better get your ass over here

[05:12 PM] huniebee🐝: give me like two minutes!!

[05:12 PM] you: THE SONGS GONNA BE OVER IN 2 MIN

"Are you waiting for Seunghun?" Hyunsuk had asked, tie already loosened. You two had gotten close—not as close as you and Seunghun, of course—this year as a result of having classes together. You wondered why you ever hated him.

"Yeah. He won't be too late, thank God, but I'm pissed we're missing the Cupid Shuffle. What about you? I remember you bragging all week about 'flexing your dance skills in front of the ladies.' Or are you all talk, as usual?"

"You know, it's almost like you don't want me to wait with you."

You had laughed, knocking your shoulder into his. The chatter kept up for a minute or two before he made his leave. ("Well, it's time for me to flex my dance muscles in front of the seniors," he chuckled, giving you a salute as he walked off.)

"I'm here! God, I can't believe I missed the Cupid Shuffle," Seunghun said, head hung low. You began to feel a little self-conscious; you were feeling out of place in your semi-formal outfit, yet he looked right at home in his dress shirt.

Chasing those thoughts away, you grinned. "You're here now, aren't you? Come on." You took his hand and dragged him into the gym.

You don't talk to Seunghun or to Hyunsuk after that. You're not sure if you should tell Hyunsuk about the whole situation when he texts you. Seunghun must have told him something was up, of course, and he's insightful enough, sensitive enough (when he wants to be), but you worry. You're afraid he'll open his big mouth. Instead, you send a few messages to your best friend.

[04:29 AM] you: hey

[04:29 AM] you: i just wanted to say in advance that im sorry

[04:29 AM] you: im so so sorry for everything ive done and for what im about to do

There's one last message in the text box, daring you to send it. "I'm sorry I love you," you whisper instead, deleting the message before you do something you’ll regret. To seal the deal, you tap through a few menus until you reach his contact. The picture you've assigned to him is one you took; he's about to take a big bite of cotton candy bigger than his head.

With a heavy heart (though you hope it’s just the weight of the daffodils in your chest), you block his contact. It's better this way. It has to be.

Your doctor said you could get rid of the thick, thorned vines with a vicegrip around your heart and lungs, could pluck the flowers that threaten to spill out at the mere thought of your best friend.

The biggest side effect of it all, she told you, was that you'd forget all about Kim Seunghun. So you steel yourself.

The last thing you think about before they insert the thin needle of anesthesia in your veins is Seunghun's smile, and how you'll never see it in person again.

And how even if you did, you wouldn't remember it as the grin from the boy you love.

october 4, 2013; 9:16 PM.

The frenetic strobe lighting in the gym slowed to a stop, having been replaced with a spotlight making lazy rounds through the gym.

You knew that marked the beginning of a slow song, and dragged Seunghun off the floor in search of some punch. He seemed to have different plans, tugging you back on the floor and pulling you flush against him.

"Where are you going?" he had asked. "You're the one who wanted to dance the night away." His hands found your waist, yours instinctively folding behind his neck. You had wanted to say something about how that claim was void now; he was the one that made you miss the Cupid Shuffle, but the words get extinguished when you look at him.

It was just like that time you practiced in fifth grade, but you swore there was something different about tonight and the way you swayed. You thought back to your practice session in fifth grade, how you had stepped on each other's feet, how you spent the whole time laughing. (For the record, it wasn't for any lack of balance; you started it, laughing as he cried out before he stomped on your toe.)

There was no laughing during the song. Everything was vibrant and deafening and there all at once. But at the same time, it was like everything had been stripped away. Everything but you and Seunghun.

Things changed after that. You were left with a dizzying, free-fall sort of feeling that picked up with each glance at your best friend. Almost every butterfly in the world was taking current residency in your stomach, making you feel light as your body moved to the music. Before long, there was something lodged at the back of your throat, nudging its way forward.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick," you said, a particularly heavy cough bringing the mysterious lump to your mouth.

Running your tongue along the smooth texture of the lump (okay, so not phlegm), you spat the offending object into the sink: a single yellow petal, coated in saliva.

You blinked.

Blinked again.

"Oh, what the fuck," you muttered, unlocking your phone. One quick Google search later—why the fuck am i coughing up flowers—you found an answer.

Flora mortem. You were loath to believe WebMD, of all things, but you found yourself tapping the link regardless. There was another term for the rare disease: Hanahaki.

Revising your search query was a mistake. The first result was the "hanahaki" tag on Tumblr, which showed nothing but models with tears in their eyes and bloodied flowers in their mouths. Yikes.

You made your way back to the party after that, but lingering in the back of your mind was the cause of the disease: a severe case of unrequited love.

There is only one definite cure for Hanahaki Disease: having the object of the afflicted's affections return their feelings.

You almost manage to purge the petal and the stupid WebMD page from your mind for the rest of the night.

Almost.

You wake up hours later. It's a little disorienting, sure, to come to with little memory of what landed you in the hospital. You peek under the oversized hospital gown to see bandages over your chest, get tempted to rip the IV drip from your arm. The doctor comes in right before you make a move on the needle. She tells you all about how the flowers in your lungs are gone for good.

"You're saved. But the final test," she says, pulling a phone from her pocket, "is this. Do you recognize the people in this picture?"

You recognize yourself next to a boy you don't know. His hand's around your waist, pulling you close. You wear matching grins. Given the way you're both dressed, you suspect the picture's from your freshman year's homecoming dance. Weird. Memory's kinda fuzzy from that night.

"Yeah. Myself. I don't know the other guy. Am I supposed to?"

"No. You're not. Congratulations," she smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder. "You're cured."

You look through all the old messages and pictures when you have some time to yourself. You reach out for the memory, the feeling of knowing Kim Seunghun. You get nothing, and while your brain knows something's wrong, you're more concerned about being able to breathe easy.

You move to a new city, far, far away from the place you grew up in. You finish your last year of high school, get a job, start college. You make new memories with new people. You forget all about Kim Seunghun.

It gets easy to forget that you weren't born with the ugly faded red scars that run up and down your chest. It's your only remaining tie to the man you loved so much you almost let yourself wither away. You think it's a good thing you cut him off; why stick around, why force yourself to suffer, for someone who doesn't love you back? Why be with someone if it physically hurts to stay by their side?

But sometimes you wonder. What happened? What happened to him after his best friend walked out of his life for good with no explanation?

Those days are never good. You distract yourself then, often with the familiar kick of alcohol burning in the back of your throat. You've never been much of a drinker, but you figure it's never too late to start.

Sometimes, the distraction comes from being in the arms of another.

(One of your favorite distractions, a young man named Byounggon, had run his fingers along the angry lines one night, jotting them down in his map of your body.

"Do you regret it?" he asked then, eyes half-lidded with drowsiness. You cupped his cheek, ran a thumb along the planes of his face.

"I wouldn't be here if I regretted it, now would I?" He let the corners of his mouth turn up just so, pressing his lips to yours.

You don't talk to him much nowadays, your interactions reduced to likes on Instagram, views on Snapchat. He's moved to a bigger city. "More opportunities," he said. You keep up with his dream of being a musician, always. There was a time when you were his number one supporter, after all.)

"Will that be all?" the cashier asks, jotting your order on the plastic cup. When you nod, he asks for your name. He jots that down too.

But then his eyes widen and he looks at you with renewed interest. "I'm sorry?"

"Is there a problem?" you asks, peering at your name (spelled correctly) on the cup. His eyes search for an answer within yours, some sort of explanation you can't seem to give. He averts his gaze, shakes his head, places your cup in the queue of orders.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Just thought you were someone I knew. Have a nice day." You parrot the phrase, catching a glimpse of the young man's name tag.

Seunghun, it reads in cheerful yellow. There's a doodle of a puppy in the top right corner. You think it's rather cute.

Two weeks later, you meet Seunghun again. This time, you're out for a morning jog. The crisp autumn air greets you as your feet meet the pavement and let out a satisfactory crunch under the burnt orange leaves on the sidewalk.

You both get stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. While you catch your breath, you don't miss the way he flinches, as though he didn't expect you to show up. He schools his expression into something friendly within no time, and you wonder if you imagined the whole thing.

"The weather's nice, isn't it?"

"It is," you pant. "On your way to work?" He raises a hand to tug at the strap of his backpack with a small smile.

"Yeah. You should come by, give us business," he grins. "On mornings like this, I recommend the hazelnut latte." You hum in agreement, not yet recovered enough to converse. "Tell you what, you come and get one when I'm working, I'll make sure it's on the house."

"Really? Maybe I'll swing by." The light changes, and you leave Seunghun behind, waving goodbye as you do.

You come in later that day, ordering a hazelnut latte as promised. Seunghun's manning the register, same as two weeks ago, and when he takes everything down, he smiles. You miss it as you pay, but there's something extra on your cup.

As you take a sip of the (delicious; his coworker Yedam must be some sort of brewing prodigy) latte, you catch a glimpse of the extra writing.

Along the side of the cup is his phone number.

[10:58 PM] seunghun!: more than anything i want to adopt a puppy

[10:59 PM] seunghun!: or rather another one

[10:59 PM] seunghun!: i named this one after an old friend

[Attachment: 1 image]

The picture of Seunghun and his dog brings a smile to your face. You've been spending more time with him recently, whether it be going on coffee runs ("Are you sure you're not just using me for my employee discount?") or complaining about life as a broke college student ("My card got declined trying to buy a bag of chips last night...").

It's nice. Spending time with him is...nice.

It's more than a simple distraction, somebody to hold close on nights your decisions try to haunt you. It’s friendship, something to hold onto when you lose your way in the dense forest of your mind and to cherish when you manage to make it to a clearing and bask in the sunshine.

You've caught a cold recently (probably from that bastard Seo Changbin in your communications class). Seunghun's given you some homemade tea, swearing on its usefulness. It certainly tastes good, the sweet honey chased by tangy lemon. Unfortunately, the tea isn't able to stop the persistent cough you've been plagued with.

Feeling phlegm start to come up, you turn the bathroom lights on, hacking it up and spitting into the sink.

Huh. That's weird.

There's no phlegm.

The only thing in the sink is a single golden petal, coated in saliva.

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