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sehunniepotwrites · 3 years

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i’ll send all my loving to you | jh.s

💌 part of the OF FIRST SNOWS AND SOULMATES collaboration with @ppangjae, @smoll-tangerine, and @jeongvision

💌 SYNOPSIS: When your collection of unsent love letters and heart-wrenching poems becomes a best-seller, you are left with the pressure of releasing another collection that is better than the last. In search of inspiration, you return home for the holidays only to run into Johnny Suh– the very man who broke your heart, and discover a variety of letters convincing you to change your fate.

So, riddle me this: if you had a chance to change your fate, would you take it?

💌 WORD COUNT: 24.8k+ 💌 GENRE: holidays!au, college!au, soulmate!au, friends-with-benefits!au, friends-to-lovers!au, romance, angst, fluff, humor, slow burn 💌 PAIRING: photographer!johnny suh x (female) poet!reader

💌 WARNINGS: cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex and divorce, odd references to sci-fi shows and movies

💌 PLAYLIST. lover by taylor swift • for life - english version by exo • unless it’s with you by christina aguilera • i don’t wanna see you cryin’ anymore by adam melchor • love letters by juris • sick of losing soulmates by dodie clark • best friend by jason chen • popo (how deep is our love?) by yerin baek • sun&moon by nct 127 • i’ll like you so much you’ll know it by wan junqi • if by juris • anyone else by joshua bassett • hate everything by golden

💌 a love letter to my readers.

hello, soulmates! welcome to the first fic of this special spin-off collab based on ppangjae’s seven letters. this collab has been in the works since november and we’re so excited for you all to read our four fics! now, i hold this story close to my heart because all the poems included are my original work (so please don’t steal them!)

it’s also related to this johnny drabble i wrote a while back: “you turned him into poetry because you can’t have him any other way.” (not necessary to read but it’s less thatn 500 words.)

and without further ado, here’s the first of four letters!

signed, @sehunniepotwrites

From your large bedroom window, you could see a picture perfect day. The winter sun peered through the large clouds, the rays casting an illuminating glow on the freshly fallen snow. A slight breeze made its way through the air, causing tree branches and your blackout curtains to rustle with the winds. Looking down below, you saw children and adults alike playing in the soft snow. Shrieks of laughter were heard as people threw snowballs, built lopsided snowmen, and pressed angels’ silhouettes into the ground. You saw bundled up couples making their way down the streets with interlocked hands and cups of steaming drinks to keep them warm.

It was as perfect as a beautiful winter’s day would ever be— if only you could write about it!

BAM.

You slammed your hands against your desk by the open window, letting out a frustrated scream. It was loud enough to alarm the people playing below, causing them to look up at you with widened eyes. You shut your window with a bang and yanked your curtains closed with more force than needed.

The door to your room flung open to reveal your frazzled roommate and best friend, Donghyuck. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” he yelled as he entered your room with widened eyes.

You could only groan back as you belly-flopped onto your bed, lower legs hanging off the sides. “Everything. Absolutely everything is wrong.” You pressed your head into a pillow, hoping the soft cotton would drown you and take you away from your misery.

“And what exactly does everything include?” your roommate implored. He took a seat beside you, the mattress sinking down into the springs of your bed frame as he did so. Donghyuck awkwardly patted your upper back as you continued to moan into your pillowcase.

You didn’t give him an answer. Instead, you looked up from your pillow and glared intensely at him. “This is all your fault.”

He drew back his hand and placed it on his chest. “My fault?” Donghyuck asked dramatically with a scoff. “How could this be my fault? I don’t even know what your problem is!”

You sat up with a pout, arms crossed against your chest. “I’m stuck.”

“You’re stuck,” he repeated with a deadpan expression. “Now, what in the flying fuck is that supposed to mean and how is it my fault?”

Grabbing your pillow by its corner, you gathered the fluff before beating your roommate with it. You struck him on the head, his sides, and on his stomach with huge whacks, leaving him to squirm on your bed.

“You had to go and send my work to a publisher without my consent and. Look. Where. It. Got. Me!” you screeched, your last few words being enunciated with a strike to your best friend’s stomach.

He grabbed hold of your hitting arm before you could make another attack. “Young, rich, and famous?” he suggested cheekily with a hesitant grin. “New York Times Best Selling Poet, Sunny Blume?”

At the sound of your pen name, you jerked your hand away from his grip and went into another hitting fit. “Correction: I am a struggling English Lit senior who happens to be a New York Times Best Seller with the biggest case of writer’s block, you dumbfuck!”

Donghyuck bit your writing hand, or the money maker as he called it, causing you to yelp in pain. You clutched your throbbing hand and pouted, “Ow!”

“That’s what you get for blaming me!” He stuck out his tongue before pulling you into his hold. He kept you in a loose headlock and sat you on his lap. “Now, what’s this talk about writer’s block, buttercup?”

You sighed against his hold, your head rolling back onto the crook of his neck. “I haven’t written anything in two months,” you blankly stated as you stared up at the ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. They seemed a bit childish when you first hung them up but they were nostalgic and kept you grounded when you needed them most.

“Ah,” your roommate simply replied, allowing you to continue.

“And according to my agent, they want a draft of my next collection by the end of January,” you lamented. You both glanced at the calendar hanging by your desk— it was already the 1st of December.

His plump lips thinned out in an awkward smile. Donghyuck brought a hand to your shoulder, patting it in defeated consolation. “Wow, that’s rough, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes before sliding off his lap. You dragged your body towards your messy desk, shuffling the crumpled wads around before grasping a stack of papers to hand over to your friend. “This is literally all I could come up with.”

He snatched them out of your grip, brown eyes skimming over your messy scrawl. With raised eyebrows, he read the top poem out loud. “Roses are red, violets are blue; I can’t write shit, so boo hoo hoo.”

Just hearing those poorly written words made you want to bang your head across on your desk or throw your refurbished typewriter off your table— scratch that last thought. That typewriter was a prized possession and a precious gift interlaced with a special memory, you could never part with it.

“These are—” he began to say, his dry hands skimming through the pile of crumpled paper.

“Don’t say it,” you countered. You already knew his answer.

“—complete utter shit,” he finished his thought.

You pulled out your swiveling chair from under your desk and flopped onto it. Dropping your head down, you faced your friend with a cheek squished onto the cold surface of your desk.

“I know,” You sighed defeatedly. “I just— I don’t know, dude. I don’t have anything to write about!”

“Well, what happened to Miss Romantic Sunny Blume that wrote all those love letters and sappy poetry?”

“Excuse me, Miss Sunny actually had someone to write about back then!” you fiercely snapped back. “I don’t have anyone or anything to inspire me now!”

It was true. When Donghyuck secretly sent your first round of writings to a publisher, you had a muse and he was beautiful— almond eyes, a perfectly sloped nose, a kittenish smile paired with a sweet voice and an even sweeter personality. He was a poet’s dream boy and even better, he was your best friend.

His name was John Suh but you called him Johnny. Just saying his name brought a lovesick smile to your lips.

When you were with him, your words painted pictures of childhood innocence, of laughter flowing in with the flowers and the trees. You grew up attached at the hip, conquering the big old world with your hand engulfed in his, and many stories poured out of your adventures. You wrote of moments that you cherished and wanted to preserve through the art of the written word.

The ones you mostly wrote about, though, were the times he made your heart skip a beat. Johnny used to grab your hand and pull you away from the end of the sidewalk to stay on the safer side, causing you to flush with appreciation. You scribbled about the times he would push back your hair with a smile, press a kiss to your temple, or he would look at you as if you held the whole world in your eyes.

“Hey!” A rough shove to your side brought you out of your thoughts and onto the hard wooden floors. You let out a whine, rubbing the shoulder that made contact with the ground.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck replied unabashedly. “You were doing it again.”

Again meaning spacing out and thinking of the one person that held your precious heart in his hands before snapping it in two. As much as Johnny had been your muse in the verses of love, he was equally responsible for the prose and poems touching on heartache.

Johnny was the sole inspiration for your unexpected Best Seller, letters left unsent. As hard as you tried within the past three years to find another, no one could ever stir up your heart with a fountain of words as Johnny did.

In other words, you were so fucking screwed.

When one cannot think of what to do, there was only one thing you could do: when in doubt, call your—

“Mooooom,” you whined, pressing your phone against your ear with your shoulder. You juggled a mug in one hand and a steaming pot of tea in another. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sweetie,” you heard your mother sigh into the phone. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Why not?” you argued back like a child, a louder whine leaving your lips. “You’re my mother, aren’t you supposed to know everything?”

“Oh honey, don’t be like that,” your mother chuckled. “I’m not a writer. I don’t know how to use my words as well as you do.”

“Well then, I’m at a complete, utter loss.” Taking a sip of your hot tea, you hissed as the temperature burned your tongue, “Ack, too hot!”

Setting your tea down onto your living room coffee table, you slid onto the couch in a weird slouch, where you’ve camped out for the past few nights. Your last bullet journal was filled to the brim with no blank pages left, jam packed with scribbles, rips, and stains of either coffee or tea. It held poems, yes, but they weren’t good enough to publish— they were dry. Beyond dry, even. Devoid of emotion. Just words on a page.

“Nothing from your old notebooks?”

“Nothing that I haven’t already published in print or online,” you complained. “I guess I could probably pull a couple but not a whole bunch.”

Your mother called your name just as you placed the phone on speaker and you responded with a crushed hum. “You’re on break now, yes?”

“Yeah,” you replied back. You and Donghyuck had just finished your first semester of your senior year, with break beginning at the start of December. You had been tucked in your small apartment, away from the blistering cold of winter ever since.

“Would a change of environment help?” she suggested kindly.

“I’ve tried that already— I’ve gone to coffee shops and libraries. I’ve people-watched in the park. Went out with friends. And still, absolutely nothing,” you moaned. You were just about ready to give up.

“Ah, no. That’s not what I meant, dear,” she said a bit apprehensively.

“Huh?” was all you could give back.

While you grabbed your mug to take another sip of tea, you could hear your mother suck in a deep breath through the speaker. “Why don’t you come home for the holidays?” she uttered suddenly, throwing you in for a loop.

You froze in place in shock, the mug almost slipping from your hand. Your fingers gripped onto the handle tighter than necessary, the cup shaking in your hold.

Your mother, more than anyone else in the world, knew that going home for the break was off-limits to you. You hadn’t been back home for the holidays for the past three years, the memories of your heartbreak four years ago still living fresh in your mind. Although you had never told her the full story, one look at your shaken face and she knew that something had happened— call it a mother’s intuition. She held you in your arms while you cried and watched over you as you leaned over your desk, maniacally typing away on your typewriter. When the following break came around, you refused to go back home. So instead, your family came to you.

Placing the tea back on a messy paper stack that replaced a coaster, you exhaled loudly, your breath blowing through the mic of your phone. “Mom, w-why would you even say that?”

“Sweetie, I still don’t know what exactly happened between you two but you can’t keep running away from home. Or your problems,” she advised, her tone morphing into the ‘know-it-all’ mom voice that you hated. You grumbled but didn’t say a word. “Besides, when you were home, all you could do was write— coming home could help you tremendously.”

She paused, as if the dull moment in her words would help you think. “And if you need any more convincing, John hasn’t been home in three years either, honey. I doubt you would run into him here.”

“I guess,” you responded, voice teetering.

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

Days after speaking to your mother, you forced yourself out of your shared apartment like a man on a mission. You went to the movies and to the theatre, hoping you could pull ideas from existing plot lines. Your feet took you to record shops and more cafes to find inspiration. You went on drives and rode buses while staring out through the window, hoping for words to just hit you. You did anything and everything to call upon your creative juices but nothing helped.

“Honey, I’m home!” you jokingly shouted as the squeaky door to your apartment swung wide open. You winced, you really needed to get that checked out. Throwing your keys into the bowl on top of your shoe rack, you shuffled your way to the kitchen to brew some coffee.

“Yo,” Donghyuck greeted, his lithe body sprawled over the couch. His arms were outstretched to hold his phone over his head, a finger scrolling through the feed. “Any luck today, Rupi Kaur?”

“Nope.”

“Sucks to suck, Lang Leav.”

“Oh, fuck you too,” you retorted as you poured some sugar and creamer into your cup. You inhaled the heavenly scent as you whacked your roommate’s legs off the couch. Taking a sip, you sighed.

“This is the best part of my day right here,” you said as you drank a mouthful of caffeine. It immediately dispersed warmth down your hands and throat, like magic.

“Really? I thought it was wandering through the cold weather in search of ideas and failing at it,” Donhyuck threw back. You smacked his arm and he yelped, murmuring something about always being your punching bag but you paid no attention to his words.

You took another long sip of your coffee, eyes glaring at your sassy roommate.

“Maybe you should listen to your mom, you know?” he proposed, running a finger through his long brown locks.

“Hyuck,” you started.

He interrupted you as he sat up in his seat and gave you a pointed look. “Listen, she said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hasn’t been home in years. So why not go home?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look, you could even search through your old notebooks and maybe you’ll find ones that haven’t published yet,” the boy pushed, “or you could even revamp or write responses to your old work.”

That was true—many people have done that before.

“I’ll even go with you for moral support if you want me, too,” Donghyuck lightly suggested, testing the waters. As much as he sassed you, your best friend never wanted you to be uncomfortable.

“You would do that for me?” you pouted with sparkling eyes. You coiled your arm around his, playfully rubbing your cheek against the sleeve of his shirt. “You growing soft on me, Hyuck?”

“Ew, I’m never soft,” he reacted, his face contorting with fake disgust. He wiggled his arm out of your ridiculously tight grasp to give you a noogie, knuckles digging deep through your hair and on your scalp. “Come on, we have some packing to do.”

Okay, so you were doing this.

And so came the dreaded day— December 7th, the day you planned to drive home. Luckily, your university was only an hour and fifteen minutes away from your hometown so it wasn’t much of a drive. Donghyuck waited downstairs in the packed car as you did your last minute checks around the apartment. After checking everything was either turned off or unplugged, you swiftly slipped on your boots and outerwear. You opened the door to reveal your postman with a package in hand. You jumped at his sudden appearance, not expecting it at all, and he had the audacity to laugh at your skittish self.

“Oh, just in time!” he chuckled. He read off your name, “Is that you?”

“Yes, sir,” you answered him. He grinned at your polite answer, handing you a clipboard to sign off on. You quickly scribble your name in exchange for the small package and whisper a distracted ‘thanks,’ shaking the box once it was snug in your hand.

The postman laughed again before leaving you to make more deliveries.

Heavy boots pounded on the steps of the staircase as you curiously eyed the package. You continued to stare suspiciously at it as you entered the passenger’s seat of your car with your friend in the driver’s seat.

“Retail therapy?” Donghyuck teased as he glanced at the mysterious box. You shook your head, hair swaying with movement as you buckled your seatbelt. He set off onto the icy street and suddenly, you were on the open road, heading back to your childhood home for Christmas.

“No, everything I ordered already arrived,” you answered with furrowed brows digging deep into your face, “but it’s addressed to me.”

The driver shrugged, still keeping his eye on the road. He was driving slower than usual due to the condition of the pathway. It would probably take you two hours to get home rather than the usual hour and fifteen.

“Maybe one of the warehouses made a mistake and sent you two sets of things instead of one, it happens a lot this time of year,” he said nonchalantly. That was a valid point.

Using your keys as a dull blade, you cut through the tape. Hands dug through the bubble wrap to find a brand new Moleskine journal and a fancy fountain pen. The cover was black and made of leather. The book itself was pocket sized, a perfect notebook to slip into a purse or a slit in a coat.

“So, what is it?” Donghyuck tried to look over curiously and you scolded him, telling him to keep his wandering eyes on the traffic-clad highway.

“It’s a brand new journal and pen,” you said, describing the items to him. “Funny, I never ordered this, though.”

Flipping through the pages, you found them to be dotted— exactly how you liked them. Your hand turned to the first page, surprised to see lines of neat cursive scribbled jotted on the bright surface.

“Huh.” You blinked. Why would someone send you a used notebook? That was odd.

Another odd thing about this whole mysterious package was how familiar the handwriting looked— the way this person dotted their I’s and crossed their T’s. You recognized the loops of their L’s and their F’s.

It looked awfully similar to the way you did it but how could that be possible?

The cursive read:

My dear,

It will be December 7th by the time you get this package. I know you’ve been wanting to purchase a new journal, I am you from the future after all.

You’ll be needing this. A beautiful muse will appear in front of you soon. I will not tell you who or when— you’ll know who it is right away. Call it a little bump in the right direction by the Fates.

After you meet him, find the yellow Moleskine journal tucked under your bed. I have placed another note for you in there.

Sincerely,

the sunflower who misses her sun

Quickly shutting the notebook, you threw it into your purse before chucking your bag to the back of your roommate’s car. You slapped the side of your head, trying to take away whatever wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey bullshit you just read. What in the space-time continuum was this crap?

“Dude, are you okay?” Donghyuck asked, clearly concerned.

“Let’s talk about something else!” you demanded, still shaken from the words you just read.

“Whatever you want, buttercup,” he went along with your suggestion, immediately shooting into stories of him with his crazy high school friends and his current partner. His absurd stories throughout the ride cracked you up and they reminded you of all the old shenanigans you and Johnny used to get into. Funny how your thoughts always traveled back to him.

You hoped that once you meet your new muse, your thoughts of your childhood friend would disappear.

Donghyuck gently called your name and you turned to face him with a slight smile.

“I don’t think you ever told me,” he started.

“Told you what?”

“Why you chose Sunny as your pen name,” he finished, glancing over at you for a second.

“Oh, that?” you answered, leaning your head against the car window. You crossed your arms as you began to explain, “Johnny used to call me sunflower, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you almost giggled, “thought I was a bundle of positivity, always looking for the bright side in everything. Guess it just stuck with me.”

Donghyuck hummed, “And were you? Seems a little different from the you that got her heart broken.”

“I guess I was,” you answered wistfully thinking of the day he gave you that nickname, “but really, I was just a sunflower looking up at someone she thought was the sun.”

i wonder how long i have to look at you like a sunflower gazing up at the bright sun before you shine your rays down on me and only me

Memories of one specific Fall day with him came to mind.

It was four years ago— the day was hot, not a single cloud in the sky and yet, there you two were at a pumpkin patch. You were gleaming with both sweat and excitement while your tall best friend who had been there before watched you with amused eyes.

While it was your first Fall Semester in university, it was Johnny’s second Fall quarter away from home. When Johnny moved away to study photography at a prestigious university, you remembered how sad you were to not have your partner-in-crime by your side but all was well when he made the forty-five minute drive home on weekends. Those days were the times you were glad he didn’t wander too far.

You chose a well-known university that had an amazing English program. An hour and fifteen away from home but also only twenty minutes from where Johnny was, meaning college courses couldn’t separate your strong bond; that was how you ended up running through corn mazes and haystacks.

He had his favorite camera on him that day, strapped around his neck. You could remember exactly what he was wearing, too; that image of him lived forever in your mind. He sported an oversized striped button-up tucked into a sleek pair of blue skinnies and adorned his classic Converse. Round glasses sat on the edge of his nose with his hair parted and styled immaculately. Johnny just looked like the Fine Arts major everyone fantasized about.

You could still picture all the people stopping to stare at him but he paid no attention to them, his hands and eyes too busy fiddling with his camera.

You were admiring the field of sunflowers in front of you when Johnny yelled your name. You turned towards him with a curious smile, a hand touching the stem of a flower before a flash went off.

He took pictures of you, the loud noise of fast shutters going off, and you rolled your eyes before he waved you over to come check out the shots. Johnny leaned down as you peered over his arm, his finger navigating through the quick shots he took. He stopped on one particular photo and grinned.

Johnny caught you mid spin, your head turned over your shoulder as you clutched the flower in your hand. Your eyes bled both wide-eyed curiosity at him calling your name but also admiration for the flowers behind you. The mustard yellow of your shirt stood out against the green stems and there was a small smile gracing your lips highlighted by your favorite fall-colored stain.

In other words, it was the perfect shot.

“Look, you fit right in with them,” he said, smiling down at you with a certain fondness in his voice. It was soft, not like his usual teasing voice. “My little sunflower.”

You scrunched your nose at his cheesy comment, although it made a weird feeling hatch in the pit of your stomach. It felt odd and fluttery but you shook it off to lightly shove his buff arm.

“Oh shut up, you giant,” you remembered saying before smiling up at the man who was too busy admiring the picture. If anything, he looked proud of the shot— his eyes shining in a certain way. Or maybe it was something else, you just couldn’t put your finger on it.

Your eyes flickered around his face, admiring the way the glasses and his black hair framed his face so perfectly. Maybe your eyes lingered a little too long because the next thing you recalled was him saying, “Are you done staring at my gorgeous face? I wanna take pictures of you being a basic bitch by the pumpkins.”

And then, the teasing returned.

“Ugh, evaporate, tall person,” you pretended to groan as you made your way to the pumpkins.

“Eh, can’t— who would drive you home?” he called out cheekily, using his long legs to catch up with you. Johnny elbowed your arm and you dug yours into his side, leaving him to moan painfully until he asked for mercy.

The boy took so many other pictures of you and the scenery that day. The next time you visited his dorm, you stole a glance at his wall of favorite shots. Right there on the bottom of the wall was that picture of you, unedited.

You remember biting back the biggest smile. You held it in until you got home, your mind relishing in the feeling when pen hit paper. You wrote your first poem about him that day and three years later, it became one of your most famous pieces.

first coat of white hits the ground and i forever think of you angel of snow, do you think of me, too?

Not even two days of being home and your mother had already sent you on an errand run. Usually, you would moan and groan for being sent outside with a to-do list but today was the exception as it was the first snowfall in your hometown.

“Hurry up and unlock the car, I’m freezing!” Donghyuck called, his hands yanking on the handle of the passenger’s door. You stuck your tongue out at him and pressed a button on your keys before taking in the feeling of fresh snow hitting your skin for a moment more. You followed him into the car, buckling your seatbelt before driving off on a familiar pathway. Driving through your neighborhood with the snow raining from the sky made you sigh happily.

The first snowfall of the season was always special to a romantic because of its significance. People believed that a confession to a crush made on the first snowfall would always be reciprocated.

Just as so, the first snowfall was special to you. Not because of crushes and confession or anything of that sort. The very first fall of snow was special because it brought Johnny to you.

You remembered being just shy of five years old, excited about the first snow day of the year. Quickly dressing yourself in your outerwear, you ran around in front of your house with snow dropping down from the sky. Your family laughed at your hyper antics, watching you from the window as you began to play by yourself. A snowman dressed in your best winter beanie and scarf set kept you company as you decorated the yard with snow angels.

Just as you were getting up from making your last snow angel, a dark shadow blocked your view. You made out a pair of dinosaur snow boots facing you, then your eyes tracked up to see a happy boy wearing a matching dinosaur winter jacket and beanie. His puffy lips smiled brightly at you from above and you looked up at him with a pout, not recognizing him.

“Who are you?” you asked as you dusted snow off your pants.

“Hi, I’m John and I’m six! I just moved here!” the boy beamed, his almond eyes closing as he gave you another cute smile.

You replied shyly with your own name while moving onto another spot in the snow. You sat down, ready to make another snow angel.

“I live there now,” John pointed to the house across the street, his dinosaur mittens peeking through his sweater paws. You nodded while he told you this. You remembered thinking he talked a lot. His mother watched not too far from him on the sidewalk with a fond smile. Your parents came out to greet her, the adults striking up a small conversation while they kept their eyes on you.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making snow angels, duh,” you gestured to all your markings on the floor. “See, those are wings right there.”

“Can I make them with you?” John questioned, sitting on the cold ground next to you. You nodded enthusiastically, happy to have another playmate. He flopped onto the snow and you followed suit with a loud giggles.

“I like you, Johnny— you’re fun,” you blurted out with a beaming smile.

“That’s not my name! My name is John, not Johnny,” he insisted with a small frown. Your grin slowly flipped upside down, saddened by the rejection from your new playmate.

Seeing the tears building in your eyes, the boy panicked. “But it’s okay— you can call me Johnny!” he quickly blurted to put an end to your waterworks.

“Really?”

“Yeah, cause I like you, too. You’re pretty,” Johnny hugged you, his small arms wrapping around your tiny waist and you did the same in return. Johnny’s father was quick to snap a photo of the hug with his camera, successfully capturing your first picture and memory together as friends.

Time passed quickly as you dragged your bodies onto the snow while your parents observed the new friendship in the making. They predicted the start of a long-lasting friendship; they just failed to predict the ending.

Regardless of the tragic end, the first snowfall of the season was still something you cherished. It reminded you of shy introductions in dinosaur outerwear, laughter, and a billion angels surrounding the white dusted floor. You just hoped that when the next person came along, they would learn to love snow angels as much as you did.

You exited through the doors of the grocery store while hugging a paper bag to your chest. The items were piled up a mile high, obscuring your view of the parking lot. Donghyuck noticed your struggle and asked if you needed help but you shrugged him off— your car wasn’t parked that far from the entrance. It was just a few more steps away.

The snow was still falling from the sky, the cold nipping at your exposed skin. Your friend walked ahead with the keys, determined to return to take advantage of your car’s heater. He left you struggling to see and a strong gust of wind threw you off balance. You stumbled with one hand clutching the bag to your chest and the other pushing down on the items on top of your pile. Too focused on not letting your items touch the ground, you failed to see the couple walking straight towards you and crashed right into what felt like a brick wall.

You fell back with force, arms flailing around. You closed your eyes as your back came in contact with the icy ground. You groaned— that was definitely going to bruise.

“Oh my god, Miss. Are you okay?” a gentle female voice panicked.

“Ah, I’ll be okay. A little bump won’t kill me,” you awkwardly laughed. You scrambled to get up but the icy road was preventing you from doing so.

“Baby, help her up!” the woman scolded her partner as she started to gather your belongings.

“Oh no, it’s okay. You really don’t have to do that.”

Where was Hyuck when you needed him?

“Nah, it was my fault anyways. Here, let me,” a friendly male voice replied as a strong arm pulled you up with ease.

You froze in place, feet glued to the ground because you knew that voice. Oh god, how you knew that voice. You heard it so many times throughout your life, it was hard not to recognize it. How could you forget the voice that was so prominent in your childhood and teenage memories? That voice was ever so present in your first year of college, laughter echoing through dumb phone calls and moans resonating through your thin bedroom walls.

How could you ever forget the voice that lived in your mind and heart?

“Miss?” he called again as you refused to look up, your hands curled into tight fists. Instead, you stared at the ground, watching the snowflakes hit the floor. You weren’t ready to see him but when he spoke once more, you realized there was no use denying the inevitable.

“Y-yes?” you coughed, glancing up at him with a self-conscious smile. Your eyes met his russet brown orbs and you prayed to whatever higher power was out there that he wouldn’t recognize your frazzled self. Being your best friend for so long, Johnny knew who you were at first glance. His gaze widened and his grip loosened around your wrist.

There was a deep contrast between him and the white falling snow but even with a wide-eyed gaze, the man before you was more beautiful than ever. The dark hair that was imprinted in your memory was now dyed a honey blonde. His strands were a little bit longer now and his face a tad bit thinner. The little upturns of his lips and his defined cupid’s bow were still the same. He wore that plaid winter coat you gifted him and Johnny still looked like an angel amongst men.

A pretty angel. Your snow angel.

Johnny whispered your name, sending this warm surge throughout your body. You suddenly felt way too hot in all your layers. You muttered a tiny ‘hi’ back accompanied with your unnecessary finger guns. The woman with him handed you back your groceries with a kind smile and you returned it with a forced one.

“John, do you know her?” she turned to him, her pretty hand clutching onto his bicep.

“Yeah,” Johnny breathed out, still a bit awe-struck that you were right in front of him again. “This is my, um, childhood best friend. You know the one I’m always talking about?”

“Yup, that’s me,” you managed to spit out, rocking on the balls of your feet.

Where in the hell was Lee Donghyuck? How come he hasn’t checked on you yet?

“Oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” the girl relayed.

“You have?” you asked, shooting your former best friend an odd look. He gave you a slight smile back, just one corner of his chapped lips curling up. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t heard much about you.”

She playfully slapped Johnny’s arm. “Well, introduce me, silly goose!”

“Right, this is Alice, my—” he paused to clear his throat, “my girlfriend.”

“Great to meet you,” she stuck out a hand.

You lifted your bag of retrieved items as an excuse not to shake it. “Right back at you,” you reciprocated, doing your best to hide the pieces of your broken heart.

You gave them a tense smile. You needed to get out of there right away before your heart fell out of your chest. “Sorry to cut this meeting short but I do have someone waiting in the car. He’s been in there for a while now, so if you’ll just excuse me.”

Before they could answer, you shifted on your heels and power walked without looking back. Quickly tossing the items haphazardly into the back, you slipped into the driver’s seat and drove away. The car went right past them, Johnny watching you as you sped into the street.

Donghyuck sat quietly for a minute but ended the silence when you began to bang on your steering wheel at a stoplight. “What the fuck happened out there? Did I miss something?”

“Hyuck, of all the things that could happen to me out here, what was I so afraid of?” you screamed at him, knuckles turning white as you tightly gripped the wheel.

“Um, I don’t know. I can’t read your mind.”

“Think, Donghyuck, think! It’s really not that hard to use that little brain of yours!”

When he couldn’t think of a possible answer, you groaned. How did this idiot call himself your best friend?

“I bumped into the last person I wanted to see and I couldn’t just be rude,” you screeched as your car dashed along the street.

“I bumped into Johnny-fucking-Suh, can you—” You stopped mid-sentence, your thoughts going back to the note in the journal.

You’ll know who it is right away. Call it a little bump in the right direction by the Fates.

Bumped. You bumped into him.

You wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. There you were, ecstatic at the possibility of finding a new muse when in reality, nothing had changed.

Johnny Suh was your muse— always had been and always will be.

And of course, you met him again during the first snowfall of the season. Of-fucking-course.

Screw the Fates.

Driving home at record-breaking speed, you scared Donghyuck half to death. There was this frantic look in your eyes as you turned onto your street corner and into your driveway. You rushed out of your car and swung your front door open, leaving your friend to bring the groceries in— a bit rude to make your guest do the work but your mind was running wild at that point. There were so many questions floating amuck in your brain and you desperately needed answers.

Throwing yourself by your bedside, you dug into the drawers of your bed frame, hands flying through your old belongings. They pushed through your special treasure box filled with trinkets, your polaroid albums, and a stack of journals crowded with your old thoughts and musings from your high school days until you found it.

There it sat— your yellow Moleskine journal. Just grazing your hand over the book brought back so many emotions. You grazed over it with a far-off smile, hand fiddling with the elastic that held it shut. It was worn-out unlike the other ones in your drawer of miscellaneous things because that journal was well-loved. The cover was far beyond clean, stained with ink marks and dirt that came from who knows where.

You opened it slowly, delicately as if it was made of glass. In some way, it was because this was your life for a year, all trapped into one small notebook. It was your raw emotions and the whispers of your heart during your first year of college. The very journal you held in your hands was the original draft of letters left unsent.

There were poems and notes and letters far too personal to publish, words for only one other person to see. You remember typing up the better ones on your typewriter and leaving them on your college apartment desk and those were what Donghyuck found and sent.

But the rest of the words in this journal remained a secret, hidden underneath your childhood bed and from the rest of the world.

Your hands gently turned through the pages, looking for anything out of the ordinary and you found nothing within the bindings. Just as you were about to give up on finding that supposed letter tucked into this notebook, you caught a glimpse of a pink envelope sticking out of the back cover’s file pocket.

Tugging it out, you were astonished to see your name so carefully crafted on it. It was written in the most beautiful calligraphy, the gold of the ink picking up specks of light and glittering like the stars in the sky. With a trembling hand, you turned it over and broke the wax seal to pull out another letter.

It read:

Hi again,

You must be feeling extremely overwhelmed. I remember I was when I saw Johnny again. Was he still as handsome as you remembered?

If you haven’t realized by now, Johnny Suh is your muse. Some things change but that never will.

Seeing him again ignited that little light I lost all those years ago but my mistake was that I never acted on it.

Do me a favor— pick up that pen I gave you and start writing. I know there are so many thoughts bustling through your head. Don’t let them get away; they could be your next best seller. I can’t let you be a one-hit wonder like I was.

There was another mistake I made and I’m writing to you so you won’t do the same.

The next line you read left you speechless. It hit you like a tow truck— hard. You dropped the letter, the page fluttering to the floor.

This was creepy. Beyond wild. How did this piece of paper even get here? This was improbable. Impossible.

You had watched and read almost every sort of time-traveling science fiction available to mankind and this did not make sense because like you said, that was fiction. You were living in the real world— a place of fact.

You wracked your brain for any sort of explanation but none came to mind. No science could explain this. Gathering your courage, you picked up the fallen paper and continued to read.

Johnny Suh is your soulmate and my biggest mistake was letting him go.

Imagine living a life without the person you are destined to be with. I’ve lived a miserable life without him as he lives one with his Alice and I cannot let you suffer through the same fate.

He may be in love with Alice in the future but in your present time, you have a chance to stop their love from blooming even further. You have the chance to make it right.

So, my dear self, let me ask you this— if you had the chance to change your fate, would you take it?

With love, 🌻

You scoffed, disbelief raking through your features. Where was your Doc Brown or your trusty Eleventh Doctor with a TARDIS to help you out of this conundrum? Wouldn’t this alter the space time continuum?

You had no one to guide you. You were essentially Marty McFly or Amy Pond, just Doctor-less.

What in the hell were you supposed to do?

You sighed, combing your fingers through your hair before pulling out that small journal from out of your coat. You flipped to the first blank page you could find. Climbing onto your bed, you leaned against the back of the headrest until you felt comfortable.

Click. The tip of your fountain pen popped out from its hiding and just as your future self commanded you to, you began to glide your pen onto the paper.

The room was only filled with the sounds of scribbles as you started to write for the first time in three years.

Donghyuck grumbled his way up your staircase, a menacing glare and the deepest frown gracing his soft features. With the guise of scolding you for leaving him with the groceries, he roughly opened the door to your room and opened his mouth to yell. Your roommate was quick to clamp it shut when he saw you. The mug of your mom’s famous hot chocolate he held in his hands almost spilled at his abrupt stop but that didn’t matter at the moment.

What mattered was that you had your back facing him, body hunched over at your childhood desk. Your fingers frantically met with the tops of the keyboard, the sounds of clicks ringing loudly in your room. He watched as your head turned back and forth between your notebook and the keys.

Donghyuck’s frown turned into a smile, happy you found inspiration again, and quietly placed the cup of hot cocoa on your desk. So deep into the zone, you didn’t even notice your friend’s action. He chuckled at your dedication to your craft. His eyes quickly flitted to the piece you were currently working on, and he hummed in approval. Knowing how you shut everything else out, he decided to leave the room before you yelled at him for disrupting you in your hardworking state.

“Did you scold her for me?” your mother laughed as she saw your best friend descend down the steps.

“Didn’t have a chance to,” Donghyuck replied. She gave him a look, her eyebrows arched in question. She handed him his own hot cocoa, top filled to the brim with whipped cream, and he happily took a sip. The cream made its place on his top lip and he licked it up with a satisfied hum, “She was too busy typing away. Hadn’t seen her like that in years.”

“What?” your mother gasped with a hand on top of her heart. “Did something happen?”

Donghyuck took another long sip, almost groaning at how sweet the treat he held in his hands was. “Oh yeah,” he choked, almost forgetting to relay an important part. He wiped his lips with his sleeve and your mom made a noise of disapproval.

“She ran into John,” he stated, “he’s back in town.”

“Well, isn’t that something?” she said to herself, bringing her hot cocoa to her lips.

After hearing that Johnny was home, your mother immediately contacted his and suddenly, the tradition of Sunday brunch at your house was revived. There were slight differences, those being three things:

You and Johnny could finally drink mimosas with your parents

Johnny’s parents were both present at the brunch even after their divorce (they hated to break the tradition)

And lastly, two extra settings were placed on the table because Donghyuck and Alice were there.

You should have been more prepared to see Johnny in your home after a third letter warned you but meeting him in all his blond glory made your heart stop. Seeing him smiling with a pretty girl wrapped around his arm made that fragile muscle break once more, the pain much deeper than the first time he broke it, and it hurt like a bitch.

The brunch despite the new additions went as smoothly as it possibly could. Donghyuck, being a hyper and playful soul he was, got along well with the adults. He tried to hide his distaste for Johnny and Alice as per your request, but the snark came out every now and then. You elbowed him a couple of times to stop it from going any further and your mother shot warning looks, silently telling you to behave.

Alice, on the other hand, was on the shy side. She was kind but she seemed nervous at the new environment and loudness of the dining table. If you were in her position, there was no doubt you would feel the same; you never did feel comfortable around strangers. Your families couldn’t help it though— they were as wild as you and Johnny were.

“So, John,” your mother called for your former best friend’s attention.

He looked up from his mimosa. “Yes, Auntie?”

“How long have you two been dating? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

Not wanting to hear the details of their relationship, you squeezed her thigh under the table and she pinched your hand back. You flinched at the contact.

Johnny smiled over at Alice, grabbing hold of her hand. “We’ve been together for almost three years now.”

Alice, with her gorgeous smile and sharp eyes, interlocked her smaller fingers with his. “We got together in February after testing the waters. How a Photography major found a Lit major like me, I have no clue,” she laughed.

Three years. He started dating her right after breaking it off with you. You wanted to cry but all you could do was push down the tight feeling in your throat with another swig of your mimosa.

“Lit? Are you an English major?” your mother asked her.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied politely.

“Just like my dear here! You two should talk about this after brunch,” your mom suggested to which Alice wholeheartedly agreed with. Donghyuck gave you a look of pity.

“Of course,” you nodded, remembering the letter that had just arrived. As everyone assisted in cleaning up the table, you excused yourself and hid in the guest bathroom to catch a breath. Putting the seat cover down, you quickly took a seat and held your head in your hands.

You yanked the letter out of your pocket to read over it once more before heading out there with a determined face. You couldn’t let your future self down.

Sweetie,

Remember this day: December 15th. The Suh’s will be over with Alice for Sunday brunch and believe me, it will hurt seeing him with her.

It will pain you to even talk to her but you have to— you must. You and Donghyuck, bless his soul for being there for you, will notice that she is very similar to you. I am sure this is not a coincidence. If my letters ever work, please ask Johnny about that.

She is a big fan of the poet, Sunny Blume. Funny, isn’t it? She will gush about her work, not knowing the poet she adores is standing right in front of her.

She’ll tell you that she’s trying to convince Johnny to read it. He’ll fight back and I want you to say— “I think you should give it a shot, Johnny.”

The moment you call him by his name, he jolted in his seat.

“I think you should give it a shot, Johnny.”

It was so weird to hear your voice after three years. Even weirder to hear you call him by his name in three years but for some odd reason, it made his heart skip a beat. His blond locks covered one of his eyes as his gaze locked onto yours. He saw you smile a polite one, one that didn’t scrunch up your cheeks in the way he adored.

From what Johnny could see, you looked good. You were dressed in a simple outfit: just a knit sweater and jeans but you were still able to catch his eye. It hurt, though, to see you grin widely at your new best friend, Donghyuck, when that grin used to be aimed towards him. You still got along well with his family after all those years of being apart, which only warmed his heart.

First time seeing you in how long and it was all his fault. He missed you terribly but he couldn’t blame you for shutting him out. Thinking back to the day you last talked, he would’ve reacted in the same way, too.

“Johnny?” Alice queried, stealing a glance at his frozen body. “I thought you didn’t like being called Johnny.”

It was true— he did hate it when people called him that because that was a name reserved for one person and one person only.

He felt someone touch his bicep and he turned to see a wrinkled hand clasping onto his sleeve. His mother’s teasing grin graced her older features as she said, “My love John, he hated being called Johnny. He thought it was too childish.”

She walked over to you with a motherly smile, her small hand patting yours lovingly. “He only let her call him that.”

Johnny watched as you took her hand in yours to give it a tight squeeze, “I’ve missed you, Mama Suh.”

His mom took your cheek in between her index and thumb, pinching it just as a mother would to her own child. “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. We’ll catch up later, alright?”

He loved seeing his mother act so comfortably with you. It always warmed his heart to see his two favorite women together. Stealing a glance at his girlfriend, he wondered why his mom never acted that closely with Alice.

“Wait, hold on,” he said, shaking away his thoughts. “What exactly am I giving a shot?”

“Were you even listening to what we were talking about?” Alice huffed. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with him sometimes.” She scrunched her nose in fake distaste.

“Trust me, I’ve dealt with that all my life and I still don’t know what to do with him,” the words flew out of your mouth before you could stop them. You felt Donghyuck snort from beside you as the back of your head rested against his shoulder. You were both seated on the loveseat, his larger body squished into a corner while yours was spread out on the couch, calves resting on the arm rest.

Johnny and Alice sat adjacent from you on the bigger sofa, her tiny build snuggled into his. “We were talking about Sunny Blume, that poet I keep obsessing over.”

He only blinked at her words. He clearly did not know what she was talking about. You held back a chuckle— Johnny was never into books and poetry the way you were. Some things never changed.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” he shrugged.

“I mean, I’m not really into poetry and shit but even I read it,” Donghyuck added to the conversation. “It was really good.”

“Right?” Alice fired back. You had to hide the grin that was beginning to curl.

“Surprisingly, a super easy read but some of those poems hurt like a bitch. It felt like someone ripped out their broken heart and just laid it out on the table for you to read, you know?”

You whispered a small ‘thank you’ to him, low enough so that no one else could hear. Donghyuck muttered back an even lower ‘you’re welcome,’ causing you to stick out your tongue at him.

“Blume’s work isn’t my favorite but—” you started to say, gaining the attention of both Alice and Johnny. Alice appeared as if she was going to fight you on your opinion while your best friend just waited for what you were going to say next.

“—to release a full collection of unsent love letters and poems written for one person, must’ve been some muse,” you continued on, your gaze suddenly meeting Johnny’s curious stare from across the room. His dark brown eyes always had a way of sucking you in. You felt yourself falling, falling, falling down the rabbit hole all over again.

“Blume poured her heart out in it. You could almost feel the raw emotions bleeding off the page. You really shouldn’t miss it.” As much as you despised talking about your work, your future self told you to really sell it.

“Exactly! It’s like you took the words out of my mouth!” Alice agreed, her finger pointing towards you. “Her poem about sunflowers was my favorite.”

You hummed, still not losing eye contact with him. “It’s one of my favorites, too.”

He blinked, breaking off the staring contest you were holding. “I guess I’ll check it out.”

Behind your back, you pumped your first in celebration for your first success in changing the supposed future. There was another task you had to do— it was the bigger of the two. You were scared beyond belief, hoping that your nervousness wouldn’t mess up the script that was pre-planned for you.

Here comes the harder part. Johnny will approach you and ask— “Can we talk in private for a little bit?”

Lead him outside to the porch. It’ll spark up some memories.

Ever the gentleman, Johnny brushed off the snow on your front steps and gestured for you to take a seat. He placed himself right next to you, his thicker thigh rubbing against your tinier leg. His gaze focused on the falling snow and his hand reached out to catch a couple of flakes in his palm.

“Remember when Frozen came out? All you wanted to do is build a snowman,” he babbled.

Of course, you remembered. Who could forget a tall male teen belting out Let It Go with you in the middle of a snow storm?

“How could I ever forget that?”

It will be silent for a while. I guess he was trying to find his words. He’ll say something along the lines of— “I know this is practically years too late but I’m sorry for how things ended.”

Your heart will flare up with a rage of emotions, like a hurricane is stirring up inside you. This is the apology you’ve been waiting for. My mistake was brushing it off. I told him that it was nothing but a small crush and that everything was water under the bridge.

I need you to talk about it. Be open with him even though you’re scared to. I want you to say— “You really hurt me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

I’m sure all the words will flow from there.

“No, I don’t think you do know, John,” you fired back with a voice that rendered him silent. He shrunk into himself, never experiencing the receiving side of your wrath before.

Before you continued on the rant that was bubbling inside you, he cut you off. “Johnny.”

“What?”

“I don’t like when you call me John,” he murmured so quietly, his words almost getting lost with the winter breeze. “It’s always been Johnny to you.”

You coughed, not expecting that little outburst from your best friend. “Right. Johnny.”

Shifting your body to face him, your knees knocked into his. Gone were the days when you could easily fit into one step. You were squished against him.

Let it all out. Don’t leave anything unsaid.

“But you need to know. I was a wreck when you left me,” your voice broke, suddenly recalling how you fell into this hole of depression. Donghyuck and your mother were barely able to fish you out.

“Just— Just imagine this for me, okay?”

He agreed silently.

“Imagine falling for the person you trusted most in the world, yeah? The person who was like your guiding light home, who could make you feel better with just one touch,” you set the scene with your words, voice cracking at the resurfacing pain. Your throat felt tight and your heart even tighter. This was always a hard memory to recall.

“Picture telling that person that you loved them in that romantic, ‘I want to be more than friends, hold my hand and never let me go’ type of way.”

You peeked at him to see him gulped at how emotional you were getting. He always hated to see you in that manner. Your words were affecting him the same way they were affecting you. The desperation in your speech was seeping through— it clung onto each word, each syllable, and lingered in every breath of air you took.

“Imagine telling the person who promised to never hurt you that you are in love with them and then they just tell you ‘no.’ Can you picture that in your head, Johnny? You give them your everything and then they tell you one simple word that just tears you apart?”

He cleared his throat. He heard you loud and clear.

“I miss you so fucking much, you don’t understand.”

He jumped up at your confession, “I’ve missed yo—”

“I’m not finished,” you interrupted him, bringing a finger to his face. Johnny’s shoulders fell, making him appear like that little boy that forever lived in your mind through the fondest of memories.

“I’ve missed you and I appreciate your apology but in no way can I forgive you right away. That amount of hurt needs a lifetime to heal completely,” you relayed to him, your voice firm as a rock. Strong and unwavering.

“You may have not wanted to turn our whole friends-with-benefits relationship into something more and I get that now. But you have to understand, Johnny,” you paused, the words choking up in your throat.

“You, you— God, you left me all alone to deal with that heartbreak! You just— you just threw me away like a crumpled piece of paper on the damn floor, you couldn’t even pick me up and— and place me in the trash,” you stuttered through your rant but you didn’t care. You became a spitfire, spewing whatever came to mind.

You watched him lick and sink his teeth into his bottom lip as he wracked his brain for something to say to make it up to you. Johnny’s fingers worked their way through his bangs and he held them back for a second before releasing them. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say except that I’m just really sorry. I didn’t know.”

Feeling yourself getting all worked up, you took a deep breath. You grounded yourself, feet digging into the wooden step and hardened snow. Your fingers curled into fists, sharp nails marking the skin of your palm as you shook in place.

You nod frantically at his answer, “I know, Johnny. I can see that. If anything, please just understand that I not only lost a love I thought I had that day but my best friend in the whole entire world, okay?”

“Yeah,” was all that came out of his mouth for just a moment. “Okay. I understand.”

There was another brief period of stillness as the words sunk into your heads. Did that really just happen? Did you really just say that and did he just acknowledge your feelings?

You peeped a glance at Johnny’s eyes and he just appeared to be so shaken by your confession. You didn’t mean to startle him to the point where he couldn’t speak— you just had to get it out just as your future self advised. You had to console him somehow.

“But,” you said softly. Raising your head to look up at his crestfallen face, you lifted his chin with a shaking hand.

Whatever you do or say, make sure to tell him this— “I would be so happy to have you back in my life, Johnny.”

Love,

a sunflower that aches for the sunlight

“But...I would be so happy to have you back in my life, Johnny. That is, if you’ll have me.” Your hand rested on his chin and suddenly, a flurry of emotions raced through the boy’s head.

The blond was relieved that you were talking to him. Beyond happy that you were willing to rekindle the friendship, Johnny was determined to win back his best friend no matter how long it would take for you to fully forgive him. Excited that you seemed to get along with his girlfriend.

But there was this weird feeling that came over his heart when you said his name with that certain softness in your voice. The way you held his chin with the lightest of touches sent tingles down his spine.

Johnny ignored the fluttering in his chest and pulled you into his arms. He felt you sigh happily, your smaller build sinking into his comforting hold.

His chin rested against the top of your head. “Of course, flower,” the nickname slipped out naturally. “I’m just happy to have my best friend back,” he muttered.

And when you looked up at him with glittering eyes that looked like the snow falling from the sky, he swore his heart leapt out of his chest. “Me too.”

The transition from friends to something more that occurred four years ago didn’t happen abruptly. The build up was slow, stemming from your many first-year adventures. The large campus was new, uncharted territory for you— abnormally large to what you were used to and filled to the brim with people. You skirted on the more introverted side as a first year in university, barely reaching out to your classmates and hallmates unless they initiated the interactions first. There were other casual friends, however, Donghyuck was one of the only people you truly felt comfortable with but even then, you still searched for that sense of home.

You found that in the days you spent with Johnny. During the days where it was harder to adjust to your new life, you made that twenty minute drive to Johnny’s campus instead of trekking that hour and fifteen home. He would take you in with open arms, distracting you with your favorite things or introducing you to new places. The first two months of university were tough but you made it through with his support.

Johnny eased you into kickbacks and college parties, always making sure that you were okay. In new environments, his hand always lingered on the small of your back or grazed against the exposed skin of your shoulder. He would hide you in his hold when boys would approach you, an evident and overprotective glare emitting from his sharp eyes and somehow an attraction bloomed inside of you. You kept your budding crush to yourself for a while, wanting to linger in the fresh feeling bubbling in your chest.

You couldn’t keep it in though, not after that day at the pumpkin patch. His deep, soothing voice calling you ‘sunflower’ released that cage of butterflies trapped in your stomach and they fluttered freely each time he looked at you.

Every moment spent with him sent your fingertips flying over the keys of the typewriter Johnny gifted you for your eighteenth birthday. You heard so many dings from the machine that year, a hand quickly coming up to push and roll a paper back in place. That beaten yellow journal that sat on your desk was quickly consumed with an endless flow of words that flew off the pages.

Every time Johnny would place his hand in yours, he had you under his spell. The enchantment he casted on you grew stronger the night of the Causeway Classic.

Your separate universities always had this sense of friendly rivalry. With each year came the annual blood drive that led to the famous football game to uphold the competition. The location switched every autumn and Johnny’s university was in charge of hosting that year. Unlike Johnny, you weren’t much into sports but you were into grilled food and free alcohol which ushered the pair of you to attend your first tailgate with his college friends. If it wasn’t Johnny taking care of you, his roommate Doyoung was there to make sure you were okay.

You remembered starting early that day, the tailgate party starting at noon when the game didn’t kick off until three hours later. A cold glass bottle of beer in one hand and a fresh hot dog in the other, you sat on the edge of Johnny’s truck bed with your legs dangling below. You were dressed in your school’s signature green and gold while his close group of friends surrounding you drowned in their navy and yellow.

You took a swig of your drink, feeling the cooling liquid rush down your throat, and let out a loud hiss of satisfaction. Misjudging the height from where you were sitting to the ground, your legs wavered as you jumped down from the truck. Your center of balance was lost, pushing you to lean your drunk body against Johnny’s.

Noticing how incoherent you were, a buzzed Johnny decided to cut you off and call an Uber so you could rest easily in the comfort of his apartment. You barely recalled him tossing his keys to Doyoung, who was forced to be the designated driver of the night, before taking you home.

The only thing you remembered was the way your body flushed with heat as you pressed your weight against him in the car. Your head snuggled into the crook of his neck while his toned arm draped against your shoulder. Johnny rubbed soothing circles onto your exposed skin and the feeling littered goosebumps all over your body. You sighed, your warm breath hitting his neck and through your slightly closed eyes, you caught him looking at you with an unfamiliar gaze.

Johnny effortlessly carried you in his arms and into his empty apartment, your head perched against his shoulder. He handed you a clean set of clothes to change into and you stripped yourself of your sweaty outfit and makeup before making yourself comfortable on his twin sized bed. He placed a glass of water and painkillers by his bedside before heading out, his mind set on crashing on the couch.

Somehow in your tired and drunk state, your hand shot up to grab at his wrist. “Stay with me?” you asked with a raspy voice.

“I was just going to crash in the living room,” he told you.

“You hate sleeping on the couch, you always complain about how it hurts your back,” you argued. “Just stay here, it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

The bed dipped when his body slipped under the covers and being the touchy drunk you were, you easily slipped your hands under his arms and wrapped them around his torso to cuddle into his strong chest. You shifted a couple of minutes in, trying to find a more comfortable position and the movement caused the shirt to bunch up at your waist. A heavy arm slung around your own waistline, driving you closer to him. His fingers somehow found their way to your revealed skin and brushed over the spot to soothe you to sleep.

Instead of lulling you to a peaceful slumber, Johnny’s light strokes shifted something in the air. The atmosphere in the room grew thicker and more tense with every touch.

You moved your head away from his chest to gaze up at him. Your eyes met his hooded ones giving you a look you hadn’t seen before. It was darker and heavier, his brown orbs almost digging into your soul and you couldn’t look away. Gripping his arm when his head moved closer to glance at your lips, your heartbeat increased and almost skyrocketed to the roof.

“I don’t think I’m in my right mind right now,” he whispered with a strain.

“I’m not either,” you cut him off, unconsciously licking your bottom lip.

Johnny’s gaze never wavered, his eyes planted on you as he inched even closer, “Just tell me when to stop and I will.”

You never did.

And when you woke up the next day with a sole sheet pressed onto your body, marks coloring your skin, and Johnny staring down at you with the fondest smile, you knew something had changed between the two of you.

There was a moment when he escaped the room to grab breakfast, you quickly reached for your phone and typed up a new set of words in your notes inspired by the dazzling grin that was aimed at you.

i may not be in love with you i may just be in like but i love the way you look at me like i may be your light

is it bad that sometimes i miss staining your lips with my boldest shade of red and showering you with a load of a thousand kisses — those red stains represented how deeply i loved you

The friends-with-benefits relationship was established that same day and continued to drag on throughout the semester. It was heavy on the friendship, even heavier on the benefits. Every single meet up from fall to winter ended up with limbs tangled on top of bed sheets, marks staining your skin, and words written on a page. You remembered Donghyuck warning you to be careful, not liking where all the uncertainty was leading to and you brushed it off with a simple statement that was so unbelievably wrong: “Stop worrying. Johnny would never hurt me.”

It all came crashing down during your first winter break from university. Prior to the falling out, your time at home was juggled between catching up with your mom, a couple of high school friends, and the Suh family if Johnny wasn’t there to preoccupy you.

Christmas Day came along and as tradition followed, you spent the holiday across the street at the Suh residence. The house was decorated with lights and bows, the Christmas tree you and Johnny picked out standing tall in the corner of the family room. The opened presents sat at the foot of the tree, except for one— a single box wrapped so neatly in white and accented with the prettiest red bow.

“Johnny,” you tugged on his sleeve, head gesturing to the front door.

Thinking you wanted to sneak off for a kiss, his lips curled into that kittenish grin with a small dimple indenting the plump of his cheek. The tall boy stepped out first, leaving the door slightly open. You followed him shortly after and closed the door behind you.

Your grip tightened around the small parcel in your hand upon seeing him leaning against the border of his porch, absentmindedly fiddling with his phone. He was dressed in a knit turtleneck sweater, tight jeans, and a pair of stylish boots, his dark brown hair slightly brushing over the eyes you adored.

God, you liked him so much it was almost gross— absolutely smitten as a kitten for the boy with the catlike smile.

You jabbed his side before joining him against the fence, hiding your gift behind your back, “Hey.”

Johnny quickly pivoted to trap you between his arms, both hands resting on the porch lining. “Hey yourself,” he returned, his warm breath clouding in the small space between. You felt your cheeks grow hotter, clearly flustered at the sudden action and flirty tone of his voice.

“Don’t move,” he commands abruptly. The camera swinging around his neck was brought up to his eye level and he swiftly snapped a photo of your ruffled state. You gave him a shy smile as he revealed the shot to you— your wide-eyed look and crimson lipstick standing out against the white snow in the background.

“Pretty,” you remember him saying with a proud glance, happy to have captured you in the moment. “The prettiest little sunflower.”

“Oh, shut up,” you brushed him off, shoving the camera away from your face.

“No, really,” he pushed, adjusting the camera strap so the device rested against his hip and no longer in the way.

“Stop lying.” You never knew how to take a compliment.

“I’m not,” he leaned in closer, arms pushing him lower to your line of sight. “Definitely pretty enough to kiss.”

“Really now?” you bit back a grin.

“Need me to prove it to you?” he challenged, his dark brown eyes ghosting around your facial features with a cocky grin.

“And how are you going to do that?” you flirted back with your heart thrashing violently against your ribcage. It was beating so loud, much like the clashes of a little drummer boy.

“Like this.” He briskly closed the distance, his head angled to kiss you deeply. His firm body depressed against yours, the corners of the gift and the porch lining digging into your back and arms. One of his large hands moved to cup the side of your neck with a thumb rubbing the end of your soft cheek.

It was a little different from the rushed kisses he gave you behind closed doors. It was slower and out in the open, anyone could have caught sight of it if they were to walk out. Your right hand made its way up to his chest to grip onto the knit of his sweater, cherishing the way he held you so gently.

You broke away first with a huff. “Wait, that’s not why I told you to come out here,” you pointed out, staring up at his now stained lips. You thumbed at the plump top lip, trying to rid his skin of the red you transferred onto him.

“Seemed like you enjoyed it, though,” he nodded at the tight grip on his sweater. You quickly released it causing him to laugh loudly.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” he sprung back without missing a beat.

You hesitated before answering, voice dropping a little lower, “Yeah, right.”

Johnny jumped up to sit on the railing, arms spread out to keep him steady. “So, what’s up?”

This was the time to let it all out and you were tongue-tied— you didn’t even know where to start. There was a reason why you liked writing more than speaking; it gave you a chance to arrange and rearrange the words in your head. No matter how hard you rehearsed your upcoming confession, nothing prepared for what was going to come.

“I— um,” you began to stutter under his presence, even though you weren’t even directly facing him.

He turned his head to face you. “Are you nervous? You really shouldn’t be— it’s just me, flower.”

“Just you?” you laughed apprehensively, “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m nervous. It’s you. Out of all the people in the world, it had to be you.”

He whispered your name with furrowed brows, confused at your ramble.

“Johnny, listen, I don’t know if you felt the change between us but I can’t really ignore this any longer.”

He cocked his head to the side, his brows now digging even deeper into his face. “What are you talking about?”

“This—” your hand flapped, gesturing to the both of you. “What we have going on here, it doesn’t seem like we’re just fooling around anymore.”

“Then, what does it seem like?” he fired back with confusion.

“It seems like— I don’t know,” you started to say.

“Yes, you do know,” Johnny countered, “you just don’t want to say it. You’re stalling.”

“Okay, okay. It seems like…” you gulped, looking him dead in the eye, “you like me as much as I like you.”

He went rigid at your confession, appearing completely dumbfounded. His eyes were widened with astonishment. His mouth opened like he was about to say something but then closed shut. They were pursed as he tried to process your words as you stood there, antsy at the lack of an answer. “Can you just say something? Anything?”

He ran his fingers through his hair and held back his bangs, something he always did when he was lost in thought.

“Johnny?”

“Hmm, yeah,” he said, still lost in thought.

“Just say something, please,” you practically begged, the neatly wrapped parcel in your hand feeling like a deadweight.

“Y— you like me?” his voice wavered.

“Yeah,” you looked away from him. “I honestly think that I— um, love you.” Your voice became so soft towards the end, your words almost getting lost in the wind.

“Love,” he repeated.

“Can you say anything else besides repeating my words? This was hard enough as is, you know,” you managed to spit out. The more he stalled with giving you an answer, the more choked up you felt. The tight feeling was building up in your throat, fighting its way up.

“I—” He stopped before he could even start.

“Johnny, I like you. A lot, okay? I just want to know if you like me too? ‘Cause unless I’ve been reading it wrong, it seems like you feel the same,” you prattled on, mouth running at the speed of light.

He hesitated before answering with a simple, “N-no.”

“No?” you almost cried back.

“This— this was supposed to be a ‘no strings attached’ thing,” he blundered.

“I know but can you honestly tell me that you felt nothing when you kissed me just now? Because that didn’t feel like a ‘no strings attached’ type of thing! No strings means ‘no emotions involved, just physical’ and clearly, there were some emotions present!”

He avoided your question. “We’re just— just friends, flower.”

“Johnny, how often do you wake up naked with your other friends?!” you shout hysterically. You winced; you hoped your parents weren’t listening in. “Do you go around and steal kisses with Doyoung or Yeri or anyone else in your friend group?”

He couldn’t answer those questions, either.

“We’re just friends,” he said a little more firmly, like he was trying to convince himself. “That’s what we are and that’s what we’ll always be. Nothing less, no— nothing more.”

“Really?” you disputed through the free-falling tears. You sniffled and wiped the drops off your face, not caring if it messed up your makeup.

“Just friends,” Johnny said once again, his voice almost breaking at the sight of you in tears. He stood in front of you now, a hand reaching out to dry your eyes.

“No, don’t touch me,” you called out, backing your way out of the front porch with a shaking head. “You don’t get to touch me like you used to if all we are is just friends.”

Johnny walked down the steps to follow you, the sole of his boots crunching against the hard snow. You stopped him with an extension of your hand, palm fanned out towards him. You continued to walk backwards, red painted nails ripping the wrapping of your present to reveal the worn-out yellow cover of your personal journal.

“That’s where you were wrong though,” you started, “about being nothing less than friends.”

“Sunflower,” he tried to persuade you otherwise. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve been repressing this for so long, I-I don’t think I can just ignore it and hold it in anymore,” you confessed, clearly distraught. “Every time I see you walk through a door, my heart beats so fast for you and I can’t make it stop. So if I can’t have your love, I don’t think I can stand just being your friend.”

“What are you saying?”

You took a deep breath, “I don’t think I can be around you right now. I need space.”

“You don’t mean that, bubs,” he reasoned.

“How do you know what I feel?” you yelled. “I told you I practically love you and you couldn’t even answer. You can either have all of me or none of me, Johnny. There’s no in between.”

He said nothing.

“I gotta—I have to go.” You roughly dragged the sleeve of your jacket against your eyes.

“Please don’t go,” Johnny begged.

“If our parents are looking for me, just tell them I wasn’t feeling well.”

He shouted your name as you began to cross the street. You turned back around for a short moment, “Oh and John?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Merry fucking Christmas.” With that, you ran into your house, the door slamming shut behind you. That was the last you saw of him until your unexpected reunion that day in the snow.

Some writers painted heartbreak as this beautiful concept that closed the chapter on one end and opened another. They drowned themselves in the heartbreak, allowing the feelings to take over and extract the a mouthful of words that ended up being masterpieces. They loved the heartbreak because it pulled out emotions they would otherwise never experience.

But, how could you love the heartbreak when Johnny was the one you loved?

Another Christmas tradition your families upheld was picking out Christmas trees together. Seeing as how both you and Johnny were home, your parents forced you to go without their help, choosing to just sit the day out to catch up. They trusted the two of you enough to pick out the best trees since you had been done it throughout your childhood. Donghyuck (the traitor) and Alice had already left to spend Christmas Day and New Years with their families, leaving you to go tree hunting at the farm with Johnny as your only company.

You looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck you were seated in, still in disbelief that Johnny Suh was back in your life. He had his right hand on the steering while his left rested against the window, brown eyes focused on the road. His long, blond hair was pushed back by a black ball cap and was paired with a yellow oversized t-shirt that matched the shade of your winter coat. His plaid green puffy jacket was thrown haphazardly in the backseat of his car. His soft, melodic voice sang along to the carols playing on the local radio, blessing both your eyes and your ears.

“So blond, huh?” you broke the silence.

“Yeah,” his free hand reached up to quickly flip his cap over, the bill now facing backwards. “I think it suits me.”

You scoffed, “Who do you think you are—Jesse McCartney?”

“Well, I do want you and your beautiful soul,” he answered back with the smuggest smirk.

“You’re an idiot,” you chuckled, turning to look out the window. You drove down the familiar highway, passing places that were so prominent in your childhood. Memories of you and Johnny walking to the movie theater and having ice cream at the skate park ran your head. It felt good being home.

A flurry of loud text tones went off, disrupting the calm atmosphere in the car. “Sorry,” you grimaced, quickly moving to lower the volume of your ringer. You let out a laugh while you scrolled through the long list of notifications, causing Johnny to turn his attention to you.

“Everything good?” he questioned. “That’s a lot of texts.”

Your fingers worked on your touchscreen, rapidly replying to your roommate’s dramatic texts. “Oh, everything’s fine. Hyuck’s just being dramatic. He just got home and his family is driving him insane.”

Johnny hummed. He hesitated before asking the next question, “Does Donghyuck treat you well?”

His inquiry made you pause in your seat, thumbs resting right above the screen. “What?”

Johnny cleared his throat before pushing further, “Is he a good boyfriend?”

A deep snort escaped your nose and you brought up a hand to cover your quivering mouth. You couldn’t hide your amusement, your ear-splitting laughter reverberating throughout the walls of the truck. Tears made their way down your face and you had to clutch onto the door handle to catch your breath. “Oh my god, Johnny!”

“What? It’s a valid question!”

“He’s not— Hyuck’s not my boyfriend,” you shook your head, still reeling at his question.

“He’s not?” he pressed for confirmation. Why he was insisting on this topic, you really didn’t know.

“Oh my god, no. He’s just my roommate,” you swore, “Besides, I would never get in between Hyuck and his partner.”

“His partner?”

You nodded, lips upturning with the widest grin. “Renjun— they’re really cute together even though they argue half the time.”

“I see.”

One of your favorite Christmas songs came on the radio and you immediately increased the volume to sing along. Johnny joined you, his voice mixing along with yours. It eased up whatever tension that lingered in the car, his broad smile mirroring yours as he continued on the path to the Christmas tree farm.

“I actually read that Sunny Blume book, by the way,” Johnny brought up, your pen name immediately catching your attention. “Alice had her copy with her so she let me borrow it.”

You sat up straighter in your seat, shoulders pushed back and head turned to face him completely. “Yeah? What did you think of it?”

Preparing your heart for the worst, your hand fisted a part of your mustard yellow overcoat, the material rubbing against the skin of your palm.

“I didn’t think I would like it,” he admitted, “but I actually really enjoyed reading through it.”

You perked up, letting go of your coat at the positive reaction. “Really now?”

“Yeah. I mean, the way she writes is so simple but her words still get to you. It’s so personal and heart-wrenching, I had to stop at times,” his compliments ran off the mouth, leaving your heart to swell with joy.

“I get what you mean, some were painful,” you chimed in.

“But the others, wow,” he continued almost breathlessly. He shook his head with admiration. “You could just sense the love and adoration in her words. Whoever her muse was, dude, what a lucky person.”

“Why do you say that?”

“To have someone love you so much that they write about you and immortalize it in a book— who wouldn’t want that?” Your heart pounded rapidly at his sweet words; it was like music to your ears. He loved the poems you wrote about him. Now, if only you could admit that they were for him.

“Do you have a favorite?” you posed a question, curious to hear the answer.

Johnny hummed positively. He stole a glance at you, eyes lingering a little bit longer than normal. “The one about sunflowers.”

When his gaze shifted back to the icy road, you responded with, “Yeah, that’s mine, too.”

You picked the perfect weekday to visit the Christmas tree farm. There was a small bunch of visitors picking out their trees and participating in the other offerings but not enough to crowd the farm, making it easy to wander around. Johnny quietly followed behind you as you made your way around the farm with a reusable bag slung around your shoulder. He was amused by the way you would pause to pick up fallen pine branches to stuff in your bag.

“What are you going to do with those?” he asked, gesturing to the pine leaves sticking out of your hold.

“Oh, I’m going to fill up some vases with them and place them around the house,” you conversed with a smile. “I did this all the years I didn’t come for Christmas. I wanted the smell of fresh pine in my apartment but I didn’t have room for a tree, so I just did this.” He watched you as you took a whiff of a piece of fresh pine before placing it in your bag.

“That’s a smart idea,” Johnny said to himself.

“You learn to be more creative as a broke college student,” you commented with a shrug, still moving through the aisles of trees.

“Did you enjoy it?” The snow crunched beneath his boots.

“Enjoy what?” you mused, attention focused more on the trees surrounding you than your friend lingering at your back. Your fingers skirted the ends of the trees, the pine tickling the tips as you passed them. Johnny let you take the reins on picking the tree this year, only there to give you a second opinion. He always loved coming to the tree farm with you— your face never failed to light up like the bright lights decorating the shop and fences.

“Spending the Christmas holiday at school,” he replied, curious to hear your answer.

“I mean, it was different, that’s for sure,” you told him.

Johnny tilted his head, sensing the hesitation in your tone. “But?”

“It really didn’t feel like Christmas without you there,” came your low reply. You didn’t turn to face him but if you did, you would’ve been able to capture a shot of a flustered Johnny. His face was as bright as Santa’s signature suit, the color spreading all the way to his ears. He felt hot at your words and that weird skittish sensation in his stomach made him feel uneasy and confused. It flipped around and he felt something flapping rapidly in time with his quickening heartbeats.

He brushed the feeling off before placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. He squeezed you through the fabric of your coat, “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Your head turned to look up at him, “That you are.”

“Don’t you run away from me again,” he sputtered out. Where did that come from?

“Then, you better not let me go this time,” you replied wittily with the brightest smile that rivaled the North Star. Twisting in your spot, you turned your attention back to the trees and focused on the perfect ones to take home. Questions about the trees were thrown Johnny’s way but he was too distracted by sight of you in front of him. Your mustard yellow overcoat and matching beret made you stand out from the evergreen of the trees and he couldn’t help but stare at the breathtaking sight.

Johnny inwardly cursed, wishing he had his camera on his person. He settled for his phone, pulling it out of his jacket pocket to sneak some candid pictures of you enjoying your time at the farm. He captured you patting the horses that pulled the sleigh around the area, shuffling through the many handmade decorations of sale, and you mindlessly wandering through endless aisles of green.

Johnny swiped through the pictures as you pointed out two full trees to a farm worker. His finger lingered on the picture amongst the trees— yellow and green standing out against the white snow covering the floor.

A sunflower in the midst of winter.

Johnny halted, his brain short-circuiting for a moment, a hand shooting to his other coat pocket. Something that sounded like paper crinkled against his touch. Just as he was going to reach in, you yelled his name. He snapped out of his daze to see you gesturing to a pair freshly cut trees, ready to be wheeled away to his truck.

“You’re not going to make me push these to the car, are you?” you joked. “I mean, I’ve gotten stronger since I’ve last seen you but still.”

He approached you, bringing his large hand to your head to ruffle your beret around. “I’m sure you have, flower, but let me do it.”

You giggle at the nickname, the noise sounding like jingle bells. “Alright, Johnny, lead the way.”

The fourth letter arrived the day before Christmas Eve, the envelope pressed snugly against the wall of your mailbox. Forgetting to check the mail the day prior to the holiday, you only saw it Christmas Eve morning. You rushed to open it, back leaning against the front door as you did so. A shaky breath left your lips as you read the letter’s contents with clammy hands. Cold sweat spread throughout your body as the information sank in.

What I am about to tell you is a pivotal moment in changing the future, so please pay attention, love.

On Christmas Eve, Johnny will show up at your doorstep and he will appear extremely disgruntled and confused. Just like so many times before, he will look to you to be his saving grace. You were always the first one he would run to.

The doorbell rang and you peeped through the whole to see your best friend pacing back and forth along your porch.

He rang the doorbell one more time and you gave yourself a pep talk before twisting the doorknob.

“I need to talk to you,” he sputtered out with a panicked look.

“Alright,” you said, doing your best to stay calm. Shutting the door behind you, a hand shoved the letter in your back pocket and jumped up onto the porch ledge. He followed suit, his hand almost touching yours as you steadied yourself on the thin piece of wood. “Talk away, Johnny.”

You didn’t dare face him as he revealed the reason for his disheveled state. “Should I propose to Alice?” he asked a bit too quietly.

He is thinking of proposing to Alice but he is starting to have second thoughts. I was stupid and I told him to go for it.

Your heart ached at the thought of him getting down on one knee for someone other than you. The image of his smiling face shining up at her with his mother’s engagement ring hurt you in ways you couldn’t explain.

You avoided the question. “Didn’t think you were the type to get tied down so soon.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” he laughed a little dejectedly. You had to agree with that statement. “But I should, right?”

You peeked over at him and the smile he wore didn’t reach his eyes. Johnny’s brows were pressed deep into his face and his pink lips were thinned out in a line.

“Why are you asking me?” you questioned, wanting to dig a little deeper into his head. “I barely know her. And you—I don’t know, you could’ve changed within the last three years. Shouldn’t you ask Doyoung or your mom instead?”

His hand blindly found yours and the touch ignited the fire in your heart. “I’m asking you because you’re still the first person I think of when I need help. Not Mom, not Doyoung—you.”

Oh. That was something to unpack.

Clearing your throat at that unexpected confession, you prompted, “And you need help with the proposal?”

He sighed deeply, “Not exactly.”

“I’m not getting where this conversation is going, Johnny,” That was a fat lie but it was meant to get him to talk.

Another sigh left Johnny’s lips. “Alice and I, we’ve been together for three years. I’ve graduated and I have several jobs lined up for me at different studios. She’s almost done with her last year. I don’t know, shouldn’t it be time for me to propose and settle down?”

“If you feel ready for it, then yes.”

“But what if I’m not ready? What if I’m just feeling lost over this? I don’t know what to do.”

He will express how confused and pressured he feels. There are a million decisions he has to make and it will weigh him down. Johnny won’t know what to do.

I want you to pose two questions.

You lift yourself off the ledge, spinning around to face Johnny. The frown lines in his face were so prominent, you had to fight the urge to smooth them away.

“Close your eyes.” He followed your direction, eyelids fluttering to a close. You smiled fondly at the way his long lashes hit his reddening cheeks.

First—“Picture your dream future,” you instructed, “can you see it?”

“As clear as day.”

“Describe it to me.”

Johnny ran off at the mouth, speaking of gaining experience as a photographer. His grin expanded as he spoke about eventually owning a studio. He mentioned his dream about living on the outskirts of the city, close enough to all the drama but far enough to make a quick escape if needed. His voice went up in volume as he rattled on about owning a dog, maybe a black labrador, and having it grow up with his future wife and children.

You commanded him to open his eyes and they met yours, orbs buzzing with delight.

And second—“Now tell me, John, do you see Alice in it?”

You observed as the look in his eyes shifted into one of perplexity. He looked so lost in thought, you almost pitied the poor man.

If he hesitates, I hope to god it’s because he is thinking about you.

Good luck, 🌻

When he couldn’t give you a solid answer after a minute, you shot him a tired smile. “Well then, there’s your answer.”

Just as you were about to leave him with his sudden revelation, he stopped you with a hand to your wrist. “Yes?”

He released his grip on your arm, bringing his hand to brush his hair back. You caught a glimpse of the wrinkles in between his brows. “Do you have an idea about what your future looks like?” Johnny asked, curiosity lingering in his voice.

You only laughed in return, “We’ll talk about it another day, okay? I think you have a couple of things to sort out yourself.”

“what does your future look like? do you have an idea?”

“i’m not quite certain as of yet but darling i think it looks a lot like you.”

Struck with a sudden realization, Johnny barely made it across the street and into his truck. His hand shook as he tried to put the keys into the ignition. He stole a glance at his phone and saw a missed call from Alice. He definitely couldn’t call her back at the moment. He couldn’t face his mother either because she would ask about his girlfriend. He couldn’t go home and head straight into his bedroom— his head was too busy reeling with an overwhelming epiphany.

As he drove around the neighborhood with no particular destination in mind, he fiddled with his car’s touchscreen to call his closest college friend. They answer on the third ring.

“Help,” Johnny said once the call connects.

“Wow. No, ‘Hi, Doyoung. Merry Christmas, Doyoung.’ Some friend you are,” his friend greeted back, snark oozing from his voice. Johnny could practically sense his eyes rolling. “Just straight to the point as always.”

“Hi, Doyoung. Merry Christmas, happy holidays. I hope you’re doing well,” the blond quickly reiterated. “Now, please help me.”

Johnny heard Doyoung’s deep sigh, his breath heavily hitting the microphone. He picked up chattering in the background and the shuffling of clothes before the sound of a door closing echoes through the speakers. “What’s going on? Last time I checked, you were visiting home with Alice. Everything good?”

“No, my mind is going fucking insane right now,” Johnny proclaimed, his voice increasing in volume.

“John, calm down. Where are you right now?” Doyoung’s calming voice questioned.

“I’m in my car just driving around my neighborhood at the moment.”

“And Alice?”

“She’s back in her hometown spending Christmas with her family,” Johnny answered.

Doyoung paused, “I don’t really see a problem here. Is it because she’s not spending the holidays with you?”

Johnny took a deep breath before relaying the next piece of information, “Doyoung, Flower is back in town.”

He was able to make out his friend clicking his tongue, “Ah.”

Johnny made a rolling stop at a stop sign before continuing his loop around the neighborhood. “That’s all you have to say?”

“No, actually I have a lot to say but I want to hear the end of this story first, so I’ll hold off for now,” Doyoung replied and Johnny flinched. Knowing him long enough, he could hear Doyoung holding back his criticism.

“It’s the first time she’s come home in three years, too. We’ve made up—”

“Shocking,” Doyoung interrupted.

“— after a long talk and decided to ease into the friendship again.”

“Is that so?”

“Can you not judge me until I finish?” Johnny nagged with the roll of his eyes.

“It’ll be a bit hard for me but I’ll try.”

“She met Alice and they got along okay.” He heard Doyoung click his tongue again, most likely biting back a comment.

“And...” Johnny stalled, his eyes drifting to your house as he passed the familiar front porch.

“And?” Doyoung repeated, fishing for his friend’s next sentence.

“I asked for Flower’s opinion on proposing to Alice,” The sound of his former roommate’s scoff filled the car.

“John,” Doyoung’s voice called over the speaker. He hummed back a soft reply, afraid of what his friend was going to say.

“Riddle me this, okay?” There was a beat of silence, causing Johnny to tighten his grip on the steering wheel. “Why does her opinion on marrying Alice matter to you?”

“Because— because she’s my best friend and I used to go to her for everything,” he stammered out with no confidence whatsoever.

Doyoung almost laughed into the phone. “Do you know how stupid you sound right now?”

Feeling this conversation turning up in heat, Johnny quickly pulled into the empty parking lot of the local park. His eyes scanned the park, childhood memories spent with you in that park flashing through his mind. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Doyoung disregarded his question. “What did she say?”

“What?”

“What did she say about the proposal?”

Johnny’s lips pursed into a pout and his brows sunk near his eyes as he recalled your words. “She asked me if I could see Alice in my dream future.”

“And what did you tell her?” Doyoung pushed for his answer.

“For some reason,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “I— I couldn’t answer her.”

“You couldn’t or you wouldn’t?” The question hit him hard.

“Again, Doyoung, what the fucking hell is that supposed to mean?” Johnny challenged, not liking where this conversation was going. His heart raced against his chest and he felt the blood pumping through his veins.

“God, you really are a fucking idiot, aren’t you? Do I have to spell it out for you?” Doyoung shouted into the phone.

Johnny fought back, “Since I am an idiot, please! Go right ahead!”

His friend sighed in disappointment. “John, you were a wreck after your falling out four years ago. Anyone with eyes could see it. I had to watch you drag your ass out of bed everyday and then suddenly, you started dating Alice and everything was all better?”

“Yeah, that’s because I loved Alice!” Johnny yelled.

“Bullshit,” Doyoung retaliated. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Think about it, Alice is a Lit major who loves poetry. She was shy at first but then she opened up to you. You felt the need to protect her all the time. Does any of this ring a bell?”

“What does her being a Lit major have to do anything with this?”

“I really do have to tell it to you straight, don’t I?” Doyoung muttered to himself before relaying the hard truth, “John, you started dating Alice because she reminded you of her! Don’t you get it?”

“That’s not true,” Johnny whispered.

“Okay, if it’s not true, then you can easily answer this for me. Were you able to see a clear future with Alice?”

“...No,” Johnny answered after a beat of silence.

“Were you able to see someone else?” Doyoung asked with a softer voice.

“I…”

His friend’s tone dropped, taking a more mellow approach when telling him the next bit. He just discovered something big after all. “John, if you saw her in your future, it’s because you were never really able to let her go in the first place. She’s always been the person who mattered most to you.”

It instantly became too hot in his car. He rolled the windows down as sweat started dripping down his face. Johnny rolled up his sleeves and fanned himself with his hands before turning up the air condition. He gulped, attempting to get rid of the sudden thirst that came out of nowhere. He reached for his water bottle but remembered he forgot to grab it on his rush to leave the neighborhood.

“Okay,” Doyoung began, “one last thing. In between the time you weren’t talking to her and before you met Alice, what did you get a tattoo of?”

Johnny immediately looked to his forearm and a bright imprint of sunflower stared back at him. “A sunflower,” he muttered back.

“Why did you choose a sunflower, John?”

“Because...sunflowers mean positivity. I wanted it so I could look at it whenever I had a hard time,” he said, running a finger against the ink on his skin.

Doyoung hummed, “Is that the only reason? Tell the truth.”

“No,” he whispered. Johnny took a deep breath before admitting, “I got it because this was the only way I could keep her with me after I lost her.”

Doyoung stayed silent, allowing Johnny to sit with his thoughts for a few moments. He continued to thumb his tattoo, his mind flickering to the girl who left him on his porch years ago. He thought about your lingering touches and stares, the way he would feel better in your presence. He pictured your smile and how it rivaled the light from the sun, how brightly you shined when you wore the vibrant shade of yellow.

“I’m happy to have her back,” he stated. “I don’t think I can lose her again.”

“Are you okay with losing someone else, though?” Doyoung posed, “Because there’s something you have to do. It can’t go on any longer.”

You shut your laptop closed, so seemingly done with the publisher you were working with. Your agent had been pestering you with progress reports on your latest collection and you did your best to reassure them that you indeed had some drafts in the making. The pocket journal from your future self was filled up halfway with your innermost thoughts and sat on top of the typed versions of the poems you deemed worthy for publication.

You glanced at the small calendar sitting on your desk and brushed your fingers against the glossy paper. The month of December was marked with an abundance of plans and reminders. You took note of every single important date mentioned in the past letters you received, those days circled with a bright red sharpie. The latest mark glared back at you, its vivid color reminding you of how significant it was.

Hey you, December 27th will be a big day so remember it.

This one will be hard for you but trust me, I wish I had done this years ago.

At times, you felt like a sitting duck. You knew what was going to happen and how to respond but you never knew when it would occur. Whenever your mother walked past your room, you would enter your fight or flight mode, complete with sweaty palms and a panic-filled mind. Your thoughts raced through all of the possible situations that could result from your future self’s suggestion.

This impending moment would be the one to change the game.

Just as your mind was about to spiral into a million different possibilities, a loud knock resounded throughout your room. You took a long and loud breath, shaking your arms to rid yourself of the nerves before opening the door.

Johnny will come into your room to talk...

You pretended to be confused when the door revealed a disheartened Johnny. His usually neat hair was a disheveled mess and he had prominent bags under his red and irritated eyes. His pressed clothes were swapped for a wrinkled top that was messily tucked into his pants.

“Oh my god, Johnny,” you said as you stepped aside to let him in.

“Hey,” he greeted almost lifelessly.

“I thought you were spending a couple of days with Alice and her family. At least, that’s what Mama Suh told me,” You motioned for him to take a seat on your desk chair. “Did you just get back?”

He plopped himself down, head in his hands. “Yeah, but let’s not talk about that right now.”

...and he’ll spot the typewriter he gave you.

Just as your letter predicted, Johnny turned his head to see your refurbished typewriter sitting on your desk. The machine’s older, vintage appearance stood out against the more modern and minimalistic design of your room. He pressed down on a couple of keys, filling the room with the sound of its clicking.

“I’m surprised you still have this old thing,” he remarked.

You moved closer to him to roll a new sheet of paper into the machine before allowing him to play around with the device. A few loose strands of your hair brushed against his face and he caught a whiff of your favorite shampoo scent. It smelled so familiar and comforting, taking Johnny back to the intimate moments where he used to hold you in his arms.

“I could never part with it,” you answered as you leaned back to take a seat on your bed. You watched him continue to type a fluffy of lines. “It was the first present you got me with your own money.”

Johnny stopped typing, his hands lingering over the keys. “You make it sound so special. It wasn’t that big of a deal, you know.”

He caught your eyes and you make sure your voice doesn’t waver when you say the next line, “Well, it was special to me.”

Johnny broke away first, sporting that ridiculous grin he always bore when embarrassed. You saw his cheeks turn color underneath the long blond strands and you stifled a laugh. He coughed into his hand to hide his flustered state before shifting back to face the typewriter.

“So have you written anything with this old baby since?” he posed, his voice overpowering the sound of the keyboard clicks.

He’ll ask if you have written anything since the break in your friendship. I made the mistake of saying “no,” but you, my dear, have the chance to change that.

“I took a break for a bit,” you answered honestly with a shrug of your shoulders, “but yeah I have a few journals filled, not a lot though. Typed out the best ones— they’re around here somewhere.”

“Have any to share?”

Pivoting away from him, your body shook as you bent down to reach into your drawers. A hand trembled in time with your racing heart when you spotted the familiar leather-bound journal, the dirtied yellow practically screaming your name. You grabbed hold of it with a solid grip, nails imprinting crescent moons on the cover.

You pressed the book against your chest and the beating of your fragile heart was so strong, you thought it was going to break through your ribcage and thrash against the journal itself. The book you held in your hands was your most prized possession: your blood, sweat, and tears all within its binding. It was the secret to your success and the secret to your heart.

His name was so neatly written on that first page, starting off an unsent love letter to him and there he was, in your room, about to receive everything you had caged behind a fake name.

I want you to hand him your journal, you know the one, and tell him— “Read it if you ever have some time on your hands.”

Johnny accepted it with a smile. He tapped the book cover heartily before tucking it under his arm. “I’ll always have time for you and your work.”

“Be careful with that— that particular journal is really important to me.”

“I will.” Johnny paused, just observing the way your eyes would flicker nervously from the notebook and then back to him.

“Did you ever write with someone in mind?” he questioned, his puffy eyes gleaming with curiosity.

You gulped before giving him a nervous smile, “I’m sure you’ll find the answer to that in there somewhere.”

I feel as if this is our last chance in changing the future. Let’s pray the Fates are in our favor this time. Best of wishes and an abundance of happiness to you, love.

I hope this works.

signed,

the sunflower without her sun

Johnny read through your journal the minute he got home. Locking himself in his childhood bedroom, he changed into a pair of comfortable clothes and dived right in. He was terribly exhausted from his long drive back from Alice’s place, the trip both mentally and physically draining. He read with the intention of taking a break from the raging waves inside his head but instead, it turned his mind into a tsunami— the thoughts crashing along each other and causing him to drown in the harsh waters of his brain. He read the book from cover to cover, leaving no page unturned.

You gave him this odd request and although weird, he wanted to follow through for you. You had asked him to read the book in its entirety before flipping back to the very first page.

Your words floated off the page and they touched him in ways he never knew. Johnny soaked in every scribble, every word you wrote. He felt every instance of love and heartbreak within its binding and wondered who made you feel this way. His heart swelled at every lovesick poem you wrote and dropped at every sad picture you painted with your verses.

Some of your writings sounded awfully familiar to Johnny but he shrugged it off, thinking you had shown him your old work in passing.

It wasn’t until he reached a certain poem that everything came crashing down on him. You wrote a short poem, one that barely filled the page, about a sunflower that longed for the light of the sun and it hit him all at once.

Johnny frantically sprung up from his bed to search for a certain book. Practically running to his desk, he shoved everything aside and down fell a pile of paper, prints, and polaroids. He shuffled through endless piles of junk until he found what he was looking for: Sunny Blume’s letters left unsent.

He flipped and flipped and flipped through pages, his heart doing cartwheels inside his chest as Johnny so desperately foraged for that particular set of words. His eyes skimmed through Sunny’s published book before turning back to find the same words written in your neat handwriting.

It was one and the same.

He rifled through the pages of Sunny’s book until he reached the dedication, eyes taking in every word.

these are my unsent letters to you, my muse

i hope they get to you someday because no matter when we are or where you are or with whom you’re with— it always has been and always will be you, you, you

His mind was sent into a loop when he shifted his attention back to your worn-out yellow journal. Johnny’s large hands move on their own, working to find the first page. He handled the pages so roughly, the papers ripping at the seams, until he reached his destination. The tall man lost his balance, body falling to the floor when he read an identical dedication. The only difference was the opening line.

these are my unsent letters to you, johnny—

The next few days passed by in a daze, Johnny’s head still filled with thoughts of you and the poems you secretly addressed to him. The blond didn’t dare meet you in person, his mind still muffled with confusion. Instead, he just stared outside of his bedroom window, his line of sight directed towards your window. He stared blankly for days, watching the lights flicker on and off every now and then. His heart pushed against his chest, beating erratically when he caught a glimpse of you leaving your house to run an errand for your mom but would hide behind his blinds when you would look his way.

He shook with every text you sent him, but you never touched on the topic of your journal. Johnny refused to reply to you, scared of running off at the mouth with the wrong words.

His mother, being the intuitive person she was, noticed his behavior right away but didn’t approach him until New Year’s Eve.

She knocked on his door and he let her in, his thoughts still elsewhere. Taking a seat on his bed, Johnny easily followed suit, body gravitating towards his mother’s in his time of need. His mom cupped his cheek and stroked it gently, “My love, what is going on with you, hm?”

He turned his head away from her, almost ashamed of his feelings, and crossed his arms against his chest to protect himself. “Nothing.”

She chuckled in that motherly way, hands moving to comb through her son’s blond hair. “Now, you and I both know this isn’t nothing if you have been holed up in your room for days.”

When he doesn’t reply, his mother pushed in a way that would definitely elicit an answer, “She’s been asking about you, you know? Seemed pretty worried that you weren’t answering her.”

“Mom,” Johnny started off, looking at her with a confused expression. He was bewildered by everything he had discovered recently, he didn’t even know how to start laying it out.

“These past few years, I thought I was in love with Alice but,” he shook his head, almost in disbelief, “turns out I wasn’t after all.”

Her wrinkled hand slid down his arm to grab hold of his hand. She squeezed it with all the love and support in her heart, urging her son to continue.

“I talked to Flower and she made me realize I wasn’t. I never saw Alice in my future and Doyoung made me realize I had always pictured someone else.” His mother followed Johnny’s far-off gaze only to find it focusing on your window. He continued to stare at it as you opened the glass doors to let in some cold air, your arms stretching outward to catch the falling snow.

“And is that someone else your best friend?” she posed the question with a knowing smile.

Johnny’s answer was caught in his throat, struggling to come out. It was hard for him to admit but he felt the need to. He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat and his pride before finally spewing out the answer he had been denying for the past few years. “Yeah, it’s always been her.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, Johnny felt the weight in his chest disappear. He stole a glance at a framed picture on his desk and the biggest smile spread along his lips. It was a picture of you and him in the middle of the sunflower field from years ago. He initially sent it to his mother and she took the liberty of framing it and placing it in his room. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes zeroed in on you in that bright yellow shirt.

“Somehow, her mom and I always knew you would fall for each other,” his mother pointed out, snapping him out of his daze. Her statement ripped the fond smile off his face.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Johnny almost whispered.

“Of what, John?” Her eyes searched for his face and he refused to meet her gaze.

It took him a minute to reply. “Of losing her, like how you lost dad. You guys were best friends too, you know.”

Johnny never liked talking about the divorce, the split still living too fresh in his mind. It hurt him too much to even think about, so he shunned the feelings away. The boy grew up with an abundance of love stories, from his mother being spoiled with flowers to the sweetest proposal. Like you and him, his parents grew up as childhood friends that turned into more. When everything fell apart, it tore him apart in ways one could never explain.

“Oh, my love,” his mother sighed. Although her build was much smaller in comparison to his, she pulled her son into her arms and he immediately curled into her hold. He rested his head against his mom’s chest and she worked her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner.

“Your father, as loving and sweet as he is, wasn’t my soulmate. We discovered this way too late in life but I loved him all the same,” she began to say. He shifted in her loving hold, still not ready to discuss the split.

“Yes, we didn’t work out but I’m so glad to have him in my life because he made me who I am today and,” she took a second to lift her son’s chin with a gentle finger, “he gave me the most precious gift of all— you.”

Johnny smiled up at his mother with tears rimming his eyes and she wiped them away with the tip of her manicured finger. “You are the light of my life, my dear, and you are so deserving of love.”

“Mom,” he muttered through a sniffle. His heart always grew soft at his mother’s words.

“And I know she is the one who will give it to you,” she finished sweetly, tapping his cheek. “She always looked at you like you were the sun.”

“You think so?”

His mom’s laughter fills the room with delight, “John, if you only saw things from our eyes. I saw it and so did her mother and your father. You looked at her the exact same way.”

She broke the embrace first to place a comforting hand on his broad shoulder. “I know you’re scared, everyone is at some point but you’ll never know until you try, darling. That’s how life works.”

Johnny could only nod at his mother’s advice and she squished his cheeks lovingly in return. She stood up from her seat to stretch before slapping him lightly on his bicep. He flinched at the sudden contact, shooting his mother a shocked surprised look.

“Enough of this, we have a New Year’s party to get ready for. You need to look nice tonight,” she playfully scolded her son. She shuffled through his closet before pulling out a thin black turtleneck and a beige trench coat to match.

Right before she walked out the room, his mother turned on her heel to say, “By the way, John. You got a letter in the mail. I set it on the counter for you.”

The New Year’s celebration was in full swing at your humble childhood house, the living room and kitchen decorated with the shiniest shades of gold and silver. The numbers of the upcoming year were pasted on the wall where your makeshift photo booth was located, a couple of childhood friends shoving their bodies together to fit into the frame of the ring light and the camera. They drunkenly called your name, hands reaching for you to join them, but you waved them off and shook your glass in the air. You needed a refill.

Balloons littered the floor, making it hard to walk across the crowded room filled with your mother’s friends and their families. You wiggled your way until you reached your kitchen, quickly pouring yourself another flute of champagne. Three flutes of bubbly and two shots of rum deep into your night but you still wanted more.

You felt your phone vibrate in your skirt pocket and you blindly palmed your thigh until you found it. “Hmm, hello?” you mumbled.

“Hey, buttercup,” Donhyuck’s voice almost screamed into the phone. His side sounded rowdier than yours. “Happy almost New Year!”

You removed the phone from your ear to check the time, thirty minutes until midnight. “Right back at ya, you doof!”

“Did you find someone to ring in the New Year with yet?”

“Ha, funny for you to assume I was looking,” you heartily laughed.

“That’s no fun.” You could practically picture Donghyuck’s pout in your head. “Johnny Boy hasn’t talked to you yet?”

“No,” you groaned. You informed your friend about handing the journal over a couple of days ago and he was hanging onto your every word, hoping your mutual stupidity and pining for each other would end soon. He knew everything that had occurred since he left, everything except the letters.

“Is he there?”

“Yes and he looks like Adonis in that tight turtleneck of his,” you moaned into your flute, the alcohol you consumed finally bringing out your hidden thoughts. “He hasn’t talked to me yet, though.”

“Then, why don’t you approach him first?” Donghyuck suggested.

“Aren’t you too invested in this? Shouldn’t you be on your way to Junnie?” you shot back with another glimpse at the time. The clock was ticking closer to midnight.

Your mind short-circuited as you caught a glimpse of your childhood friend across the room. He locked eyes with you, the deep brown you loved so much shining in the lowlight from afar. You watch him down his flute of champagne in one go before slowly making his way over to you. Johnny’s lengthy body twisted and turned while fighting the crowd, the tight shirt hugging every defined curve and line of his torso. His styled blond hair fell to frame his handsome face and his brows were furrowed with determination.

“Hyuck, oh my god, I take it back. He’s heading over here,” you whispered harshly into the phone. His quick steps across the floor matched the beating of your heart.

“I’ll talk to you later, sweetie,” your roommate teased before ending the call. “Happy New Year!”

“Hyuck!” you shouted but it was too late.

It didn’t take long for Johnny to reach you. You tried to ignore the butterflies but they increased as he stood in front of you with only the kitchen island separating your bodies. He leaned against the counter, looking so effortlessly handsome, you almost fell to your knees.

“Go outside with me?” were his first words to you in days. “We should talk.”

“Sure, let me just—” You cut yourself off to chug your freshly poured glass of champagne, the bubbly substance tickling your throat. Johnny gave you an amused look but you ignored it, rushing towards the front door with a coat in hand.

He opened the door for you as you shuffled into your jacket, motioning for you to step out first with a dazzling grin. He followed right after, leaving the door slightly ajar before leaning against the wall.

In your tipsied state, you struggled to jump onto the ledge of your porch. You frowned at the seemingly easy task and gasped in surprise when you felt two strong arms lift you at the waist and your shivering hands flew to grasp his biceps to steady yourself. Johnny had the audacity to smirk at your flustered state and you scoffed at his confidence.

“You wanted to talk,” you tried to match his confidence but you failed once he leaned against the railing, bringing his handsome face closer to yours. He was so close, you could see the length of his eyelashes, the shadow of his freshly shaved facial hair, and the pores on the apples of his cheeks. “So, let’s talk.”

Without missing a beat, he jumped right in, “You’re Sunny Blume.” You closed your eyes shut at his accusation and took a deep breath, clearly not ready to hear Johnny call you by your pen name.

“Yup, that’s me,” you admitted, tugging on a loose strand of hair out of nervousness.

Before diving any deeper into the conversation, he asked, “Why that name?”

“Because I’m your sunflower, that’s why,” you pushed yourself to say. He chuckled with the shake of his head, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Sunny for obvious reasons. ‘Blume’ meaning ‘flower’ in German. It was obvious to those who knew what they were looking at, but to others, it was just a simple name. Everything about that poem collection always tied back to Johnny Suh.

“Did you really mean everything that you wrote?” was his next question. There was this hopeful gleam in his eyes as he stared at you, lips pursed out as he waited for your revealing answer.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

You squeezed his arm, “When have I ever lied to you about something as serious as this?”

He hummed in return.

“I turned you into poetry because I couldn’t have you any other way.”

You release your hold on him, bringing your hands to rub against your stocking-clad legs. Your short coat cut off at mid-thigh, leaving your legs exposed to the cold winter air. Noticing your shivering body, Johnny quickly shimmied out of his trench coat to drape it over your smaller figure.

Your face flushed with heat as his familiar scent flooded your nose and thanked him for his kind gesture. Slipping your arms through the sleeves of his coat, you giggled at the size difference. One of his hands lingered on your shoulder, slowly riding up to rub at the base of your neck. “Do you— do you still feel the same way about me?”

Your hand reached up to take his larger one in yours. Your fingers skirted along his skin as his hand moved to thumb at your cheek. It was a very intimate gesture, causing that tickling feeling in your stomach to return. You hummed at the warmth of his touch, “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.”

You pick up the sound of him breathing heavily at your confession.

You laid your cards on the table. It was his turn to make a move.

“The question is, Johnny, do you feel the same?” You exhaled, the puff of hot air hitting his face. “Do you love me, too?”

“I’m pretty sure I always have,” he replied with the softest look. Johnny drank the sight of you in: the haze in your bright eyes, the rise and fall of your chest, the blinding smile that you were trying so hard to conceal.

He straightened up and stepped closer to you, your knees now hitting the tops of his thighs. Johnny leaned down, transferring his weight to one arm, as he brought his face closer to yours. “I was always so scared of losing you that I couldn’t admit how I felt.”

“Are you scared now?” You found yourself subconsciously moving towards him, your body automatically gravitating to the warmth he was executing.

“A little bit, yeah,” Johnny confessed. His fingers reached up to play with a loose strand of your hair. He tenderly tucked it behind your ear, his skin grazing against a sensitive spot on your neck. You fluttered at his soft touch, your heart now dancing along your chest. “But I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“And Alice?”

“I broke it off with her the day I came into your room.” That explained why he looked so out of sorts that day, you thought to yourself. Taking a moment to let that information sink in, you realized that the Johnny standing in front of you was single and willing to try with you.

It worked. The letters that your future self sent you, they worked.

The countdown for the New Year began in the background, the excited yelling ringing throughout your house.

10! 9! 8! 7!

“Is that right?”

6! 5! 4!

You would forever remember the moment your childhood best friend, Johnny Suh, stole your heart for good. He looked you dead in the eye and with the deepest voice, he repeated your own written poem back to you, “It has always been and always will be you.”

He kissed your left cheek first.

“You.”

Then, your right.

“You.”

The clock struck twelve and without a moment’s hesitation, Johnny captured your crimson-painted lips with his own to ring in the New Year. Catching you off guard, the force of the kiss almost sent you backward but he was quick to wrap a tight arm around your waist. Your legs opened to give him room to slide in between your thighs, allowing him to press you even closer. His free hand slid its way to your hair, holding your head in place as he deepened the kiss. Your head titled in time with his as you grabbed at his neck to hold him down.

Your neck was starting to strain at the awkward positioning and you pulled away to catch your breath. Still longing to taste you, Johnny tugged you back into another heated lip-lock and tapped at your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist, enjoying the way his larger figure molded with yours. He walked backward and turned to push you against the wall.

He broke away to nibble at the base of your neck, peppering fleeting kisses on the expanse of your exposed skin as you thumbed through his hair.

“Hey,” you mumbled low enough to catch his attention. He tore away from your neck, placing his head on your shoulder. “Happy New Year, Johnny.”

When he looked up at you with all the love and adoration you had only dreamed about, an overwhelming feeling of happiness took over your entire being. “Happy New Year, sunflower.”

He slowly let you down from his hold before interlocking your fingers. “Now, wanna get outta here?” He gestured to his empty house across the street.

“And why would I do that?” you teased with a scrunch of your nose.

He sent you a smirk that sent shivers down your spine, “To make up for lost time, of course.”

You yanked him down for a short but fervid kiss. “Well, we have four years to make up for. Better get started.” With a tug of his arm, you giggled your way down the street as he fiddled around to find his keys.

It was the first time in four years where Johnny woke up with you by his side. The rays of the winter sun peeped through the small gap of curtain, illuminating part of his room. He arose to clothes scattered along the wooden floor and a tiny breeze blowing through the vent above his bed. He turned over to find you pressing your bare self into his exposed chest with a whine, searching for a source of warmth in your sleepy state. He smiled fondly, heart thrashing wildly at the sight of you under the covers next to him.

Johnny reached over to his bedside table in search of his phone but ran across two envelopes piled on top of each other. He opened the first one, eyes glazing over a recognizable font.

John,

You might think this handwriting looks familiar and that’s because it is— it’s yours. I’m you from the future and I’m writing to you because I need you to do something for me.

I know you’re skeptical about this, just as you always are with the supernatural so I’m here to prove it to you.

By the time you receive this letter, you should be home for Christmas for the first time in three years. On the day you go to the Christmas Tree Farm, you’ll find a sunflower and it will be beautiful.

A sunflower in winter, sounds impossible, right? Believe me— it’s not. You’ll understand soon enough.

But promise me, once you see that flower, keep it in your grasp. Don’t let it go.

Sincerely, JS

A soft chuckle built up in his chest, the vibrations shaking your slumber away. He gently placed the paper back on the table only to feel a feathery touch rub against the bright ink of his sunflower tattoo.

“A sunflower in winter, huh?” he said to himself.

“What did you say, Johnny?” you asked, voice hoarse from sleep and the activities from the night before. You pressed a kiss onto his forearm, smiling against the tattooed print that forever reminded him of you.

“Nothing, baby,” he shook his head, hand leaving his side to stroke the side of your face. “Go back to sleep.” You hummed at his command, eyes immediately fluttering to a close. You sighed happily as Johnny wrapped an arm around your waist and you tangled your legs with his to bring him flush against you.

Just as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, he decided that he was never going to let you go.

The new year passed with the blink of an eye. Within the twelve months, you graduated summa cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in English Literature and moved into a small two bedroom apartment with Johnny. His many pictures decorated the walls of your new home, smiles found all around your apartment. One bedroom was converted to an office with two desks, one for him and an even bigger one for you. On top of your desk sat your beloved typewriter, your trusty laptop, and a few of your journals. A dried arrangement of sunflowers and red roses hung right by your desk, never failing to bring you inspiration when your mind ran dry.

On a random day, you found yourself grinning from ear to ear in your living room, waiting for your boyfriend to come home from his photography studio. You killed time on the couch, flipping through channels and scrolling through your phone, toes wiggling in anticipation.

What felt like hours later, you heard the rustling of keys and the wobbling of your doorknob. You turned just in time to see Johnny appear with that kittenish grin curled on his lips. You jumped up at the chance to greet him, arms wrapping around his torso and legs coiling around his waist to give him a kiss. He dropped his backpack in astonishment, not expecting that eager of a greeting before pressing back into you.

An arm pushed against the small of your back to keep you steady as he broke away, walking your bodies further into the apartment. “Hey to you, too,” he laughed into your hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m just really happy today,” you beamed up at him, the upturns of your mouth almost meeting the tips of your ears.

Johnny set you down gently as he grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. “Because it’s date night?”

“Well, that too,” you replied before quickly running to the coffee table. Picking up an item, you hid it behind your back before approaching him with the widest smile. “But it’s because I have a surprise for you!”

He immediately closed his eyes, arms extended out as his fingers opened and closed playfully against his palm. You placed the item in his hands as the tall man bounced on his heels, his eyelids fluttering open to find a hardcover book in his hold.

“Is this what I think it is?” Johnny questioned softly, fingers trailing against the spine of the book.

You refused to answer and just silently motioned for him to open it but it was exactly what he thought it was— the proof of your new poem collection, all my loving. A surge of pride rushed through you as you saw your beloved hold your book in his hands; it felt amazing to finally have another book under your name.

He opened the hardcover hastily, excited to read your work. As much as he pestered you for a peek for the past year, you always denied his requests, telling him to wait until the collection was complete.

Johnny turned to the first page and you watched him with all the love and adoration in your heart as he soaked your book’s dedication.

That collection was far from perfect but it was yours as much as it was his. With that book and your first year together almost complete, you couldn’t wait to start all over with new verses and prose filling your heart and soul but more importantly, you couldn’t wait to do it all over again with him.

Johnny looked up from the page, completely enamored by your musings. Tears threatened to cascade down his rounded cheeks as he smiled down at you. “The perfect gift from the perfect girl,” he said, his fingers finding their way to the belt loops of your jeans to tug you closer.

“Nothing can beat this gift, huh?” You stared up at him with the brightest eyes he had ever seen. It was then he realized you were brighter than the yellow flowers that became your namesake. You were the sun itself.

“I’m pretty sure I can think of something that could top this, sunshine,” Johnny chuckled, lightly touching his forehead to yours.

You placed a tender kiss at the side of his mouth before asking, “And what would that be?”

You didn’t receive an answer, you just felt the warmth of his body leave yours as he took a step back with the shyest smile. You watched him with wrinkled brows and a curious look as his trembling hands left your hips and slid up to grab hold of your hands. His palms were sweaty, you noted, as his grip tensed around yours.

“I, um, planned on doing this at dinner tonight but I don’t think I can wait any longer,” Johnny started to say with a shaky voice. Feeling the nervous energy in the air and the slight shaking of his body, you put two and two together.

“Oh my god,” you let out an unsteady breath. Your heart was fighting a battle with your ribcage, screaming to be let out as another quivering chuckle escaped his lips.

You felt his thumb rubbing against the back of your left hand before it moved up to ghost against your ring finger. “Now, I can’t phrase things like you but I’ll do my very best,” he quipped. There was a tremble in his voice and you wanted to kiss it away but you decided to stay quiet and just live in the moment as he poured his heart out to you.

“A bit over a year ago, something incredible happened: I got these weird letters in the mail—”

Wait, letters?

“—and they led me back to you. They said something about finding a sunflower in the middle of winter and I thought that it was the dumbest prank someone could ever pull but way later down the line, I realized the letter was talking about you.”

He got letters, too?

“When you asked me about my dream future,” Johnny continued, “the only person I could picture was you and I was so angry at myself for not figuring it out sooner.” Your eyes flickered up to stare into his adoring gaze. His brown eyes dripped of honey and candy and everything sweet in the world.

“That— that’s okay,” you laughed through your tears. “We have all the time in the world now.”

He nodded; that you did.

“And your poems are like something sent from the heavens, you are something sent from the heavens, and I don’t think I can ever let go of your hand ever again,” he squeezed your hand and you pressed back with double the strength.

For once, you couldn’t find the words to speak. Johnny Suh, your winter angel and the sun of your sky, had rendered you speechless.

The only sound that left your lips was the genuine gasp you let out once your eyes caught sight of the small jewelry box that he pulled out from his back pocket. Johnny struggled to one-handedly open the case, refusing to let go of your left hand. “I’m simply the Earth that revolves around you.”

An immense heat rushed to your face as Johnny went down on one knee, his brown eyes wide and shining just for you. “You’re the light of my life, my most precious flower and person, so please,” he paused to press a kiss to your knuckles before looking you in the eyes, “please marry me.”

Overwhelmed by his proposal, you squeaked out a “yes” before Johnny pulled you down to his level for the most earth-shattering kiss you had ever experienced. You were spinning, mind reeling as he kissed you over and over again, leaving no spot on your face untouched. You giggled and cried at his actions and his words, feeling nothing but loved.

When Johnny slipped that beautiful diamond ring on your finger, you realized that the most impossible dreams had a possibility of coming true.

“I love you,” you sobbed as you admired the new piece decorating your hand. The sparkle of the jewel shone brilliantly but it could never compare to the twinkle in your love’s eyes.

“I love you too, soulmate,” he answered, nudging your nose with his.

Soulmates— that’s what you were and what you always will be. You wondered if your future self would be happy with how everything turned out; she probably would.

And to think, you laughed to yourself, it all started and ended with a couple of love letters.

for my most precious person, the sun to my flower, johnny—

you’re in every song i sing every gift i string everything just brings me back to you

in every note i write every candle i light degree fahrenheit my heart burns nothing but true

and so i say in this letter new i’ll send all my loving to you

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #nct 127 #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct x oc #johnny suh #johnny #johnny x reader #johnny x oc #johnny scenarios #johnny imagines #johnny fluff #johnny angst #johnny smut #nct johnny #of first snows and soulmates #collab

2K notes · View notes

burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

I wanted to make myself like the ravine

— There are plenty of things that Hawks knows about, but there are few he knows none about. A journey of how Hawks navigates the meaning of the word love.

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pairing: hawks (takami keigo) x fem!reader

warnings: recent manga spoilers, future!au, alcohol consumption, fem!reader

word count: 6,819

a/n: this is for the pocuties valentines day collab! rhank you for letting me join! inspired by the poem to the title of this fic!

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A G A P E

—

Hawks is one of the fastest men in the world.

It’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

A cold, hard, damning truth.

Hawks is a Pro Hero with the power, skill, and finesse required to take the fall for the entire country. He is someone who is loved by all, who thrives off of the appreciation and the cheers, but he knows — he understands — he’s expendable. He’s a tool—an object seconds from being put to rest.

There are many things that Hawks knows; he’s been training to be a hero since he was in his very childhood. Blindfolded, tested and conditioned to be the ideal hero, the perfect pawn.

Hawks is no idiot, and he will never deny that often times that he isn’t sure what he is feeling.

Emotions are weird for him. Feelings are oversimplified in everything he was taught, yet disgustingly really and oddly interfering the second he had set foot into the spotlight. He was used to the cold, the people who would view him as a specimen, experiment 20493, codenamed: Fierce Winged Hawks. The only emotions he understood was apathy, seriousness, anger, resentment, bitterness, disappointment, and relief. When finally, finally, the Hero Commission broke his wings, his spine, and his mind, the small boy so eager to be a Hero ultimately nothing but a soldier, ready to follow commands to the T.

Hawks has only heard of love from the blurry, unclear memories of his childhood. His mother muttering how she had no love for him to be taking care of him as he did, or his father saying he could never love him. Love was foreign, strange, alien to him. Even when he was eighteen and finally given a bit of freedom from the chains the Hero Commission bound him in was expressed out of love. But he was put into the cage that granted him the ability to spread his stiff wings; love made no sense.

He saw lovers making out in alleyways, and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering just why anyone would want to kiss in the smelly, dark, virus-infected areas. He saw his colleagues come in looking dazed, refreshed, reborn, yelling loudly, and singing poetry about their love for some other person they met just yesterday. He also couldn’t ignore the days, weeks, months later when they would rearrive with red-rimmed eyes, swollen eyes, and a tremor to their voice.

Love seemed… awful to Hawks.

Love was a deception of brain chemicals. Nothing more than your mind bending, flipping, and twisting to make something that made absolutely no sense make sense.

Hawks had expressed that one day to a sidekick of his, his barriers and walls crumbling away because he had been on a stakeout for five days straight now. The world that could never keep up with him was numbing his brain.

“Well, that’s romantic and flirtatious love for ya,” his sidekick explained with a halfhearted shrug. It seemed that he both agreed and disagreed with what Hawks had to say. “They’re amazing loves, don’t get it wrong, and they definitely don’t make sense, but they’re loves not meant to last.”

Hawks blinked.

“What?”

His sidekick chuckled, hands rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the window again, his sullen eyes looking even more tired.

“Have you never learned the different types of love before, Hawks?” the sidekick teased as much as he was curious. “I figured a pro as popular and smart as you are would know the different types of love.”

Hawks feathers fluttered in his inability to keep his lack of knowledge to himself.

“I don’t.”

“Wow, finally something Hawks isn’t aware of!” the sidekick laughed, and his hand opened his phone, fingers hitting the screen before shoving the device into Hawks’ chest. “I’m sure you’ll find that you can understand at least one love.”

Hawks grabbed the phone, head cocking to the side in his curiosity as he scrolled down through the phone.

There were eight different types.

Eight different ones that he could have experienced within his then twenty-one years, and he found himself unable to look away from one.

Agape: universal, selfless love

“Hawks, they’re moving!” the sidekick squawked, and Hawks handed over the phone, and with nothing on his mind, burst out the window, ready to take down this organization.

Hawks had to admit that later that night, when he was finally able to sleep in his own bed, he felt selfless love. It was for the people of Japan. The many citizens who needed his help and the heroes of the country who rose to the demands of the job. Maybe it wasn’t the type of love depicted in anything he’s ever read or watched before, but that was okay. It was love.

The love he has for the citizens is enough to keep his head afloat.

This is the only love he needs in his life right now, the only love that matters.

But he’s no longer twenty-one, he’s twenty-five, and the wings on his back that feel practically invisible to him, are hurting. His back is in pain, his quirk almost gone, save for the smallest, insignificant feathers perching from the stumps of what was his beginnings of a wingspan. It still burns, phantom singes and phantom heat whenever he thinks about his nearly gone, never to be grown again, wings.

“Well, Hawks, you already know that this is going to happen,” comes the cold voice of one of the board members of the Hero Commission. A man who had practically raised (see managed) him.

Today was the end of Hawks life, more or less.

“AFO, Shigaraki Tomura, and the well-known former members of the League of Villains were finally stopped,” Hawks speaks with a nod. He knows, even though he could not be a soldier, he had been around to see the young UA students, Endeavors Interns, bring them to justice.

The biggest names of evil were dead, and Hawks already knew he was over.

To be fair, he was glad it was over.

But still, it hurt to hear the indifference in his voice, the apathy, the tedium.

“Operation: Fierce Wings - Hawks is officially over.”

“I could’ve figured that one out pretty easily,” Hawks jests, unable to show the way his heart twisted and withered under the knowledge that he was no longer a hero. His love, his agape, for the people were still there. Still, just as he recognized in his colleagues who were experiencing the different forms of love, it didn’t matter how much love you held for someone, something, for the innocent, helpless people…

Life takes, it destroys, and love doesn’t seem to have a chance.

“Thank you for your twenty years of service. I hope you find the freedom you had been looking for.”

P H I L A U T I A

It’s been a week.

Seven days, twenty-one hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds since Hawks was fired (see Honorably Discharged) as a Pro Hero.

Hawks has always felt that the world moved oh so slowly behind him. It had been his wish that heroes be able to relax, laze around because society had evolved enough that criminals knew better, were treated better, and could integrate into a truly peaceful society.

It had been his dream.

But right now, he was bored.

B o r e d.

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Hawks grumbled, face smooshing into a pillow as he watched the Netflix Series Bridgerton drone on the screen. “Dump his ass.”

His apartment, it was safe to say, was a mess. There were cups, bowls, plates, and chopsticks everywhere. His hair was ruffled, stringy, held back by a hair clip he had stolen from Miruko. His beard was nearly fully grown in, and there were bags under his eyes despite the fact he was sleeping for more hours of the day than staying awake. He was sore, tired, bored.

So bored.

He didn’t think being bored was going to suck this much, going to hurt him like this.

Fuck.

“Open the damn door, bird boy!” came a sharp scream and powerful kick from the front door.

Hawks glared at the door, the tiniest of feathers he had been able to regrow, trying to pathetically open the lock on the door. A sheen layer of sweat pushed against his forehead, and Hawks grunted, trying to lift the heavy lock.

BAM.

The door swung open, forcefully kicked open by none other than Pro Hero Miruko.

“Yo!” Miruko waved, lips pulled in a fierce grin as she entered through the broken doorway with nothing but a bag of unknown items. “I figured you were here!”

“...you broke my door,” Hawks pointed out, eyes narrowed as dust and destruction danced within the air.

“You took too long,” Miruko breezed, slamming her plastic bag on the kitchen island. “It’s a fucking rats nest in here, birdbrain; I thought you were somewhat organized?”

Hawks groaned loudly, sinking further into his couch as Miruko began reorganizing his kitchen area — dumping the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing things away in fast, practiced skill. “Life is too boring, and I’m too bored to do anything about all of the mess,” Hawks exaggerates partially, hand twisting and dancing as he speaks. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your damn mess, birdbrain,” Miruko barks out a laugh, her hands slamming against the now, somehow, clean surface. “I’m just making my life easier!”

Hawks looked over the top of the couch with a semi impressed, semi uncaring look and shrugged.

“You seem to have a great handle over those robot limbs now,” he points out.

Sure enough, Miruko had two bionic limbs, limbs that she had finally managed to work into a fighting career. After spending two years on the sideline, relearning how to walk and then fight, she was back on the field.

She was a hero again, despite it all, unlike him.

“Damn right, I’m amazing!” Miruko preened, chest puffed, and bunny tail wagging excitedly. “But anyway, I figured your dumbass would be depressed, so I brought you some shit.”

Hawks watched with a curious gaze as Miruko quickly hopped once from where she was in the kitchen to a place on his couch, landing on Hawks' legs unintentionally.

“OW!”

“Look at what Rumi brought you,” Miruko laughed, slapping Hawks on the back as he cradled his legs. “And yes, I just referred to myself in the third person, so shush.”

Hawks grumbled, lips in a half pout, half frown.

Taking the opaque bag from Miruko, Hawks pulled out the many items in the bag.

Carrots, a KFC gift card, Korean skincare products, a movie about Miruko’s recovery process, and a 1001 Things to Do (A Book on Finding Self Love).

Hawks stares at the book.

“The perfect items for a self-care, self-love spa day,” Miruko nods, once again slapping Hawks on the back. “Some old sidekick of yours told me that you don’t know what love is, so I figured that I would help teach you the most important one! Self-love! Truly the hardest one to master, in my opinion, but damn if it isn’t a good one.”

Hawks feels transfixed almost, unable to look away from the book as Miruko slaps him on the back yet again as she moves to leave. He hears her yelling about forwarding the bill to fix his door to her, her agency would pay for the damage, and how she’s off to train with some bunny hopping boy from UA.

Opening the book, Hawks looked at the number one thing to do on the book and sighed.

#1: Look in a mirror and name five things you LOVE about yourself.

Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

Hawks is on number thirteen (Stand at a bridge and scream into the void about the things you love at dusk) when he realizes that maybe… he doesn’t love himself.

It is without saying that he loves people; agape, after all, is the only love type that made sense to him, but philautia, self-love, was way lost on him. Objectives 2 - 12 on the book were entertaining to do! They had Hawks going outside of his house much more than his week trapped indoors, and for the first time since the day his wings had been burnt off, his house was spotless.

But it was clear to Hawks that he didn’t feel love for himself.

Whenever he tried to convince himself that he should love himself, that there were terrific qualities in himself, he thought back to the dirty, burnt room.

“I still gotta protect their happiness!” the phantom in his mind screamed, the broken sob collected in his throat.

Hawks shivered, unable to let himself recognize the pain and hurt in the phantom's eyes, or the way that he now wished he had never done that… why had he done that?

What a mess…

The small chirping of Hawks phone interrupts his morose thoughts. He looks at the screen, eyebrows raising in slight mirth and caution as none other than his former intern was currently calling him.

“Tsukuyomi-kun!” Hawks laughs into the receiver, the weight of his past for a moment forgotten. “How are ya?!”

“Hello, Hawks-sensei,” Tokoyami’s calm tone fills Hawks' ears. “I was calling because I have a request to make.”

“Name it,” Hawks spoke immediately, slouching against the cold bars of the bridge, eyes closing as he tried to relax. “You need a letter of rec or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” Tokoyami says. “We third-year students are graduating in a few days; I was inquiring if you would attend on my behalf.”

“Wow, Tsukuyomi-kun, no need to be so formal with me!” Hawks laughed delightedly, his hands carting through his feather-like hair, “I’d love to come and watch you guys graduate! Is it true that the finger-smashing boy is the valedictorian?”

“That would be false, Midoriya-kun has nothing on Yaoyorozu-san.”

“What a bummer, you’d think he’d be first after how he helped win the war for us, huh?”

“You’ll find that Yaoyorozu-san is highly gifted and undeterred by most things,” Tokoyami sighed. For a moment, Hawks chuckled at the melancholy tone to his old intern's voice. It sounded as if he had been striving with great difficulty to reach the highest marks as well.

Hawks began speaking to his rather odd ex-intern with great curiosity with the blanket of the night surrounding him. His defenses and thoughts whittling away the more they spoke, the later it got in the morning.

“Ne, Tokoyami-kun, I have a question?”

“Concerning what?”

Hawks pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks up into the still dark sky, “Do you know how to love yourself?”

Silence.

Had it been anyone else, Hawks would have panicked at the lack of noise. Still, his already less than chatty intern typically took to not speaking much to begin with.

“Self-love is difficult,” Tokoyami finally spoke, his words slow, carefully chosen. “We humans are flawed; we all have demons. Most of the time, we only recognize and see our demons, oftentimes forgetting that being human also means being weak and at times immoral. Loving oneself is a hard task because we know ourselves better than any other. It’s a work in progress for everyone to love oneself, it's a type of love by the Ancient Greeks, but it’s not always everpresent. One must accept all flaws to love oneself, and remember that flaws don’t make you less, even if you believe otherwise.”

“...wow, I asked for a sentence answer, and you gave me a speech. Who would’ve known you were so in check with your emotions, Tokoyami!”

“You knew, I’ve already revealed this side of me before. You laughed last time too.”

Hawks finds himself home thirty minutes later, and he stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his chest.

Self-love… it seems like an ever-evolving type of love, but it’s there. He knows that even if he has regrets and hardships and things he hates about himself, deep down, self-love exists and that it will exist.

Patience.

Even the fastest man in the world could demonstrate patience.

L U D U S

“What can I get for ya?”

“I have no idea honestly, do you have any recommendations?”

Hawks could say with complete honesty that he felt entirely out of place.

He was at a local bar. The bar was semi-busy today. Most young adults dressed in an arrangement of clothes, each on a different level of soberness as they cheered to this and that.

Why was he at a bar even though he was slightly uncomfortable? Well, you can blame #73 in the book for that.

(#73: Enter the first bar you find, order a drink, and flirt!)

“What type of liquor do you like? Hard or soft?”

Hawks blinked; he didn’t know.

“Hard?”

The bartender looked a bit unsure of him for a bit before nodding and turning his back to him.

Did hard liquor mean he was going to get an iced drink? He’s never consumed alcohol before.

“Here you go!” the bartender sang, slamming two shot glasses before him. “Two shots of Bacardi.”

“Oh, thank you?” Hawks tilted his head as a small cup of OJ was placed in front of him (“That’s your chaser,” the bartender had laughed). Bringing the small glass shot glass up, Hawks looked around at the throngs of people surrounding the bar and looked at you. You were cheering loudly as you raised your own shot glass in the air with a whoop and, in a fast, fluid motion, brought the shot glass to your mouth and took the liquid down easily. Hawks was definitely unimpressed now; that looked entirely too easy. “Here we go, cheers to me.”

Imitating your own actions, Hawks shot back the liquid in his shot glass, and immediately his entire body tensed.

EW.

NO.

EW.

OH GOD, NO!

Spitting out the sour, bitter, disgusting — dear god, how do you even describe this taste?! — liquid, Hawks, chugged the OJ, his lungs and throat and tongue burning from the shot.

“That was disgusting!” Hawks spat to absolutely no one, his hands covering his mouth as he stared at the other awaiting shot of ‘Bacardi.’ “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“Only madmen drink Bacardi while sober,” a voice joined in on Hawks' one-sided conversation. “Or bitches who are self-sabotagers. Never trust a hoe who says Bacardi is their favorite drink.”

Hawks turned around to see you, the girl he had regrettably underestimated for taking the shot, smiling at him with a not entirely sober look to your face.

“You look like neither. That and the way you took the shot obviously means that you had no idea what you were drinking.” Hawks continued to stare at you, completely perplexed by your casual conversation, the dress on your body that was twisted a bit, screaming wonders about your level of sobriety. You took to the empty barstool beside him with a grin and a calculating look, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“Yeah, Hawks,” he spoke, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth as he bowed stiffly in his chair. You were beautiful, fuck.

“I’m y/l/n, nice to meet you!” you speak easily, fingers grabbing at his other filled shot glass with a concerned look. “I have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take this other shot.”

“Dying of alcohol definitely isn’t in my vision of ways to go out,” Hawks grins. Pushing through his haze of awkwardness as you shift in the barstool so that you’re now facing him entirely, knees pressed to his thigh. “I’ve never actually drunk before?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes going wide as you break all levels of personal contact that’s acceptable of strangers in Japan and grab his cheeks.

“Alcohol virgin?!” you gasp, the sweet smell of some liquid drafting from your breath. “I’ll teach you everything that I know, don’t worry!”

You let go of his face, neck turning away from him, looking for the bartender to flag him down.

“Don’t you have—?”

“They can wait,” you wave at the bartender before turning back to Hawks with a confident grin on your face. “I have my favorite Pro Hero right beside me; I think they’ll understand.”

“Alright, what is it that I need to know?”

“My full name,” you breeze with a wink. “Y/l/n y/n.”

“A beautiful name.”

“I am a beautiful woman.”

Hawks chuckled good-naturedly, his head nodding in agreement, “I think we were talking about the alcohol, though, not your attraction as a female.”

“All in good time, all in good time,” you laugh, taking to the bartender and ordering two drinks, both of which were entirely foreign to Hawks.

Hawks would not consider himself to be an expert at flirting. He was attractive, a great conversationalist, and did have a type of edge to his words that often seemed playful or a warning, depending on how you looked at it. But it appeared that his natural way of speaking was more than enough to make him flirtatious enough to match the way you spoke to him.

You had introduced him to a single mixed drink, telling him that getting drunk by yourself at a bar typically wasn’t a smart thing, so keep to something with a low alcohol percentage. Just enough to make you loosen up, but not enough that you were incapable of getting home. Hawks liked the way your hand rested on his forearm. How you smiled and laughed at something to show your interest but not at everything to show that you weren’t faking your amusement at what he was saying.

You matched his every word, not backing down from his bluffs. Soon enough, Hawks felt his cheeks warm when he finally looked directly at your smiling face (he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or not).

Eventually, though, the night ended, and you shimmied off the bar stool as your friends had come to collect you to leave.

“Can I get your number?” you ask, eyes mostly entirely sober as you handed him your phone. “I know you were the man who was just a bit too fast, but I think I can handle that.”

Hawks snorts, his eyes rolling in his amusement, “That was horrible.”

“I’m drunk, I have an excuse!” you exclaim with a pout that quickly turns into a giddy smile as Hawks enters his number to your phone. “Don’t worry though, once I’m sober, I’ll flirt your eyebrows clean off!”

“That sounds painful!” Hawks yells as you wave goodbye, your arms linked with a line of other girls as you leave the bar with teasing laughter and undecipherable words.

It was with you that Hawks realized that he had come to find a new type of love.

Ludus, the love of flirtation and playfulness.

Damn, who would’ve known.

P H I L I A

Hawks was having a pretty bad day.

It wasn’t anything super terrible happening, all things considered. It was a lovely day out; the sun was warm, the sky so blue, and the birds chirping. Nothing on the news to be concerned about and all his precious people were safe.

But it was still a bad day because instead of being out and about with you, his now borderline best friend/girlfriend, who he was stupidly having a crush on, he was stuck at home.

Hawks was sick.

Deliriously, stuffy nose, goopy eyed, chapped lips, and feverish sick.

You: Are you sure you’re fine????

Hawks: Im perfectly okay. Ill go with you to the park next time sorry

You: Thats not what im concerned about stupid!!!!!

Hawks: Bye have fun!

You: I knoW YOURE SICK ASSHOLE

Hawks chuckled, rereading his messages with you.

Blowing his nose for what felt like the umpteenth time, Hawks resumed the movie on the screen that you had recommended him to watch — Disney’s Chicken Little — because it reminded you of him, or something like that. The TV droned on with the movie, and Hawks found it hard to keep focused as the Sandman danced on his head and whispered in his ear.

He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep until a loud banging was heard on his door.

Shuffling towards the door, Hawks opened the still slightly broken door with bleary eyes and a stuffy nose.

In front of him was none other than you.

You… with a basket full of things.

“Hi!” you greeted him, pushing past Hawks easily and walking into his apartment. “You look worse than I thought you would be!”

“That's hurtful,” Hawks pouted, closing the door behind you, sneezing, then following after you. “Why are you here? I thought you w-were — achoo — going to the park?”

“I was, but we were supposed to go together to check off number 184, and I wasn’t about to go alone to complete a list meant for you!” you exclaimed, dumping the overfilled basket on the kitchen counter.

“Mm,” Hawks hummed, his voice dry and cracking as he pulled the blanket closer around him. “What’s this?”

“A get well care basket,” you say in an unmistakable like tone; you glance at him, smiling widely, and gesture dramatically to the basket. “Follow along, if you can.”

“Pfft.”

“So first, I have some sleepytime tea; I swear to the gods and back that this tea will cure you and knock you the fuck out,” you say, pulling out the thing on top of the basket and putting it to the side. “Next, we have some tissues because you obviously need them.”

“Hey!”

Hawks watched through red-rimmed eyes as you carefully and thoroughly explained what and why you had brought him. Fuzzy socks, a blanket, his favorite snacks and drinks, medicine, DVD’s to more movies you told him he had to watch, an embarrassing childhood picture of you that he had been wanting and swore he would never expose least he wants to die, more oils for his diffuser, and a signed Endeavor poster he had been wanting.

Safe to say that after he had been drugged up, eating some soup and drinking some tea on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket you had bought him, laying between your legs, Hawks was feeling much, much better. It had been hours since Hawks had coughed or sneezed, and he was talking with you about how Disney movies were being produced less and getting sort of worse with each one. The movie titan slowly losing its ground.

“Okay, it’s almost eleven pm; I have work tomorrow, you are still sick, let's pack it up!” you eventually say during a moment of comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you have to work,” Hawks sniffled, standing up off the couch so that you could get up. “Seems like a crime.”

“It’s not so bad! Being a celebrity PR manager is a million times easier than a hero PR manager. At least we can help decide what's seen!” you laugh, helping to clean up his living room of the bags of chips and drinks.

“Sure, sure,” Hawks grins, keeping the trashcan open for you so that you could place the trash in. “Thank you.”

Walking you towards the front door, Hawks comes to the sudden and almost alarming realization that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He thought this was a friendship, and it was one, a good one at that! For about a month now, he had known that there was a type of love he had for you, one of friendship.

It was called philia.

So why did he want to keep you wrapped up in a hug, to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your lips?

“—I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you during my lunch break,” you say, slipping on your shoes as you pull on your jacket. “If you need anything at all, call or text—”

The words on your tongue die immediately when Hawks still slightly chapped lips press against yours. The sick must that was present earlier on the day is no longer there, and you can feel heat and fire bursting from your cells as Hawks pulls away from you.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks breathes out, a small smile on his face, a daze in his eyes that tells you he definitely was not completely sorry. “I couldn’t resist anymore?”

“W-We will talk about that later!” your voice squeaks, your heart hammering in your throat because fucking Hawks kissed you. “If I-I get sick, I’ll rip out your eyebrows!”

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” Hawks continues on, leaning on the doorframe you’ve yet to pass.

“...I hate you, yes,” you warble, hands pressing against your burning face as Hawks grin grows.

“Perfect, I’ll text you,” he allows you to pass through the doorway where you feel both entirely light and giddy yet awkward and mechanical.

“Hawks, I swear, if your stupid kiss got me sick!”

“You’ll rip out my eyebrows,” Hawks laughs, waving a hand. “If you rip out my eyebrows, I demand a kiss for every hair you pluck out.”

He laughs at how he can basically see the heat rising from your ears as you squawk and run away.

Looking at #184 of his book, Hawks smiles as he crosses it out (#184: Ask out your crush!) and sighs. Philia was love between friends, but it was also, if he remembered correctly, one of affection. And it was without saying that he held a deep affection for you.

E R O S

As much as Hawks claimed he knew about the world, he was as clueless as a newborn baby when it came to the topic of love. Reasoning? Well, today marked a year of being together. It had been a year since Hawks had kissed you when he was snot-nosed kissed (you did get sick, by the way, and while you didn’t rip out his eyebrows, Hawks had kissed you plenty in apology), and then took you on a date where you went to a trampoline palace.

He was clumsily romantic. More often than not, he wasn’t actually romantic. Still, the sincere thought and emotions he put into it made his actions seem so thoughtful and sweet.

You’re not sure why you actually believed that on your year anniversary, he was going to plan something for the two of you. So the reaction he had when you showed up on the year anniversary, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a small personal gift for him, Hawks looked deeply confused.

“This is still not bad!” you exclaim, watching as Hawks attempts to redecorate his apartment from the messy bachelor vibe into something of romance. It was easier said than done, especially as your boyfriend had no decorations in his house that wasn’t fanboy or bird material.

“I didn’t realize that one year anniversaries were meant to be out and about!” Hawks yelled back, failing to nail the fairy lights onto the ceilings. “I knew you wanted to do something, but I thought it was going to be like ‘let’s go get some KFC!’ sort of thing!”

“Definitely not,” you laugh, sitting on his couch with the take out food sitting on the table. It had just arrived, and Hawks was still not accepting the lack of romance in his apartment. “But it’s okay, really Hawks! I didn’t tell you, which is entirely my fault! Come on, let's watch something together, eat, and relax!”

Hawks sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

He should have known that one year anniversaries were a big thing in dating too. They sure were in businesses; what a rookie mistake. Not satisfied with the lack of romance in his apartment but also unable to do anything more to it, Hawks sulked over to the couch and sat beside you, grabbing his dinner plate.

“Thanks, dove.”

“You’re most welcome, baby vulture. Thank you for the food!” you grin, breaking the chopsticks and digging in.

The food is eaten with a mirthful conversation, the TV playing the 100 Funniest Hero Fails playing on Youtube. Eventually, the purples and pinks of the sky became dark.

Night is here.

Hawks went from sitting right beside you to lying on the couch and having you snuggled into his stomach at some point in the night. YouTube is no longer playing Hero Compilation videos. Still, it is now instead showing a chef with a giraffe quirk demonstrating how to make your very own pancake treehouse, no clickbait!

Hawks is transfixed on you, watching the way your eyes sparkle and shine as you stare up at the screen, your lips moving as you give your side commentary, but he can’t hear a thing.

Five weeks ago, on this day, was the day that Hawks realized that the philia love he had for you had evolved once again. It had become one of eros. Romantic, passionate love. He loved you; he loves you. Anything you wanted or needed in the world, Hawks would do anything to give it to you. He had yet to tell you said realization; after all, he needed to make sure it wasn’t some fluke but found himself chickening out each time he wanted to confess.

Gliding his thumb against your cheekbone, Hawks stared adoringly at you, head tilted as you laughed at the video before glancing up at him. It was evident that you hadn’t been expecting him to be staring at you so intensely. As soon as you glanced back at the TV, you snapped right back, curiosity blazing off your gaze.

“What’s up?” you asked, hands pressing to his chest as you lift up a bit. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I love you,” Hawks whispered, the words coming out so much easier than he thought it would. “Y/l/n y/n, I love you.”

Your eyes widen significantly, your jaw dropping as your eyes grow just a bit watery.

Hawks smiles softly, knowing that for so long you had told him you loved him without a single moment where he returned the affection. It hadn’t bothered you. Obviously, you knew why he didn’t say it, but finally hearing him say it seemed to break you just a bit in the best of ways. He kisses you softly, fingers wiping away the single tear that fell.

“I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too, Hawks,” you blubber, your smile so bright yet wobbling with your heartfelt emotions.

“Takami Keigo,” Hawks corrects. “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Hawks watches as you process his name, and a wet laugh bubbles from your throat as you nod your head, hands reaching behind his neck to pull him close for the first soul-consuming, fiery kiss of the night.

“I love you, Keigo.”

If this wasn’t eros, well, then, Hawks didn’t know what it was.

P R A G M A

two years later, valentines day

Keigo sits on the bed, fingers adjusting the tie around his neck as he stares at you doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your eyes intensely concentrated on your reflection as you painted dark red lips on yourself.

To sum up the last two years in a single, simple phrase, Keigo would say that love now made even less sense to him.

It wasn’t precisely that it made perfect sense before. Some days he still argued and wondered about how love could exist in specific scenarios. Or why, after you stole his final KFC chicken leg he was saving, he could always love you after such betrayal. It made no sense to him, but also made perfect sense, hence the complete confusion.

But it was without saying that as you twirled in your outfit in front of him, a grin plastered so large and lovingly on your features, that it made sense.

How could he not love when he had someone like you.

The walk to the restaurant was perfect; he had even taken a moment to slow dance with you when you came across some performers. Your sweet smile meant just for him made Keigo hum contently as he kissed you gently.

Dinner was amazing. The food rich and luscious, entirely to die for that had the both of you moaning about how great it was before laughing because the waitress definitely heard that. After dinner was over, you and Keigo were now waiting on desserts when he simply grabbed your left hand and slid a simple ring over a very important finger before placing a kiss on your palm.

“I know I was at one point too fast, and maybe I think I was too slow to ask this, but would you like to wake up and have chicken with me every day?” Keigo asked, watching as your face went through a million stages of understanding, processing, internalizing, accepting, and pure emotions.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, the tears streaming down your face beautifully, like diamonds in the dark sky.

It was today that Keigo unlocked the last love he ever thought he would have.

Pragma: committed, enduring love.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks fluff

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