2020 MINI COMMENT FICATHON

[0323]

hello!

my friends and i have been talking a lot about the good ol' comment ficathon recently, so i just want to bring back the fun! there is no specific deadline for this and everyone is welcome to prompt and fill up a prompt. this is not a challenge or competition so everyone please feel free to join and write without pressure!!

this mini comment ficathon is open for prompts and fills indefinitely, so don't worry about being late to the party!

if you're interested to join, please read instructions below:


To prompt:

Please use the following format:

Characters/Ship (optional) - Prompt (song lyrics/quote etc. etc.) - Canon/AU/Either (optional)

If you choose AU, describe what AU you are looking for. e.g. High School AU, Spies AU, etc. You can choose “either” if you have no preference between AU and canon.

Please post only one comment per prompt. To keep prompts from becoming lonely and abandoned I'd like to ask that you post a maximum of two prompts a day.


To respond:

Respond by posting your fic as a reply to the original prompt. There are no restrictions in terms of style etc. but do remember that this is a drabble community so we'd like to keep the word count at a maximum of 800 words.

In the comment title box, title your fics with:

Title – Ship – Universe

IMPORTANT: If your fic is rated R, then format your comment title box this way:

Title – Ship – Universe – [R]

you are welcome to cross-post your drabbles anywhere else. feel free to fill up a prompt even if it's already taken!



FILLS

cold feet (renjun (nct)/jisung (nct))
the talent vs hard work narrative (yeonjun (txt)/mark (nct))
mouth mantra (jaemin (nct)/yangyang (wayv))
the hope of it all (chenle (nct)/jisung (nct))
like the weather (moonbin (astro)/sinb (gfriend))
I'M A MISFIT! (sungchan (nct)/beomgyu (txt)/chenle (nct))
the long and short of it (new (the boyz)/q (the boyz), new (the boyz)/kevin (the boyz)
where we end and begin (lucas (wayv)/yuqi (g-idle))
born to be alone (joy (red velvet)/hayoung (apink))
they assume you know nothing (nayoung (pristin)/jeonghan (seventeen))
it's getting late (saerom (fromis_9)/jisun (fromis_9))
the way i love (the8 (seventeen)/kyulkyung (pristin))
i don't think i could stand to be where you don't see me (jiho (oh my girl)/binnie (oh my girl))
this unnamed longing (chenle (nct)/jisung (nct)/sungchan (nct))
 

Comments

[0323]

any questions please ask here!

[stoplight]

jeon heejin (loona) / kim hyunjin (loona) / shin ryujin (itzy) — mixnine reunion, years later — canon

[markohmark]

chenle (nct) / jisung (nct) - saying goodbye at the end of the summer - AU

the hope of it all - chenle/jisung - au

[stoplight]

a/n: one month late but hello...

—

"I told you at the beginning of summer—"

"You didn't tell me shit," Chenle corrects, bringing a hand up to shade himself against the sun. Despite the fact that skyscrapers crowd them in on all four sides, the small fruit stand Renjun works part-time at is on the one street in Shanghai that actually gets some light. Chenle's reminded of it every time he visits, having to crouch awkwardly in the only bit of shade to survive the heat. The owners had never bothered to put up a tarp, and Renjun had never thought to mention it to them. Figures he'd find any way to make Chenle's life more difficult.

Like right now, when he opens his mouth and says:

"Lanky, shy, and sweet? Chenle, you were doomed from the start."

Not true. He'd held out for three days, at least.

Renjun snorts. "That's only because you didn't see him for those three days, idiot."

"Why would I want to see someone who spilled coffee all over me?" Chenle shoots back, but the usual snark isn't there.

Because yeah, their first meeting had been ripped straight out of a rom-com—Jisung sprinting down the hallway of the buxiban Chenle frequented under his mom's orders, crashing head-on into Chenle so forcefully that Chenle's physics problem sets would be proud, calling out a hasty "Sorry!" over his shoulder as if he hadn't just casually upended the contents of Chenle's caramel macchiato all over the floor.

Chenle had been mad for all of three days until he got out of his next English class and found the guy waiting outside for him with two coffees in hand.

"I wasn't sure what you liked," he said apologetically, holding one out for Chenle to take. "So I got you a caramel macchiato. My brother said that that's what girls like—not that I think you're a girl, or anything. Or that being a girl is a bad thing. I just—" he shakes his head forcibly to cut himself off.

Chenle does his best to tamp down a growing smile. Reaches out, takes the coffee. "I'm Zhong Chenle."

The guy grins back at him. "Park Jisung."

"He's exactly your type," Renjun points out, leaning over the counter. It's times like these when Chenle kind of wishes Renjun had actually tuned him out on their subway rides home. Renjun does it all the time whenever Kun nags at them, so—what makes this any different?

(Chenle already knows the answer to that: Park Jisung is 180 centimeters tall, sucks at basketball, and still tries to play against Chenle in the afternoons anyway. When he inevitably loses he buys them two Haagen-Dazs from the convenience store downstairs. They eat together under the syrupy glaze of the sun, talking about the kinds of things that every seventeen-year-old balancing on the precipice of their future thinks about. Like how Chenle is good at school but even better at basketball. How Jisung might graduate next year without talking to anyone in his class. How they'll probably fail the gaokao and the suneung respectively, and never make it to graduation anyway. How Jisung has to go back to Korea at the end of the summer, when his exchange program is over.)

"Yeah," Chenle admits, face pressed into his hands. "He is."

Renjun looks at him almost in pity. "When's he leaving?"

Chenle scuffs his shoe against the ground. "Tomorrow."

"You should say something."

Renjun's holding out a peach to him. It's the first time Renjun's pilfered from the fruit stand on his behalf, so Chenle takes it, turns it around in his hands. Bites into it just as the sun comes into view again.

"Maybe," he says, looking upward. "Maybe I will."

[markohmark]

moonbin (astro) / sinb (gfriend) - everyone thinks they're dating but it's hard to have a crush on someone you knew when you were in diapers (based on the fact that they're childhood friends?) - either

like the weather - moonbin/sinb - canon

[hyojungss]

a/n: watched this video yesterday and now i cant stop. discl i don't know them well outside of a few clips but i'm obsessed

-

“You fucking suck at this,” Eunbi says, hands rattling the metal caging that stands between them.

“Your mouth is so dirty and that’s why no one will date you,” Bin replies. He swings his bat. The ball hits the side netting before dropping on the ground.

“Ouch,” she says flatly. “My turn.”

Bin sighs and pulls the cage door open, dragging his bat behind him. Eunbi flounces in to take his place, helmet already fastened.

“I bet I can hit a home run before you,” she says, glancing back to look at his slumped form draped over the spectator bench.

“I bet you can too, you’re so experienced after all,” Bin shoots back, sitting up, and the compliment is so kind that she’s sure it’s not what he was actually getting at.

“Meaning?” With a crack the ball goes virtually flying into the outfield.

“I have so many bruises from the times you’ve hit me,” he answers.

“Oh please, that just means you’re weak.”

“Think about it though. People see you,” he says, mock fear in his voice and a hand to his mouth, “acting violent towards me, on public television, and they get scared. Maybe you should change your ways.”

“You probably scare them away more than I do,” she says without thinking.

“You mean because they think I’m your boyf-”

Eunbi smacks the next ball extra hard and it hits the wall with a loud bang. “Don’t finish that sentence or die.”

“Sanha said Yewon told him during their show taping that you were complaining about not being able to get dates.”

“That bitch!”

Bin crosses his arms as if to say you just proved my point. She turns around slowly with a tinge of guilt that she won’t let show and glares at him.

“You know I’m joking. I love her, and I love Sanha too, even though he doesn’t know how to keep his fucking mouth shut. You’re the only one that I hate.”

“Real talk,” he starts dramatically, and Eunbi groans. “I know that you don’t think I’m a factor in all of this, but I feel genuinely bad if I am. A little bit of good fun with my old pal isn’t worth dooming you to a life of singledom.”

“Believe me, I’ve never considered you a factor,” Eunbi says, but she fans her face as she turns back towards the game screen. It must be all the movement. Physical activity. Burns calories.

“But,” he says candidly, “I think you’d know by now if I had feelings for you. You’re stupidly perceptive.”

“That’s an oxymoron, idiot.”

“Not if you’re Hwang Eunbi.” He sticks his tongue out at her. “A girl full of impossibilities.”

“Here’s one more,” she says, shuts her eyes tight, and swings.

Bin stands up as the speakers shower her with cheers. “You actually got a home run,” he marvels, walking up to the door to meet her face to face.

“If I can do that, I can do anything,” Eunbi says with a grin.

“Wanna bet?”

[markohmark]

[deleted bcs i can't read]

[stoplight]

renjun (nct) / jisung (nct) — best friend's brother — au

cold feet - renjun (nct) / jisung (nct) - au

[markohmark]

“Ya, Park Jisung,” Chenle throws one of his pillows at him. It bounces against Jisung’s face with a soft thud, too fast for him to even react to it.

The whole world seems to be moving so quickly, lately. Even spending his free time in Chenle’s bedroom — still preserved with the afterglow of childhood in this dying afternoon light, so familiar it might as well be his second home — reminds him of this fact. Jisung’s legs no longer fit alongside Chenle’s when they lay on his bed, ankles dangling precariously over the edge instead.

“Did you hear me?” Chenle demands. “I said, Renjun’s coming back in two weeks, so make sure —”

“I heard you the first time,” Jisung interrupts, still thinking about his toes hanging out in the air. When he’d been younger, he had hated sticking his legs outside of the blanket, burrowing into the safety of his comforter instead. He figures that adulthood is a lifetime of cold feet.

He rubs at his eyes, sighing, then grabs the pillow Chenle had lobbed at him and hugs it to his chest. “I can’t believe a year’s passed already.”

“Renjun wants you to come, too,” Chenle says, casual enough for Jisung to tell he’d been choosing his words carefully. “He asks about you, sometimes.”

“Whatever,” Jisung mutters underneath his breath.


—


Later, Jisung considers his reflection in the mirror. His acne has disappeared, leaving a couple of smudgy scars in its wake. He grew a couple inches, and he’s finally settling into the deep edges of his voice. He looks more grown up now, doesn’t he? What would Renjun think?

He asks about you, sometimes. Jisung imagines it, Renjun wondering about how he’s doing, caring about how he feels. The worst part is that he knows Renjun does care — that’s one of the things Jisung likes best about Renjun, how kind he is — but it’ll never manifest itself in the way Jisung desires.

A year has passed since Renjun left on an exchange program.

A month before that, Jisung had confessed his feelings to his best friend’s older brother.

The day after, Renjun had shown up at Jisung’s doorstop, eyes pleading and mouth pursed in a worried line.

And during the minute before Jisung heard Renjun’s apology, that single, continuous moment of his mother answering the door and calling for him and Jisung running down the stairs, breathless, wondering what Renjun would tell him—

Well, for a moment, Jisung thought he had a chance.


—


“Your letter was very sweet, but I can’t accept your feelings,” Renjun had told him. He stood framed by the darkness, but his face reflected the light that streamed out from Jisung’s house.

Jisung thought that he looked angelic, like this.

“Did you even consider it?” Jisung asked, pleading. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, hated the way Renjun softened in response to his question.

He had seen Renjun around the boys and girls he liked. That version of Renjun was sharp and pointed, his flirting like little bullets. Jisung had watched it in action at Donghyuck’s house once, observing the way Renjun’s prickly, wanting posture covered his crush on Jaemin like dark chocolate coating caramel.

“You’re so young, Jisung,” Renjun said, gentle and honest. He had no pretences, here. “Your letter…” He sighed, looking down at the ground.

“What about my letter?” Jisung bit down on his lower lip.

Renjun looked back up. They were the same height, a year ago, and Jisung remembers feeling entranced by Renjun’s eyes. “I know two years doesn’t seem like a big gap between you and me,” he continued. “But it’s a lot, right now.”

Jisung had never felt that there was a gap between him and Renjun before, not when Chenle’s family is like a second home for him. But that conversation had widened any distance between them into a chasm he couldn’t cross.


—


Renjun glints in the sunlight, hair golden-blonde and lovely, when he opens the door. Jisung pauses on the front porch, nervous.

It’s the same moment, except reversed. Jisung still loves him, but his prior adolescent infatuation has since calmed into something more quiet and steady.

“You’ve grown up,” Renjun says, a surprised smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Jisung shrugs, a little self-conscious. He’s taller than Renjun now, and can see where Renjun’s black roots are beginning to grow in at the top of his scalp. It’s a weird feeling, this new perspective.

Yet somehow, it seems right.


--

a/n I ORIGINALLY READ THIS AS brother's best friend RIP

[(Anonymous)]

yeonjun (txt) / mark (nct) - (one-sided?) rivals to lovers - either

the talent vs hard work narrative - yeonjun (txt) / mark (nct) - au

[markohmark]

Yeonjun hears about the new trainee before he sees him. Excited whispers trailing around, mentions of Canada and rapping and did you hear he left SM?

Rumors. They’re all rumors, is all, and Yeonjun pays no heed to them, as much as they make him want to scoff. Being from Canada probably means that he lived there for three months and never got over it. Imagine if Yeonjun claimed he was from Los Angeles? And every trainee at BigHit wants to be a rapper, now, because of BTS.

Further, being ex-anything doesn’t mean squat shit at BigHit. Yeonjun would know that the most.

Still: his eyes land on the new boy as soon as he steps inside the practice room. There are only a few trainees here -- they have thirty minutes before practice starts in earnest -- but Yeonjun has always made a habit of using all the time he has, wringing it out like squeezing blood from a stone.

“Hi,” the new boy says, greeting him with an earnest smile. “I’m Mark. Mark Lee.”

“Choi Yeonjun.” He returns the smile, turning the charm up to one-hundred percent and putting his arm around Mark’s shoulder. “You see those rankings there?” With his other arm, he points at the papers attached to the far wall, the ordering of trainees who excel at rap, dance, and singing.

“Yeah, I caught that,” Mark replies. His head tilts as he observes the list again. Yeonjun tracks the movements of Mark’s eyes, slow and methodical. “You’re the ace, huh?”

Yeonjun shrugs, noncommittal, then removes his arm and steps away from Mark. “Just making sure you know how things work, over here.”

“Alright,” Mark shrugs, easy-going enough. Yeonjun decides he doesn’t like him, not one bit.


--


Yeonjun likes to think of himself as a nice guy, so he doesn’t say anything to Mark outright. He doesn’t need to, anyhow -- the other trainees fill in the gaps for him, quick to gossip and insult. The difference between an unknown trainee and a disliked trainee is whether Yeonjun choses to redirect the conversation: whenever they bring up Soobin, commenting on his gangly limbs and earnest smile, Yeonjun will smile and quickly change the subject, whereas whenever Mark’s name is thrown about, Yeonjun remains silent.

What had started out as instinctive dislike morphs into something uglier over time, though. Yeonjun should’ve guessed that ostracizing Mark would lead to Soobin taking him in, adopting him into his little group of misfit trainees who place too low on trainee evaluations to hang around Yeonjun.

Yeonjun pretends not to watch as Soobin and Mark head out to the convenience store together, but his skin itches with a prickliness he can’t name. He heads outside himself, alone, the way he usually does when he’s in a bad mood.

The other trainees aren’t his friends; they don’t get the mess and pain of seeing him when he’s less than one-hundred percent. Yeonjun knows that he isn’t here for friends, that comradery can be forged or feigned after he’s chosen to debut, but it still stings somewhere deep down.

Yeonjun’s still in the shadows when Mark and Soobin walk back, their faces illuminated by the streetlights. Two smiling-shy boys, gangly and earnest, smiling and laughing as the night falls. He takes note of how Soobin towers over Mark and scoffs, realizing exactly what that pointed, itchy feeling had been.

It’s something that Yeonjun has long grown accustomed to, but has never quite acknowledged: envy.


--


The next month, Mark Lee’s name is at the top of the rap evaluations.

Yeonjun stares at the #2 next to his name, face blank, overwhelmingly aware of the others looking at him. They’re like a pit of vipers ready to strike. He hadn’t minded it much, when he had been the one to reign over them, but he’s experienced enough to know that any show of weakness will get devoured immediately.

Second place, he knows, is the first to lose.


--


Yeonjun keeps his head down and works harder. That’s the only way he knows how to deal with the situation when his pride is hurt like this. He spends hours awake when the others are sleeping, writing verses and scratching every other word out when it doesn’t come out perfect.
Yeonjun had seen Mark’s evaluation. Mark Lee had looked pasty white and nervous before he opened his mouth, and had fumbled his lines twice while delivering. Regardless, there had been a flow, a musicality to his punctuated rhythm, something Yeonjun knew mattered more than flawlessness.

See, perfection could be made and shaped and brought out of you like a magnet collecting iron particles from sand. But charisma? But Mark Lee’s unrepentant boy-next-door charm?

That was something else entirely.


a/n: god this is not yeonjun/mark at all this ended up being somethign else entirely... unfortunately i alr hit max wc (800w) but who knows i kinda want to expand this and have them reach some sort of amicable conclusion... srry im obsessed with yeonjun vs mark golden boy trainee narratives. god

[(Anonymous)]

Mark Lee/Haechan (NCT), Na Jaemin/Lee Jeno (NCT) - Summer Camp (preferably debate but anything goes), residential intensive summer camps - High School au

[(Anonymous)]

Lee Jeno (NCT) / Lee Haechan (NCT) - Fake dating - AU

[(Anonymous)]

jaemin (nct)/ryujin (itzy) - the story behind how jaemin and ryujin keep accidentally dyeing their hairs the same colors at the same time! - either

[(Anonymous)]

jaemin/yangyang - mean boys - au

mouth mantra - jaemin/yangyang - au

[kisoap]

a/n: this is over 800w but what can i say i'm a rule breaker!!


Jaemin gives out secrets like handing out a Costco multipack of candy to trick-or-treaters on Halloween – generously and about whom seemingly at random, always fun-sized and, like most things that were associated with Jaemin Na, definitely bad for you in the long-run.

"You're, like, weirdly obsessed with him," Renjun points out as Yangyang's taking a break in between complaining to chew on a sour belt. There's a pay-by-pound candy shop next to the off-brand coffee place Renjun works part-time at in the mall, and there's a Starbucks that just opened last week a five-minute walk away near the food court, and Yangyang's too wrung out from a week of pretending to be friends with the most exclusive clique at their private school to get chewed out by Renjun for his sugar fix. "You should really hear yourself. It's like you're giving a whole TED Talk on the upper echelon of our high school population."

Yangyang licks the sour coating off his thumb. "You know what he said about Donghyuck?" A whole wrench had been thrown into Yangyang's class schedule after he'd moved down to normal Calc, and now his P.E. period coincided with Jaemin's at the end of the day. That's when Jaemin would spill all the hot goss – in the empty locker room after everyone else had gone home, taking forever and a half to pack up his things because his mouth was moving faster than any other part of his body would go. He leans over the counter and lowers his voice, "That time when Donghyuck was out of school, saying that his family was taking an impromptu vacation to Cayman Islands? He got all four wisdom teeth taken out. Apparently his face was so swollen that he covered every mirror in his house so he wouldn’t have to look at himself for the entire week."

Jaemin had relayed all this to him with a toothy grin, like he wasn't just sharing a piece of their supposed-friend's personal mortification. "He also said that Jeno should've been nominated for Homecoming King last year, but Chaewon Kim from student council rigged the votes. She said –” he releases his index finger from his mouth with a pop, “Quote unquote – he was too much of a man-whore to represent the school like that."

"I’m pretty sure it's actually 'cause he failed Geometry three years in a row," Renjun points out. “You know that freshman year, the teacher was teaching us the area of a circle is pi r-squared and he raised his hand and asked ‘What kind of pie?’” Yangyang pretends to ignore the way he's rolling his eyes from where he's wiping down an espresso machine. "But fine, now you're telling me because –?"

"It's eating me away from the inside, Renjun! All these secrets!" Every time Yangyang was in the middle of pulling off his gym uniform, he'd emerge on the other side to Jaemin smiling at him like Pennywise, the words you won't believe what I heard about falling from his cannibalistic mouth. Just a hypothesis, but Yangyang believes that if eating humans was ever deemed morally acceptable in the near future, Jaemin would be the first to add it in the lean protein section of his calorie tracker app. "He's such a – an asshole. And yet the whole school literally kisses the ground he walks on. I can't stand him."

Renjun cuts in before Yangyang can go full-blown teen angst pity party. “Then why don’t you just stop hanging out with him?”

“It’s not that easy,” Yangyang faceplants into the counter. The Tuesday he forgot to ask his dad if he could borrow his older-than-him 90’s Tommy Hilfiger polo, Donghyuck had spat, “Wow, didn’t take you as an anarchist, Liu,” when Yangyang put his lunch tray down across from him, him and Jeno in their own respective crimson, cream, and navy. Jaemin hadn’t said anything outright when he’d slammed his shaker bottle on the table, but Yangyang tried to make himself as small as possible, curling into his Uncrustable and carton OJ. The only acknowledgement Jaemin bothered to give him at all that over lunch was a narrow-eyed look over Jeno explaining how his dick could tell when it was going to rain. He ignored Yangyang in gym class too, and the handicap parking spot Jaemin always pulled his Benz into was conspicuously empty. The bus ride home felt freeing yet inherently wrong all at once.

“Yes, it is,” insists Renjun, nudging the crown of his head with an elbow. “Jaemin Na, you’re a fucking asshole and I don’t want to hang out with you anymore,” he says in a bad imitation of Yangyang’s German accent. “That’s really all there is to it.”

What Yangyang can’t tell him is that Jaemin holds a secret of his own under his tongue like a clam with a pearl. And that secret involves their empty locker room after everyone else had gone home, the shirt of their gym uniform that looks slightly less bad on Jaemin because he’s hot shucked off, and Jaemin pushing him against the door of some football player’s locker, caging Yangyang between his arms, and sloppily making out with him. Yangyang thought it’d be a one time thing, but then he’d lunged forward at Jaemin after he’d pushed him down in lacrosse another day and smashed their mouths together again. It’d happened over and over and over, and now Yangyang was so far pulled in that couldn’t not be friends with him anymore.

“If you say so,” Yangyang says, noncommittal. Jaemin smiled at him Friday after school, his mouth still kiss-swollen and with entirely too-many teeth. For a brief moment, it looked like his awful, cavity-ridden heart could be in love with Yangyang.

Yangyang watched as he laced up his Air Jordans, painstakingly slow. At the last minute before tying the double knot, Jaemin looked up at him. “No homo,” he said, eyes crinkling.

“Yeah,” Yangyang echoed. Their friendship wasn’t real so the way he felt his heart splinter couldn’t be, either. “No homo.”

Yangyang pulls another sour belt between his teeth, offering the rest of the bag to Renjun, who declines. “It has to be the protein powder he mixes with pure espresso that makes him so mean,” he’s convinced.

[0323]

doyoung (nct) / baek yerin - i wish you knew this song was written about you - either

[hyojungss]

[seventeen] - the power went out - either

[(Anonymous)]

the8, jun, kyulkyung - birthday reunion - either

the way i love - the8 (svt) / kyulkyung (pristin) - canon

[hyojungss]

Jieqiong had called him out of the blue, banking on the fact that he hadn’t lost his SIM card and his number wasn’t tossed to the sasaengs like food for wolves. “It’s been a long time,” she said.

“Don’t think you’re in my contact history anymore,” Minghao said, and it was sort of wry.

“But I’m still saved?”

“Won’t tell you under what name,” Minghao answered, and she took it as a cue to get to her point.

“I want to bake Junhui a cake.”

There was silence for a few moments.

“You know, his birthday is coming up,” Jieqiong added.

“It’s April,” Minghao reminded her. “Ah, but you don’t know how to cook.”

“You catch on fast.”


-


Minghao’s Seoul apartment was only lightly decorated. After months in China on a long-term schedule he came back to dust everywhere and quickly reassessed the practicality of his display methods. “Take it all,” he’d told Mingyu, who with his 23 billion won in assets obsessive maintenance would have no problem putting the decor in his mansion personal art gallery. “IT’S NOT A MANSION,” Mingyu had shouted, and then hung up. A truck was in front of Minghao’s building an hour later.

“It’s nice,” Jieqiong said, finger on her chin as she put her face far too close to his favorite painting. The sunlight filtered into the room quite nicely, though Minghao knew it was dangerous for the art.

“Hey, no one said you could wander around,” Minghao told her as he sliced a box cutter through the packaging of his delivered groceries. He’d ordered essentially everything he could think of that would go into a cake because he had none of it on hand, and in another packet under the coat rack was a few box mixes in case something went wrong. Jieqiong didn’t have to know about that.

“I gave myself permission.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well,” she said, and suddenly she was right across from him on the other side of the kitchen island. Jieqiong had a way of sneaking up on people like that. Minghao would be lying if he said it didn’t make him uncomfortable sometimes. “What do we have here?”

“You could say thank you for buying the ingredients,” he said, shaking the hair out of his face, laying everything out on the counter. The floor was covered in tape and bubble wrap. Again he wished Jieqiong would actually do something.

“Shouldn’t I wait for the lesson first?” Jieqiong asked, face resting in her cupped hands.

He looked at her contemplatively. “I’m an artist, not a chef.”

“Oh, so you’re here trying to impress Junhui too?”

“I can’t tell if this is cheeky or serious.”

Jieqiong sighed. “You were always like this.” She pulled up a recipe on her phone. “Do you have a printer?” No, but he had an iPad stationed in the living room.

Minghao had really hoped the redirection of Jieqiong’s interest over to Junhui, in whatever form you could call it, would prevent this kind of conversation. He was probably being too optimistic. Both of them were a little too stubborn about these things. “I want to draw neat icing on it,” Jieqiong would probably say, knowing Minghao decorates everything with abstract art. Never compatible.


-


As fate would have it, Junhui would be on a plane to Shanghai the eve of his birthday. “I’m a little too busy to meet up this week,” he’d told Minghao apologetically, who might have been more hurt if it was anyone but Junhui. He had worked really hard this year, and... sometimes Minghao had to stop himself from getting emotional about it. Minghao was proud of him. Shenzhen’s prince, and all that.

Minghao thought that was the end of that until Jieqiong called him again, long distance though, this time. “I’m in Shanghai, did you know?” The pang of jealousy hit him like a mallet against a metal gong.

“We were both going to bake him cakes,” Minghao said slowly. “Your idea in exchange for my help.”

“I know,” she said, and it sounded like she was sorry about it. “I’ll bake him two for you.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it,” Minghao said. “It just didn’t work out.”

“We’re friends, you know?” Minghao couldn’t tell if she was talking about him or Junhui.

“Yeah.”

“Junhui,” she started, and hesitated. “I was never going to steal either of your hearts, you know?” she continued, blabbering on like always, things he didn’t want to hear. “We just-”

“Let’s not-”

“That’s not what I wanted-”

“Jieqiong,” Minghao said.

“Yes?”

“Just have fun,” he told her.

When Jieqiong hung up the phone Minghao walked over to his wine cooler and pulled out a bottle to drink. He closed his eyes.

He opened them again.

[hyojungss]

[any] - little women quote: "[Jo], I want to say one thing, and then we’ll put it away forever. I have always loved you; but the love I feel for [Amy] is different - you were right - we would have killed each other." - either

the long and short of it - new/q, new/kevin (the boyz) - canon

[fwcu]

a/n: hi op... i don't think you even know who the boyz are, but i saw this prompt and really wanted to fill it out ;-; please feel free to mentally or physically ponify into something that might make more sense to you. anyway this was a really good quote i really loved it.

(...)

“Did you ever —”

In a lot of ways, it’s a conversation Chanhee’s been meaning to have — for years and months and days now, the water under the bridge as a river, a stream, as wide as an ocean current. Changmin is stretched out to the end of the couch, the glow of the flatscreen turning him hazy; the shape of his nose, his cheek, the dimple where his mouth is bitten in, all illuminated in blue. It’s a sight Chanhee would know anywhere; and has known anywhere; a second figure in the dark beside him since he was eighteen, huddled in the corner of a practice room watching Inkigayo stages on a Samsung phone with a cracked screen. Ji Changmin, in the same combination of new sweats and an oversized hoodie, on his couch at 4am as they’re watching old reruns of Sky Castle. Chanhee, with a hand reaching out to ruffle his hair, face smushed against the cushion barely a breath away — decides to finally finish the question. “I mean—you obviously did. Get over me, right?”

Changmin frowns at the TV, then flicks his gaze to Chanhee and answers. “What a weird question.”

Which isn’t really an answer at all. But he’s thinking about — well, it’s not a ring, but it is a bracelet — pressed against Chanhee’s cheek, around the hand under his face, clutching at the edge of the sofa. It’s not a ring — but, it is a promise. Changmin’s been here for the whole week, but Kevin’s gone for the next two — and so, Chanhee’s going to force Changmin to stay for the next two. And Changmin will be around, a fixture in Chanhee’s apartment that’s never out of place — passing him the milk, and forcing him to watch shitty horror torrents on his shitty laptop, and butting heads with him and squabbling with him and sending him a screenshot of Sunwoo’s most recent text — even though Chanhee is right there and could’ve just craned his neck had Changmin just —; Chanhee would know him from how his shadow moves through the crack of a door — but he’d never be permanent.

And maybe, that’s a thought that Chanhee will never stop having. Even when his boyfriend comes back, even when his visa comes in and they get married in Canada, and Kevin walks him through the streets in Vancouver Chanhee’s seen six times before and heard about six times before, and would walk through six times again and hear about another six times; because really, in the grand scheme of things, six is a pretty small number. And even then, Chanhee could sit across his counter from Changmin, and wonder.

So, he needs to know — does Changmin wonder too? Black hair in sharp strands across his forehead, Chanhee’s favourite face for how many years now — still a combination of soft and sharp, and sharp now — as it tilts up and looks at him. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“I know,” Chanhee answers — it takes a while, so he says it softly, in case they’d almost forgotten. Another thread left on the ground, never picked up. Chanhee’s never bothered to look at the whole picture; just knows that it’s a mess, that Kevin had looked at it — them, shrugged and said he wasn’t going to get into it. Held one of Chanhee’s hands, and never minded that the other was linked to Changmin’s by the pinky; a promise that was so long held and so long forgotten, that neither of them really know why they’re still doing this but both too stubborn to let go. “But it wasn’t like I didn’t love you.”

Changmin lets that one hang in the air. Then just as evenly, says. “I know.”

“It just wouldn’t have worked out,” Chanhee says — there’s something he’s trying to get at, but — he’s never had the softest words. Kevin’s better at this. Kevin could’ve explained it better. But this isn’t Kevin’s thing. Changmin is Chanhee’s, he’s always been. A strange lick of possessiveness, the same kind as always climbs up his throat — and that — well, that’s always been the problem. Chanhee drags his fingers down the crown of Changmin’s head, and traces around the shell of his ear — remembers where all the earrings used to go, even though the holes are no longer there — and cups his cheek. “I love you, and back then —” Years? Months? When? “— I loved you like nothing else.”

Changmin looks at him, keeps his gaze steady. Hard to tell in this light, whether he’s looking at his favourite face or his least. What matters to Chanhee, is that he’s at the top of the list. “I know.” He says again, even.

This time Chanhee waits, hand down to the line of Changmin’s neck, his pulse a steady flickering beat against Chanhee’s skin.

Changmin lifts up a hand, and flicks his forehead.

(...)

[(Anonymous)]

lucas, yuqi - stuck in an elevator - canon

where we end and begin - lucas (wayv)/yuqi (g-idle) - canon

[liptinted]

a/n: events follow canon except whatever jtbc variety show episode in 2020 that gets them to meet again ;;

Conquering the initial fear and bowling past the strain of variety for the cameras, actually does wonders in honing the mental state against anxiety. Lucas, age three, was told he cried so much at one point that he grew up pretty proactive and resilient when he’d entered primary school. That, and almost five hours of filming with an hour of sleep the night before has finally caught up and taken a solid hold of his body being trapped in an elevator.

“We’re screwed, for now,” Lucas mutters.

“I’ve texted my manager, the messages got through. Help should be on the way,” Yuqi says, biting a chipped nail.

Lucas laughs, stricken. He can’t believe their luck. “This hasn’t ever happened to me, but it still seems familiar.”

“I don’t want to be reminded,” Yuqi says, staring at his legs, a faraway look on her face. If she’s not recalling what they’d had to film together in China, then it’s something else that Lucas will probably never know.

“Do you think Li Chen and Zheng Kai gege would be laughing if they saw us now?”

“Totally.” Yuqi gives him a look. “Lucas, you scared?”

“No.” He sits down on the floor across her.

The WiFi here is spotty, and the cell service is down to one sad bar. He might have to start using what’s left of his phone battery to type out a will enumerating what his members back in the dorm can have of his room in case they run out of air and asphyxiate—

“Don’t say shit like that. It won’t happen,” Yuqi scoffs.

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m a genius.”

It’s been a while since Lucas has heard that. “Tell me about it,” he says, resting his head against the wall.


--


Lucas knows his memory really isn’t the best. He’d die being held at gunpoint if he was ever kidnapped and asked to recite all his bandmates’ real names, in exchange for freedom. At twenty-one years old, he’s already tearing up over soup and declaring how old he feels, and Kun and Sicheng have learned to ignore him while Hendery sighs and shoves paper napkins into Lucas’s hand.

The fact that Lucas still knows how to mimic Yuqi's strong Beijing accent when he tries now, at the risk of her kicking him in the shins, is still considered a mark of time passing. It’s been more than a year since the both of them had been screaming over obstacle courses from Anshan to Macau. Almost two since they’d met in this JTBC building. After a special variety episode filming they were here for earlier, they’ve gotten too tired to scream anymore from inside this dingy wide service elevator that powered down midway from the fifth floor at the back of the building.

Yuqi clicks her tongue. “Your shoes are killing me,” she says over the squeak of his new soles.

“I can’t not move,” Lucas mutters.

A moment later, Lucas’s shoes are off and his socks are gathering dust off the floor. Yuqi wrinkles her nose but does the same, wincing in relief and massaging her cold ankles.

“Your Mandarin’s gotten better,” she comments.

Lucas smiles, in spite of having noticed the extra focus she’d had in her expression to get past his accent. “I’ve had help.”


---


People like Kai and Baekhyun, Taemin even, tell Lucas it’s good to be confident. People here will say that he’s very driven and that the hard work has paid off, is still paying off. Sometimes, he tries so very hard not to let the feeling sink in down to his bones, season after season, country after country because it helps make the work easier. Keep going and don't sweat it, he tells himself. He makes a mental note to ask Jackson—if he ever gets the chance—whether it was always supposed to feel this way.

“Wanna know what I think?” Yuqi says, tentatively. 27 minutes have passed.

“What?”

“I think it’s supposed to. Even if the dream was never the same for all of us at the beginning,” she says.

It's hard to say that they'd trade the dream now for anything else. The silence in the space is like being underwater, deafening and heavy.

“Any regrets?” Lucas finally asks, shielding his eyes as he looks up at the elevator light, bright but less unforgiving than anything else they’ve been under.

“Before our lives end here? Not too many,” Yuqi replies after a while. She smiles a little, soft despite everything.

“Same here. You know, I don’t meet a lot of friends like this.”

“I’ll bet," Yuqi says, her laughter full and Lucas's grin comes easier now—he feels more like himself again. "Huang Xuxi, let’s meet somewhere else next time.”

“In better circumstances,” Lucas agrees, laughing in relief as the elevator lurches and shudders to life. Her hand is warm when she grasps onto his and pulls herself up to cheer as the doors finally open.

[0323]

sungchan (nct)/beomgyu (txt)/chenle (nct) - detention kids - au

I'M A MISFIT! - sungchan/beomgyu/chenle - au

[kisoap]

a/n: super-powered kids in detention! thanks to nct's misfit and txt's new rules for the terrifying gen z kids mood music.


It's an unconditional fact of the universe that Beomgyu's always the first one in the library after the bell rings. He unzips his backpack, dumping the contents on one of the round tables reserved for detention, before sinking down into his usual plastic chair and propping his guitar carefully against the wall. He absentmindedly taps a rhythm against his cheeks from where his chin is in his hands – twigs begin to sprout and flower from the wooden table legs.

"Took you long enough!" he calls out when he sees Sungchan's tall head from over one of the display shelves. There was already condensation forming on the wrappers of the Melona bars that he'd begged class rep Kang Taehyun from the year below him access to the teacher's refrigerator for, in exchange for cleaning both their class's erasers for the next three months.

Sungchan shoots him a sheepish smile as he digs through his messenger bag for a pack of shrimp chips, a box of Pepero with today's date as the expiration and an EXO member posing on the packaging, and three yogurt drinks. "What'd you get caught for today?" asks Beomgyu.

Contrary to popular belief, whereas Beomgyu was still doing time for his impromptu jam session that caused the just-planted trees outside his classroom to grow so out-of-control that the branches broke five windows and crowned him another shining demerit, Sungchan never ended up in detention entirely out of his own volition. "I didn't notice it, but I went invisible for three periods after morning announcements," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Bae-ssaem thought I was playing hooky."

Beomgyu gapes. "And Hyejoo didn't say anything?" He scoffs when Sungchan just shrugs. "Wow, what's the point of her having x-ray vision if she doesn't use it for good? How's she supposed to save the world in the future if she can't even save a classmate!"

"I heard it makes her eyes tired," defends Sungchan. "At least, I think that's why she's always napping in class."

Chenle – the last regular of their detention table – walks in at that moment, his dyed safety-sign orange hair dripping pigment onto the white collar of his uniform. "What happened to you?" Beomgyu prods, borderline public-nuisance-loud.

"I accidentally set Minjeong's hair on fire in gym class," he confesses as he places his own wares on the tabletop – Home run balls and a bag of unpopped popcorn. The first time he'd brought it in, Moon-ssaem caught onto the noise as Chenle was trying to pop the kernels with the heat of his bare hands underneath the table. They'd walked out with an extra two days of detention each and a mischievous glint in their eyes, daring each other to raise the stakes.

He narrows his gaze at the half-finished bread Beomgyu had shamelessly added to the pile in the beginning, initially thinking he'd won this round with his fifth day in detention. At the same time, Sungchan echoes, "Accidentally?"

Chenle doesn't have the decency to look remorseful. It's somewhat inspiring to a fledgling troublemaker like Beomgyu. "I was aiming for the volleyball," he elaborates, "that I guess she was serving. It set off the sprinklers, and now they're saying the gym might have water damage."

"Surprised she didn't just freeze you solid right then and there," Beomgyu snorts, already pushing the snack pile toward Chenle in a grim admission of defeat. "Then I could've won today."

"Don't be a sore loser," Chenle taunts, unwrapping a Melona triumphantly. The corner's already misshapen from the mere heat of his presence. Beomgyu brought them on purpose because he knew if Chenle won, he'd be forced to share. His tongue comes back stained green, and he nods toward the rest of his spoils like a king. Sungchan's already diving for the melon flavor, which leaves Beomgyu with the banana, and who eats Melona for the banana flavor? "Eat your ice cream."

The taste of second place is a bitter almost-first, and suspiciously akin to overripe banana. Beomgyu bites down on the stick, plotting his next big move. He'll get them back tomorrow, for sure.

[markohmark]

hyunjin (skz) /taehyun (txt) - hsm! au w/ hyunjin as ryan, yeji as sharpay, taehyun as that annoying jock who's better at singing than u might think... "i don't dance" - au

[hyojungss]

[any] - romeo and juliet style secret flirting between two idols of groups that are labeled as rivals in the industry and are not close to each other - canon

they assume you know nothing - nayoung/jeonghan - canon

[kisoap]

Kyulkyung only looks at her after picking pieces of confetti out of her own dark hair. "You're making it obvious," she points out, a little stern.

Nayoung blinks, coming back into herself. She belatedly claps along as the beginning beats of the winning song of the week flood through the sound system. She'd tried her best not to think highly of it when it was first released, but couldn't help humming the hook under the shower, when the running water was loud enough to drown her off-pitch high notes out. She meets Kyulkyung's eyes as they start shuffling off the stage and asks, "What do you mean?"

Kyulkyung tilts her chin toward the front. It was weird at first, and awkward, having to face each other years after their shared dream had been snuffed out. It was still weird now, knowing these past versions of each other so intimately and wholly, and not quite being old enough yet for time to scab over their old selves, and not far enough into the future where they could be completely removed from them. Frankly, sometimes when the light hit her face a certain way, Nayoung still saw the girl who'd put on a brave face when she'd walked into their old practice room for the first time and didn't speak a lick of Korean.

Now, Kyulkyung says to her in awkward phrasing, "You don't notice it, but you keep glaring at them." They bow to a junior artist who passes by. "You shouldn't hate them for what happened. They had nothing to do with it."

"I don't." Some part of her does, or wishes she did. She'd never admit it aloud, though. It sounded too petty and unjustified for being twenty-eight, and she should've long outgrown the trepidation of always coming second because the boys always had to come first. "That's just ridiculous."

Seventeen is standing in the spotlight with their backs to the rest of them, singing along to their encore. Jeonghan's holding the trophy up high in his hands, confetti caught in the crown of his hair. There's sweat shining on the back of his neck. Nayoung can hear the triumphant smile in his voice when Dokyeom lets him sing into the mic for the hook that's been stuck in Nayoung's head ever since she watched the music video on her phone under the covers of her bed, in the otherwise darkness of her apartment.

These things, Nayoung didn't miss about being an idol.

---------

"I can't wait to cut my hair," Jeonghan suddenly sighs from where he's laying on her couch. It's a sofa bed, actually. Nayoung ordered it online because she thought it'd be useful for having people over. And then when it arrived, she realized that she never had people over. She doesn't even know how to set up the mattress.

Seungcheol started his service maybe two months ago. She knows Jeonghan's planning to go soon, too, before February of next year. It makes it easier, knowing this thing between them has a definitive end date. "Don't let your fans hear you," she chastises from where she's reloading her hot water dispenser. "You'll break their hearts like that."

He cranes his neck to meet her eyes over the kitchen counter. "Do you think I'd be popular if I got a buzzcut?" He's grinning like he's up to no good.

She'd gone over to his place before, maybe three times. She'd walked over to grab something off his TV stand and then realized that she'd seen a picture of Joshua on Jeonghan's Instagram, taken from that exact spot. She never wanted to go over there again afterwards.

Nayoung considers and then concludes, "I can't speak for the public."

The thing is, she'd hated when he'd started growing out his hair back before debut. They'd cross each other in the hallways and she'd be polite, but it was like every inch of hair brought him closer to something she'd been working years for. Boiled down to that, it felt like all the time she'd spent in the practice room could be trivialized into something so easily cut off.

Jeonghan runs a hand through it, pensive. "All the more reason to get rid of it," he says as if she hadn't tangled her fingers in it at the nape of his neck when he kissed her ten minutes ago. And it was all so trivial, all over again.

---------

Nayoung asked for Jeonghan's number a year ago, when they guested on the same variety show. She'd done so mostly out of courtesy, and they didn't interact much during the shoot otherwise. A month later, she texted him for his birthday, and somehow that turned into regularly exchanging messages, and that turned into asking if he wanted extra persimmons her aunt had sent her that would go bad otherwise, and that turned into him gently brushing her hair out of her face, her fingers twisted in his cotton t-shirt.

For the most part, Nayoung assuaged their relationship by convincing herself it was just casual. They talked so little about each other to other people that it seemed like their relationship was nonexistent. They didn't have the same favorite songs, and they didn't have the same social circles, and Nayoung only knows for certain that Joshua figured it out, but only because he looked at Jeonghan's phone once.

"That doesn't count," she pointed out when Jeonghan told her. Some part of her foolishly wanted it to be more obvious, but when she thought about it further, she decided she'd hate that more.

They never took pictures of each other, or sent each other anything but plain-word texts. That's how Nayoung pretended how little this whole thing truly meant to her. Jeonghan laughed, "We're every PR team's dream," and then Nayoung shut him up by kissing him square on the mouth.

In hindsight, she regretted never asking Sowon about how it'd been when she and Jeonghan were dating, but Nayoung knew it'd been her own hubris. She hadn't bothered asking because she thought it'd be impossible, ending up in the same exact situation. And now here she was, in the same exact situation.

---------

"If you had a friend," Jeonghan begins, "and they liked this guy, but say the guy was going to do his military service soon. Would you wait for the guy if you were them?"

Nayoung tears the paper a little from where she'd been pulling at the dog ear of her script. "Can you say that again?" she says slowly.

Jeonghan leans forward to put his phone facedown onto her coffee table. Nayoung can't meet his gaze. "I mean me," he repeats. He clears his throat. "And you."

"Oh." Nayoung's ripped the dog ear off entirely at this point. She rolls the softened paper between her fingers anyway, not trusting herself with anything else, much less Yoon Jeonghan's heart. "You want me to wait for you?"

"If you want to." He sounds so earnest that Nayoung makes the mistake of glancing up. He looks at her, earnest too.

Earlier in the year, the kiss scene in Nayoung's last webdrama went semi-viral. It'd been with an up-and-coming actor five years younger than her, and their characters were arguing over why they should and shouldn't be together at a new year's party. It all came to a head when the crowd around them, oblivious to their shouting, counted down the last ten seconds, and Nayoung's character surged forward to kiss her love interest right as the confetti shot into the air to welcome in the new year, fluttering down around them. It'd been all anyone ever asked her about during their short IOI reunion promotions, to the point that Nayoung never wanted to talk about it again.

Jeonghan never brought it up with her once, and she'd dismissed the script early as fiction. And now, Nayoung chokes out over the want of such a picture-perfect ending for the both of them, "It can't be that easy. For us."

Jeonghan's mouth tilts into a smile. "It only sounds that way if you want it to." It looks like he wants to reach for her hand, the one folding creases into the dog ear. In case he's thought about it, she puts the paper down.

"I wasn't supposed to like you," she tells him, which is admission enough. Idly, she thinks about all the reasons she should hate him.

"I've liked you for a long time," he says so readily that it can't not be true.

He grinned at her brightly on the last day of her promotions, when he was a guest MC and IOI won, handing her the trophy. Their hands brushed briefly in the flood of the stage lights. Now, Jeonghan covers her hand with his slowly, like he's giving her the chance to draw away.

She doesn't.

[westfall]

sungchan (nct) / jisung (nct) / chenle (nct) - sungji's blossoming friendship + chenle who suddenly finds himself an outsider (no ot3, triangulation only) - either

[(Anonymous)]

this is literally...half a year late but when i saw this prompt i couldnt get it out of my mind for a whole month!! i truly did mean to write something back then... unfortunately finals followed then a slew of fic exchanges then...school but here i am now, circling back, and finally writing again TT__TT

i'm also like 2 words over. lol

----------------------------------------------------------------

chenle (16:02): hey ur at the dorms right
chenle (16:03): i'm coming over later tonight
chenle (17:51): u r free right?
chenle (18:34): jisung???
chenle (19:46): nvm




Chenle chews sullenly on the ramen, the noodles bland and soggy in his mouth. There's nothing Chenle hates more than soggy noodles. He meets Kun's eyes across the table. The guilt rises as the tea slips down his throat. Kun's food is never bad, Chenle's just being dramatic.

Kun doesn't ask him, doesn't pluck the question hanging in the air, twist it into something so eloquent and succinct that Chenle has no choice but to face the truth. Instead, Kun graciously endures Chenle's teasing that comes out a bit too acerbic and allows Chenle to do the dishes. Chenle never does the dishes when he comes over. Not unless Kun coerces him to with the promise of another meal.

"When I get a dog, it'll be cuter than Bella," Chenle mutters as he scratches the underside of Bella's chin.

"Uh-huh," Kun says.

"My dog will be better behaved too and won't pee during lives," Chenle adds. Bella sits up, tongue drooping from the side of her mouth. She stares at Chenle, bottomless black eyes unblinking. Chenle thinks she might be trying to tell him something.

Bella sneezes.

A droplet of spit lands in Chenle's eye. He winces.

"I'm sure your dog won't," Kun hums in agreement. He puts the last bowl away, pointedly ignoring the way Chenle chews on the skin around his fingers as he idly scrolls through Kun's-- Ten's-- Netflix. Seen that, boring, boring, click, not his thing, click click click. Chenle is on edge the entire night, waiting for his phone to light up. He's disappointed by the notification each time.




jisung (1:23): sorry!!! was out with sungchan
jisung (1:24): next time??




Jealousy is an ugly thing. Chenle's no stranger to having the green monster sit in the pit of its stomach and reach up with its dripping claws to ensnare his heart. What he is unused to is the way envy has been sitting inside him for the past week, coming up his throat each time he sees Sungchan or Jisung. He's not sure if it's worse when he only sees one of them or the both of them together, heads leaned in towards one another in an achingly familiar way.

That used to be my spot, Chenle thinks viciously as he reaches for his toes.

The thing is, Chenle knows that he has no claim to the way Jisung's eyes crinkle behind the phone or the small huffs of laughter that fill the practice room. Still, Chenle can't help the part of him that wants to scream that he's Jisung's best friend. It's Chenji's This and That not Sungji's Whatever The Fuck.

"You're not used to not getting what you want," Kun had told him, "You've always been able to get what you want. In the end."

And it's true. Chenle had practiced relentlessly as a child but he'd also been lucky and talented enough to easily land into stardom. He's always been able to charm the aunties at his parents' dinner parties and the grandmas and grandpas at the park. SM had been no exception; the older trainees doting on him.

Chenle's not like Jisung, he's not kind and patient and he doesn't put other people's best interests at heart. He doesn't carefully consider other people's feelings-- most of the time, he does care sometimes. Chenle is selfish and a bit too brazen, a whole handful. A gremlin, Renjun sometimes calls him and Chenle knows that it's a joke but truthfully, sometimes he doesn't even know what others see in him.

"Hey," a voice says, nudging his thigh. Jisung lips stretch into a familiar grin when Chenle finally decides to look up.

Chenle lets out a loud sigh, falling backwards so he's staring into practice room lights. Maybe his retinas will shrivel up and he won't have to go through this round of promotions.

"You shouldn't do that. It's bad for you," Jisung says, hand coming up to cover Chenle's eyes, just enough so his eyes aren't blinded.

"It's fine," Chenle says, batting Jisung's hand out of the way and using his own hand to cover his eyes instead. He feels every bit as dramatic as he looks.

"You're annoyed," Jisung states.

"Am not."

"Hm," Jisung says but doesn't argue because practice is starting again. "We're still down to hang out at your place tonight, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Chenle scoffs. He accepts Jisung's extended hand. It's a familiar weight in Chenle's own palm. He wonders what exactly it is, that he wants, as he pulls himself up face-to-face with Jisung's smile.

[(Anonymous)]

haechan/sunwoo (the boyz) — meet your match/meet your maker (alternatively, everything sunwoo does, haechan does better [and did first]) — any

[(Anonymous)]

binnie (oh my girl)/jiho (oh my girl)/eunwoo (astro) - the red shoes (https://colorcodedlyrics.com/2013/10/iu-the-red-shoes-bunhongsin) - au

[(Anonymous)]

joy (red velvet)/yerin (gfriend)/hayoung (apink) - lovesick girls - either

born to be alone - joy (red velvet)/hayoung (apink) - au

[hyojungss]

Oh Hayoung wakes up at 3AM to the door beeping and someone stumbling through the doorway.

“You look horrible,” she says, internally a little relieved.

“You do too,” Park Sooyoung points out, and Hayoung can’t see it but her bedhead is awful, and her shirt isn’t even buttoned properly.

Sooyoung is leaning against the wall in the entryway. She sighs deeply, rainwater dripping from the tips of her hair. Hayoung had watched Sooyoung straighten it carefully in the hours before she went out with Yerin. All traces of that are gone now, returning to its natural waves. It sort of looks like when she gets out of the shower, but the red stain on her lips is still vibrant, like Sooyoung had forgotten to scrub it off with everything else.

Yerin is still out with someone, Sooyoung says. Before they went out it had sounded like a team cheer in here, Hayoung leading from the sidelines. Now Sooyoung looks completely defeated.

“I broke a heel,” she says, holding her left shoe in hand, the heel dangling from the strip of fabric on the base.

“How did you get back?”

Sooyoung shrugs. “Aren’t you a heavy sleeper? Were you still awake?”

Hayoung doesn’t quite have the heart to explain that she’d tried to read a book off the living room shelf and nearly fell asleep just out of boredom. “I didn’t really have it in me to game tonight,” she responds, not really answering either of the questions.

“Then you should have come out with us after all, you homebody,” Sooyoung says, but the bite’s all gone, even in jest.

“Should I have?”

Sooyoung looks like she’s about to cry.

“I think you should take a shower,” Hayoung tells her kindly.

She grins bleakly. “I kind of already have.”

“Fascinating how we thought the same thing, but I mean a real one,” she says, and takes Sooyoung by the arm so they can walk to her room. The cold water from Sooyoung’s jacket quickly seeps through her pajamas. “Geez, you must have been freezing out there.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone is ever going to get me like you do. Or Yerin,” Sooyoung adds. “No man, anyway.”

“But we still look,” Hayoung says lightly.

“We still do,” Sooyoung agrees, resting her head on Hayoung’s shoulder.

[westfall]

renjun (nct) / sungchan (nct) - HELP literally anything i just saw their height difference on vlive and it's so cute... - idolverse/canon

[(Anonymous)]

Moonbin (Astro)/ Sinb (Gfriend) Prompt: (the april fools poem https://astrotranslations.tumblr.com/post/174767512573/title-my-bright-moon-my-bright-moon-my-moon)
- Either