#13w13kw
full of whispering and rustling
w.c.1k exact | fluff, like 97% cuddles | dedicated to jackie / @tookorean for being there and motivating me since even before this project was officially a thing; to ari / @pristeen-23 and andin / @svtlaurent , whose encouraging tags + comments on various fics in this series kept me going, and for kura / @caratvocals , a quality seungcheol stan | ml ♡
Late night summer rain beats against the outside, lightning striking sharp and thunder rumbling behind in the distance, trapping you two inside. Regardless of the weather, you should have been in bed hours ago, the clock on the wall slowly ticking past two in the morning.
The coffee table had been pushed aside and all the pillows and couch cushions had been filched to supply the ultimate two person pillow fort. You have a feeling, as you nestle in closer, that if either of you attempted to move and get up, the one staying behind would end up getting suffocated by overly fluffed pillows.
The air outside is hot and humid, heat slowly being beaten away by the storm, but inside the air conditioner has kicked on once again and, combined with the ceiling fan set on high, you shiver slightly and draw the fluffy throw blanket in closer to your chest.
“Cold?” Seungcheol whispers into your hair, and you nod. You hear him chuckle, and even though you can’t see it, you know his signature half-smile is there, dimples and all. He shakes his head, pulling you closer. “How could you possibly be cold?”
“The AC is out to get me, that’s how,” you hiss. Your gaze wanders to the television, loud enough to hear but not loud enough to demand attention. You stopped listening minutes, maybe even hours, ago. The Disney movie marathon keeps playing, however, and you don’t mind. It’s simply that the heartbeat beneath your ear is much more incentivizing than Genie scolding Aladdin for cheating the three wishes system.
“The AC is a machine, [Y/N],” Seungcheol replies, fixing his arms around you. “It’s not capable of thought or holding evil agendas against people.”
“This one is,” you mutter, fist curling around the fabric of his shirt. The soft black material was thin enough to feel the heat of his chest through it, and coupled with his warm arms and blanket wrapped around you, you can feel yourself slowly drift off to sleep.
“Suppose this AC decided it wasn’t efficient enough to kill you via cold air, so it elects to come attack you? What would you do?”
With as much strength as your tired self can muster, you pull your head off his chest and to level a confused stare. “I’d have you fight it off for me,” you answer simply, shaking your head at your boyfriend’s nonsense. “Duh.”
“Duh, huh?” He raises his eyebrows, the half-smirk returning. “What makes you think I’d fight a raging air conditioner unit for you?”
“Because,” you drawl, rolling your eyes, “you’d do anything for me.”
Seungcheol’s head quirks to the side, the smirk growing. “I would, would I?”
“Mhm. You would. Especially,” you add, leaning up to peck the corner of his lips quickly, “for a kiss.”
Your boyfriend’s laugh fills the living room, easily drowning out the movie, and he pulls you closer, tucking you beneath his chin. You wrap your arms around his torso, slowly tuning out the Sultan and Jafar bickering in favor of Seungcheol’s heartbeat, solid and steady. Over time, it had become your lullaby. Even on the bad nights, when he couldn’t find the right words to soothe you, his heartbeat was always there to guide you along. It was sure, unchanging. You felt yourself slowly being drawn back towards sleep again.
Outside, the rain continues to pelt the sides of the house. You imagine everyone else already asleep, and the bed down the hall—with its fluffy pillows and even fluffier comforter—is calling to you. You stifle a yawn, curling in even more. “Can we go to bed?” you ask, trying to blink the sleep from your eyes.
“What? Don’t want to see how the movie ends?”
You limply beat his chest with a lazy fist, eyes fluttering shut. “I already know how the movie ends. Please?”
Seungcheol chuckles again, a hearty rumble in his chest. He digs through the pillows and cushions to find the remote before turning off the television. The sudden lack of movie plunges the room into darkness, the only light coming from the kitchen and the lightning outside.
In a swift and careful motion, Seungcheol stands with you in his arms, still wrapped in the blanket. The arm around your back is strong and steady, as is the one beneath your knees. Your head lulls into the crook of his neck, and you breathe in his scent, something woodsy and lemony and homey all in one.
Before you know it, you’re resting on your side of the bed, the throw blanket replaced by the soft comforter. Seungcheol quickly takes his place on the other side, nestling in close to you. He hooks one arm around your waist, drawing you near, and you tuck your head under his chin once more.
The rain is louder now, the storm building up just to fall apart later. You can feel tendrils of sleep wrapping around you, your breath slowing to an easy pace. You curl into your boyfriend, hands coming to rest by your heart.
“I love you,” he whispers, placing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. You barely hear it over the rain, but it’s enough to make your heart flutter. “I love every part of you.”
Sleepy, you blink up at him. “Every part?” you echo, raising a hand to trail down his jawline.
Seungcheol’s eyes are soft around the edges, as is his wide smile. “Every part,” he repeats, leaning into your touch. “From here, to here, and here.” He punctuates each here with a kiss—on the inside of your wrist, your temple, the apple of your cheek.
“But what about here?” you ask, bringing your hand back from his jaw to tap a single finger on your pouted lips.
A smile spreads, dimples appearing, and his eyes droop soft and happy, a gentle hum on his tongue. He leans forward to close the gap with a tender, chaste kiss. “Especially there.”
beginning, in an early stage
w.c.1k exact | fluff, a brief history in less than 700 words | ml
Summer sunlight backlights the boy in front of you. Behind him, the waves greedily eat up the shoreline as the tide washes in, taking with it any sand castles and secret messages engraved in the beach. Hot air steams around you, making the distance in between feel almost unsurpassable. The sun slowly dips behind the horizon, painting the sky brilliant oranges and pinks before the purple twilight appears.
You can feel something ending, the common term of phrase so readily labeled onto people who were no more than close acquaintances. It tingles around your hands, causes nervous shivers up your arms. But it’s clear, you realize, that whatever’s next, it’s worth saying goodbye to the word “friends.”
Your skin feels as if it’s slowly catching flames, and it’s hard to tell if it’s from the late evening sun or the boy across from you. He smiles, mimicking your own, and you have to stop and catch your breath before your thoughts overload and your stable limbs turn to jelly.
In a small instant, scant within the overwhelming realms of time, memories flood your head. You recall when you’d first met, freshman in high school. How it started as a simple bump in the hallway, a quick apology. It continued when you ended up seated beside each other in social studies. It was finalized when you dared each other in a race to the cafeteria for lunch.
You couldn’t tell then, neither of you could, what would occur. Back then, at the very start, “friends” was a fitting word. People who are close to one another. A simple definition for a complex concept, but you felt it worked. You and this boy were friends. It was fun to race through the halls with each other, follow around after school with biting, teasing remarks.
Somewhere during sophomore year, the label of friends evolved to include the word “best.” You were now inseparable. As many classes as possible together, lunch together, more races around the school. The teasing, snappy comebacks didn’t subside, either, but grew stronger and more precise, like scolding him for a messy desk and getting a level stare and a quick “Who do you think I learned it from?” in reply.
It was in the after school dance program that you really saw Chan shine. While you were okay, something akin to a wet clay block ready to be molded into a dancer, Chan was already a finished piece. His edges were sharp and detailed, movement filled with strength and grace. Once, he had you stay late and watch him run through his dance routine. At the end, he began to go through what he had done wrong and what he could improve on.
“Chan,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder, your voice filled with awe, “that was incredible.”
He turned giddy, a smile blooming across his features. “You really think so?”
“I really know so.”
Junior year, more closeness, more snark. Nothing ever felt out of place, just close and okay. Until one day, it did feel out of place. One bad fight around Christmas, the only truly bad one, and you’d felt like you’d never be whole again. The one who’d always been by your side was now noticeably absent, and while you could attempt to fill in the Chan-shaped hole with other activities or friends, there would always be nooks around the edges that nothing else could replace.
An awkward New Year’s confrontation, something wildly similar to when you met as freshmen and bumped into each other, forced an equally awkward discussion. In the end, you both decided the argument was pointless: it wasn’t worth throwing away nearly three years of friendship.
And then came senior year, where you suddenly became aware of how close he sat. How your cheeks flushed red when he laughed at your jokes. How your heart began to beat faster and harder when he was around, and you began to wonder if the term “friends,” even “best friends,” was enough to cut it anymore.
The confession was embarrassing and sloppy and more rushed than you felt it should have been, but you couldn’t let him go on that blind date his friends from dance had set him up on. The idea of him falling in love with someone other than you made your throat tighten and your chest hurt.
And when you finished, standing at the end of his driveway, balled fists at your side with tears welling up, he simply stuck his hands in his pockets and walked over. You expected a rejection, a letdown, and steeled yourself for a night in with nothing but your tears to comfort you. But then, he pulled one hand out of his pocket to cup the back of your neck, and he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on the apple of your cheek. When he pulled back, a soft smile was on his lips, and when he spoke you barely heard it over the thump-thump-thumping of your heart. “I guess it’s a good thing I like-like you back, isn’t it?”
Chan’s laugh brings you back to the present, and the warm feeling you’d grown accustomed to around him floods your chest. You want to curl in, to protect the feeling, but you stand tall. Today is the start of something new, another evolution of the label “friends.”
Chan’s smile is electric, glowing brighter than the setting sun and emerging night stars combined. He does a low, exaggerated sweep, and you know if he weren’t so well in tune thanks to dance he’d surely fall and hit the pavement. He stands straight, crossing the distance between you two and holding out his hand. “Shall we begin our first official date, [Y/N]?”
You bite your lip, attempting you contain your growing smile. You nod, and when you speak, there isn’t a hint of hesitancy. You take his hand, warm and comforting and inviting. “Yes,” you say, heart thump-thump-thumping once more. “We shall.”
