Status: Closed
This round has closed. It remains open for fills, comments and remixes, but prompts are no longer accepted.
About
"Someone will remember us, I say, even in another time."
"How inconvenient to be made of desire."
"It's me, hi, I'm the problem its me."
Calling all readers, lovers of poetry and music, screen and stage. Quote collecters and lyric hoarders, unleash your archive. For this round, every prompt must contain a quote - you can combine them, add commentary, link to articles, do whatever. Steal from a literary classic, or copy WeVerse drama.
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(Anonymous) 2022-12-25 11:51 am (UTC)(link)Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None
Prompt:
[FILL] the homes we make for ourselves
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Introspection, light angst, confessions, hopeful ending
Permission to remix: Please ask
***
Jeon Wonwoo shrugs off the coat as soon as he steps home.
It doesnât feel like it, though. The mismatched furniture tells nothing about who he is to the sterile white walls, so they canât make him feel like he belongs here.
It only becomes more obvious when the silence stretches between the thick walls and makes him painfully aware that something is missing. By now, he should be used to it: something is always missing when it comes to Wonwoo, nothing is ever enough to placate the hunger that gnaws at his guts.
Wonwoo reaches his bedroom in three large steps, daring his mind to keep whispering stupid things to him. Itâs deliberate, the way he ignores the itch on his fingertips to fish the phone from his pocket and see if Jihoon has forgiven him yet.
He discards his clothes on the floor, phone still tucked in the back pocket of his pants, and lets the cool air caress his skin for a moment that draws for too long. He should take a shower. He needs to take a shower.
Forcing himself under the hot stream of water is harder than expected, but he supposes this is just how things are, now. The white tiles feel foreign, too, too clean and too pristine in comparison to the ones he was almost getting used to at home.
But home isnât that place anymore.
Once upon a time, when Wonwoo could still take hold of all the unsaid words floating in his mind, he made himself at home by folding his too-tall body into the curve of Jihoonâs body and the vacuum of his room.
He was at home when he helped Jihoon with dinner, he was at home when he made his way from work to the tiny apartment without even thinking, he was at home when Jihoon showed him one of his poetries, he was at home when Jihoon held his body against the mattress and thrust into him.
Wonwoo shuts his eyes closed and draws a sharp breath, trying to wash Jihoonâs face away from his brain, but itâs no use.
He was at home when Jihoon wore his shirt, collarbones exposed, and sat against his chest with a cup of tea.
Once the sound of his voice finds its way to him, Wonwoo canât shut it off anymore: Jihoonâs laugh ringing like bells in his ears, Jihoon humming along to a song he wouldnât really know otherwise, Jihoon asking quietly what they were. If Wonwoo loved him.
And Wonwooâs own voice, rusty by disuse, couldnât find its way out fast enough, paralyzed by what it would mean, to allow Jihoon to see him whole.
And the thing is, Wonwoo was sure Jihoon already knew by then. It was impossible not to know, not when all of Wonwooâs gestures were a breath that said I love you, and youâre the best thing that happened to me.
He was sure specific words werenât needed when everything about him was Jihoonâs to take and do as he pleased.
Before the thoughts could develop into roots and plant even deeper inside Wonwooâs brain, he cuts off the water and steps into the fog, breathing the humidity in until his lungs feel about to explode.
Heâs the one to blame, anyway, so he canât bury himself in self-pity and pray that, somehow, Jihoon will see it. He didnât see more important things, anyway.
Wonwoo knows he needs to eat and needs rest, but he canât put these stupid body necessities first when he still doesnât know whether Jihoon decided to believe him or not.
He opens the fridge, still too empty to look like it belongs to a home thatâs alive, and crouches to take some vegetables. Jihoon wouldnât really eat these, would push them to the corners of his plate as he played with the food and wait until Wonwoo was distracted to throw it all away, pretending he wasnât living off just rice and meat.
They didnât even fight.
Jihoon just turned around and slept, ungluing his body from Wonwooâs enough to make it clear it was intentional and he didnât want to be touched. In the morning, Jihoon told him it would be better if Wonwoo went back to his own apartment, he needed time and air and he wasnât feeling like himself anymore after spending so long with someone else.
It was too late when Wonwoo realized what those gaps in his speech really meant, when he realized he couldâve asked to stay, couldâve told Jihoon he would be back when he wanted him to, couldâve, shouldâve, wouldâve.
By then, the silence was already stretching for five days, then ten, then fifteen, then forty. And then Wonwoo realized how much he fucked up by believing Jihoon could read his mind, too late to really do anything about it but ask if Jihoon was still mad at him.
But this was three days ago, and Jihoon hasnât replied yet.
Wonwoo sighs and slices everything into small pieces to keep his hands occupied, away from his phone.
These days, heâd been relearning all about living by himself, about turning around to laugh at something just to remember there was no one there, anymore.
Once the food is done, Wonwoo eats diligently, even if heâs not that hungry. He does the dishes, brush his teeth with more force than he should (and Jihoon would always put a hand over his when Wonwoo pressed the toothbrush too hard, making his muscles go all soft instantly), and lies flatly on the twin bed that, somehow, feels too large for him.
Itâs only then that Wonwoo allows himself to pick up the phone, and stares at it until his eyes go unfocused. The screen is almost turning off again when a new notification lights it up, Wonwooâs heart scrambling inside his chest as he reads Jihoonâs name.
âit dependsâ, the text says, âare you ready to be honest w me?â
Wonwoo could say it right now. He could tell Jihoon how much he misses him, how much he means to him, but it wouldnât be right. Not when itâs been long so long since they saw each other that it feels like heâs texting a stranger.
âi amâ, Wonwoo types, thumbs hovering over the screen like bees. He doesnât know what else to say, scared he might drive Jihoon away again when it took so long to get him to talk to him.
âok. we can meet up now and get over with it already.â
Wonwoo doesnât even think before replying.
âwhere?â
âiâm heading back home now. i can stop by yours if you want to.â
âiâm waiting for you.â
There isnât much he can do until Jihoon arrives, but Wonwoo gets hectic nonetheless. Thereâs nothing to clean, no mess to hide, so he ends up sitting in the living room just to stare at the minutes dragging slowly.
Despite his head always being filled with words, Wonwoo isnât sure what he can say to convince Jihoon heâs being honest. The timing was lost long ago, and his voice only got rustier since then. He isnât sure if a simple I love you could encompass everything he keeps locked inside himself, isnât sure if such simple words would ever be enough.
Wonwoo is still drowning in his thoughts when the doorbell rings. He rushes to the door, only then realizing heâs wearing mismatched socks, but he supposes Jihoon knows him well enough not to care about such a thing.
âHi,â Jihoon says. His nose is reddened from the cold, hair is tucked inside a beanie that Wonwoo is mostly sure belonged to him, at some point. It makes him feel all warm inside, that Jihoon kept his things.
âHello,â he whispers. âCome in.â
The juxtaposition of Jihoon standing in the middle of this living room, his living room, makes something churn inside Wonwoo. Itâs weird seeing him there, fitting in that space as if heâs always been there.
Wonwoo follows him back inside, still trying to convince himself heâs not in some fucked up dream right now.
âI donât plan on staying too long,â Jihoon warns, his body relaxing visibly when he gets out of the cold. Wonwooâs hands itch to touch him. âWhat you wanted to tell me?â
This is the question thatâs been rolling around Wonwooâs mind ever since he realized he fucked up. What does he wants, needs to tell Jihoon? Heâs not sure if he figured it out already.
When he says nothing, Jihoon turns to stare at him, a sharpness in his eyes that makes it clear this is the last chance he has of ever trying to make it right. That half words wonât be enough, it doesnât matter if it is too hard to say out loud.
âIâm sorry,â Wonwoo blurts out, and once he starts, he canât really stop the words from flooding out of him. âI⊠I hope you know Iâm sorry. I didnât mean to make you feel like you arenât important, or like you donât matter to me. You do, a lot, itâs just that⊠I just canâtâŠâ
He trails off when Jihoon removes the beanie, combing his soft hair between his long fingers. He doesnât say anything, though, still waiting until Wonwoo is done, still giving him a chance to figure out all the things he canât do for Wonwoo.
âI thought you knew I loved you,â he says, quietly. âBut I guess it was dumb of me to assume you did just because I know I do. And Iâm so scared you hate me for real and I miss you so much, I donât know what I could say to convince you Iâm being honest when I try to tell you that I love you. You deserve better words than this, but itâs just soâŠâ
âIt took you long enough,â Jihoon says when he trails off again. âI want to punch you.â
âIâd let you,â Wonwoo doesnât need to think, âIâd let you do anything you want with me.â
âI donât know what Iâve done to make you feel like you couldnât tell me things,â Jihoon mutters. Wonwoo wants to end the space between them and hold Jihoon against his body as he was so used to, but he doesnât know if he can. If Jihoon even wants it. âI donât know why you chose to run away than to say you loved me, but I canât help but think I was being too much. Pushy.â
âIt doesnât matter, does it? I get that you needed to hear me saying it, I just wish I had something better than just a bunch of Iâm sorryâs and I love youâs as if you didnât deserve anything better.â He pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. âCan I hug you?â
âYeah,â Jihoon sighs, all the hard lines of his face going soft at once.
Wonwoo doesnât waste time in pressing Jihoon against his chest, breathing him in as his eyes fall shut with relief. So, at least, Jihoon doesnât hate him.
âWe need to get better at communicating, though. I canât go for over a month without hearing from you whenever we have a fallout.â
âI thought you didnât want to hear from me.â
âYou also need to stop assuming things,â Jihoon mumbles. âSay it again.â
âI love you,â now that he already said it once, twice, three times, the words come more easily to him. Wonwoo canât help the desire to say it again and again, make them the only words that will ever come out of his mouth.
He wonders if this is what religion feels like, a compulsion of finding words that can fit his emotions, even if he canât fully grasp its enormity.
âI love you too, by the way,â Jihoon tells him once they break the embrace. âJust so you know. Always did.â
âI knew,â Wonwoo smiles a little. âI could tell.â
Heâs still standing between sterile walls with mismatched furniture when Jihoon leaves but, now, he feels at ease.
At home.
[FILL] too funny to laugh about
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: miscommunication, ambiguously unhappy ending, canonverse
Permission to remix: Yes
***
[SEVENTEEN / ENG TRANS] COMEBACK SHOW
đ± For me, I think itâs Wonwoo
đ Wonwoo is your ideal type?
đ± What? I misunderstood the question!
Wonwoo finds Jun outside, sitting on a bench by the door that leads from the parking garage into the company building. He twists to look up at Wonwoo as the door latches closed with a soft beep.
âI misunderstood the question,â Jun says. âMy Korean sucks. Sorry I embarrassed you.â
He turns back to face the rows of vans as Wonwoo sits down next to him. âItâs fine. You didnât.â
An uncomfortable silence expands between them. Wonwooâs gaze falls on a smear of makeup at the corner of Junâs sweater, and drags up to the side of his face. His make-up has started to separate a little, revealing the faintest five oâclock shadow. His hair hangs over his eyes, obscuring them from Wonwooâs view.
âThe fans will go crazy for it,â Jun says, laughing a little.
The sound buoys Wonwoo, and he knocks his shoulder into Junâs. âYou always have good instincts for shows,â he says.
After the recording ended, Jun had avoided him, sticking closer to Minghao than usual and grinning without faltering, like he had something to prove. Wonwoo fears he might be arrogant to think it had anything to do with his gaffe, but. He thinks that.
He wishes he knew what to say, though. He swallows, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, but his mouth is dry.
Jun leans back and rests his head against the concrete wall. His hair, stiff with hairspray, poofs up behind his head. âMinghao asked me if I was serious. Isnât that funny?â
Wonwoo shrugs. What heâd give for a beer or a cigarette, even though he quit, but justâsomething to do with his hands right now. âI donât think itâs funny.â
Jun barks out a laugh and turns on the bench, pulling up one knee and resting his chin on it. âYouâre just trying to be nice,â Jun says with a toothy grin. âItâs hilarious!â
Wonwoo searches Junâs face for any betrayal of hurt feelings, but finds none. His smile shines brightly, a laugh twitching at the corners, and his eyes twinkle with amusement.
Oblivious to the silence, Jun keeps talking. âI mean, youâre not even my type. And you know what they say, donât sit where you shit or whatever.â
âDonât eat where you shit,â Wonwoo corrects.
Jun looks at him sidelong and laughs again. âRight. Exactly. See what I mean? Weâre not even compatriable.â
Wonwoo bites his tongue to keep from correcting himâitâs close enough. The meaning is clear; Jun doesnât think the compatibility is there. The one time theyâd kissed theyâd been drunk, anyway, and it was as a jokeâwouldnât it be funny if we kissed right nowâthough Wonwoo has never been able to figure out the punchline.
Wonwoo unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and shoves his hands into his pockets. âWell, like you said, the fans will like it.â
âIâll have to think about what to say,â Jun continues, âIf they ask me about it when I go live. Are you going back inside, by the way?â
âYeah, Iâll follow you in a minute.â Wonwoo answers.
Jun hesitates, kicking his feet back and forth against the concrete. He looks like he wants to say something. Wonwoo canât think of any words, but he wishes Jun would.
Finally, Jun gets up and goes back into the building. Wonwoo is left alone.
He leans his head back against the wall. Maybe heâs been the butt of this joke all along.
Re: [FILL] too funny to laugh about
Re: [FILL] too funny to laugh about
Re: [FILL] too funny to laugh about
[FILL] I Will
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Hair Washing, acts of service, Established Relationship, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Soft Jeon Wonwoo, words said in silence, bad days
Permission to remix: Yes
***
I've filled this on Ao3! Here's the link: I Will
***
AN: I am filling two prompts with this, which I hope is okay! This one and 'hairwashing is romantic' by soupblog.