Status: Closed
This round has closed. It remains open for fills, comments and remixes, but prompts are no longer accepted.
About
For this round, there is no theme for the prompt and you can suggest whatever you want. However! You can only prompt a single sentence and the fill must end on that sentence. Be controversial, be vague. Fillers, add to the atmosphere or subvert expectations, the choice is yours.
(Note: art fills just have to include the phrase and remixes don't have to follow the rule.)
Examples
Joshua
"Did you think America would change things?"
Soonyoung/Seokmin
Seokmin looks at Soonyoung one more time, "I may not trust you with my wallet, but I do trust you with my life."
97 line
In the dark they grasped each other, fingers intertwined, and stepped forwards.
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Prompting
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- Change the subject to something interesting;
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Filling
- Reply to the original prompt;
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You may also upload your fill to the AO3 Collection.
Remixing
- Post as a reply to the fill you are remixing, using the same HTML as above;
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Art/media
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Note!
Need ideas? Have a look through the 2021 Fills Masterlist and the prompts there. You're welcome to keep interacting with, fill, or remix content from the previous rounds.
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[Fill] return to center
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: idolverse, wonwoo is yearning i guess, non-linear narrative
Permission to remix: Please ask
A/N: If you listen to Jeremy McKinnon say "I just wanna go home" enough times you too will have a smooth brain
***
Junhui is quiet the first time Wonwoo meets him. It can’t be helped. Wonwoo’s Mandarin is at the same level as Junhui’s Korean, but there is something infectiously likable about him, something that makes Wonwoo want to find out everything. The language lessons at the company are intense, and after a few weeks, words rush from Junhui’s mouth like he’ll burst open if he doesn’t say them. It’s obvious to everyone that that’s exactly how Junhui feels. His voice is beautiful and his dancing skills rival even Soonyoung. Wonwoo tries to imagine a world where Junhui doesn’t leave his home country to join them. He can’t.
Wonwoo explains his way around the word homesick when Junhui spends two days absolutely silent during practice, the line of his shoulders so tight it makes Wonwoo’s teeth ache.
“I don’t know how to say it,” Junhui says when Wonwoo slides down the wall to sit next to him. “My heart hurts. I want to see my mom.”
“You’re homesick,” Wonwoo says.
Junhui’s eyebrows pull down. He holds up his hand, finger on an imaginary dispenser. “I’m not a perfume bottle.”
“Not that. I mean you miss home. It makes you feel sick.”
Junhui hums. “But you can’t see a doctor for this kind of sickness.”
“Maybe, what if you came to visit my home?” Wonwoo asks. Junhui’s eyes widen. “We just have to take the train. I don’t know if that would make you feel better, but I’d really like you to come.”
There is no way the company will allow it. They both know it, but the offer seems to shake some of the weariness from Junhui’s body. When Junhui looks at him again the smile on his face feels like a secret. Fondness grows like roots, settles in the space between their hands.
“I’d like that very much.”
It’s not even that long, Junhui’s voice echoes in Wonwoo’s head. It’ll go by fast.
Tell that to the chat box open on Wowoo’s phone, the same words he’s been typing and erasing for what feels like hours. The seconds drag on, the time between schedules almost unbearable. The problem is that Junhui is right. Three months isn’t a long time at all. Wonwoo has no reason to miss him as much as he does.
There is comfort in sameness, in routine. Even on days when they don’t see each other, there is comfort in knowing Wonwoo could stop by the other dorm and see Junhui. It’s not even like he does it that often. The real problem is that Junhui is back home and Wonwoo is staring at their chat and he feels incredibly small. He feels like a teenager all over again, like those months before debut when none of them really understood how they fit together.
I miss you.
He retypes the message, takes a breath, and hits send. Junhui is probably in the middle of filming, the message glanced at and forgotten before he even thinks to send anything back. It makes the corner of Wonwoo’s mouth tick up with some unbearable fondness.
His phone screen lights up. There’s a reply after all.
Me too.
It’s in Japan that Junhui tugs him into bed and lays his head on his chest. They’ve been here for weeks, concert after fan event after interview, so busy Wonwoo doesn’t even realize he’s homesick until Junhui says it first.
“I want to go home.”
There was a time where Wonwoo would have asked him which one, but he knows, now. Home is the place they all go back to, the shared rooms and the fogged-over practice mirror. Junhui calls Shenzhen my home and now they all call their hometowns the same thing.
“Me too,” Wonwoo says, though it feels like there is much more he should say. Maybe to someone else he would have to, but Junhui has always understood the spaces between the words. “We’ve only got a week left. We’ll be home soon.”
Junhui’s hand trails up his arm absently. “I want you to see the street I grew up on.” Wonwoo’s entire body freezes. It’s not the first time Junhui has said it, but something about being burrowed under the blankets with him makes it feel that way. “I want you to meet my family for more than a few hours.”
Seoul is where Wonwoo really grew up, where he found himself, but Changwon still feels like home. It must be the same for Junhui. Maybe even more so. They say home is the place that makes you, but some days Wonwoo isn’t really sure what that means. Seoul may have shaped him, shaped all of them, but it’s not quite home.
“You really want to?” Wonwoo finally asks. “Just me?”
Junhui pushes at his shoulder. Wonwoo doesn’t need to see his face to know the look he’s giving him.
Schedules and online concerts and magazine shoots. Some days Wonwoo doesn’t even have time to reply to his mother. He thinks back to a few weeks ago, when it felt like he could count each grain of sand as it passed through an hourglass. They’re so busy he doesn’t even realize it’s time for Junhui and Minghao to come home until their manager leaves to pick them up from the airport.
It feels a little like drinking too much caffeine on an empty stomach, like his entire body is vibrating. What was the last conversation they had? Something inconsequential, like what they ate for dinner a few nights ago. His mind races back to the last time they ate dinner together. He can’t remember what it was, but the way Junhui’s face lights up when any of them enjoy his cooking is seared into his brain.
If things were different, they would all celebrate with drinks and grilled meat and Wonwoo would watch the flush spread across Junhui’s cheeks until he hid behind his hands. Instead, Junhui will go to his dorm and Wonwoo will be a few floors away, lying in the dark and pretending he can hear the sound of Junhui’s breathing.
Wonwoo falls into bed, hair still damp from the shower. The energy from earlier leaves him almost hollow, like the crash after adrenaline, and sleep seems out of reach until he’s sucked down into it. He wakes up with a body pressed against his back, so warm he nearly kicks off the blankets.
They say home is the place that makes you, but that’s not quite right. Junhui’s hand is curled against his stomach, the faint scent of his shampoo hangs in the air. Home is the familiar warmth that spreads through Wonwoo’s entire body when he turns over to look at Junhui. It’s hard to make out his features in the dark, but Wonwoo could hit every freckle on his face completely blind.
He wants to kiss him. He wants to hold his face in his hands and press their foreheads together. He settles for burying his face in Junhui’s neck and breathing him in, hands rubbing at every part of him he can reach.
“Traveling always makes me so tired,” Junhui says. The words vibrate against Wonwoo’s chest pleasantly.
“Then sleep.”
“Fine.” Junhui’s sigh flutters across his hair. “If that’s really what you want.”
Wonwoo wants exactly what Junhui wants, and he has never been one to deny him. He noses his way up to Junhui’s face.
“Welcome home,” he says, closing the distance between them. The kiss is like every second Junhui has been gone all at once. It’s like falling into his childhood bed, like the taste of his mother’s cooking.
Maybe this is the place that made him, the gap between their mouths, the warmth of their hands, the solid press of their bodies.
There is a grin in Junhui’s voice when they break apart.
“You call this a homecoming?”
Re: [Fill] return to center