tanakoi

there's no such thing as meaningless love.

tanakoi — Sun, 08 Jul 2012 05:49:36 GMT

growing pains
pg, onew/minho

The pain of rejection registers before the logic, heart before mind. His pride shatters before he even has time to think about how much it actually meant and suddenly it's not just his feelings at stake anymore, it's everything about him. The tears aren't immediate, though.

“I need time for me, you know?” Minho says levelly into Jinki's ear. “This time needs to be my time. I'm sure you understand.”

“Yeah,” Jinki mutters. He whips his head to the side, not quite letting go of Minho, not yet. They're still dancing but the stomach jitters have moved into Jinki's throat. He swallows, once, twice, but the lump doesn't go away.

He'd thought that he had been prepared; he'd had every sentence worked out in his head. 'Would you hate me if I kissed you,' he was supposed to say.

(“Our stylist Jung Ah says she'll kiss Martin if you kiss me,” Jinki laughs, giddy with confidence and gin. It hadn't come out perfectly, but Minho had been looking at him all night; it didn't need to come out perfectly.)

Taemin takes one look at Jinki under the flashing lights amidst the mass of normal, drunken people, frowns, and says, “Hyung. Hyung, I know it hurts right now-”

So Jinki does the only thing his brain can process in his state and smiles, harder and wider than in any photoshoot he's ever done. It's perfect, he thinks. He can shrug it off and move on. Smiling through it is just the first step.

Taemin pauses and does the little flicking-glance thing that makes his hesitation blatantly obvious. “Let's go home. Do you want to go home? I think it's time to go home. Let me just get Jonghyun.”

Jinki laughs and grabs Taemin's sleeve. “No! No, not yet! We just got here. I still want to dance!"

He makes to join Kibum and Jonghyun before realizing that they're dancing alongside Minho and the numbness is finally starting to subside and the aching starting to take over. He nudges Taemin playfully, gets the boy to smile, and hopes he doesn't notice the wildness in his eyes. He'd call it desperation, but that would mean he still felt something for Minho, and that would be completely out of the question, especially now.

Everyone is beginning to filter out and reasong and relief begin eaking back into Jinki's head. The alcohol buzz is starting to fade finally. He's not quite sure what he'd been thinking when he'd approached Minho, but they were friends. Maybe not best friends, but friends, and that had to count for something. Jinki understood more about Minho than anyone else in the group and that had to make some sort of difference. Somehow.

He catches Minho in the doorway and has to edge himself out of the flood of people exiting to situate himself alongside the younger man.

“Hey, I'm really sorry about...yeah, well, anyway. Would you still be up for that movie night this next week?” He tries to sound like he's not asking for his heart back, please and thank you.

“I already told you, I'm not so sure that's a good idea. I have exams to take, exams to study for. The only day I can do it is Tuesday.”

Jinki can't help the frustrated crease in between his eyebrows. “But I leave on Tuesday.”

Minho shrugs, still training his eyes straight ahead. He hasn't looked at Jinki once and it's so angering and hurtful that Jinki imagines himself throwing his fist straight into the boy's jaw. Just once. It would feel so good, the crack under his knuckles, the surprise in those black pupils.

He'd have to look at him then.

“Tuesday is all that I can do.”

Jinki stands there for a few seconds, hoping Minho realizes that this will probably be the last time they will see each other before the thought hits him that maybe this is exactly what Minho realizes.

He can't seem to coax the word 'goodbye' past his throat, so instead he says, “Yeah. Well,” and turns heel.

He finds Taemin scanning the crowd over on a picnic table.

“Let's go home,” Jinki says.

“Yeah, I know, I'm calling a cab,” Taemin mumbles, pulling out his cellphone.

“I need to go home,” Jinki repeats, more to himself than anything. “Now.” He can feel his ribcage constricting around his lungs and grabs at his chest like a madman, fingers slipping down his fancy, shredded clubbing shirt.

Minho comes out strolling next to Kibum and Jonghyun. They're laughing wildly and waving down a cab with obscene whistles and hand gestures. Kibum starts half-shouting the lyrics to Some Nights while Jonghyun swings himself around a lightpole. Minho trots along behind them with his hands in his pockets and a small, easy smile on his lips.

Taemin watches him with worried eyes and ushers him into the next taxi that pulls up, hanging up on the cabbie that is currently on the other end of his phonecall.

It's quiet after the door shuts, everyone's voices are muffled, and Taemin says, “Hey. Hyung. I'm proud that you at least put yourself out there. That took a lot of guts.”

That's when the tears come.

It's Tuesday night. Jin and Jung Ah and Jinki are just leaving the club, climbing into a taxi, and the heavy knowledge that this is all ending still hangs precariously over the fact that, well, everyone's still here. No one is gone yet. And you can't miss something that isn't gone.

They get to Jin and Jung Ah's shared house just past 3am. The rain is coming down in irregular sheets, like it needs a few seconds to recooperate in between rounds.

“Jinki,” Jung Ah says once they're all outside of the cab, clothes soaked and clinging to her tiny frame. She wraps her arms around Jinki's larger body and pulls him in close. “I'll miss you so much.” He laughs, giving a short squeeze before releasing her. He turns to Jin, their previous manager, and slouches awkwardly before the man yanks him into a circle of arms.

“Jinki,” he says, smiling over the man's matted hair. “Just think about how much fun you've had. It was all worth it, wasn't it?”

Jinki shakes with laughter until the tears come once again, except this time he doesn't want to stop them. They're not painful, like last time. The more he lets himself cry, the more the pressure drops. After a good minute, he pulls away, scrubbing his palm across his face (uselessly in this weather) before Jung Ah purses her lips and lunges at the two men, pulling everyone together.

“Oh, Jinki,” she says one final time.

Before they part ways, she touches her fingers to Jinki's hair and lays the most gentle of all kisses on his forehead.

Now, he thinks, it finally feels like goodbye. He lets himself cry in the backseat of the cab all the way back to the hotel, only that long. And then he has to pull himself together once again.

(“Jung Ah says that she'll kiss Martin if you kiss me.”

Minho sighs. “I'm...not so sure that would be appropriate.”

Jinki just laughs and beams over Minho's shoulder. 'But then we'll have failed Jung Ah,' he's about to say before there's a quick press of lips to the corner of his mouth. He blinks a few times, heart beat floudering to catch up with his head.

“That. That didn't count,” he manages.

Minho shrugs and remains silent. They dance without speaking for a few seconds before Jinki can't quite help himself. “Who is it? The one that you like the most?”

“No one,” Minho replies easily.

Jinki laughs but his eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean no one? Who do you like?”

“Nobody,” Minho says again. “This whole thing, this whole experience – I'm doing it for me. Not for anyone else. I've never had a girlfriend. Did you know that?” Jinki is not sure how that even matters but something is telling him that no matter what, this coversation is going nowhere good. The next few sentences that Minho relays fall short of Jinki's ears, melding into the buzz of the dance club. Jinki knows they're important, knows that they probably mean a lot to Minho (because Minho tells Jinki that kind of stuff, tells him things that he wouldn't normally tell anyone else) but Jinki can hardly see straight right now.

Focus, he tells himself. For the love of god, focus and pretend you're not competely falling apart.

“Look,” and Jinki tries, tries not to think about the kiss, tries not to let himself think it mattered, because he knows what's coming because he'd known what was coming from the beginning. Minho pushes onward, oblivious. “I just don't think it's a good idea to start anything when you're leaving in three days. If it were any other time...”

Jinki wants to grimace and say that he really, honestly doesn't give a fuck because this isn't any other time, this is now, but his face has gone slack-jawed and he can hardly remember why he'd ever even let himself believe that Minho reciprocated anything let alone allowed himself to try this tonight of all nights.

“But I need time for me, you know?”

Right.

I need time for me. You know?)

Minho sends him a text just before Jinki passes through security in the airport. Thank you for everything. I'm just glad to have met someone who likes reading and goofing off and dancing to silly kpop music like I do; it was nice sharing that with someone. Really nice. Safe travels. - M

The guard ushers him forward and throws his carry on luggage onto the conveyor belt. He removes the battery from his cell before shoving it to the bottom of his bag.

And no one comes running, screaming for him to wait. No one comes to say goodbye at all, actually. He'd given his goodbyes out Tuesday night, last night. Any sort of goodbye at this point would be redundant.

“Where to?” the security man asks, hand outstretched for Jinki's boarding pass.

Jinki hands the documents over with a smile.

“Home.”

Everyone's gotta do one of those 'oh no a member is leaving/the group is disbanding' fics. I'm not even 100% sure if that's what's happening here, but. Oh well. Basically I just wanted to convey the idea that even if people are meant to be, sometimes situations don't allow for it. The fic was, shall we say, inspired. So if you have questions, feel free to ask away. I completely understand if anyone's confused.

The cabs drive by as you watch the sky on a black October night.

tanakoi — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 06:08:45 GMT

5 minutes to midnight
pg, jaebum/nichkhun

So you're pretty sure you have no idea what's happening anymore (you lost track somewhere between the car chase and the bank robbery) and the mess of plot and dialogue being flashed at you is starting to give you a migraine (add that with the fact that you've never really liked hardcore action movies), but Junsu is laying on Jaebum who has his leg halfway over Junho's thigh and Junho is halfway on your lap at this point and it's not like you can move or anything, so you've condemned yourself to sitting through the movie anyway.

“Hey, Khun,” Taecyeon whispers none too stealthily from where's he's laying spread eagled in the middle of the floor, Chansung already asleep with his head on Taecyeon's stomach. “How about making us some popcorn?”

You sigh and roll your eyes, all indicators that, no, you will not make them some fucking popcorn because jesus christ what? But he's still staring at you from the foot of the couch, blinking expectantly and okay, fine. Whatever, you say and wiggle out from underneath Junho who rolls bonelessly to fill in the space you had previously occupied.

You switch on the kitchen light and blink uncomfortably as you stumble your way to the cupboards, finding that you're much much more sleepy than you'd expected, and lean against the edge of the sink to catch your bearings. You breathe through your nose and close your eyes, relaxing slightly, before straightening your back as you grapple around the cupboard for the microwavable popcorn bags. You find one underneath the numerous boxes of cereal (each member has their favorite brand, after all) and use your teeth to rip it from the plastic outing. It doesn't work so you try using your hands instead only now you've gotten spit on it and that makes it hard to hold onto and dammit.

It's too late for this. Really. Way way too late.

“Uhm,” someone says drowsily from the doorway. “Need help?” Jaebum stands there while rubbing his eyes, sweatpants low and baggy on his waist. He looks comfortable, you note. He ambles over to your side and stares at the popcorn bag in your hands. You drop it onto the counter with a huff, massaging the bridge of your nose with your forefinger and thumb. You kind of want to yell and stomp and throw a hissy fit because you get crabby when you're sleepy and god, shit, this is frustrating, but you find that the lethargic weight pushing down on you is a bit too much to fight against. He gets the message anyway.

He picks it up, biting down on the end as he pulls in the opposite direction, and hey, indirect kiss - only you stop yourself there because no. exhausted or not, that's just not something you should be thinking about. Ever. And you hear a slight ripping noise as he manages to make a small tear on the edge. He hands you the unwrapped popcorn bag and smiles.

“Here.” You take it. He's still smiling, you notice. All teeth and droopy eyes and hunched shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say in return, hoarse and raspy because it's been at least an hour since you last said something.

He lingers around the microwave as you slide the popcorn in, feet shuffling back and forth, tapping against the floor. You look at him in confusion and blink unevenly. He stares back with some mix of nervousness and overly-fake nonchalance and. Goddamn.

It's too late for this.

“So,” he starts, abruptly and loud and, yeah, by the look on his face you don't think he meant for it to come out like that. “So,” he repeats, quieter. “Did you, uh. What did you think of the movie?”

You're tired so your reactions are somewhat sluggish and you stare at him blankly, watching the minutes count down on the microwave clock out of the corner of your eye. “I couldn't really understand it,” you say bluntly.

He laughs, genuinely, which makes you smile (involuntarily) and makes a face, hunching over a bit further. “Yeah, I thought so.” He drops his gaze to his feet. “It's pretty late, isn't it?” he comments randomly, but you nod in agreement.

“Yup.”

He looks back up at you, eyes unable to settle anywhere as they scan your face. You feel yourself blush a little under his scrutiny (unnecessary, you think furiously and duck your head a little), but he looks somewhat determined now.

You have to admit, despite that foreboding sense of nervousness fluttering around the pit of your stomach, you're curious as to what he wants to say to you.

“I, uh,” he says, voice breaking slightly. “Promise you won't freak, okay?” He begins to sweat lightly under your stare, stuttering as he continues. “I-I have a girlfriend.”

You blink.

“Yeah, I mean. It's nothing really serious, not with the company being so strict and all, but she gave me her number last night and we've been talking...” he trails off.

You blink again.

“What?” he asks, voice quiet and helpless. You realize that you must be making a pretty ugly face right now because he's looking at you as if you'd just kicked him in the stomach and you can feel the corners of your mouth tightening into a frown and your brows furrowing and. Fucking hell.

It's too late for this.

“Why are you telling me?” you ask and it comes out harsher than intended. He flinches a bit, shoulders sagging even further, and you feel a slight swell of victory as he does so.

“Because you're my best friend, Khun,” he says and suddenly you don't feel victorious anymore. Now you just feel embarrassed. And maybe a little bit hurt, though you're not really sure why.

“Do the other members know?” you ask instead, suddenly feeling weary and faint.

“No,” he says, scuffing his foot against the floor. “I. I don't think I'm going to tell them. Like I said, it's nothing serious.”

“That's not fair, Jae,” you sigh, burying your face into your hands. “You can't do this to me, Jae.”

He looks guilty now. Guilty and sad. “I can break it off with her if you want.” He shuffles his weight from foot to foot. “It's. It's not like I'm extremely attached to her or anything.”

“No,” you say, rubbing the bridge of your nose once again in frustration. “No, just. I don't know, Jae. It's late. How about we just talk about this tomorrow.”

He shakes his head adamantly, standing his ground, and says, “No.” He stands firm. “Let's talk about this now.” He gains a little confidence, straightening his back. “Give me one good reason as to why I should break it off with her. Just one. If you can do that, I'll make you a promise, a promise that I won't break, to end it with her tomorrow morning. Okay?”

There are plenty of reasons that you can think of as to why he should not be dating someone, plenty very very good ones, convincing ones. But none of them are coming to mind. Instead, all you can seem to think is: “I just don't like it. I don't like the way it's making me jealous. Jealous, Jae. That's not natural, to be jealous over something like this. I don't like the way that it's confusing me.” But you can't say that to him because. You just can't. You feel a headache beginning to form again.

“Well?” he says impatiently, looking up at you with crossed arms and squared shoulders and. His eyes. They're tired and sad. Still. They betray what the rest of his body is trying to say. They show his nervousness, his fear.

And then you find yourself leaning forward, head tilted a bit downward, and your hands coming to rest at his shoulders, sliding up to his neck as your fingers brush over the back of his ears, and you kiss him. It's quick and chaste, but the burn still lingers, an impression in your mind, a memory that you'll never forget. This time it's his turn to blush, all the way from the arch of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He's stuttering out nonsense, random short syllables that don't quite fit together. Your heart is hammering in your chest, lips numb but at the same time on fire.

“You-” he starts to say. “I mean, what-” but you're kissing him again, harder, more insistent than before, and then shit, holy fuck he's kissing back, hands awkwardly gripping your elbows and. It's this. This is the reason why he can't have a girlfriend. This is the reason why you won't let him. And it's wrong, wrong, so so wrong.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth and you almost want to laugh because you don't care how wrong it is. It's Jaebum. And that's really all that matters.

And then the microwave timer goes off, beeps echoing off the kitchen walls and you jolt apart, suddenly wide awake and breathing hard.

“Uhm,” he says and his eyes are big and confused.

Your heart still beats excitedly under your shirt. “I. Jae, I just.” You breathe, in through your nose out through your mouth. Steady. Easy now. Easy. “I mean that. And everything it implies.”

He sucks in a breath of air through his teeth, hand coming to grip his own forearm, and he says, “Good. I mean. Yeah. Good.”

And tomorrow he'll break up with her, a nameless girl that he never really knew, and you'll kiss him all soft and gentle underneath covers, hidden and secret. And he will fall in love and you will realize you always were, always had to be (in love, with him). And you will be bandmates and lovers and friends and so much more.

But that's tomorrow and this is tonight and, really, you think while holding the bowl of popcorn, buttery fingers slipping against each other as you brush hands while reaching for a handful of popcorn. You're happy with whatever happens today. Tomorrow will come eventually. You know this.

But. It's late. Way too late to be in any hurry.

He kisses you goodnight.

Credit to Sarah for the prompt (which was movie, popcorn, and couch lulz). :) I think I've stolen your writing style. :'D :'D :'D

I'm a gas tank running on empty, baby. P-p-pump me up.

tanakoi — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 22:56:01 GMT

not your usual cookie-cutter love
pg-13, onew/key, jonghyun/taemin, gd/seungri

Onew/Key
You're the difference between flying and falling

It's not about whether or not they're in love or how Kibum can give the sweetest apology kisses or Jinki's unfailing ability to somehow make things alright (because he smiles and laughs and whispers assurance into Kibum's skin and Kibum sort of falls a little bit more in something with the boy that stole his heart away the first second he saw Jinki stumble into a wall) or the nights counted in between fights when Kibum sleeps on the couch with Jonghyun's blanket or the way that they make such a strange pair, such a fucking odd couple, they really really do, and. Well. Maybe it is about that stuff, but.

“I think,” Kibum says slowly with an arm thrown over his eyes, “that maybe we should-”

“Yeah,” says Jinki. Because, yeah, maybe they should. Slow down, that is. “Maybe.” But Jinki's not sure what kind of slow down they're talking about here; an attempt to savor what they've got perhaps. Or, more likely, judging by the pained expression Kibum's been wearing so very often lately, an attempt to make the whole 'moving-on' bit (that Jinki's been hoping would never have to happen, not to them) easier.

Kibum laughs, only it comes out as sort of half sobbing, half incredulity and Jinki can't tell whether or not he should comfort him like usual, kiss the underside of his chin, smooth circles into his neck with his thumbs, or if that'd be inappropriate given the current circumstances.

“Hey,” Jinki tries, but he doesn't really know what else to say so that's all that he's able to get out.

“Can't you, like, disagree or something? Talk me out of this?” Kibum's seemingly talking to himself. “I just. God, Jinki. I don't. Fuck. I can't do this.”

“Yeah,” Jinki says again.

And they still crash into walls of bathroom stalls after performances, pressing together unceremoniously again and again until Kibum's voice has gone up an octave and Jinki has him singing, just fucking singing, and. It's still beautiful. But it's a different kind of a beautiful. It's the kind of grotesque loveliness that lingers where a problem that has been long untouched has grown and branched out and wrapped it's way around everything in their life, turning it green and leafy and killing them slowly and they're lost in it. They can't find their way out.

“I'm in love with you,” Kibum tells him when they are all sort of drunk and leaning against each other and Taemin is half asleep against Jinki's shoulder and Jonghyun is about to take his shirt off on their make-shift dance floor in their living room and Minho lays spread out across everyone's laps because that is where he fell and didn't really have the energy to get up again (and he's asleep, Jinki thinks – hopes – because otherwise Minho would understand what was going on and that can't happen; it would ruin everything). Jinki smiles – only it's not assuring or comfortable like before, more sad and grounded like reality finally hit – and leans in to kiss him in way of an answer.

“Yeah,” Jinki says. Because that's all he can really say without thoroughly fucking things up.

So they pack away the alcohol where the managers will never find it (though they'll probably guess anyway when Taemin throws up later that night or when neither Minho nor Jonghyun can be dragged out of bed the next morning or the way Kibum is sleeping soundly while tucked into Jinki's side) and turn off the lights and Jinki smooths circles on Kibum's arms and. They're fucked up. They really are. And nothing is right, but at the same time they can't see how such a thing can be wrong, and it's all just a mess, but. But.

“This,” says Kibum. “I need this.”

“Yeah,” whispers Jinki as he leans in to press blind kisses against Kibum's skin – anywhere that he can reach – because, really, he couldn't agree more.

Jonghyun/Taemin
Thumbelina

He's tiny, you think, as the flower petals fall by his bed side. He curls into the center of the rose that he resides in and wrinkles his nose and slowly stretches out all pretty-like as if he's been asleep for god-knows-how-long instead of, well, you're not really sure what faeries do before their flowers bloom, so.

“Hey,” you smile down at him, lifting the boy out of his bed and into the palm of your hand.

He blinks unevenly and his wings unfold themselves from his back as he stares at you.

“Hey,” you say again. “Hey, what's your name?”

But instead of answering – not that you had expected him to answer you, really, because faeries can't talk, not like humans do – he titters forward and bites your thumb, like he's trying to be defiant or something. It's not hard, but it kind of hurts anyway.

“Jonghyun,” he tells you with the fluttering of his wings and the coy way he's looking up at you underneath heavy eyelashes.

“Taemin!” your mother calls, waves her hands frantically from the porch steps. “Didn't I tell you to stop playing in the garden? There are bees in there; you'll get stung.”

Taemin sighs sadly and puts Jonghyun back in his flower. “Mom can't see you,” he explains and Jonghyun blinks back comfortingly. “She doesn't understand.”

Taemin stands up anyway, brushing off his pants as he does so, and heads back toward the house. He takes one final glance, watching as Jonghyun flutters about the garden roses, before he takes his mom's hand and allows her to lead him inside.

He can play with Jonghyun tomorrow anyway.

G Dragon/Seungri
White washed walls and painting blocks all cut out in black in white

Seungri first sees him passed out at the library drooling into the creases of a book on ancient civilizations. The other boy is irrevocably wedged into Seungri's life when he realizes that this is the book he needs for his upcoming history paper.

“Jiyong,” he spells out for Seungri, writing the characters on a sticky note and book marking some odd page or another in the text book. “Be seeing you, then.” The boy salutes Seungri as he leaves.

Jiyong left more than his name in the book, it seems (name, cell number, dorm address), and Seungri has half a mind to crumple it up and toss it into his roommate's trash bin. Only he doesn't because. Well, he doesn't really know. He must just be some sick romantic sap because he saves it and tucks it into an envelope at the back of his desk drawer and promises that it's just because he'd feel bad if he threw it away.

It has absolutely nothing at all to do with Jiyong's pretty eyelashes or charming smile or the way Seungri has started seeing him almost everywhere he goes now – the cafeteria, the library, the foyer area in their dorms; everywhere.

Absolutely nothing at all.

Jiyong is climbing the fence practically, clawing at the wires as he screams for their school football team's quarterback to 'step it up' and 'fucking play instead of shitting around'.

Seungri hangs back quietly, sitting with the friends that had dragged him here, and watches Jiyong throw his cap off when the referee calls a foul on one of their own players.

“If you had one more eye, ref, you'd be a cyclops,” Jiyong shouts, and Seungri can see his friends eying the other boy strangely, judging the way he's laughing too loud and screaming and jumping and getting the people around him to join in with a few cheers.

“Who's he?” asks the guy to Seungri's right (some friend of a friend that he's acquaintances with at most).

The friend that had talked him into going in the first place jabs his finger toward Jiyong and replies, “Him? He's some Junior that's studying psyche or something like that.”

He leans forward then as if he's going to tell a huge secret and suddenly Seungri feels petty, sitting and listening and not stopping them. But he leans forward with everyone else anyway because, alright dammit, he's curious. “They say he got banged by some older kid last year because, well, he's one of them, you know? A rainbow boy,” his friend says all low and quiet. Seungri's stomach clenches and flips at the information and he feels a bit sick because he thinks he might know why he never threw away that post-it note. “And the guy forgot to tell him about the present he'd be leaving him afterward.” His friend laughs and now Seungri feels sick for a whole different reason altogether. “How cliché. Flower boy gets laid at a party, wakes up with AIDs, right?”

And suddenly Seungri's on his feet, hands curled into fists and before his friend can laugh at the sick, cruel joke he's attempting to make, Seungri lays a sound hit into his jaw, knocking him backward.

Jiyong ceases his cheering and screaming when Seungri drags him down the steps, taking them two at a time, but he doesn't attempt to stop him; just lets himself be pulled into the parking lot and as far away as they can get from the stadium.

“I paid for a ticket to get into that,” Jiyong says instead. “You owe me now.”

“Yeah?” Seungri says and attempts to calm down. “Well.” He doesn't really want to explain his outburst; doesn't really want to tell him what his friend had been talking about. He thinks Jiyong might get it anyway. (He's strange like that.)

“How about you start by buying me dinner?” Jiyong suggests with a twinkle in his eye and subtly slips his fingers into Seungri's hand.

Seungri winds their fingers together. “Yeah?” he says. “I think that's a pretty good place to start.”

Inspired by the SHINee prompt gen. thing. Except for the last one. Obvs.
heechul_oppa: You need to shut up about your fics. I love them. I wrote this for you to prove my love. And I never write fic. So. Yeah. D: Stop being angsty, bitch.