A thousand words.

               They come flying out your mouth a mile a minute the moment the first clap of thunder roars overhead. The darkness of night offers no shield between you and the sky as you rush to your destination on the lonely streets of Seoul. Gibberish, the thousand words may be, but they are the only reason you haven’t bolted in any random direction your legs take you. Everything will be okay once I get to Wonpil you think as the Day6 dorm comes into view.

               You’re turning the key in the door when the rainfall comes and you tumble in before slamming the door shut. You are greeted with more darkness.

It’s empty.

No Wonpil.

BOOM. The war between thunder and sky begins; it’s a tragedy of noise and water. It’ll find you.

You start to shake, thousand words flying faster, and you go the only place that’s safe.

Wonpil’s room.

You dive into his bed just as another clap shakes the earth. Even when you’re trembling under his blankets and surrounded by his scent, your panic doesn’t decrease. Bullets of rain start showering the window. It’s going to get you.

Where is Wonpil? Your anxiety begins to overwhelm you to the point of deliriousness. The thousand words are making your throat sore, but you say them so that you can focus on any noise other than the storm.

BOOM. You almost lose consciousness as the room is momentarily engulfed in light. You squeeze your eyes shut, praying that Wonpil comes home. You barely hear the slam of the front door or Jae’s tired laugh as he teases Brian because his hair is sticking to his face, or Dowoon turning the television on over the clattering of instruments, and Sungjin praising them for a good job at practice.

All you hear is the voice of your best friend.

“(Y/N?)” he calls.

He had noticed that the door was unlocked with your shoes strewn in front of it.

You’re so relieved when he bursts through the door of his room that you begin sobbing, the thousand words slowing. He climbs onto his bed, wrapping the blankets tighter around you as he pulls you into his lap, into his embrace. His hair is stuck to his face, white t-shirt soaked as it clings onto pale skin and his eyes betray exhaustion after a long day of practice, but he hums softly as he rocks the both of you side to side.

Wonpil may be the smallest of all the members, but his arms hold you the tightest. So when another BOOM shakes the night, of the thousand words that die in your throat, all it takes are his two.

“It’s okay.”

And it just was.