The One with Inspiration, T-Shirts, and White Flowers

*caution: a lot of cussing ahead. read at your own discretion*

Irene could feel eyes on her as she laid her arms over the coffee table, painting small white flowers details on her arm. She looked up every so often at the other arm next to her, watching the lines appear on his skin with every of the marker she made, fascinated by the magic that their cheats made. When she was finished, she looked over at Joonmyeon, who stared at the flowers that dotted his arm, a small smile on his lips. He looked up to meet her eyes, before pulling her in closer to him, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek.

Lying her head on his shoulder, they both looked out the window on another rainy day.

“So… can I bring up a subject that might make you uncomfortable?” she heard, and immediately she frowned, allowing it with caution. “What is your thought… about having children?”

She bit her lip and immediately sat up, separating from him. “I… don’t know. I always envisioned myself adopting, to be honest, since I’ve been in the system.”

“So, you have thought about having children,” Joonmyeon nodded, resting his arm on the seat of the couch, an invitation for her to cuddle into his side.

“I’m not afraid of giving birth,” she felt like defending herself, unsure why. She gave her soulmate a look and shook her head, “I mean... It’s just… What I meant to say is… Joonmyeon, I…. Ugh.” She fell into side, her head resting back on his shoulder, pouting.

She felt a kiss and cheek pressing into hair, watching as he intertwined their fingers, finding it rather comforting to see their hands fit so perfectly. “Irene, I’m simply asking if you ever thought about having children in any way, shape, or form. I just hope that you pick me to help parent them.”

Irene couldn’t stop the large smile on her face before she looked up at him, “Why wouldn’t I pick you? You’re my soulmate, right? I want to share everything with you, be it a child or my leftovers.”

Joonmyeon’s expression mirrored the woman’s, rubbing his other hand on his leg and taking a moment to think before he looked back at her. Her soft expression and the glow she gave off made her look timeless, and it was this moment he wished he could take a picture of, but no matter what, his phone wouldn’t be able to capture the fuzzy feeling in his chest just by thinking how lucky he was to have her.

Then to her surprise, he ruined the soft moment to place his hand on her jaw and kiss her softly. “Then marry me,” he suggested when he pulled back, only to move back in and kiss her with a bit more passion, slowly push her to the floor so he could hover her, their lips interlocked just like her fingers with the hair on his nape. He was able to pull back some, repeatedly kissing her lips for a few seconds before making the same suggestion over and over again.

When she opened her eyes to look at him, she felt at relative peace being this close, and wondered more about taking it further before she realized what he was asking her. “Marry me,” he suggested once again before giving her another kiss, only separating far enough for her to feel his words on his lips, pulling her closer.

It was when she realized that during the whole process, of feeling his sincerity, passion, and promises of commitment with each and every press of the lips, he snuck a metal band on her hand, keeping their hands interlocked for a while before he was able to sit down and pull her unto his lap, showing her his work. He then proceeded to tell how the ring was part of a very long marriage that lasted well over seventy years before they both passed away, remaining with his mother before revealing it to him recently and has had it on him since the first day they met.

He sighed, before looking at her with worried eyes. “Call me selfish, but I want to be your husband.”

Irene couldn’t help but fall in love with how beautiful the ring fit on her finger, wondering how he was able to figure out her finger size for a moment before looking back at his eyes. She couldn’t really process any thoughts, looking between him and the ring, nothing really coming to mind before she looked at the flowers she panted on her arm, and his arm covered in the copied version.

She gave a small smile, and it felt like all the tension melted; like everything was meant to be. “Okay.

Jongdae had always disliked Wendy’s way of dealing with her frustrations, so he sighed when he entered her dorm, and threw his backpack on the floor. She was one again shuffling through papers, making useless piles over and over again, looking at sheets of notes and pieces of music as if she needed to organize them in a specific order.

Pouting, he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder before nuzzling her neck, asking what happened. He felt Wendy pause for a moment, like as if she was debating on accepting his affection before he felt her turn around in his grip, glaring at him. Taken back, he instantly threw his hands up in the air, as if it would help prove he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“So guess who was my duet partner for an import quiz in my piano class today?” He saw her jaw tense as she crossed her arms and placed all her weight on one leg. “Chan-ing-yeol. And you wanna know something else? He once again ed about how he would have had a much better grade if I—a women—wasn’t his duet partner; as if I wanted to be his partner! He’s a great pianist, I’ll give him that, but he’s so full of it! I mean, who cares if he’s upkeeping the ‘family name’, it’s ing piano class. So, there he is—the great and talented dip—still ing about getting an A—we don’t even get the symbol grades, just the letters, but he’s still ing about needing that plus—when he waits until after class and corners me—"

Jongdae raises an irritated brow.

“—And proceeds to put me down, saying it was my fault that he got an A, even though I pointed out several times that it didn’t freaking matter and we did fine. Then—THEN! Then he tells me, to my face… that if I wore ier clothing than maybe—MAYBE I would have gotten more solos, WHICH then he proceeds to inform me that it is the only way Fei ever got to have her solo acts… I mean, I knew that Chanyeol was a bit of a ing ist, but holy ing hell, Dae… I wanted to throw my coffee at him. He’s such a brat AND I’m not the only female in that department that gets told off by him. He thinks he’s so good and mighty when I wish he could be knocked down a peg or two. Piano isn’t even his major, it’s ing guitar! He’s part of a rock band for ’s sake, and he makes it a big deal that his uncle-twice removed works for a label. I don’t freaking care about his music, yet he has the audacity to call me out that one time I played air guitar—with some of my friends in class—to Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. I should give him a piece of my mind and tell our dean of students, the music department head, and the concert hall of how utterly terrible he is to work with.”