(a) woohyun/chorong ; i promise to tell you everyday how much i love you

I promise to tell you everyday how much I love you. I will leave coloured post-its on the bathroom mirror every morning to remind how important you are in my life so you’ll grin to yourself while brushing your teeth. I will serve breakfast-in-bed on your birthdays, and maybe our anniversaries – burnt toasts and all.

I will drag you out of bed on the mornings you get lazy – and no, you’re not getting a kiss until you get up. I’ll sit on top of you and tickle your sensitive spots with the feather I keep hidden in our room (or does trail of kisses sound better?)

I promise not to make a fuss when you ask me to take out the trash. Well, maybe I’d still grumble until you shut me up with your bland cooking, but you know I’ll do it still. I’ll try my best not to say a word about your dishes or question how they’re still in the ‘experimental stage’ after months of trying. My face may not be smiling but you know I’ll still finish them all up.

I’ll wait every night until you come home from work. No matter how late it is, or how tired I am, or even when I fall asleep on the couch while the television watches me – I’ll wait. I won’t eat until you’re home. I will greet you with closed eyes and sleepy voice. I’ll ask how your day went, even though next day l probably won’t even remember a single word.

I’ll rush out to the convenience store in the middle of the night when you run out of your stock. I’ll stay by your side and hold your hand while you battle with your cramps. I’ll tell you stories – my embarrassing stories (how I accidentally peed in my pants during elementary school) that I will never repeat to another soul, just so I can distract you from the pain.

I’ll make you soup when you’re sick. I will sit next to you and feed you right until the last drop, rambling about stuff that do not even make sense because I know you won’t hear a word anyway. Those times, my rare ‘i love you’ will come out, hoping you’d hear them in your heart. I’ll study every inch of your pale sickly face – wondering if our time is ever measured or does forever really exist.

I’ll blow up your phone with the cheesiest messages when you get mad at me. I’ll call and call and keep on trying even though I know you won’t pick up.

                                   I appreciate your thoughts and efforts even though I may not want to talk to you.

I’ll still kiss you on the forehead every night when you’re asleep even when we fight.

I’ll pretend to be asleep when in truth, I’m actually hoping you’ll still wish me goodnight.

I promise to tell you everyday how much I love you.

I love you. I really do.

I love you i love you i love you.

(b) ilhoon/yooyoung ; but i can picture us together

She thinks it’s creepy, even though arguably cute at times. She like how the notes will always start with ‘To Yooyoungie’ and ends with ‘the one who admires you from afar’.

The contents will vary – sometimes he’ll fill it with poems, other days he’d tell her how beautiful she really is (although she admits it gets a little too repetitive at times). A few times, he’d crack her up with (lame) jokes, to which she’ll surprisingly laugh to herself – only to realise she is still in school and that he might be lurking around watching her every move.

Like today; ‘what do you call a pig that does karate? - A PORK CHOP!’

Yooyoung giggles to herself as she peels the second note off her locker.

‘what’s brown and sticky? – A stick!’

She rolls her eyes at that one.

Slowly, she takes down the last one.

‘If I had a star for every time you brightened my day, I’d have the entire galaxy in my hand’

She smiles despite herself – giddily if she must say so. She’s really intrigued by this secret admirer, curious about his identity. Is it someone she knows? Her classmate? Someone she has actually talked to before?

Still smiling, she reads the next line out aloud as she starts to make her way out of the school hallway, “I’m not a photographer...”

From one of the empty classrooms behind her, Ilhoon watched her go with an almost wistful feeling in his longing heart.

“ – but I can picture us together.”

: :

(c) hoya/chorong ; every girl dreams to be a guy's first love

The first time she met him – was a day after she had just moved into the apartment next to him.

She had been struggling with the lock, when a hand interrupted her from behind and took her house keys without being asked.

“The doors here are like that,” he had said, as he turned the key in the lock and pushed open her apartment door with his upper left arm. She noticed the amount of force he had used – seeing how his muscles flexed when he did so. Chorong hadn’t meant on noticing it; just that it was a little hard to ignore when he was casually wearing a thin piece of black tank top.

“Next time you need help, just holler me next door,” he glanced over his shoulder and flashed her a grin.

He handed back her keys and strode over to his own unit. Just as he was about to enter his apartment, Chorong remembered something and stopped him from taking another step forward.

“I’m Chorong.”

He winked – he actually winked at her and replied, “Hoya.”

There came that night, when she was chased home by a heavily drunken man. She ran up the flight of stairs twice her normal speed but instead of jabbing her keys into her own lock, Chorong pounded loudly on her neighbour’s door, ten minutes to midnight.

The door flew open after about a minute and so. Without even pausing to think about her actions, she threw her arms around his waist and sobbed uncontrollably into his chest.

He didn’t even ask why.

Instead, he sat there with her by the door until the sunrise – after she eventually fell asleep in his arms.

Once, she found him standing outside in the corridor, arms resting on the balcony as he stared up high at the night’s black vast sky.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Chorong joined him quietly from behind, taking the spot next to him uninvited. By this time, they had both gotten past the awkward phase and could easily talk about anything and everything.

“There isn’t a single star tonight,” he answered absent-mindedly. “She promised she’d leave me at least one every night.” The last part came off as a soft murmur, Chorong wasn’t sure if she had even heard him right at all.

“Does it matter?” she couldn’t help asking.

He didn’t reply her immediately. Only after about a few minutes or so, a strained dramatic pause and a deep, quiet sigh, did he say, “It does – because it means she has moved on.”

He turned to look at her. “While I’m still here, stuck.”

It took them tons of coffee cups, a box of crumpled movie ticket stubs, stacks of ice-cream containers, stalks of dried flowers, endless heart-to-heart talks and a whole lot of trust before they actually took their relationship to the next level.

Every girl dreams to be a guy’s first love – but for Chorong, she is more than happy to be Hoya’s last.

::

(d) minhwan/bomi ; always be your wonderwall

There are many ways on how he envisions that they’d meet again someday but he’s wondering if this is too good to be true.

Because Minhwan never really wavers. He met her for the first time on a variety show; though they were not fated to be in the same team – because she was in the yellow team, and he was in the white team. There were many interesting faces and big names that appeared; but his eyes and heart could see perhaps nothing but her. Cursing his shy self that day; Minhwan had missed several chances to talk to her, but watching her from afar was more than enough – at least he likes to think so.

Because he likes her first, he tells himself this every day. Minhwan talked about her the first time on a radio show; from how he learnt her group’s name to how he saved her pictures as his phone’s wallpaper – to s teasing him no ends for his endless affection for her (and her group itself) – to Jaejin announcing that he’d steal her away from him, and to (much to his surprise) his fans setting up their group’s fancafe’s header to hers. Like a fool, he did just all that but he never really takes the first big, crucial step – and that is to approach her in an upfront kind of way.

And he regrets that every single day. Because from then on; he decided to stop talking about her – and it was never because his feelings had wavered, but simply because Minhwan wanted to protect her. He was after all, her senior and she was on the other hand, a young girl who was still trying to find her footings in this cruel entertainment world. He understood that – he’s gone through this phase much earlier than her, and besides he never really expected for his feelings to be returned.

His feelings were never returned. Several months later, he heard from sources that she was dating someone else secretly. Minhwan claimed that he was alright with it, and that she had the rights to do so because he’s after all just one of her fans and they were far from declaring anything – and also because he thinks love isn’t about possessing. That day; Minhwan spent his night crying on Myungsoo’s shoulder; cursing himself and drinking – from what started from a bottle of soju to a few. He passed out a couple of hours later – only to find himself waking up with new resolutions – to forget her, and to focus on his group’s world tour.

His group went on to win several music shows afterwards; their albums sold out and charting well; then his Hongki hyung decided to date a Japanese noona publicly and – everything else was going just fine, except that he had found out that she had never really dated anyone.

Of course, there are many ways on how he envisions that they’d meet again someday but he’s wondering if this is too good to be true. Because Minhwan met her for the first time on a variety show, and now he meets her again in the same circumstances but with a different setting, a different time and with different production crews – they are no longer wearing the yellow or white shirts but decent attires, because this time, they are fated to meet as husband and wife, though maybe it’s only for the cameras.

“H-h-hello,” She stutters, bowing 90 degree to the older guy. Her cheeks turn pinkish red, twice is his.

 They both giggle awkwardly, trying to comprehend what destiny has bring to the both of them – it feels somehow awkward because they’ve known each other for a period of time – she has always been his unwavering ideal type and he on the other hand, is Choi Minhwan.

“Bomi?” He utters first.

“Y-y-yes?”

“Since you’re now my wife, let’s try to be friendly with each other,”

Minhwan has missed out multiple opportunities in the past – but this time, he decides to man up and maybe, just maybe, his feelings would eventually be returned.

::

(e) kai/krystal/suzy ; sometimes he thinks, he misses her; but really, he doesn't

Dancing against the windowpane are the snow flurries; as the cruel winter breeze chimes in and sends cold shivers down the spine.  The early pale December rainstorms have melted; and so does the frosty barricade in his now, occupied heart. He curves a crooked smile; as he sluggishly digs around his stuffy pocket, before dragging out a tiny cigarette carton and a lighter. Carefully, he lit his cigarette and he blows – that sickening smelling puff of smoke.

One puff, two puffs, and three – he stops right at three, flicking the cigarette into the ashtray. The rash coldness of winter always has its definite ways to bring back all the poignant memories that he wished time would have eventually wash it all away, but maybe, not really.

Suzy, Suzy, Bae Suzy.

He whispers the name ever so gently but doesn’t let the name slips off his tongue. He misses the name; and how it used to glide well with his tongue; he misses saying it out loud; and mispronouncing it every now and then. But that was then – he lives in a reality now; and she lives in a faraway neverland, unreachable and he thinks she’s happier now because they said that in the world that she lives – pain doesn’t exist.

Jongin was left miserable; helplessly struggling with the darkest war that he’d never win, that is – until she finally found him.

“Guess who –”

A familiar voice channels to his ear; when he feels a pair of warm hands blocking his sight. Jongin grins. He recognizes the voice in a heartbeat; as he promptly placed his hands on top of hers, tapping it.

“Jung Soojung –”

He slips off the name almost too quickly; this time (and every other time) with ease. It’s a name that glides well with his tongue; he says it out loud (proudly) each time and habitually mispronounces it every now and then.

“Kim Jongin –” She mutters; as she naturally takes the vacant seat beside him; and hugs the pillow closely to her chest. Instantly, Jongin puts away the cigarette – because Soojung hates it and he on the other hand, promises not to smoke especially when he’s around her.

“Yes, Jung Soojung?”

“Nothing –”

“Hmm – nothing? Really?” He impishly provokes, nudging her left shoulder. When she doesn’t reply, Jongin resorts to (cautiously) take her right hand and squeezes it gently, reassuring.

(silence) (creaking firewoods sound, at the fireplace in a corner)

“Do you miss her?” She mutters first, finally breaking the silence.

“No, not really,”

“Should we go and visit her?”

“We already did so, last week – remember?”

“But –”

“Jung Soojung,” He cuts her off, adamantly as he stares intently at her almost b eyes. Jongin gives a squeeze to her hand once more, “It doesn’t matter whether I miss her or I don’t because what matters now is you and only you,”

Sure, Jung Soojung isn’t Bae Suzy; nor is she his first love; but Kim Jongin is certain that she’d be his last love and one that he’d spend his forever-ever-after with.