||❥ a moon without stars (m)
w o n w o o ! s c e n a r i o
word count: 18, 194 [ sorry not sorry]
genre: oh my god, it’s everything. angst + smut + fluff + romance + drama lord have mercy.
includes: the tale of Y/N’s first love, jeon wonwoo, and their relationship that builds up to an unplanned pregnancy. he helps his uncle out with mechanic stuff nd works part time as a body piercer. Y/N is a florist. mature themes nd shit, cried over this more than i needed to. enjoy!! :))
✎ don’t rlly have anything 2 say other than have fun reading, the soul has been sucked out of me!! jeon wonwoo destroyed my feelings!!
He is quiet,
still like a marble statue that encases ivory bone and hot scarlet. He is
impassive, a heavy brow left without a single crease nor a wrinkle, the ink
that churns in indolent pupils murky, yet clear with your image that reflects
in similarity to a mirror. His lips are beautiful, decorated in lovely shades
of rose, yet they are not curled in a signature smile that flutters a heart or
preludes a giggle. That is because, above all things, the boy is gobsmacked,
perhaps even a little enraged.
Therefore, Jeon Wonwoo’s lips are plain straight. No, if they were to smile, you would burst like a water balloon, sprinkling the earth in droplets of solace. But it is not solace you feel when his face finally cracks, when his eyes flare in smoky streaks that practically engulf your lungs with desolation.
There is a click in your mind, an instinct to clasp your palms to your stomach as Jeon Wonwoo points his chin toward the floor and swears. Your words are still echoing around the room, burrowing within couch cushions and empty coffee mugs. They are permanent reminders that will forever linger, steeping around your limbs and tugging softly at your clothing. They remind you that your life will never return to normal, if normal even existed to begin with, and that sometimes, life can only prevail if a mistake is there to kindle it.
He will not hurt me, you acquaint in the sealed tomb of your skull. He will not lay a finger on me even though he is confused and angry. Every syllable that ricocheted behind thick bone only amplified how your chest ached, like someone’s fist had enclosed around your heart, squeezing it while the organ beat frantically. His fingers carded in exasperation through sable black hair, a groan so deep and desponding spilling in fashion to liquor from his lips. Still, you knew he would never bruise your flesh out of anger, out of spite perhaps starting to brew. You are beautiful, and Jeon Wonwoo does not bruise beauty.
Instead, he leaves it.