Work Text:
Foolish.
Perhaps Mingyu was helpless. Who would be brainless enough to believe an addicting algorithm of entertainment that leads to “future readings”?
He admits that it's idiotic. It was far from who he was. He is book smart, top of the class and had excellent grades. He is also street smart, knowing his way around nooks and crannies in the outside world.
But here he is now staring at his phone that’s shining out bright light as his room was now dark as the surroundings. He should be sleeping now truthfully. Yet, the grasp he has on his phone is magnetic and hard to let go.
The audio from the handheld device was soft yet loud enough for him to hear against the nightly bustles of the street.
His phone was showing a woman shuffling a tarot deck of cards. He has watched this scene countless times already but there were different women, different decks, different draws. Yet, only one message.
That his fondest friend likes him back.
Wonwoo was everything the woman has described his "soulmate" to be. Timid, smart, funny, talented. And apparently the ideal lover of a man likes him back, she said.
Mingyu knows that it isn't true. He had already heard the rejection months ago when he finally had the courage to confess his feelings.
Frankly, he was done moving on and yet here he was again grasping for some kind of change. A change that he actually wanted. A change that would finally make him content.
But he was content. He was happy that he and Wonwoo continued being friends, that there was never any awkward air or tension when the two of them talked, the way they continued to like the same things and pondered on the same topic.
But why is the contentment he had felt like nothing?
He deemed himself as someone stupid. Why is he here in a state of contemplation to believe a person he doesn't know through the screen of his phone? Saying that what he has longed for will come and he should apparently claim it.
Countless questions that needn't be asked and yet here he was fooling himself, double tapping his screen to signal that he likes what was before him.
Perhaps fooling oneself for temporary feelings of joy was the answer. Perhaps deluding oneself of what could've been was better than trying to continue on and accept what has already been.
He continues to scroll down his phone and convinces himself that any man's heart would always defeat his wits when it comes to love.
Foolish. That's what Mingyu believes himself to be.
But if foolishness is the path to be with him even if it was in his dreams. Mingyu was sure to do it over and over again.
🂠 🂠 🂠
Lonely.
Mingyu woke up, slowly he opened his eyes and peeked through his now well lit room. Yellow hues spread all over as the sun had just risen.
He doesn't remember when he realized how much time he spends staring at his brown ceiling just to daydream and think of well, Wonwoo.
Mingyu, like most, observes.
He grew up learning to. Even at a young age he knew he had a talent for it, gathering details of the surroundings and using such information for future purposes.
Doing so made it easier for him. He believes that everything is part of a system. He knew how to get good grades because he knows what his professors like to hear and read, he knew how to approach his classmates because he knows they're just suck ups, he knew what to talk about with other people because of their keychains or their phone case designs.
Everything works the way it is because something triggers it to do so. Pushing the desired button will guarantee you admirable results. So why waste time attempting unsure processes?
Just waste it being observant and learning how to get what you want.
But despite the habit of doing so there are still uncertainties. Distraction for once is a huge nuisance when it comes to observing, you should have your full attention. One little detail can cost so much.
Lack of detail on the other hand has been a different battle. Distraction was easy to avoid for Mingyu, he knew what distracted him and hence has avoided them after its identification. Lack of observable variables on the other hand was hard. It is as if he were asked to write on a piece of paper what was written on a blackboard and yet a speck of white chalk can’t be seen.
Theoretically, that's how he grew his crush with his current friend.
He rarely heard Wonwoo speak during class, rarely saw him participate in the usual cafeteria chatter, rarely saw him sign up for organizations and clubs.
Wonwoo was a mystery.
Mingyu hates it when he is unknowledgeable about topics. Curiosity has fueled him several times, enough to even get achievements. Afterall, he is someone who thrives off of systems and learning about them.
So he got to work. He did everything to get close to the quiet gentlemen. He succeeded as usual. Despite the lack of observable variables, he did!
He learned that Wonwoo hates blue ink, he unironically likes the cafeteria snacks, that he loves Calculus and despises English Lit.
Slowly Mingyu learned more about the quiet individual.
That’s when he knew that he liked Wonwoo. Despite all the gained insights, knowledge, and facts about the latter he wanted to get to know him more. Mingyu had an adequate amount of information about Wonwoo, he wasn’t a mystery anymore, and yet there was a feeling of yearning.
Perhaps such a feeling arose because of the lack of joy. Psychologically, a person thinks of another because of a certain function, one that can’t be easily relieved or done so. Isolation for one can be a reason, when one feels alone you may think about someone.
A function.
It's the avoidance of a feeling. Escapism of what’s real.
There’s a void that wants to be filled and usually it’s filled with something light, warm, and familiar, despite all the impossibility of it all. One will deceive himself to avoid what sickeningly dejected feeling they should be immersed in.
For being happy is still happiness even if it’s only for a second.
Mingyu believes himself to be lonely.
Loneliness lead him to foolishness, and foolishness lead him to him.
🂠 🂠 🂠
Disappointment.
Mingyu scribbles down notes as his professor speaks. The usual grip on his pen as it glides on the paper is ever present. Handwriting is legible and clean despite the haste of his hand.
Failing is something that Mingyu doesn’t want. May it be academically or not. Trying is something that he can’t accept, succeeding is the minimum. So despite his cramped up hand because of the hour-long lectures, he continues to write.
He often remembers the time he thought and calculated what flowers and gifts to buy, when to approach, and what to say. For days he would think about it and visualize how it would go and he did it.
"For you," Mingyu said, uncertainty laced in his voice, reaching the bunch out with a shaky hand alongside the ink filled container.
"Why the refill?"
With hesitance in his voice, Mingyu answered. "Differential Calculus. Your gel pen didn't have any ink left. You uncapped the bottom and blew through the cartridge," he paused, finally raising his gaze, "so I bought you one."
"And the tulips?"
…
"Because I like you and you like tulips,"
For months, Mingyu would buy bouquets of tulips for Wonwoo. He wanted to be sure and calculated so whenever he does, he picks one tulip from the bunch and places it in water so when it dries out he'll buy a new bouquet for Wonwoo.
Never missing a day without pretty flowers.
Mingyu didn't like tulips. It wasn't cheap especially if it's presented as a bouquet but for Wonwoo he would buy it.
He couldn't help but notice that in every lecture the boy would peek through the windows of his seat just to see the vibrant petals from the school garden.
He was assured with his choice of flowers, words, and answers. He calculated it, hence, his confidence.
Yet, for once he wasn't sure. He was uncertain, questioning, overwhelmed with unconfidence. It wasn't him.
Mingyu is scared of uncertainty, doubts, and the unknown.
Mingyu has a habit of knowing. Not knowing hurts him.
Mingyu never questions, he knows. Mingyu never asks, he has answers. Mingyu doesn't think of what he can't do, he can do it.
He was afraid of making mistakes and he had too many questions and too many answers. But none of them pair up, like the same pieces of the puzzle, multiple keys and holeless locks. Like him and his feelings.
But why does something as feeble and fragile inside of him is making him tumble over all the thoughts inside his head and take over everything there is in his day and nights.
Why does he question the warmth he feels?
Why does he ask himself unanswerable queries?
Why does he feel like he can't do what he wants to?
Instead of finding out and looking for more answers. He runs.
He blocks them out, ignores the feelings, and ignores who he likes.
Ignores the withered tulip on his bedside.
Mingyu believes he is a disappointment.
If he only tried.
Now his questions are different. What could've been his position now? Will he still be longing and yearning or content and satisfied?
🂠 🂠 🂠
Unlovable.
Earphones in his ears, a hand grasping on the bus handle as the vehicle swerves through the streets. At least five songs will play after he reaches home and he'll finally do what he has to.
Getting up in the morning, eating breakfast, going to school, riding the bus are his everyday habits.
Everyone takes up habits. Scientifically, it takes a person an average of 66 days to develop a new behavior and make it automatic.
But Mingyu can never recall when he started thinking of what ifs, of what could've happened, of questions of what should've unfold if he only pursued.
Everyday, he would wake up and stare at his ceiling and ask why he gave up.
Everyday, he would eat breakfast and fight the urge to vomit it because he was ashamed and the feeling overwhelmed him.
Everyday, he would go to school and go a different route so he couldn't see the ever beautiful tulips on the school gardens.
Everyday, he would ride the bus and plug in his earphones so he has an excuse to say when he actually sees Wonwoo and ignores him.
Everyday he questions and suffers.
He would do all his work in one go just to distract himself. Read all the thick books he needs to, to fan through all the fogged up thoughts in his head. Write until his hands hurt so that he won't feel the pain that aches in the middle of his chest.
Oftentimes in the dark of the night as he lays down he lacks sleep or he weeps until he reaches slumber.
Every time he gets sleep he's haunted by sights of what could've been.
Sweet touches, nothings whispered in his ears, loving glances, pictures shared, tulips given.
“Despite your flaws, it’s getting harder and harder for me to convince myself everyday that you’re real.
And that you love me.” his imagined self would say.
And he wakes up, checks the time on his phone that would flash the said late hour of the night.
Mingyu would try to doze once again but would fail to fall asleep within minutes, sometimes hours. Grabbing his phone to scroll through it.
Seeing videos of shuffled tarot cards. Watched the same scene where there are different women, different decks, different draws. Yet, only one message.
That he isn't a foolish, lonely, disappointment of a man.
Perhaps, with the sound of cards against the table there was comfort, as each card slipped through the thick stack there was contentment. Even if it was just a minute.
Maybe even for a minute he forgets all the things he believes himself as.
Maybe for a minute he is wise, partnered, satisfied.
Maybe for a minute he is not unlovable.
For a minute Wonwoo does like him back.