beast junhyung/g.na; i know this girl

[augmenti]

I know this girl.
She makes him feel like it’s raining outside.
Beast’s Junhyung/G.na, pg.
1,060 words.



"Some people care too much. I think it's called love."- Winnie the Pooh.

Gina Choi is the most fantastic woman Junhyung has ever met. She’s kind, and patient, and she has a smile that more than lights up the room but makes sparks fly in his stomach. So when she comes to him and asks if he’ll take her to the store, his jaw drops in surprise. Even though he’s feeling particularly lazy that day and wants nothing but to lay on the floor and let Yoseob trip over him when he walks by, he can’t help but comply. She doesn’t need him to go grocery shopping, not anymore, but he doesn’t mind getting out of the dorm, and their arms brush as they walk beside each other. He’s wearing a baseball cap, a gray sweater and black sweatpants with flip-flops, and she’s wearing colors so bright that they almost hurt his eyes, a yellow t-shirt with a bright finch on the side and a white pullover sweater. She nudges him lightly in the ribs as they walk down the street. “You’re so quiet,” she says, and when he smiles, it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Just thinking,” he says, and she loops an arm around his waist and gives him a quick hug. She smells like chamomile and mint, and the scents get caught in his throat even after she pulls away and they enter the supermarket. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, around her. She smiles, and his heart leaps. She touches him, and his gut twists. He’s been around girls all of his life, has had more girlfriends than he can count on his fingers, toes, and teeth, and yet. She’s light, and sunshine, and happiness, but she makes Junhyung feel like it’s pouring rain outside. “What are we getting, anyway?” He asks as she doesn’t bother with a tray and drags him to the cold foods section. He quirks an eyebrow, because it’s not exactly cold out—but he guesses it’s not exactly warm, either. He shoves his hands into his pocket and keeps his head down and listens to her heels clack on the white floor. She hums, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she smiles at him. “You’ll see,” is all she says. Five seconds later she’s bending over the ice cream box, slipping wayward strands of brown hair behind her ear. He wipes a hand over his mouth and mimics her, looking down into the case. She slides open the door and he feels a rush of cold air against his skin. She pulls out an ice cream sandwich with m&m’s, and he yanks the first thing his hand connects with or he knows he’ll spend the next five minutes trying to decide. They eat the ice cream in her dorm, which is much like beast’s only much smaller and a lot cleaner. He analyzes her over his ice cream cone as she carefully peels back the wrapper daintily so that it doesn’t get on her fingers. He doesn’t think dainty fits her, but at the same time, it makes his heart flutter. He’s acting like he did the first time they met—analyzing her every move, figuring out who she is, what she is, and he realizes, that she hasn’t changed, but maybe he has. There’s something in the way she tilts her head when she catches him looking at her that makes his stomach clench. She knows, he thinks, as she finishes her ice cream before it melts and sits back on the couch, her neck bending with the curve of the couch, gazing at him through her eyelashes. He looks away abruptly, analyzing the English text on the book on the coffee table. There’s a magazine underneath it with even more English, and concentrating on it distracts him until he finishes his ice cream and has nothing to do with his hands. “So, um,” he starts, but stops when she moves beside him, pulling him to her and putting her hand on his cheek. Her hands are soft and warm, but not nearly as warm as her lips on his, or her body pressing up against his. He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat and returns the kiss, mouth working through his shock. His hands twist in her hair, but when she moves to sit on top of him—warm thighs in his lap and knees clamping around his waist, all he can do is wrap his arms around her waist and pull her even closer. When they pull apart, he’s laughing from sudden euphoria, and she giggles too, touching his nose with her finger. “There,” she says breathlessly. “All better, right?” - He spends the night in her dorm, but they don’t have sex. They lay in her bed; bodies twined together, legs tangled and foreheads touching. Her white comforter folds over them like gentle protection. In the morning, dawn light shines from the window above their heads, and he wakes up to her smile. He takes a breath, and releases it, and slowly moves his hand to the base of her neck, where he can feel her pulse. He smiles, for the first time in what seems like forever, and when she opens her eyes, her eyelashes dance in the golden light. “Good morning,” he whispers, and leans forward to kiss her softly. Speckles of sunshine dash across her face from the patterns of her lace curtain and accent the blush of her lips and the curve of her eyes as she smiles. He knows he has an entire world to get back to, but he doesn't mind laying here beside her, his hand threading through her soft hair, and getting lost in the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She slips against him, and he can feel the curve of her body against his, and feel the scent of chamomile even stronger now, but all he can do is return her kiss, and laugh when they pull away, the sound bubbling up from his chest and coming out deep, and warm against her lips. This could just be the best moment of his life, and he catalogues every breath, every color of copper in her hair, and the shine of the sun in her eyes. Especially, though, the way her smile feels against his neck, and the way her laughter sounds like bells in his ear.