Aubade | J.J.K FF ✔

0.1

so maybe you are overreacting. but the voice is so heavenly that you think angels are descending to sing you out of this hell called life. you look up as if an angel is coming down from the heavens, a halo over their head, but all you see is the slowly lightening sky, a gold spreading out to shine on the land of the poor. (her apartment area, guys, not korea)

looking down, you see the routinely drunk people, the only people who would drink their asses off on sunday night, stumbling home, singing off-key songs; their voices nothing like the nearby angelic one you can still hear.

looking to the balcony that is directly next to yours, you see nothing, but the balcony doors are open, letting the beautiful voice fly up to the sky and serenade the slowly fading stars. they fruitfully fight against the sky just to hear that sweet voice and die out to lilting music. 

not wanting to interrupt, you sit down, face damp from all the tears and snot, makeup clinging uncomfortably to your face. 

he-you figured the one singing the song is male- sings a sad song, one you've heard on the radio once but didn't really pay attention to when it came on. a song talking about stopping when it gets too hard and just breathing. his voice is high and breathy and you close your eyes, letting the song wash over you, making it seem as if the stranger was singing to you and you alone. 

you don't notice as hot tears begin to roll down your face once more until they drip down onto your arms that hold your knees to your chest. eyes slowly closing, your face dips down until  you finally drift into the peaceful dreamland that offers solace, the song following you as a silhouette of a man appears in your dreams.

you wake up an hour later due to the annoying ringing of your alarm. grumbling, you walk inside to shut it off, making your way to the bathroom where you see the impact of last night. washing it all off, you grimace as you notice that your acne has made a disastrous reappearance, dotting your face with red bumps that cover your forehead-the newest mountain range that came from the shifting of emotions, much like the tectonic plates, sadness against emptiness.

swearing up a storm, you cover it up with BB cream and let your bangs hide them before dressing up in your now ragged work clothes for your job as a desk worker. it isn't anything special but it helped you bring money in and that is the important part. at least, that's what you would tell yourself each time at 6 o'clock when work would end. 

the day is long and as boring as a desk job could be, but you put up with it. you put up with all the screaming clients, the ones who would cuss you out over any small inconvenience, and the overly flirty clients, the type who make your skin crawl with their greasy compliments and make you want to scrub your skin.

you put up with it all the way until the hour hand on the clock finally hit six and you were the first person out, immediately making your way to the convenience store to pick up cups of ramen and soju, ready to stuff yourself with calories and drink yourself into a stupor .

after all, there is nothing waiting for you back at your place. no more boyfriend, no more best friend. your pet is giving your parents some company after you moved from seoul to busan. there is no one and nothing.

except maybe that singing stranger, but you know that he doesn't give a shit about you. 

sighing, you look at the plastic bag that holds your soju and ramen. "it's just us tonight, i guess," you say, ignoring the pedestrians who look at you as if you're some sort of madwoman or diagnosed with some sort of crazy that is contagious. one parent even goes as far as to cover her child's ear and give you a reprimanding which you answer with a blank stare.

you can't sleep that night like always. holding onto the neck of your bottle of soju, you move to that small balcony, leaning against the railing, hoping for some sort of wind to cool your sweaty skin.

but it's summer and all you get are itchy mosquito bites. even though you're annoyed, you stay out there, staring at the crescent moon, a shining beacon in the  ever-present darkness. hearing the slide of a screen door, you look to the side, not too surprised to see a man step out.

you are surprised of how manly and tall he looks though. the voice from early morning had made you think he was a shorty. instead, your eyes are greeted by the sight of a lithe but muscular man with tattoos covering his arms and creeping up his neck.

your eyes lazily, almost effortlessly, wander up his body before they meet dark, almond shaped eyes. raising an eyebrow, a trick that took you months to perfect, you stare him straight in the face, the alcohol in your veins giving you some liquid courage. 

"so you're the singer," is all you say, taking a swig of the drink in your hands.

"so you're the alcoholic crybaby," he retorts, folding his arms, making his biceps bulge. the sleeveless shirt he's wearing shows enough for you to figure out that he's well built. not gonna lie- the sight is hot.

lazily smiling, you raise the bottle in your hands, accepting the nickname with no complaint. if sober, you would have been annoyed that he heard you cry but walls are thin and you accepted that fact. for now anyways. "the one and only."

your balconies are close enough to the point where you could read out a hand and poke him but instead he's the one reaching across, stealing the bottle from your hands as if you're childhood friends.

not even bothering to wipe the top, he gulps the rest of the bottle and hands it back to you. "thanks for the drink."

"thanks for being a shithead and finishing my drink."  

"thanks for being a good neighbor and offering me one," the stranger replies before heading back inside his apartment, leaving you all alone with an empty bottle of soju.

"fuck you," you mutter, your searching eyes back at the sky, seeking out the twinkling stars.

1096 words