Sorry I didn't post yesterday I'm barely getting a good wifi connection. But I hope you enjoy this one.
-Voting will come back Friday! :)
“Jungkook, don’t let go!” you say, holding tightly to your boyfriend’s hands. He laughs and assures you, he wouldn’t dare. Today is one of his rare day-offs, and he brought out two ice-skating tickets from his backpack when he came to visit at your apartment. Your home seemed to fill with warmth as soon as he stepped inside, despite the cold winds that invited themselves in, but he was enough to dispel the frost of loneliness.
“Are you ready to leave the rail?” he asks, letting go of one of your hands. You reach for it, desperate and a little scared of tumbling to the ground, but he won’t give you back the support. “Come on, just try! You’ve got more control over yourself now.” He leads you, slowly, away from the handrail against your protests, glancing over his shoulder so as not to bump into any energetic children or their frantic parents.
As you move further and further away from the rail, your heart starts speeding up even more. “Ahh, Jungkook, I don’t think I can do this - wah!” You almost stumble and fall, but he grabs a hold of you before you do. You’re a little flustered at how close you are to him and quickly stabilize yourself, murmuring your thank yous.
He leads you all around the ice rink at whatever pace you wanted to go at, mostly slow as you weren’t used to gliding, but you begin to speed up - right, left, right again, and enjoying the sound of the blades against ice. Without you noticing, he slips his hand out of yours and into his pocket, fighting the chill that had enveloped his skin mercilessly. You continue to glide, feeling like a queen of the rink.
“Yah, do you want to race?” he asks, grinning. You give a smile just as radiant as his own, ready for the challenge. He points at the turn of the rink and says, “Finish line is there, starting line is here. Should I give you a head-start?”
“No, don’t pity me!” you complain, laughing a little.
“Okay, then we’ll start… now!” He dashes ahead, pushing off with powerful strides. You struggle behind him, the distance between you two only growing larger and larger.
“Yah!” you yell, laughing. As you try to close the empty space, you feel a sudden force colliding behind you. You yelp and hold out your hands, trying to regain your balance but only fall forward -
“Do you want something to drink?”
Jungkook is hovering over you like an angel, invisible wings sprouting from the space underneath his collarbones and a halo encircling the crown of his head, shedding light onto the locks of hair. He wears a worried expression, guilt in his eyes, a dedicated passion for you.
You have been sitting on the living room couch since morning came around, allowing this angel to take care of you so you wouldn’t have to move your arm. You had told him countless times that you were okay, you could get the remote control yourself, but he insisted to do every action on your behalf, big or small.
“I’m fine, Jungkook, but thank you,” you reply, then pat the empty space beside you. He joins you on the sofa, snuggling under the comforters and hugging a pillow to his chest. You smile at him, this shining boy, who has spent the past afternoon being your aid, the healer, a knight in shining armor. He is a hero from a fantasy tale, and you the princess.
Many hours pass with him rushing about the house for your sake, grabbing you your laptop for work, writing down your spoken words down onto paper, cooking meals for the two of you. He is at your complete command, even demands to be of usage. “It’s fun,” he says when you ask him why he is so intent on doing something for you every minute of every hour. But you see fatigue in his eyes, his movements are slightly sluggish.
“Then how about I do something for you, this time?” you suggest.
He tilts his head at a slight angle, thinking, then shakes his head. “After one more request, then I’ll ask you something.”
“Fine,” you relent. “Tell me a story.”
He’s caught off-guard. “A story? What kind?” He settles down next to you once again, slinging an arm around your shoulder and running his fingers along your skin. You hold his hand, smiling.
“A fairy tale.”
“A fairy tale? I don’t know many…” Jungkook runs through a variety of fairytales in his mind, and you lie your head on his shoulder, waiting patiently for a fantasy to alleviate the pain in your arm.
“Cinderella was locked up in a tower -”
“Yah! That’s Rapunzel, not Cinderella!” you protest, laughing.
“Do you want to hear the story or not?” he teases. You huff, and rest your head once more.
“Once upon a time, there was a family who lived in a dream house, complete with songbirds in the trees, a garden of flowers that seemed to talk when the wind blew by, and the stars that gave birth to magic.” You lose yourself in his adaptation of Cinderella, eloquent words strung together to create the scenery in your mind, colors changing as he moves on to another part of the story. And he ends, like all stories do, with “And they lived happily ever after.”
Silence falls like a soft blanket of clouds, quickly enveloping the entirety of your home. You can’t seem to find your way out of the fairytale he has woven together, lost in the mice’s generosity and the fairy godmother’s kindness, Cinderella’s hardships and the stroke of midnight.
“(Y/N)? Can you tell me a fairytale?” he asks softly, stroking your hair.
“Mm. Let me think of one.”
Minutes pass but you can’t formulate sentences, wondering what fairytale would be suitable for this angel, this prince, this sorceress, this universe beside you. He’s a fairytale all on his own, you think, smiling at the thought.
“Once upon a time,” you start, “there was a young boy. He thought he had a lot - he had a home, he had family, he had food and water. But compared to everyone else, he didn’t have a lot because he didn’t have a dream.
“So he embarked on a journey to Empyrean, a land in the clouds. He climbed the One Thousand Stairs to seek out Dreamweaver, the moon goddess who knew how to create dreams out of little bits of the universe - a passing shooting stars, a piece of the crescent moon on which she does she work, the clouds below her, an angel’s tear. When he reached her at last, she would not see him.
“‘Why can’t I see you?’ he asked, pleading. She said that the last ingredient needed for creating a dream could not be found, that he must find it himself. She sent him off with a piece of iridescent glass and some food, and he was off once more.
“He went down seventy steps to the ground level of Empyrean, and he travelled from cloud to cloud, exploring this magical land. His feet were weary from walking, his hands were bleeding from the rough edges of the glass, and his heart was heavy with desperation.
“‘Dreamweaver, I want to have a dream, I want to feel a passion like the people around me do,” he says quietly to himself on a rainy day, clutching the glass close. ‘I want to experience what it’s like to dream and keep dreaming, to make a dream come true. I want to be a dreamer and dream all day long.’
“And out of the mist, he could hear a voice: ‘Hold the glass up to your eyes, child, and you’ll see.’
“So he held it up to his eyes and suddenly, the world was so much clearer - the stars were brighter than he had ever seen them, and he could hear them talking. The trees down on earth where he had come from were waving to him from below, the birds trying to fly up to meet him in the sky. The sun and moon sang to each other from each end of the sky, trying to meet but always overshooting. And it amazed him - he was wonderstruck.
“He continued to walk Empyrean, holding the glass up to his eyes. He saw a whole new universe in this glass, wonders that he was sure was only for him.
“One day, he looked through it and could no longer see the brilliance behind the iridescence. The world appeared dull, flat, colorless without the glass. He cried to the moon, ‘Dreamweaver, why can’t I see anymore?’ There was no reply.
“He took it upon himself to go back to the One Thousand Stairs and up the seventy remaining stairs to visit her again. When he arrived at the gates, he was allowed in.
“‘You’ve brought me the last ingredient, child,’ the dreamweaver said when he appeared. She gently took the glass away from him, despite his protests, and disappeared into her home to work on his dream.
“In the middle of the night, a sudden lightness swelled inside of him. His drooping eyes opened and his eyes seemed to glow. That was when he knew the dream was complete - because it was inside of him.
“The dreamweaver appeared not long after, and he said, ‘Thank you. Thank you so much, Dreamweaver. But - what was the last ingredient?’”
“She smiles and says, ‘The genuine will to want to dream.’ She bids him goodbye and sends him off back to his original land, where he lives to this day, writing of a world named Empyrean and painting the colors of the sky in the opposite pages. And the Dreamweaver waits for those who wish to dream on the young crescent hanging in the corner of the sky, taking bits of the universe to create yet another dream.”
Jungkook is asleep on your shoulder, his eyes finally closed at last. Your throat is dry from storytelling, and you gently lie him down on the pillow, pulling the blanket up to his chin. I love you so much, my prince, you think affectionately, and head to the kitchen.
The last clean mug is high up on the shelf, where you can’t reach. Should I risk it? you think, then decide that if you need water, you shouldn’t be deprived. You slowly clamber onto the counter top and stretch your fingers for the handle of the mug.
As you try to make your way back down, you feel your weight leaning backwards precariously. Unable to hold onto anything with your injured arm in a cast and the mug in your free hand, you’re left to no other option than falling.
The sound of racing footsteps fills your ears as you close your eyes, and you slip off the counter and into two sturdy arms. You look up and see Jungkook’s caramel eyes staring back down at you. “(Y/N), are you okay?” he asks, searching your expression for any signs of pain. You slowly turn around and pull him close to you in a warm embrace, burying your head in his shoulder.
“You really had me worried there,” he whispers gently. His heart is racing underneath his jacket, sped up by waking up to you no longer by his side and hearing the little yelp that had escaped your lips when you had felt yourself falling backwards. You are his treasure, his princess, his everything.
“I love you so much, Jungkook,” you say in return, voice muffled. And if you are his princess, he is your prince - a prince in shining armor, a fairytale for you and only you.
AND THANK YOU ALL FOR 1M VIEWS. THANK YOU LOVELIES. 💕
Tagging all the beauties! 💕
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