Fan-fic of the day.

SH wanted to make sure the readers of Ssangchu Heaven didn't get neglected while she was away so she prepared for another guest blogger to help out periodically, just in case M.I.N and I don't do our jobs =p  This site doesn't normally post up fan fics but J.J can be very convincing with her stories...with out further ado, I'll let her make the introductions....

Dearest Ssangcho friends, I am happy to share these Joongbo inspired fanfictions with you. I'm sorry it's not Joongbo fanfiction proper, but I hope these tickle your fancy! I'll be lurking here and there and if anyone has any "prompts" they gather from WGM I'd be glad to challenge it.  Please enjoy the writing. It's not edited, and no it will not have their names, though I may change my mind on this one depending on the prompt.  Always, J.J."

She wants to hit him—hard. Her head aches as she clutches her cell phone in a fist. She's away on an overseas business trip and had been calling him. She understands that the time difference made their communication tricky, but they usually dealt with that after the the first day apart. However, it's completely unlike him to not answer his phone for this long. Before she left she hadn’t even seen him because he refused to let her in the house. He was sick and he was sparing her. That was a week ago, one week away from him, and the dog.

She was never like this, she rarely depended on people, but he has a way of wheedling in and staying. No amount of feminist pep-talk could make her “un”-miss him. She sighs and plops on the couch, nursing her aching head. The pillows are firm enough to beat without threat of feathers exploding everywhere.

It's such a shame that she's staying in such a grand villa and was alone. She should have taken the dog. She should have just opened the door—she already knew his pass code anyway. 

The door opens and she doesn't bother looking up—it's probably her manager.

“YAH! Is this how you greet me?”

She sits up from her lounging position to see him, slightly flushed, and a little worse for wear. The dog barks madly in his cage. Tears star to well, and she swears he’s tearing up too.

“I’m not tearing up, I’m tired,” he says before she could say anything.

He runs to her on the couch, and though he knocks the wind out of her, she’s glad. He smells of sweat and laundry softener as they fumble 

with the backpack he has on and snuggle together.

The dog is left in the cage momentarily.