cuddlyeren

[cuddlyeren]

Milo Manheim - Cozy

Christmas: From The Vault

25 Days of Christmas

Warnings: none

Y/n adjusted the angle of her phone’s camera, making sure the countertop and her Christmas-themed pajamas were in frame. She hit record, smiling as she started her morning vlog. "Good morning, everyone! Merry Christmas!" She said cheerily, setting her phone against a jar of sugar. "It’s officially the most wonderful day of the year, and I thought I’d take you along for a little ‘Day in the Life.’ First stop: breakfast in the kitchen. Let’s see how festive we can get with some pancakes."

She turned to grab a mixing bowl, narrating her process as she sifted flour and cracked eggs. Her mind was fully focused on making her batter look aesthetic for the video until she felt a familiar pair of arms snake around her waist. "Guess who." Milo murmured, his voice low and raspy from sleep. Y/n glanced at the camera lens, raising an eyebrow. "Milo?" She teased, even though she already knew.

"Oh wow. Got it in one." He chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder and swaying slightly with her. "Are you okay?" She asked, glancing at him in the reflection of her phone’s screen. He groaned dramatically, tightening his grip. "I don’t want to be okay. I want to cuddle. On the couch. Under like, three blankets." Y/n grinned. A mischievous spark lit up her eyes as she turned to him. "You know you just said that on livestream, right?"

Milo stiffened immediately, his eyes wide as he stood up straight. "Wait, what?" His face flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I mean... No, I didn’t say that. You heard wrong. Totally heard wrong." Y/n burst out laughing, shaking her head as she waved him off. "I’m kidding, it’s not live. Just recording." Milo relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You’re evil, you know that?"

"Yup." She replied with a grin, turning back to her pancake mix. "Fine. Since you’ve decided to torment me, I’ll make coffee." Milo offered, wandering toward the coffee machine. Y/n peeked over her shoulder. "Actually, could you make me hot cocoa instead?" Milo shot her a mock glare but nodded. "Anything else, Your Majesty?"

"Nope, just the cocoa."

Once breakfast was ready and the pancakes were plated, Y/n carried them into the living room where the couch awaited. Milo was already there, setting down two steaming mugs—her hot cocoa and his coffee.

She placed the camera on the coffee table, framing the scene. "Alright, time for cozy vibes." She said, grabbing the oversized blanket draped over the back of the couch. Milo helped her settle underneath it, pulling her close as The Grinch played on the TV in front of them.

"Matching hoodies and Christmas movies—this is peak festive." Y/n commented, gesturing to their coordinating outfits. Milo smirked. "And you thought I wouldn’t wear it."

Halfway through the movie, Milo reached over and gently took Y/n’s plate from her lap. "What’re you doing?" She asked, confused. "I just need you to be a luttle quiet for a sec." He said softly, setting the plate on the table before curling back into her side. He rested his head on her chest, his arms curling around her, letting out a content sigh. Y/n looked down at him, her confusion melting into a fond smile. She adjusted the blanket over him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You’re like a baby." She whispered. "I'm older than you, the fuck you mean I'm like a baby?"

[cuddlyeren]

[cuddlyeren]

[cuddlyeren]

MILO MANHEIM as Wally School Spirits S2:E07 · 2025

If you like the content, follow me on TWITTER as well <3

[cuddlyeren]

Milo Manheim - Cozy

Christmas: From The Vault

25 Days of Christmas

Warnings: none

Y/n adjusted the angle of her phone’s camera, making sure the countertop and her Christmas-themed pajamas were in frame. She hit record, smiling as she started her morning vlog. "Good morning, everyone! Merry Christmas!" She said cheerily, setting her phone against a jar of sugar. "It’s officially the most wonderful day of the year, and I thought I’d take you along for a little ‘Day in the Life.’ First stop: breakfast in the kitchen. Let’s see how festive we can get with some pancakes."

She turned to grab a mixing bowl, narrating her process as she sifted flour and cracked eggs. Her mind was fully focused on making her batter look aesthetic for the video until she felt a familiar pair of arms snake around her waist. "Guess who." Milo murmured, his voice low and raspy from sleep. Y/n glanced at the camera lens, raising an eyebrow. "Milo?" She teased, even though she already knew.

"Oh wow. Got it in one." He chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder and swaying slightly with her. "Are you okay?" She asked, glancing at him in the reflection of her phone’s screen. He groaned dramatically, tightening his grip. "I don’t want to be okay. I want to cuddle. On the couch. Under like, three blankets." Y/n grinned. A mischievous spark lit up her eyes as she turned to him. "You know you just said that on livestream, right?"

Milo stiffened immediately, his eyes wide as he stood up straight. "Wait, what?" His face flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I mean... No, I didn’t say that. You heard wrong. Totally heard wrong." Y/n burst out laughing, shaking her head as she waved him off. "I’m kidding, it’s not live. Just recording." Milo relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You’re evil, you know that?"

"Yup." She replied with a grin, turning back to her pancake mix. "Fine. Since you’ve decided to torment me, I’ll make coffee." Milo offered, wandering toward the coffee machine. Y/n peeked over her shoulder. "Actually, could you make me hot cocoa instead?" Milo shot her a mock glare but nodded. "Anything else, Your Majesty?"

"Nope, just the cocoa."

Once breakfast was ready and the pancakes were plated, Y/n carried them into the living room where the couch awaited. Milo was already there, setting down two steaming mugs—her hot cocoa and his coffee.

She placed the camera on the coffee table, framing the scene. "Alright, time for cozy vibes." She said, grabbing the oversized blanket draped over the back of the couch. Milo helped her settle underneath it, pulling her close as The Grinch played on the TV in front of them.

"Matching hoodies and Christmas movies—this is peak festive." Y/n commented, gesturing to their coordinating outfits. Milo smirked. "And you thought I wouldn’t wear it."

Halfway through the movie, Milo reached over and gently took Y/n’s plate from her lap. "What’re you doing?" She asked, confused. "I just need you to be a luttle quiet for a sec." He said softly, setting the plate on the table before curling back into her side. He rested his head on her chest, his arms curling around her, letting out a content sigh. Y/n looked down at him, her confusion melting into a fond smile. She adjusted the blanket over him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You’re like a baby." She whispered. "I'm older than you, the fuck you mean I'm like a baby?"

[cuddlyeren]

𝘿𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙣𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙢

[cuddlyeren]

morning cuddles !!

GOOD DAY SLUSHY NATION! ASK AND U SHALL RECEIVE

morning cuddles w/!bfhamzah:

8:24am

you've been awake for the last 30 minutes just scrolling on your phone while hamzah sleeps soundly on his stomach right next to you. his broad back on display with the blanket thrown across his bum as he usually just opts to sleep in undies.

all his hard work from the boxing match still very present and his back muscles just look so yummy you cant help but reach out every once in a while to just gently run your fingers along his shoulder blades and down to his biceps(im salivating)

he's a pretty heavy sleeper so usually your touches don't wake him unless you start getting bold.

your scrolling through your fyp when you get a SCRUMPTIOUS edit of your pookie<3 and it reminds you that the real thing is laying mere inches away from you. you turn to him on your left side and card your fingers through his growing curls and then tread your nails along the nape of his neck and all the way down his spine.

he shivers.

"hamzahhhh"

he groans.

"hamzahhhh, wake uppp-"

with an ever deeper groan he suddenly lifts himself up and before you can understand whats happening he is hovering over you and pushing you to lay on your back.

"good morninOOF-"your cut off when he drops his whole weight on you. he gets comfy laying against you and stuffs his face in to the nook of your neck. "hamzah." you huff out.

he grabs your right hand and lazily drags it to his back hinting for you to keep your previous actions going. you caress the back oh his neck and he's out like a light. you contemplate waking him again before hearing his soft breaths against your ear and decide that little extra beauty sleep would hurt.

ty for the request my fellow slushy, im still salivating over his biceps.

request/ask anything<3

xoxo, ur fav slushy :3

[cuddlyeren]

more than just a photo dump?

hamzah x fem reader

summary:

how will fans react when hamzah’s photo dump looks a little to much like yours?

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ✶⋆.˚

you don’t make couple content.

you don’t even follow each other on instagram.

and yet for some reason the internet decided you and hamzah were a thing.

you’ve never been in his videos. never streamed together. you’re not part of the slushynoobz circle. your vlogs are quieter, dry edits, simple captions, chill gameplay streams.

he’s louder. faster. messier.

but your content overlaps in the way playlists do, unexpected, but satisfying.

and somehow, every few months, your timelines sync up just enough to send fan accounts spiraling.

⸻

tonight is one of those nights.

you post a photo dump around 7PM.

no caption. not even a dot.

@noty/n:

the vibe is: i was somewhere doing nothing.

an hour later, hamzah posts his.

@hamzahthefantastic:

the posts aren’t flashy. they’re not even good. but they’re identical in mood, in lighting, in too many things.

and within ten minutes, twitter is cracked wide open:

@hamzahfanpage: “nah this is actually insane”

@slushernoobz: “do they think we’re stupid”

@slushionoobz: “they posted 53 minutes apart. they’re either dating or legally obligated to keep us guessing.”

@hamzahisfantastic: “they are the most accidentally obvious people alive.”

you text mandy:

“okay so twitter is going insane”

she replies:

“don’t tell me you two are hanging out right now...”

you glance over at hamzah, who’s eating fries off your plate, phone in hand, fully aware.

“you think we should stop posting at the same time?” you ask.

he chews. shrugs. “let them figure it out i guess.”

you nod. then grab your glass back.

you’re halfway through scrolling the theories when he says, ‘‘we could just tell them’’

you snort, toss your phone aside, and reply.

‘‘and ruin their fun?’’

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆

a/n: hey y’all i’m back !!! i needed like a few weeks to just come up with ideas and take some time for college (it’s so tiring help) anyways i hope you liked it ! 🕯️

[cuddlyeren]

DEALER ! HAMZAH HC’S

— nsfw below the cut

dealer!hamzah who.. always smells a little like weed no matter how much cologne he sprays. it’s permanently baked into his clothes at this point.

dealer!hamzah who.. gets high off his own supply way more than he should, but somehow still manages to run his operation half-decently throughout your town. everyone you know will tell you that ‘he’s the best,’ when he’s really just the only trustworthy dealer around your area.

dealer!hamzah who.. tends to stay away from edibles. he once tried to ‘eyeball’ an dosage and ended up staring at his ceiling for four hours, completely out of it, whispering ‘oh my god’ to himself.

dealer!hamzah who.. writes down what you buy in this tiny notebook with doodles littering the margins. he’ll deny it, but he sort of remembers your favorite strains and tries to save you the good stuff when he gets a batch he knows you’ll like.

dealer!hamzah who.. gets all awkward when you specifically hand him any amount of money - like it’s weirdly intimate to him, even if you’re just paying for a bag. (it’s because you’re so sweet to him & so different from all his other regulars, so accepting your payment feels a little wrong in his eyes.)

dealer!hamzah who.. charges fair prices, even though he could definitely rinse people’s pockets if he wanted to. he still manages to eventually start giving you little discounts without fully acknowledging it. ‘i rounded down,’ he’d mumble. ‘it’s just, like.. math.’

dealer!hamzah who.. always smokes outside on the roof of his building or out of an open window. never keeps drugs in the same room as his cats. he knows the risk & would never forgive himself if he ever did any damage to red or blue because of his drug possession.

dealer!hamzah who.. thinks about you constantly once you fuck the first time. ever since then, his nights consist of stroking himself, whining your name into his pillow, and cumming all over his hand because he can’t stop replaying images of you in his head.

dealer!hamzah who.. sometimes smokes with you before sex if you ever want to - he swears it makes everything feel insane and it absolutely does. weed also makes him lose his filter, and before you know it he’s whispering the filthiest shit into your ear while he pushes inside of you.

dealer!hamzah who.. fucks slow when he’s high. lazy, deep thrusts that have you gasping and asking for more. he drags it out for hours on end, wanting to get the most out of it.

dealer!hamzah who.. is lowkey a sub most of the time without realizing it. he likes being told what to do, where to put his hands, how to touch you. it turns him on way more than he’d ever admit.

dealer!hamzah who.. secretly loves when you’re rough with him. pull his hair, scratch his back, pin him down - it all gets him fucked out so fast he’ll hardly be able to form a coherent thought.

dealer!hamzah who.. gets a little obsessed with fingering you because it’s the one thing that completely shatters his usual nervously stoned aura. the moment his fingers slip between your legs and he gets to see your face contort with pleasure, he gets almost cocky in a way you’ve hardly seen before.

dealer!hamzah who.. can’t get enough of the mess. whether it’s the way you soak his fingers, or when he paints your skin with his cum, he’s all for it - and always promises to clean you up after.

a/n: yes he’s a loser nerd idiot. yes you’re gonna deal with it.

xoxo giulia

dealer ! hamzah masterlist

[cuddlyeren]

♡ BEING BESTFRIENDS WITH MANDY WHILE DATING HAMZAH MEANS . . .

you and mandy constantly cancelling plans you’ve made with martin and hamzah last minute so you two can do things together ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა at first it really used to bother martin and hamzah but they’ve gotten used to it. they’re just happy their girlfriends love each other and get along.

group sleepovers at least once a month. you and mandy do lots of planning, even sending out digital flyers to martin and hamzah that are all pink and filled with stickers. sleepovers are usually at hamzah’s place, you decorate his apartment and gets tons of snacks and even plan activities for the night. martin and hamzah do their best to remain excited throughout the night cause they know how much it means to you and mandy.

you and mandy constantly over sharing about your relationships; the good, the bad, the ugly, everything. there’s definitely things you wish you never learned about martin, and there’s definitely things mandy wishes she never learned about hamzah. if you’re fighting with hamzah, so is mandy …..

weekly double dates <3 eating out together is one of your favorite things to do as a little group. it’s so fun when you all get to catch up without it having to be during filming for their youtube or ‘work’ time. your lives can get really busy really fast so it’s so fun to have something to look forward to.

going out and shopping every time you’re together. you’re both constantly justifying each other’s purchases, especially when it comes to blind boxes. depending on how much damage you both did, you’ll either have to hide your purchases from hamzah and martin orrrr you’ll give them hauls where they both pretend to remain calm over your insane spending habits.

[cuddlyeren]

COME & SEE ME FOR ONCE ੈ♡˳

♫ sza — 2AM. nav ; m.list.

word count. 1.9k

warnings. mentions of unhealthy relationships, sexual + graphic content, please review all warnings before proceeding. i’m not responsible for what you choose to engage or interact with.

summary. you support hamzah’s media hustle, but his constant absence hurts. when he leaves again mid-fuck, you’re left wondering if love is enough when you always come last to this motherfucker.

Your boyfriend is a busy man. Hamzah dedicates a lot of his time to filming for YouTube, constantly creating content, brainstorming ideas, and bringing them to life. From the beginning, you knew what you were signing up for. He made it clear that he takes his YouTube career seriously. Of course you supported it. You always backed Hamzah in whatever he chose to do: if he likes it, you loved it. That was all that mattered to you.

There was never a moment you didn’t have Hamzah’s back. No matter what he needed, you were there. If he ever forgot something important: whether at your place or his: off filming something with Mandy and Martin, you’d step in without hesitation. Sometimes that meant driving across town in the middle of your own busy day, retracing his steps to find whatever he left behind. Other times, it meant calling in a favor from a friend, asking them to go out of their way just to make sure he had what he needed to keep filming.

You supported your boyfriend more than anything in the world. His passion, his grind: you admired it, stood by that shit alongside him, never ever asked him to slow down. But that didn’t mean his absence didn’t sting sometimes.

On nights out with your girlfriends: dressed up, laughing, dancing at the club — you’d catch their boyfriends with them. Arms wrapped around their waists, sharing drinks, stealing kisses between freaky ass songs.

And then there was you sipping your drink alone, smiling through it, but feeling disappointed. Not because you doubted his love, but because you wished, once in a fuckin’ blue moon, he had the time to be there. To pull you close, to make memories outside of his hustle.

You knew exactly what you were signing up for: he made it clear from the start. And you accepted it, with your chest. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt sometimes, even just a little. That being said, every moment you do get with him, you hold onto like it’s gold. Just like now, this moment you’re in, making it count.

It’s a Saturday. You’re beneath Hamzah in his warm sheets, his body pressed close in missionary. Each deep thrust has his cock sliding in and out of you, your squishy walls gripping him greedily.

You love every second of it. After a long week of barely seeing your boyfriend, with him pulled in every direction but yours, having him this close making you feel so good feels like oxygen. So you take full advantage: hooking one leg around his waist, your heel pressing into his lower back, urging him so much deeper.

“Mm—missed you so much… missed your cock so bad,” you breathe out, lips parted and trembling. Your hand finds Hamzah’s, the one wrapped around your throat, and you guide it downward, over your collarbone, until it cups your breast.

“Work, baby… y’know that,” Hamzah murmurs, he gently brushes a strand of hair from your face. Needing nothing in the way of your beauty, needing to see the way your eyes slowly go cross from how good he’s making you feel. Especially after a week without him inside you — it had been pure torture.

“I know…” you whimper, hips rolling up in a desperate plea for more. “Just miss you. Feels like we’re never this close anymore…” You’re not sure if it’s the way you’re so drunk on his dick or the raw honesty slipping from your lips, but something in your voice makes Hamzah pause. His thrusts slow, then stop completely, buried deep inside you.

He went unmoving for a minute — clearly caught in some thought. You were just about to ask what was on his mind when, without a breath, he moved. He flipped the two of you over, his back hitting the mattress, and you landing on top. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you, positioning you exactly where he wanted.

“What…” you start to ask, but he cuts you off with action instead of words. His cock presses against your soaked folds, lining himself up before guiding you down onto him. You don’t resist at all, clutching his shoulders, the muscle of his meat beneath your fingers as you slowly sink onto him, taking him in with a choked breath, the stretch as delicious as the way he fills you.

He was stretching you so deeply, that your head began to fall against his shoulder, a soft moan running out your lips. “Nah, don’t drift,” he murmured, wrapping an arm tighter around your waist. “You just said we’re never this close… and you’re right. So let me feel you all close like this.”

You lifted your head, only for him to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. The kind of hug you’d normally hate from anyone else, the kind that made you feel caged. But with Hamzah, in this angle, it felt different. His tip brushed your g-spot just right, making you shiver.

He fucked up into you, syncing his thrusts with your bounces. Yes, yes, yes. You needed this so desperately, especially after the week you’d had. The way he hit that perfect spot perfectly sent a spurt of euphoria through you, as the pleasure made your eye twitch shut. You missed this, missed him. Missed the way your bodies fit so perfectly as he moved inside you, hitting every spot just right. Even his soft whimpers, those deep moans had you seeing stars: they were incredibly sexy.

You’d been craving this, aching shitless for it. That beautiful heat between you was everything… until Hamzah’s phone rang from the desk: it began buzzing once. He didn’t move. You opened your mouth to ask, but he silenced you with a kiss, his hand sliding up to pinch your breast just right, drawing a soft gasp from your lips he swallowed whole.

The second time it rang, your eyes flicked toward it again. Hamzah gently turned your face back to him, brushing your jaw. Focus on him. On how good he was making you feel. And you did — rolling your hips to meet his, lips parted as dirty moans slipped through your teeth.

By the third ring, your patience cracked. “Just answer the fuckin’ call,” you muttered, frustrated as you lifted yourself off him and swung your legs over the bed.

It’s not that you wanted to be a bitch for the fuck of it, but you seen the way his phone, and that call, started to circle his mind. That was the whole reason you kept looking over, because his lifting of his hips into you slowed and he started to dissociate slightly. You rather him take the damn call than think of something else while he’s inside you. You’re not fuckin’ with it.

If it’s on his mind that much, then let him take the damn call. The fact that he doesn’t even protest just proves your point even more.

You started slipping on your panties, one foot through the hole after the other. Hamzah grabbed his phone, sliding his thumb across the screen to accept the call, bringing it to his ear. One hand rested on his hip, his bare ass cheeks and back turned toward you.

You grabbed Hamzah’s old shirt and slipped it on, not bothering with a bra. This was your boyfriend’s house, and the only company besides you was him and his cats.

Hamzah kept talking on the phone, brown eyes moving to you every few seconds. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he peeled off the condom, tossed it in the trash, and reached for the boxers he’d flung on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I’ll be there in like five or six minutes,” he said, slipping them on.

You almost wanted to roll your eyes: of course the one rare moment you two had alone had to be interrupted.

A voice was heard on the other end, followed by the sound of clicking. Hamzah set his phone down on the bed, grabbing his pants and stepping into them. “I’ll make it up to you soon, baby—swear on my life,” he said with guilt. “Martin lost some footage for a video due in a few days, and we’ve got to reshoot it.”

He pulled on his socks, then slid into his shoes as he sat at the edge of the bed. You moved toward him until you were right behind him. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, then another, and another.

He let himself melt into you, leaning into the presses of your lips as they brushed over his skin. A tickle went through him when you kissed just over his pulse, the spot so sensitive it made him tilt his head. His nose brushed yours before he moved closer, until his mouth found your bottom lip, catching it between his own and giving it a suck before releasing it with a pull.

“I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” he repeated, but deep down, you knew he wouldn’t. The cycle would just keep repeating itself. He couldn’t even give you a full hour before something or someone else pulled him away. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, not by far. It had been the routine most of the times you two had been together. It was frustrating.

“You aren’t.” You said. Hamzah blinked a couple of times, clearly confused. “What?” he asked, and this time, you almost wanted to shout it at him. You were sure you talked clearly with no stutter.

“I said.” You take a deep breath. “You aren’t. You aren’t gonna make shit up. This is like, what? The hundredth time this happened? You and Martin just film shit and don’t save it or something?” You know this is going to annoy him. He’s told you many times what he does for work and what packages come with it. But it’s just so frustrating to stay silent.

“Don’t start with that,” Hamzah muttered as he grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. “I told you—” But you cut him off, already knowing what was coming next. “Yes, I know, you warned me about what I was getting into,” you rolled your eyes. “But it’s so hard when I just want to spend time with my boyfriend, and he’s always caught up with something. Or when we finally do get time together, it feels half assed. What, Martin gives you an hour to push your dick inside me, and then it’s straight back to filming?”

When you finally stopped talking, you let out a quiet huff, arms crossing over your chest out of instinct. “Are you done?” Hamzah asked, clearly referring to your rant. The way he said it made your blood boil even more: like he wasn’t taking a single word you said seriously.

You rolled your eyes and looked away. It always felt like he wasn’t really listening: your words going in one ear and right out the other.

When he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, mumbling a casual “Bye, babe,” you didn’t say a word. You didn’t even glance at him. The only sound was the jingle of his keys as he walked out the door, leaving you there, barely covered in his shirt, lying alone in his bed, while he just… left.

[cuddlyeren]

thoughts on hamzah taking care of u while drunk!!

warnings/notes: mentions of sex

aaaaaaa he’d be so sweet, although he’s somewhat annoyed because he told you not to go overboard … and you did. you called him from your bestfriend’s phone because you somehow lost yours, he already had your bestfriend’s number saved from a similar incident like this. “y/n? is this you?” his voice is deep and groggy, he was just minutes away from falling asleep on the couch in the living room.

“yessss.” you slur out. “can you come get me hammie?” you ask. you’re so excited because you miss him so much even though you just seen him earlier that day. you’re half naked on your bestfriend’s bed, waiting for hamzah to come get you. you’re boasting about hamzah and how great of a boyfriend he is.

and when he takes you home you can’t help but be touchy and horny, he looks so good and alcohol in your system is making it much harder to keep to yourself. “you don’t want to have sex with me?” you pout, throwing yourself on his bed. “i knew it. you’re sick of me. just say it.” you try to keep going but hamzah interrupts you. “you’re really drunk right now baby. you need rest.” hamzah sat next to you, rubbing your back. “will you let me help you change?” he says it so softly. hes so patient with you even though he’s tired and kind of fed up.

“okay fine!” you throw yourself on his lap and let him undress you. he’s so gentle when he touches you, he’s just so perfect. and when you’re finally in comfortable clothes (his boxers and t-shirt) he’s sat next to you telling you to ‘just take another sip’ of your water. he’s running his fingers through your hair because he knows it makes you sleepy and he just wants to get some rest too. he’s even humming to you because he knows it calms you down. “i love you” he whisperers before he kisses you on the cheek goodnight, and finally getting some sleep himself.

[cuddlyeren]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟIt Was Sweetness, written by yaskore

summary. "oh you kissed me, just to kiss me. not to take me home."

warnings. fluff, tender yearning, second person, quiet tension, gentle!hamzah

wc. 1.4k

'We'll Never Have Sex' by Leith Ross

It’s been months since you last saw his face. In person, at least.

Online, he flickered in and out of your life—thumbnails of videos you never clicked, a blur in someone’s story, a laugh caught offscreen in a video that wasn’t about him. But nothing real. Nothing close.

The last time, his hair was dark, long, unruly. That version of him—messy, soft—feels far away now.

You didn’t mean to see him tonight. You only came because you missed Mandy and Martin, missed the comfort of the familiar. You hadn’t expected this kind of ache. Because when Martin walks in with someone trailing quietly behind him, you barely glance up. Not until your body knows before your brain does. Not until your heart stumbles.

Hamzah.

Martin says something forgettable and disappears down the hall, calling for Mandy—leaving the door swinging shut behind him. And leaving you with him.

The room hushes. Like it knows.

Your gaze lifts. Slowly. So does his. He stops mid-step. Freezes.

A flicker—shock, softness, something careful—passes through his eyes. He’s holding a beanie in one hand. His hair is bleached, messy, cropped but growing out. Dark roots coil through blond like shadows threading light. It suits him. The glasses low on his nose make him look older. Softer.

He looks different.

Perfect.

You stay curled on the couch, still as breath.

He swallows—obvious, slow—like he’s grounding himself. Like he didn’t expect this moment either.

Laughter muffles from the other room. Distant. Far away enough to feel like another world.

And then, he says your name.

Plain. Gentle. Like he’s been rehearsing it. Like maybe he missed saying it.

Then he moves. Quiet, sure. Crosses the room and lowers himself onto the coffee table in front of you—so close, your knees crash. No room. No hesitation. And still, he stays. So do you.

The silence between you isn’t awkward. Instead, it’s heavy. Heavy with all the things neither of you said. But your eyes say them now.

Your chest tightens beneath the weight of his presence. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, beanie crumpled in one hand. You study him. The tension in his shoulders. The parting of his lips, like he wants to speak but doesn’t want to scare the moment away.

You wonder if he notices your knee touching his. You wonder why you want him to. You wonder why he hasn’t moved.

He smells the same. Clean laundry, warm skin, something faint and earthy that used to cling to the hoodies he left behind. The scent rises like muscle memory. You missed the way his presence consumed you.

“I’ve seen you,” you murmur, unsure why you’re saying it. “Just… online.”

He nods. Once. Slow. “But not really.”

“No,” you say. “Not really.” Your voice cracks a little. He hears it. Feels it. He doesn’t look away.

“You look different,” you say. Perfect, you want to add. But you bite your tongue.

He smiles—small, knowing. “Yeah...you too.”

“Bad?” you ask, a soft scoff. Your subtle attempt at lightening the mood, at fighting the heavy tension.

But his smile twitches into something more real. “Perfect.”

The word settles between you like a hush. Like something sacred. And suddenly the air shifts. Your lungs are full and empty at once.

He fidgets—tapping one finger against his leg. Your knees still touch, you can feel his fingers ever so lightly. Still, he doesn’t move.

He’s trying not to overstep. You can feel it in every inch of him. But the room is pulsing with this tension.

So you speak.

“It’s nice,” you whisper. He tilts his head, waiting.

“I don’t wonder about your indifference.”

His lips part. A beat. Then something steadier moves in—something confident, gentle. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I don’t.”

“Not with you.”

His eyes linger. Heavy, soft. Something burns in them that he won’t say. But he doesn’t need to.

“It’s weird,” he says after a beat. “Seeing you again. I didn’t know how much I missed this… just you.”

You can only nod—words feel too fragile. Even though your mind is practically overflowing with all the things you can say.

“I waited for your text,” he adds. This time, he doesn’t look away.

You inhale—sharp. He watches it happen. Watches like it matters.

“I waited for you,” he says. Emphasis quiet but certain.

It hits you. Not like fireworks, not some grand crescendo— But like a gentle hand pressed to your chest.

He felt it. All of it. Every almost. Every ache.

And now, suddenly, the months between you don’t matter. Because he’s looking at you like this. Like you were something. Like you still are.

His finger brushes your knee. Featherlight. Intentional. You know it’s not an accident—he’s watching you too closely. That look. Yearning. Gentle. Unmistakable.

Like if you told him he could never touch you, he’d still come over—just to tell you you’re lovely.

You don’t look away. You can’t.

Because something in the silence feels sacred.

Hamzah doesn’t move closer—not yet. He stays still for a breath too long. Like he’s deciding if this is real.

Then, carefully, his hand lifts.

Not confident. Not cocky. Just open, honest. His knuckles graze your cheek. So soft it almost startles you. Not from fear—but from how much it means.

You didn’t know he could be this gentle.

But with you, he is.

The difference between the version of him in his videos, with Martin, with the world— And the version of him here, now— It strikes something deep.

In private, in quiet—he’s softer. Vulnerable.

He treats you like porcelain. Not because you’re fragile. But because he chooses to be careful. Because he cares.

His fingers hover now at your jaw, not quite touching. Not quite pulling away. Just…offering.

Then he looks at you. Just a glance. But you understand.

You nod. Barely. Your eyes flick once to his lips, and that’s all it takes.

His mouth finds yours—not with urgency, not with hunger— But with care.

He kisses you like this is the moment he waited for. Not to win. Not to claim. But to feel.

His hand steadies at your cheek. His thumb brushes your skin.

He tastes like breath and memory.

When he pulls back, it’s barely—just enough to rest his forehead to yours. Eyes closed. Stillness breathing between you.

And when he kisses you again, it’s fuller. Warmer. But still so careful.

When he finally leans back, his hand drifts across your leg before settling at his side. Neither of you speaks. There’s too much to say. So you don’t.

But his lips press together, fighting a smile.

He loses. Just barely. And it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen.

He kissed you—just to kiss you. Not to take you home, not to make you cry. It was simple. Sweetness. It was good to know.

Then he rises, only to sit beside you. No reaching. No talking. Just being. And somehow, you feel that’s all he meant to do.

Because it was.

You let it settle in you like air. Not a beginning. Not an ending. Just this, a quiet knowing. A door opened without creaks.

You don’t even look at each other right away. You just sit there, side by side, your shoulder gently brushing his.

And then, a door creaks open.

Footsteps and laughter progressively near. It’s Mandy’s and Martin’s voice.

Even with them now here, the spell doesn’t shatter, exactly—it just folds itself gently away, tucked into the quiet between you as they enter the room.

Mandy beams at you, barefoot and laughing. “Sorry we took forever,” she says, nudging your knee. “Martin was talking about something—I’ll tell you in a sec.”

You nod, smiling—maybe a little too wide. You know it. But it’s still blooming. You might not stop smiling for days.

Mandy talks. But your eyes drift. Past her, toward the hallway.

Martin’s calling Hamzah now, saying something about filming something dumb before the light disappears. They’re already heading down the hallway.

Just before stepping into the other room, Hamzah glances back.

Only once.

A single look over his shoulder—at you, of course. No smile, no wink. Just a quiet tether.

And in that half-second, everything slows.

Mandy’s still talking beside you, but her voice blurs, distant. Because all you can feel is him. That look.

Like a promise without words. Like something sacred, held only between the two of you.

And then he’s gone. But not really.

a/n. i feel like i had the right idea but this could have been executed way better unfortunately.. o well!

[cuddlyeren]

bestfriend!hamzah’s face when martin wanna be all funny and make a derogatory joke about you during a video 🙄🙄 ain’t shit funny to him cause he don’t play bout youuuuuu

[cuddlyeren]

COLLAB

hamzahthefantastic x fem!influencer!reader

type: social media au

notes: p.s i also love hammie ;)

yourusername

liked by quenblackwell, vinniehacker and 85,897 others

yourusername stole martins gf!!!!! *NOT clickbait* (check the yt vid)

view all 10,240 comments

thatmartinkid yn please bring her back i have to take my meds soon 😔

yourusername time to grow up bebe 🥹

ynfan222 WAITTTTTTTTTTT

mandys_iphone my girl 🥰

slushienoobies this is GREAT. this is THE movement.

liked by author!

clairedrakee worlds collided

slushybush chemistry was kinda insane tbh

hamzahthefantastic last photo has to be photoshopped

yourusername yeh sorry ao3 inspired me

hamzahthefantastic ??????

slushynoobz posted on their story!

yourusername replied: BROOOO😐😐😭😭😭

hamzahthefantastic

liked by yourusername, quenblackwell, mandys_iphone and 64,842 others

hamzahthefantastic 🚽

view all 5,331 comments

yourusername photo creds please ✊ i literally helped u wipe breh

hamzahthefantastic STOP!!!!!!

hereforslushies 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

thatmartinkid Lol love

slayyn new collab was funny as fk dude😭

hammiefan i was actually laughing the entire time. yn matched their vibe perfectly

criesinyn him & yn def did it i just cant prove it.

teammandyyy LMFAO FR

mandys_iphone what is this…

yourusername posted on their story!

hamzahthefantastic replied: girl bye u got MY face on ur tee 🙄

yourusername pfft no one even noticed

yourusername

liked by hamzahthefantastic, clairedrakee, and 90,466 others

yourusername had my first kiss today 🙂‍↕️

view all 11,340 comments

hamzahthefantastic but i bully u everyday..?

yourusername yeh u do 😝

thatmartinkid oh.

liked by author!

mandys_iphone i knew we were soulmates

yourusername in every universe 🥹

hamzahthefantastic srry but i dont think so

tarayummy literally give me all ur clothes

quenblackwell but we kiss all the time ???

liked by author!

hamzahthefantastic what the hell no u dont

slushpup him replying to everything 😭😭😭🙏

chase_rutherford fr like is this the hard launch

slushpup LMFAO HEY CHASE

hamzahmartini is that red??? 😂

liked by author!

ynfan1 definitely is😭

hamzahthefantastic

liked by thatmartinkid, yourusername and 100,558 others

hamzahthefantastic i made the first move 💔

view all 16,331 comments

yourusername i guess ill keep you ❤️

pinned comment!

yourusername bruh no u did NOT 😭😭😭🙏🙏stop lying on my name lil boy

thatmartinkid lil??? i knew it 😄

hamzahthefantastic screw u guys

mandys_iphone sobbing. i love yall

quenblackwell good luck yn 👍😊

yourusername thanks ill need it fs

hamzahthefantastic 😐

chase_rutherford b-b-boobies??????

liked by author!

day1slushy the pics being in order by aesthetic

yourusername i forced him.

martinbias i fear the yt vid gave it allllll away

queeeenmandy and the boxing match 😫 shirt was shining bright asl

yourusername oh so yall clocked that

martinnmandy girl it was literally made out of glitter🙄

a/n: sorry if this felt rushed queens! send in any smau ideas yall have for me <333 until next time! :)

[cuddlyeren]

!boyfriendhamzah headcannons

just some thoughts i have about hamzah if he was your fine shyt🤪

•hamzah drives. license or not he is your CHAUFFEUR. he likes to pretend to complain when you ask him to pick you up from work(like boy do your job!) but ofc he’s sitting there right when he needs to be because even tho he is CHRONICALLY LATE to everything he loves seeing your smiley face when you see his car.

“thought you said you weren’t gonna pick me up today?” you tease him while putting your seatbelt on. “i don’t recall ever saying that.” “you said it right after i told you i didn’t have time to shower with you this morning.” “nah i think that must’ve been your other boyfriend.”

•pda isn’t really his thing but when yall are alone? trust his hands are glued to some part of your body. elevator rides = drive by make out sessions like AS SOON as any door closes and yall are left to yourselves his face is an inch away from yours.

you both enter the elevator of your apartment building while talking about your days to each other. “-and then he didn’t even say thank you?! like who the hell shit in his cereal, anyways i jus-” just as the doors close hamzah puts his hand on your face and leans in to mold your lips against his. the kiss progresses further while you move between floors to the point where your both gripping on to each other when suddenly: ding! he pulls away when the doors open and just starts strolling away to his car. mf doesn’t even let you finish your story.

•he says he’s not jealous of the attention you give red and blue but as soon as he sees you chilling with red in your lap on the couch he’s gettting all up in your space wanting to know where his hug at🙄🙄

“what are you watching?” he asks from the kitchen while you sit on his couch with red purring against your hand as you pet him. “love on the spectrum! are you gonna come watch with us?” “us?” he asks as he rounds the corner and sees exactly who else your talking about. “red. go find blue.” he tries to shoo red when you stop him “no. he can sit here with us.” “he can sit next to us.” he reaches for red AGAIN when you swat him away and tell him he’s jealous to which he denies the claim and pouts as he sits next to you.

…somehow throughout watching the episode you guys end up with you spooning him as he cuddles red.(i am firm believer in big boys getting their fair share of little spoon time😤)

•he gets SO distracted when you come to the office, especially when it’s time for him record a podcast or some other form of content. in the podcast videos if you’re really paying attention enough you can see him look off to the same direction over and over again that the fans are starting to suspect he might be looking at SOMEONE instead of just something.

you can overhear martin telling a really funny story from where your sitting and when you look up from your phone to see what hamzahs reaction was to the story you find him already staring in your direction. you lock eyes and he smiles, you gesture for him to listen to martin and hamzah brings his focus back to the podcast but he can’t help but think about how gorgeous you look just sitting all pretty. just for him.

thank you for reading! this was my first time writing for hamzah and if you like what you read PLZ LET ME KNOW BECAUSE I HAVE SO MANY MORE HEADCANNONS FOR HIM!!!! ANYWAYS LOVE YOU FELLOW SLUSHIES MWAH😚💋

[cuddlyeren]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟA Dream With a YouTuber, written by yaskore

summary. You’ve just moved to get away from your old life and live with your long-distance best friend. While adjusting to this fresh start, you find yourself quietly falling for Hamzah, her boyfriend’s best friend. You’ve barely spoken to him in the month since you arrived, but something’s shifting. You start to wonder: is it just you feeling this—or is he, too?

warnings. slow burn, tender yearning, second person, unspoken feelings, quiet tension, emotional intimacy, lowkey angst

wc. 3.3k

entirely based off of 'A Dream With a BaseBall Player', Faye Webster

.・゜✭

You wake to the crisp shiver of morning, unsure for a second where you are. Not because the bedroom is unfamiliar—though it is—but because the dream still clings to you like dew.

It felt more like an experience.

Too vivid. Too close. Your heart still aches from it, like it carried over into waking life. But now there’s a hollowness beneath it. Longing.

As if he didn't already consume your days, now he's infected your nights.

A shaky breath forces its way out of you—from the intensity of a heart-drop. As much as you should be annoyed, you weren't. As far as you know, it was real.

Yep, you'll believe it. Just for a little longer.

You close your eyes, trying to fall back in. Trying to taste him again—his lips, his laughter—trying to memorize something that never really happened.

Until his real laughter echoes from outside your door. Your eyes snap open, your heart dropping and lifting just as quickly.

It’s another morning with him here.

Ever since moving to Toronto and crashing with Mandy and Martin, you’ve gotten used to waking to the sound of their YouTube antics echoing through the walls. But whenever Hamzah's around for it, it's different. Every laugh feels like a gift. Every visit, a small miracle.

You started putting curlers in every night. Setting alarms earlier than necessary. Learning how to look effortless, even if it takes effort. Just in case he sees you. Just in case he looks twice.

You get shy just thinking about the way you dabbed on a little makeup before stepping out of your room. God, you hope no one says anything.

Knowing Mandy, she wouldn't question you. She'd just look at you with a smile and let you know you're beautiful.

Ensuring you woke up glowing made you feel like a new woman. Everything about this chapter of your life did. It was... nice. Even if it meant committing to the whole routine every morning, even when Hamzah didn’t show up, just to keep suspicions at bay.

.・゜✭

From her spot on the couch, Mandy glances up from her book. “Oh, thank god you’re up.”

You give her a sleepy smile, resisting the urge to immediately look over at Hamzah. You fail, of course.

"Ooh, look who it is—" Martin drags, "we were just doing our intro but I guess we can stop it to tell you goodmorning," His voice has that slightly performative lilt—he’s recording. The way he smiles at you but then rolls his eyes as he looks back at the webcam proves it.

Hamzah looked your way as martin spoke, though it seemed like maybe he noticed you first.

"Yes of course—good morning," Hamzah adds to Martins words, the softest smile on his face, very faint. Just out of respect.

But after a moment too long you notice Martin giving Hamzah a playful shove, just in the moment it seemed like Hamzah was hesitating to say something. “Come on, man, banana summer is awaiting us.” He quips, dragging his words just to annoy him.

“Right,” Hamzah turns, clapping his hands, slipping fully into YouTuber mode. His voice rises with purpose.

You take a seat next to Mandy, watching.

You see Hamzah laughing with Martin, being larger than life for the camera. But you focus on the in-between moments too—how quieter he gets when the camera shuts off, the way he looks tired around the eyes as soon as it's time for him to leave.

Mandy leans toward you, her voice slipping you out of your thoughts. “Okay, now that you're up, we’re getting coffee. Well, we are everyday. Especially early on days like this.” She adds, playfully annoyed about the obnoxious behavior from the two.

You stifle a smile, pretending to agree—like you wouldn’t rather stay here all day and listen to him.

“Let’s go,” you sigh dramatically. “Please.”

Mandy grabs her keys a little too quickly. “Yeah, this could take a while,” she scoffs. But as the two of you head for the door, your steps feel heavier than they should. Somehow, his voice had become the thing anchoring you on the days he was around. And now, all you want is to stay close—just to be near him, even if it were in silence.

“Bye!” the boys shout, mid recording. “Be safe!” Hamzah calls right after, like it’s habit. Like it’s instinct. And then the door closes behind you.

For some reason your heart aches, savoring the last words heard from him for as long as you can. Replaying the way he looked at you in your head. God, you hope Mandy only wants to pick up a drink and then come right back home.

.・゜✭

He lingers in your mind like a song you can’t stop humming.

Even in line at the café, eyes skimming the menu over people’s shoulders, you’re not really reading—you’re wondering what drink Hamzah would get. Would he go for something simple? A cold brew? Something sweet? You imagine ordering the same, just to see if he’d notice. Just to hear him say, “Good choice.” Maybe with that half-smile of his that always makes your stomach turn to air.

“Do you and the boys ever get drinks together in the mornings?” you ask casually, eyes still trained on the chalkboard menu, but your tone is too careful—like it’s not just curiosity but longing stitched between the words.

Mandy shrugs, finalizing her own order. “If they’re not filming, yeah. Otherwise, it’s usually just me and Martin.”

You nod slowly, biting your tongue before the next question slips out—What about Hamzah? What’s his usual? You don’t ask. You can’t.

Instead, you scan the menu like the answer’s written somewhere in caramel drizzle or chai foam. You pick what feels like him. Whatever that means. You don’t know him enough to know—but still, it’s what you choose.

You’re next in line.

Before you can even reach for your card, Mandy taps hers and says, “Got it,” like it’s nothing. You meet her gaze and smile. "You know I'm gonna pay you back for that." She scoffs, knowing you know that she wont accept it.

.・゜✭

By the time you’re back from what started as coffee but turned into brunch and a long stroll through the outdoor mall, the boys are still at the computer.

You wonder what they’re playing, but you force yourself not to linger on them.

They don’t glance your way either—too focused, locked into something that doesn’t seem interactive but has them taking turns reading. A story, maybe. Still, the second you're near him again, your heart doesn't stop its quiet flutter.

Mandy drops her bags at the edge of the couch, slides in beside them, and opens her iPad with purpose. You assume she’s got something to work on, so you quietly take the spot beside her, resting your head on her shoulder.

You zone out, but everything around you buzzes louder. You’re listening—maybe too hard. Not to their words exactly, but to their voices. Especially his.

Eventually, Martin heads to the kitchen, rummaging for a drink. You don’t turn your head, but somehow, even with Mandy beside you and Martin crashing through cabinets, it feels like only you and Hamzah are here. Like he feels it too. But that’s ridiculous—right?

Martin returns, drink in hand. “Dude, you’re still recording.”

Hamzah silently nods after a pause.

“I know.” his voice is soft, sure. It settles over you like a familiar hum.

By now, you’ve lifted your head, eyes fixed on the back of a book left by you. His voice, still drifting through the room, plays like background static. Comforting.

Eventually, the recording ends. The boys lean back with a shared sigh, swiveling to face the two of you. Martin looks at Mandy. Hamzah looks at you.

Mandy looks up, the room pausing for a breath.

There’s so much you could say—too much—and before you can choose just one, Martin breaks the silence. “So… are we all hungry, or is it just us?” He clasps his hands together with a dramatic cringe.

Hamzah shifts his gaze to Mandy.

You try to look at Martin.

Try.

But your focus steadies only when Hamzah glances back at you again—that scares you enough into Martin taking up your full view.

You misremember Hamzah asking if you were hungry—how you were feeling. You misremember answering with something playful, something that made him laugh in that way that makes your stomach flutter. You misremember the way he looked at you, eyes lingering just a second too long to be casual. A glance that said more than words ever could.

Except none of it happened. Not out loud, at least.

It only lived in your head, somewhere between imagination and wishful memory. You fill in the spaces between his words with everything you wish he’d say. Everything you wish you'd say.

And sometimes, in the quiet, it feels like he’s answering back.

A moment slips by before you even realize everyone’s agreed to eat. Before it hits you that you never actually said the words you thought you did. That the way he looked at you—just now, in your head—might’ve only existed there.

And now that the moment’s gone, lost in the shuffle of food ideas to get delivered, you're left sitting with the weight of everything unsaid.

.・゜✭

Mandy and Martin are arguing playfully in the living room over whose turn it is to pick the movie to have on in the background while eveyrone ate. You linger in the kitchen, pretending to look for something in the fridge that you’re not actually going to eat. Which was stupid because, you had food on the way.

Hamzah’s sitting at the counter, tapping something into his phone, a half-empty drink beside him.

You feel his eyes on you before you hear his voice. His gaze flashes back to his phone.

“Have you eaten at all today?” he asks casually, not looking up right away.

Your heart stutters.

Remembering brunch you and Mandy went to, you didn't order a thing. Glancing over your shoulder, a smile pulls at your lips like muscle memory. “Nope. I've lived off of caffeine and Mandys presence all day.”

He lets out a soft laugh—low, warm, the kind that makes you want to bottle it. “Dangerous combo.”

You stifle a giggle, shrugging as you close the fridge door, holding a drink. “You’d be surprised. Might be the secret to my happiness.”

When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. Not the casual glance you’re used to. This one lingers, studies—like he just learned something new about you when he's been searching for so long.

You can’t help but hold your breath. It’s the kind of silence that’s heavy with something unspoken. Even then, you don't break eye contact.

But then Martin shouts his name from the other room, snapping the moment in half.

Hamzah blinks, nods at you once, and stands. “Let me know if you want me to get you something different. You didn't get much word in what food we ordered.”

He’s already gone before you can respond. You stare at his back as he moves toward Mandy and Martin, probably to help them pick a movie.

Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe it was nothing. But you’ll tuck it away, anyway—right beside the dream you had last night, and all the other maybes you’ve been living off of lately.

Your heart beats hard, as it frequently has been. You let out a shakey exhale. Somehow every interaction with him—no matter how subtle—was intense.

Your mind is focused on the dream you had, seeing his face so upclose to you was hard to keep your eyes off his lips, remembering what they were like in your dream.

The memory has lingered in your chest all morning, as you watched him sit just in front of you on his phone, casually.

That's still the closest you and I have been. That's kind of sad, don't you think? I think so.

How did I fall in love with someone I don't know?

.・゜✭

After dinner, everyone’s soft with fatigue—like the air’s thick with comfort and food. Plates are stacked. Someone’s laughing about something that no one will remember tomorrow. The conversation slows into fragments—until Mandy, legs curled beneath her on the couch beside you, asks, “So how’d filming go today?”

Martin, already halfway to the kitchen, shrugs with a grin. “Good. Smooth. A chill but fun sesh," He turns to hamzah and scrunches his nose with a smile before hitting him, "right bro?” At this hour, he’s still messing around, letting out a forced laugh just to catch Hamzah’s confused expression.

Hamzah mirrors his movement, following him with the half-empty serving bowl in hand. Martin turns to you, speaking up. “You should watch it unedited,” he says, nodding toward the laptop he usually edits on. “I know you’ve been wanting to try editing one of our videos for fun, so… go for it. Most definitely watch the failed shots.” He suggests in amusement. But before Hamzah's fully in the kitchen, he pauses—eyes flicking toward you.

“Or don’t,” he quickly adds—almost interrupting. He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, you’d probably want to edit something more interactive of ours, anyway. This one’s kinda slow.” He excuses.

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can press him, Martin calls over his shoulder, “What? Bro, it’s the perfect video for her to practice on.” He bends his knees, emphasizing 'perfect' with a fake distraught expression.

Hamzah shrugs, eyes already turned away. He doesn't say another word, though he seems like he wants to argue back.

Their voices blend with the clinking of dishes and running water, muffled just behind the living room wall.

Mandy watches him go, brows furrowed. “Okay, weird." She shuts her eyes and shakes her head before continuing. "But yeah, ignore him. You can mess around with it whenever. Probably tonight—before Martin randomly decides he wants to touch it.”

You nod, though your curiosity is tugging. What was that lol?

.・゜✭

Later that night, the house falls into that soft, muffled quiet that only happens when everyone’s finally asleep. The kind of quiet where even the walls seem to exhale.

You lie stiff on your back, staring at the ceiling of the room that was never really yours. It used to be his—Hamzah’s.

The room was barely decorated—just a space he used for late-night recording sessions when he didn’t feel like going home. But his charger’s still in the wall. There's even a cologne bottle, nearly empty, tucked on the shelf. You'd noticed all of it earlier when Mandy insisted you keep the room for the night, since Hamzah had been invited to stay over last minute and “wouldn’t mind the couch.” He didn’t fight it. Not in front of anyone, anyway.

But you do. You feel it. This isn’t your bed. This isn’t your room. This isn’t your city.

And suddenly that sense of loss hits you. It's not from death, It's something harder to explain.

It’s the version of you that once belonged somewhere. The one that had a room back home that smelled like lavender and warm dust, the one who didn’t have to constantly re-earn her right to exist in a space. The one who hadn’t been pushed out, hadn’t had to rebuild herself in the shell of someone elses home.

You blink fast, swallowing down the lump in your throat. Then you quietly slide out from under the covers, slipping into the hallway. The floorboards creak beneath your feet like they’re tattling on you, but no one stirs. You sit down right beside your bedroom door, knees pulled to your chest, breath shallow. The air is cool and smells faintly of detergent and the spice of someone’s cologne.

The tile is cold against your bare thighs. You were only wearing a tank top with some pajama shorts, but you enjoyed the breeze.

You rest your forehead against your knees.

You don’t mean to cry. But it’s late, and you’re tired, and your heart is swollen with the ache of everything you left behind. Even happiness can be heavy when it’s earned through loss.

The sound of footsteps pulls you from your thoughts, slow and hesitant, like someone unsure if they’re allowed to interrupt.

Hamzah.

He freezes when he sees you. There’s a flicker in his face—concern, confusion, maybe even guilt. You quickly wipe your cheek with your hand, but you don’t move. And he doesn’t ask.

He exhales softly. Then, without a word, he sits down beside you.

Close, but not too close.

For a moment, he doesn’t even look at you. Just folds his arms on top of his knees, mirroring your posture. His presence feels warm and steady, like something anchoring you to the moment. He doesn’t say it, but you can tell—he doesn’t need to know the whole story to understand that you’re carrying something.

The silence between you stretches wide, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels... known. Like he’s having a conversation with you in your head, and maybe he’s answering back without speaking.

What you didn’t realize was that he’d been having the same silent conversations with you in his head all along—just like you had with him. That, you never noticed.

And for the first time all night, it feels like this version of you—this uncertain, grieving, rebuilding version—has finally been seen. Not fully, not openly. But just enough to make the loneliness loosen its grip. Just enough to stay seated.

.・゜✭

Once you finally slip into your room, you force yourself to shake off that charged exchange and settle at the bed. You open their laptop.

The apartment is hushed. You pause, wondering. Has Hamzah already drifted off to sleep? Is he thinking of that moment too?

You curl up in the bed, covers on, screen light glowing against your face. You click through Martin’s unlisted playlists.

There it is.

Unlisted – “Unedited / failed shots lol”

You click, expecting bloopers. Maybe some half-formed skits, jokes that didn’t land.

The video loads.

At first, it’s just them—Hamzah and Martin laughing, trying to record the intro. Martin fumbles a line and Hamzah bursts out laughing.

You reach the part where you enter the room—it’s like reliving it all over again. The memory floods back, but now you’re seeing it from a new angle. Hamzah’s eyes follow you, and suddenly you’re not so sure you imagined it. You watch the moment on repeat, trying to catch the exact flicker in his expression, searching for proof that he really was about to say something. Even on video, it looks like he was.

But then…

Near the very end of the video—you see yourself.

You’re in the background. Sitting on the couch. Legs crossed. Book open. Your head’s resting on Mandy’s shoulder, her arm partially in frame. You're half-zoned out, hearing but not listening. Just existing. Just there.

The camera should’ve cut. But it doesn’t. Instead, the angle shifts.

Hamzah adjusts the camera. Zooms in.

Not on himself.

On you.

Your breath catches. You tell yourself he’s just catching a moment. You and Mandy laying together. That's reasonable.

But then you shift—pull away gently from her shoulder, reaching for the book that lay by you. And she’s no longer in frame.

Just you.

The camera even moves with you. This was no mistake.

It zooms in slightly more. Framing your face but enough to see the rest of you. Like someone capturing something they don’t want to forget.

Off-screen, you hear Martin’s voice. “Dude, you’re still recording.”

A pause. Then Hamzah’s voice, quiet and casual, but so sure in a way that makes your heart stutter.

“I know.”

The camera doesn’t move. It stays on you.

Ten seconds.

Fifteen.

Then—

Cut to black.

Your cursor hovers over the time stamp from which this started.

But you don’t click.

You just sit there, pulse thudding softly in your throat. That moment replays anyway, not on the screen—but in your head. Again. And again. And again.

Because it meant something. Because he saw you.

Because even though he never said it—never had to say it—he’d captured it.

The proof was right there in the silence.

He sees you.

And now… you know. Right?

part two