everything-fine-n-peachy

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

Agsjdkdkdjsks this was so good like it was right in the feels hsysjskslsns

before it sinks in - choi seungcheol imagine

and it's here🥺😭 i always love a good bff-to-lovers au, and let me say this one THIS ONE IS THE THE ONE (it will make sense once you read it) it took so much time to edit so i hope you like it!

and to choi seungcheol, thank you for being the best part of the journal i'm still writing. happy birthday, i love you🤍

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

It starts like it always does.

A knock at your door, a familiar rhythm. Three quick knocks, then a pause, then two more. You don’t even bother checking the peephole anymore.

You yell, “It’s open!”

The door creaks, and in he comes—Choi Seungcheol, in his usual post-work disheveled glory. Tie half-untied, sleeves rolled up, one bag of takeout in each hand like some tired office-working Santa Claus.

“Guess who loves you the most?” he announces, holding up the food like an offering.

You grin from your spot on the couch. “Please, that’s definitely just hunger talking.”

“Okay, but I got extra dumplings. I knew you’d pretend you didn’t want any and then steal mine.”

“I never do that,” you say, already reaching for the bag.

He plops down next to you, his thigh pressing against yours casually. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s always been this way. And it kind of has.

“I’m starting to think you don’t actually have any other friends,” you tease, glancing at him sideways as you take the food.

“Joshua’s busy,” he replies without missing a beat, already opening his chopsticks. “And he doesn’t laugh at my jokes like you do. Or... pretend to.”

“I genuinely laugh,”

He looks over at you, amused. “You call me a loser every time I bring you dinner.”

“Because you are one. A loser. With no life. Who brings me food every other night instead of going out.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He pops a dumpling into his mouth. “Also, this ‘no life’ loser knows all your takeout orders by heart.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Okay, stalker.”

“Don’t forget you cried when they took your favorite noodles off the menu last year.”

“That was a valid emotional reaction.”

The banter is easy. Comfortable. That kind of ease only built over years of being in and out of each other’s homes, lives, and moods. You've seen him at his worst: sick with the flu, heartbroken after his first real girlfriend, crying after graduation even though he’d totally denied being sentimental. And he’s seen you through everything. from braces to bad breakups to that unfortunate pixie cut in 2015.

You two are disasters. Just... disasters that happen to orbit around each other.

He leans back on the couch now, sighing. “We’re almost thirty.”

You blink at him, chopsticks halfway to your mouth. “Well, thank you for that existential crisis at dinner.”

He laughs, low and rumbling. “No, seriously. One more month and I hit the big 3-0.”

You shrug. “You’re ancient. I’m still young and thriving.”

“You’re five days older than me.”

He gives you a look, then smirks. “Remember the pact?”

Oh god. The pact.

You cough, immediately reaching for your drink. “Vaguely.”

He tilts his head at you knowingly. “You mean very clearly, because I have a screenshot of the drunk text you sent me after your birthday.”

Your stomach flips but you fake a glare. “Delete it.”

“Never. It's my favorite piece of blackmail.”

You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, “Should’ve made the pact with Joshua.”

“Joshua would've made you sign a prenup and scheduled your wedding in an Excel sheet. Anyways. You better find someone in the next month or else.”

“Or else you’re stuck with me” you finish his sentence for him

There’s a beat of silence, then he says, quiet but playful, “I could do worse.”

You glance at him. He’s smiling but there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place. Like... maybe he doesn’t think it’s a joke.

But you don’t go there.

So instead, you nudge his knee and say, “Yeah? You sure about that, loser?”

He grins. “Best loser you’ve got.”

“Aren’t you on, like, girlfriend number… what now?” you ask, feigning deep thought. “Twelve? Fifteen?”

He coughs dramatically, nearly choking on his food. “Excuse me? I’ve barely hit five.”

“Yeah, and four of those were in college. One lasted a week. One was a situationship you swore wasn’t a situationship.”

“It wasn’t,” he insists, pointing his chopsticks at you like he’s genuinely offended. “We just didn’t label it.”

“That’s literally what a situationship is, Cheol.”

He groans and sets down his bowl. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because it’s funny,” you grin. “You, self-proclaimed heartthrob of the neighborhood, out here bringing me dumplings instead of going on dates.”

“Oh please,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You act like you’ve been busy rejecting suitors left and right. When’s the last time you even went on a date?”

You pause.

“…That’s none of your business.”

“Exactly,” he says smugly, leaning back. “You haven’t.”

You flick a piece of tofu at him. He dodges with the reflexes of a guy who’s probably had food thrown at him by you since age six.

“For your information,” you say primly, “I’ve been choosing not to date. Selectively single.”

He raises a brow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Better than being dumped because you forgot your anniversary.”

“That was once and it was five years ago,” he groans, hands in his hair. “You’ll never let me live that down, huh?”

“Never.”

You go quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. He watches you for a beat, then asks, a little softer, “You ever think we made that pact too young?”

You shrug. “I mean… we were drunk.”

“True. You made me pinky promise with a glow stick.”

“It was symbolic!” you defend, laughing.

He smiles, but he’s watching you again. That same look from earlier. Lingering.

And before your brain can spiral somewhere dangerous, you grab a spring roll and jab it at him like a weapon. “Okay, Mister No-Love-Life, next question. If you had to marry one of your exes—”

“Nope,” he cuts in immediately, mouth full. “I’d rather die alone.”

You cackle, almost choking on your drink.And that’s how it always is. Teasing. Banter. Just enough flirting to make your stomach twist but never enough to cross that invisible line.

That pact is still there, hanging unspoken between you like a safety net you both pretend not to look at. A joke. A backup plan.Right?

…Right?

You raise an eyebrow, chopsticks paused mid-air as you give him a look.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t marry any of your exes,” you say, drawing out the words. “But you would marry your best friend who drunkenly made you pinky promise to do it under the influence of cheap vodka and birthday cupcakes?”

Seungcheol doesn’t flinch. He just takes a slow sip of his drink, completely unbothered. “Yep.”

“Wow.” You blink at him, pretending to be scandalized. “You’re saying I’m a better option than your entire romantic history?”

He shrugs with mock innocence. “You said it, not me.”

You set your food down, pressing a hand to your chest dramatically. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He smirks. “Low bar.”

You point at him. “Okay rude, but fair.”

He leans in slightly, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, face close enough that you can smell the soy sauce on his breath. “Let’s be honest. You’d say yes in a heartbeat.”

You scof  “Please. I’d hesitate at least five seconds.”

He grins. “That’s still a yes.”

You roll your eyes, trying very hard to ignore the flutter in your chest. “You’re really confident about this whole ‘marry my best friend’ plan, huh?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You already know all my bad habits. You’ve seen me cry during Disney movies. And you still voluntarily talk to me. That’s basically marriage.”

You laugh, but it comes out a little breathless. And for a second, the air shifts again. Warmer. Realer.

You look away first. “Well, lucky for you, I’m still very single.”

“So am I,” he says, too quickly.

You glance at him.

He shrugs. “Just in case you forgot.”

You say nothing for a moment, then snort and grab another dumpling. “Desperate.”

“Punctual,” he corrects. “I’m just early to the party.”

You grin, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet here you are,” he says, nudging you with his shoulder, “eating dumplings on the couch with me. Like we’re an old married couple already.”

You pretend to gag. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But your heart’s doing somersaults, and you don’t say anything else. Neither does he. You just keep eating, bickering like always, while the clock ticks a little closer to thirty.

=

It’s a warm Saturday evening, and somehow yet again you’ve ended up as Seungcheol’s plus-one to another one of his company dinners. You’re in heels you kind of regret, a dress you only half-liked, and a social setting you definitely didn’t choose for yourself.

You swirl your drink as you stand near the edge of the patio, watching Seungcheol charm a group of engineers like it’s his side gig. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, that confident manager air about him, and he laughs in that way that makes people lean in.

“God, are you two sure it’s still platonic?”

You flinch at the sudden voice beside you. Turning, you find Joshua sipping casually from a glass of wine, looking far too amused.

You squint at him. “What?”

“You and Seungcheol,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve seen married couples with less natural chemistry.”

“We’re childhood best friends.”

Joshua raises an eyebrow, unbothered. “Exactly. That’s how half the dramas start.”

You give him a deadpan look. “This is real life. Not a weekend drama.”

“Real life where he brings you to every event, stares at you like you’re the human version of a warm blanket, and calls you at midnight because his oven makes weird noises.”

“That happened once.”

Joshua smirks. “Uh huh.”

You turn back toward the patio, eyes finding Seungcheol again who’s already looking in your direction. You catch him mid-smile. He gives you a nod, a small tilt of his head like you good? And you answer with the smallest nod of your own like always.

Joshua sees it. Of course he does.

“I’m just saying,” he says, raising his eyebrows as he sips again. “If you two get married, I’m not shocked. I just better be invited.”

“You are so dramatic.”

“I’m observant. There’s a difference.”

Before you can protest more, Seungcheol makes his way toward you, hand brushing lightly at your waist without even thinking about it.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, “they’re about to do the speeches. You good to come in?”

You nod. As you walk off with him, Joshua raises his glass behind you, smug.

“Totally platonic,” he says to no one, sipping his wine like he called it first.

As you and Seungcheol walk away from Joshua, his hand still casually resting at the small of your back, he leans in and murmurs, “What did he say this time?”

You don’t miss a beat. “He’s asking if he can make a speech at our wedding.”

Seungcheol falters for half a step. Just one. But you catch it. And it makes you grin.

“Wow. You’re so generous. Letting him speak at our wedding.”

“I know,” you sigh, dramatic. “I figured since he called this three years ago, it’s the least I could do.”

“Fine, but no guitar performance. He’ll pull that angel boy act and have the whole room crying.”

You snort. “You’ll be crying.”

“At our fake wedding?”

You shoot him a look. “It’s not fake if we made a pact. Legally binding pinky swear. Remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” he says, too smooth, too smug. “August’s coming fast.”

“Nervous?”

He shrugs, casual. “Not really. If I’m marrying someone, might as well be the person who already bullies me like a spouse.”

“Flattery,” you say, “will get you nowhere.”

“But food delivery might?”

“…Fair.”

He laughs, nudging you gently with his shoulder as you both step back inside. Whatever this thing is between you—comfort, tension, something else entirely—it settles back into place like it always does.

The drive home is wrapped in that easy kind of silence that only comes after years of knowing someone down to the bone. No pressure to fill the air. No small talk. Just headlights on the road and soft music playing low from the stereo, some old playlist he probably forgot was still on shuffle.

You’re curled slightly toward the window, watching buildings blur past. Seungcheol’s hand is steady on the wheel, tapping lightly to the beat of the song. You’ve been to dinners like this a hundred times now, been in his car even more, but something about tonight feels quieter. Heavier. Not in a bad way, just... heavier.

So you say it. Quiet. Careful.

“Hey, just—if we actually do it,” you start, still looking out the window. “Like actually get married… do you think we’d be… good at it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. And for a second, you wonder if maybe you shouldn’t have said anything at all. You almost take it back, make a joke, change the subject, say you were just messing around.

But then he glances at you, one hand still on the wheel. Voice low, thoughtful.

“You mean it?”

You meet his eyes for a brief second, then look back out the window. “I guess I’ve just been thinking about it more lately. Thirty’s kind of creeping up.”

He chuckles softly. “It’s not creeping. It’s sprinting.”

You smile, but you wait. And after a moment, he exhales like he’s been holding something in for years.

“I think we’d be good at it,” he says finally. “Like... weirdly good.”

You glance at him again, heart suddenly louder in your chest.

He continues, keeping his eyes on the road. “We already do half the stuff anyway. Eat together. Talk about work. Know each other’s habits. You let me whine about my deadlines. I pick up your coffee order without asking. You yell at me when I don’t stretch after the gym.”

You snort. “Because you complain about your back like a grandpa the next day.”

He shrugs. “Exactly. See? That’s marriage material.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling now. Quietly.

Then, he adds, a little softer this time, “I think if we ever did it... it wouldn’t feel fake.”

That part makes you pause. You feel something lodge in your throat, not uncomfortable but... careful. Fragile.

You glance over at him again, and he’s still focused on the road but there’s a tiny smile on his lips, one he doesn’t even try to hide.

You breathe out slowly. “Yeah. I think so too.”

The silence comes back but now it’s warm, golden. Full of all the things you don’t say out loud.

And you just let it sit there between you, glowing.

The car hums quietly beneath you, tires soft against the road, headlights cutting through the dark. Outside, the world moves past in sleepy pieces streetlights, shop signs, a couple holding hands at a crosswalk.

You look out the window again, thinking. Letting his words from earlier settle in your chest like stones on still water.

Then softly you ask, “You don’t think it’s risky?”

He glances at you, just for a moment.

You keep going, voice quieter now. “Like... if we’re really considering it, if either of us seriously thought about going through with it someday... Would it even be worth risking all of this?”

You gesture vaguely toward the space between you, toward the years you’ve known him, the friendship that’s always just been.

“Cheol... we’re good like this. We’re us,” you say, still not looking at him. “And if we tried and it didn’t work, if it ruined everything... I don’t think I’d know how to lose you.”

The words hang in the air. Soft. Exposed. But you know him. You could tear your heart open mid-sentence and he’d never flinch, never throw back a pretty lie just to make you feel better.

He’s never been like that. Never sugarcoated things with you. And that’s why you ask because he’s your best friend. Because with him, you never have to pretend.

There’s a long pause. He makes a turn, one hand loose on the wheel. Then he says, gently, “No. I don’t think it’s not risky.”

You nod slowly, almost expecting that.

“But,” he adds, and this time, his voice is steadier—anchored, warm—“I think it’s a different kind of risk.”

You glance at him, quiet.

He continues, eyes still on the road. “We’ve already done a thousand things most people wouldn’t survive. Growing up together. Watching each other date other people. Crying over dumb things. Fighting about real things. Still choosing to show up again and again.”

“And if we ever crossed that line,” he says, softer now, “I wouldn’t do it unless I was sure it was worth it. Unless I was sure I could love you the way you deserve.”

You don’t know what to say.

He glances over again, eyes meeting yours briefly in the dark. “And if we stayed like this forever? You’d still be my person. Nothing would change that.”

You nod once, then look away, eyes stinging—but not from sadness.

Just the truth of it.

“Okay,” you whisper, barely audible.

=

It’s another lazy evening in Seungcheol’s apartment. hoodies, mismatched socks, takeout containers littering the coffee table like it’s a routine. And it is a routine.

He always over-orders.

“Why do you do this?” you ask, poking at the third untouched side dish. “Do you think I secretly have four stomachs?”

He shrugs, already two bites into his third dumpling. “You say that, but you still finish everything eventually.”

He tosses a napkin at you, and you retaliate with a spoon. Somehow, this is flirting. Somehow, it always has been. But then the laughter dies down and there’s a beat of silence, the kind that nudges at something unsaid.

You stare down at your food, playing with the rice. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

You hesitate. Then: “Do you remember Arin?”

His chewing slows. “Yeah.” His tone shifts—cautious, but not cold. “Of course I do. Why?”

You take a breath, not looking at him. “You were really serious about her.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you keep going.

“I never told you this, but… she said something to me. Back then. When you two were dating.”

His brows draw together slightly. “What do you mean?”

“She said I was too attached to you. Too dependent.” You shrug, like it doesn’t still sting. “Said it wasn’t normal for us to be this close. That it made her uncomfortable.”

There’s a pause. You keep your eyes on your plate.

“That’s why I started pulling away,” you admit quietly. “I didn’t want to get in your way. Or… prove her right.”

Seungcheol’s quiet for a long moment.

“That’s why you avoided me?” His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to piece it all together

You glance at him, then look away again. “Yeah.”

He exhales, disbelieving. “We fought about that, didn’t we? I thought you were mad at me for something. I didn’t understand what I did.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “But you wouldn’t have understood back then. You’re not a girl.”

He shifts beside you, something heavy moving behind his eyes. “Try me.”

You finally look up at him. “She made me feel like I was not supposed to exist in your life while she was there. Like I was the reason your relationship wasn’t working. And I started thinking maybe she was right. Maybe I was being selfish. So I just… stepped back. Gave you space.”

His expression falters, jaw tightening slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were happy,” you say simply. “Or I thought you were. I didn’t want to be the reason you weren’t.”

He’s quiet again, hands resting on his knees.

Then, more to himself than anything, he mutters, “God… I thought I lost you for real that time.”

Your chest tightens. “You didn’t.”

“I felt like I did.”

You both go quiet again, sitting with the weight of what wasn’t said back then. It lingers in the room like steam off the takeout, clinging to the walls.

Then, softer this time, he says, “You weren’t selfish. Not once. If anything, I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known something was wrong.”

You smile faintly. “You were in love.”

“Doesn’t mean I stopped knowing you.”

Jus to break the tension, you look down at the food “Still think you ordered too much,” you mumble.

“Still think you’re full of it. You’re finishing the japchae.”

You’re mid-bite when you feel it, his eyes on you. You glance up, and Seungcheol’s just... watching. Quiet, serious. That steady way he looks when something’s turning over in his head.

Then he says it, low and sure.

“If she really loved me… she would’ve understood.”

You blink, caught off guard.

He doesn’t say it with resentment. There’s no heat, no bitterness. Just the simple truth of it. And something about that stings a little more than anger ever could.

You try to shrug it off. “It’s not the same thing. I mean, I get it. I’d probably be annoyed too if my boyfriend had a permanent plus one.”

He doesn’t let that slide.

“No,” he says firmly. “That’s not fair.”

You look at him again, and now there’s something sharper in his expression. Not angry—hurt. Frustrated.

“You’ve always been fine with my exes. Even the random flings. The girls I didn’t even bring around that much. You never made it a thing. You never made me choose.You were always so nice to them, you wanted to know them, be their friend”

“And now you’re telling me someone made you feel like you didn’t belong, like you were a problem and you just took it?”

You go quiet.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, softer now. “Even after we fought. You just let me believe you were done with me.”

Your throat tightens. You pick at the edge of a napkin.

“Because she was someone you wanted,” you say finally. “And I’m just… me.”

He blinks, like he wasn’t expecting that.

You manage a breathy laugh. “Best friend since diapers, backup plan by thirty. I didn’t want to mess that up by being dramatic.”

He sits back, runs a hand through his hair. “God,” he mutters. “You really thought I’d pick someone over you?”

You don’t answer.

His voice is quiet again, but stronger. “She made you feel like you were less. That’s not love.”

You finally meet his eyes. There’s no teasing there. No light jab to make it easier to swallow.

Just Seungcheol. Solid. Steady. Honest.

“She made me feel like I had to choose. You never did that to me. Not once,” he says.

He exhales, softer now. “I wish I’d known.”

You shrug again, but this time it’s a little heavier. “I didn’t want to be the reason something good ended for you.”

His gaze flicks over your face like he’s memorizing it. And then he says,

“If she couldn’t see how important you were to me, then she wasn’t good for me in the first place.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but not uncomfortable. You just sit there, side by side, the space between you full of things that finally got said. You try to keep your face neutral, to blink it away, to bite the inside of your cheek like it’ll ground you. Like it’ll keep the sting in your eyes from spilling over.

But your voice gets caught somewhere in your throat.

Because it’s rare. You and Seungcheol sure, you talk all the time. About work, about terrible reality shows, about how the local convenience store changed ramen brands and ruined his life. You can tell him anything.

But moments like this? Honest. Raw. Without a joke to shield it?

They don’t come often.

And now, here you are, shoulders curled in, eyes blurry, trying to act like you’re fine when you’re very much not.

He notices, of course he does. He always does.

“Hey…” he says gently.

You try to play it off, sniffling as you look away, muttering, “I’m fine.”

“You’re doing the thing,” he says quietly. “Where you pout and pretend you’re not about to cry.”

“I’m not,” you say quickly, voice cracking right at the end, betraying you completely.

And instead of teasing you like he normally would, he shifts closer, turning fully to face you now “You’re not back-up,” he says, firm but soft. “Or my back-up plan. Or my safety net.”

You keep your eyes trained on the food containers in front of you, lashes wet.

“You’re my person,” he says, and your heart just—aches. “Remember?”

You nod slowly, still not trusting yourself to speak.

He nudges your knee with his. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do, reluctantly. Your eyes are glassy and your lips are pushed out in a small pout, like you’re five seconds away from sobbing or swearing or both.

He softens at the sight of you. Reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist. “I mean it.”

“Then why do I feel like I don’t matter as much sometimes?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just lets that sit there. And then his hand slips down, fingers curling around yours.

“You matter more than anyone,” he says, quiet but sure. “You always have.”

It hits you like a wave. That it’s true. That he means it. And suddenly it’s too much. the tension in your chest, the quiet ache of all those years where you questioned your place beside him, the guilt from pulling away, the fear of what-ifs.

You cry. Not loud or messy. Just soft, silent tears that slip down your cheeks before you can catch them.

He doesn’t let go. He doesn’t rush you either. Just lets you sit there in the quiet, fingers still laced with his, your shoulder slowly leaning into his.

“I got you,” he says simply.

And you believe him. Maybe more now than ever. You sniff once, trying to pull yourself together, wiping quickly under your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie like that’ll erase the whole emotional breakdown you just had.

Seungcheol watches you, still holding your hand loosely. Then he smiles—that smile. The soft one, the one where his eyes crinkle a little and his dimple shows up just barely. Warm. Gentle. Familiar.

And then, without warning, he reaches out and pinches your cheek.

“Yah,” you protest, batting his hand away, “what was that for?”

“For being cute,” he says casually, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

You scowl through the remnants of your pout, cheeks still warm and damp. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, but I’m your person, remember?” he says, cheeky now.

You roll your eyes, but your chest feels lighter. Your heart feels full.

“Here. Mandu. To replenish your tears.”

You blink. “Are you feeding me dumplings as emotional support?”

“Yes,” he says, entirely serious. “Doctor’s orders.”

You laugh, watery and small, but real. You reach out and take one, letting the warmth of it settle into your palm.

“I really hate you sometimes,” you mumble.

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t.

You couldn’t.

=

It had actually been… kind of perfect.

The community outreach event turned out to be more fun than you'd expected. You weren’t exactly thrilled when Seungcheol texted “Be ready at 8, no excuses 🙄🐶” the night before, but now?

You were glad he dragged you.

The animal shelter was filled with wagging tails, tiny paws, and enough puppy breath to cure anyone’s burnout. You spent the day giving belly rubs, walking hyper dogs around the yard, and feeding stray kittens who meowed at you like they’d known you for years.

Seungcheol, of course, made friends with the loudest, goofiest-looking dog named Daegu. He tried to convince you both to take a selfie. Daegu licked your face. Seungcheol almost dropped his phone from laughing.

You’d smiled all day. Laughed too much. Teased him endlessly when he almost cried because one of the old dogs leaned on his leg.

And now… it was quiet.

The sky outside the car window was a soft shade of pink and gold, sun starting to dip. The hum of the road filled the silence as Seungcheol drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. The kind of silence that should’ve been peaceful.

But then, from his side, he hears it.

A sniffle. Small. Shaky.

He turns slightly, confused. “Wait—are you… are you crying?���

You immediately look away, hand flying to your face. “No.”

He leans forward, grinning. “You are. Oh my god—are you seriously crying right now?”

“I—Shut up,” you mutter, voice wobbly. “It’s just… it’s so sad, okay?”

He laughs, but it’s gentle, not mocking. “You played with dogs all day. What part of this is sad?”

You try to explain, but your voice cracks again. “Daegu doesn’t have a home, Cheol. He just wants love. He was so happy and he still has no one…”

“Oh my god,” he says again, this time through a breathy chuckle, pulling the car into a stoplight. “You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?” you pout, wiping your face with your sleeve.

“The thing where your heart explodes and you act like it’s my fault.”

“It is your fault! You dragged me there! You let me bond with Daegu and now I’m emotionally unstable!”

He’s still smiling as he unclicks his seatbelt.

“What are you doing?” you ask warily.

He opens his arm and says simply, “Come here.”

You blink at him. “We’re in a car.”

“Come here,” he says again, already leaning a little toward you. You scoot over, sniffling. He wraps one arm around you, tugs you gently in until your head rests against his shoulder.

“There,” he says. “My very emotionally compromised best friend. Crying over Daegu the dog.”

“He has abandonment issues,” you sniff dramatically into his hoodie.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, chuckling. “You and Daegu are the same.”

You punch his chest weakly but you don’t move. And you both pretend it’s just another joke. Just another hug. Nothing new.

But maybe it is. Maybe it's something.

“When we get married… can we adopt a dog?”

There’s a tiny pause.

Then you feel his chest shake with a quiet chuckle. “We’ll adopt two.”

He doesn’t say anything about how you said when—not if. Doesn’t call attention to the way your voice had gone soft, hopeful. Like it was a plan, not a hypothetical. Doesn’t tease you for crying over a dog named Daegu like it’s the most heartbreaking thing that’s ever happened.

He just keeps driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on your knee now, thumb moving in slow, absent circles.

He doesn’t say it, but the way he looks at you—like he’s already imagining the two of you in a small apartment with mismatched socks on the floor and two loud dogs causing chaos—says enough.

You breathe out slowly, eyes closing for a moment. The sadness is still there, but quieter now. Softer. Wrapped in something that feels suspiciously like home.

“Two dogs,” you murmur.

“Big ones,” he says immediately. “None of that pocket-sized barky fluff.”

You roll your eyes against his shoulder. “One big, one tiny. We compromise.”

He laughs, low and easy. “Fine. But the tiny one wears sweaters.”

“Obviously.”

It’s late when Seungcheol finally slumps into the bar booth across from Joshua, tie already yanked loose, sleeves rolled up like he’s fought a war with deadlines and lost.

Joshua raises his glass with a grin. “To surviving another week of pretending we know what we’re doing.”

Seungcheol clinks it lazily. “Barely.”

They sip. Talk about work. Someone in Joshua’s department tried to microwave salmon again. Seungcheol had to deal with a supplier who thinks "urgent" means "next month."

Eventually, because Joshua always circles back, he raises a brow over his drink.

“So, you and her.”

Seungcheol doesn’t even flinch. “She’s my best friend.”

Joshua lets out the most dramatic sigh known to man. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Joshua leans in, quieter now. “Look. I’m not saying it has to be some big movie moment. I’m just saying... if the line between friendship and love is already blurred, maybe stop pretending you don’t know where your heart actually is.”

Seungcheol lifts his head slowly, looking at him. “Is this the part where you ask to be the best man?”

Joshua grins. “Already working on my speech.”

Joshua is relentless. He leans back like he’s letting it go. lets Seungcheol take a breath, picks up a fry, chews like the conversation’s moved on. And for a moment, Seungcheol thinks he’s safe.

But then Joshua looks at him again with a too-innocent smile. “Alright. Fine. Let’s say I believe you.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “You don’t.”

“Let’s just pretend I do,” Joshua continues smoothly, ignoring him. “She’s your best friend. You grew up together. You pinky swore under the influence of tequila and glow sticks, whatever. Let’s say I accept all of that.”

Seungcheol sighs, suspicious. “Okay…”

“Then why aren’t you dating anyone?”

That lands like a slap made of reason and accusation. Seungcheol blinks.

“You haven’t dated anyone since her last ex. Since things went to hell for her and she stopped smiling for a whole month. Since she barely came out of her apartment, and you were suddenly too busy to go out with anyone else.”

Seungcheol stiffens slightly.

Joshua tilts his head. “So? Why aren’t you dating?”

“I was just—busy,” Seungcheol says, way too fast.

Joshua stares at him.

“Work’s been—”

“Bullshit,” Joshua cuts in, laughing without humor. “You’ve had girls lined up since day one, man. You’re good-looking, stable, semi-functional—”

“Thanks?”

“But somehow,” Joshua goes on, “every time something starts to get serious, you ghost. You find an excuse. Or—” he pauses, like the punchline’s too good—“you cancel because she had a bad day, or she needed help assembling a bookshelf, or she got food poisoning and you spent the night at her place making her congee.”

“It’s her favorite” Seungcheol mutters

Joshua slams his glass down. “Exactly. So you’re telling me it’s all just coincidence?”

Seungcheol rubs the back of his neck, finally admitting, quietly, “I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

Joshua softens just a bit. “I know.”

Seungcheol exhales. “She looked like she was holding herself together with duct tape.”

“And you were the duct tape,” Joshua says, not unkindly. “So let me ask again. If she’s just your best friend… why haven’t you let anyone else get close since?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. He just stares into his drink, like maybe the bottom of the glass will explain everything he doesn’t know how to say.

And Joshua doesn’t press just leans back, more gentle now. “You don’t have to say it, you know. But maybe it’s time you stop acting like you don’t feel it.”

And Seungcheol… still doesn’t say a word.

But he’s thinking about it. Harder than he wants to admit.

=

It’s a different day, but the weight of that conversation with Joshua hasn’t quite left him.

He tells himself he’s fine. You’re still you. He’s still him. Nothing’s changed.

Except maybe... everything has.

Seungcheol lies on his couch, one arm slung over his eyes, half-watching the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles like it holds answers he doesn’t have. His phone is on his chest, silent. No messages from you. not that you need to message. You were just here last night, eating the leftover pasta he overcooked and yelling at him for folding your hoodie sleeves wrong when you did laundry at his place.

Just like always.

But now every interaction feels... different.

But ever since the pact came up again, it's like someone flipped to a page in his life he didn’t know he’d been avoiding. And now it’s wide open, bold and highlighted, underlined in red.

Thirty.

He never used to care about that number. But now it’s staring him down like a blinking countdown clock. Not because of pressure but because it’s not just some hypothetical pact anymore.

Because when you looked at him that night, crying over Daegu the shelter dog, and mumbled “when we get married” instead of “if”… 

You meant it.

And the terrifying part?

He didn’t hate the way it sounded. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t laugh it off. Didn’t correct you.

“We’ll adopt two,” he had said.

Like it was always meant to happen.

He presses his palm to his face and groans.

The front door buzzes. He startles, sitting up too fast. When he checks the intercom, it’s you.

Of course.

You’re in joggers and a loose shirt when he opens the door, holding a plastic bag.

“I brought strawberries,” you say casually, brushing past him like you live here.

“And ice cream. I didn’t know what mood you were in so I got both.”

He stares at you for a beat too long.

You pause, frowning. “What?”

He blinks. “Nothing.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Did you nap too hard again?”

He watches you pad barefoot into his kitchen, already putting things in the fridge like it’s second nature. Like you belong here. And that page in his mind turns again so loud it’s deafening.

You're still you. He's still him. But now he’s starting to wonder if maybe the reason neither of you have crossed that line… is because deep down, he was waiting for the page to flip on its own.

And now that it has?

He’s not sure he can keep pretending he’s not reading every word like it’s been written just for the two of you.

You continue on chatting, unaware of the turmoil going on in his mind “—and then this guy from the client’s team, literally asked me if I could ‘pretty up’ the presentation slides to make them feel less ‘intense.’ Like what does that even mean, Cheol?”

Seungcheol stands by the door, frozen as he watches you breeze in like the storm that you are ranting, expressive, completely unaware that the very air in the room changes when you're in it.

You open the produce bag, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, these strawberries are so red. I knew they were gonna slap.”

He’s still standing there when you rinse them in the sink and start cutting off the tops with a familiarity that makes his heart squeeze painfully.

You go on about your day, laughing now. “And then Eunha messaged me right in the middle of the meeting to say she thinks our client’s VP is hot. Like ma’am, we are literally fighting for a budget extension, focus.”

You pluck a strawberry from the bowl, turn to him casually, and hold it out with one hand. “Ah.”

He doesn’t move at first but you’re already looking at the strawberry, not even at him, like this is just any other Thursday night. Like feeding him fruit mid-conversation is as normal as breathing.

So he leans forward, still dazed, and takes the bite. Your fingers brush the corner of his mouth without thinking.

And this.

This is when it hits him.

All at once.

The conversations. The warnings. Every girl he’s dated in the past, from the short flings to the ones he thought might last, every one of them echoing the same thing when they walked away.

You only give half of yourself.

You don’t let people in all the way.

You say you care, but you’re never really there. Not fully.

He thought they just didn’t get it. That he wasn’t the problem. That they were asking for something he couldn’t give yet. But now, watching you chew your strawberry and move on like nothing just cracked open in the middle of his chest, he understands what they meant.

It’s not that he doesn’t have the capacity to give himself to someone completely.

It’s that he already did.

It was you.

It’s always been you.

You're over there now, peering into his snack cabinet, still talking. “Also, you’re out of those seaweed crisps again. I swear I bought, like, three bags last time.”

You’re not even looking at him.

You have no idea. You don’t know that in the middle of your casual rant, in this ordinary kitchen filled with mismatched mugs and your scent clinging to his hoodie on the chair—

He’s falling apart quietly.

Because this feels like home, and it’s not his.

It’s yours.

It always has been.

You turn around with a bag of chips, half-pouting. “We need to grocery run this weekend, by the way. Or else I’m gonna starve and it’ll be your fault.”

You don't even say if you're coming over. You say we. Like it’s assumed.

And maybe that’s the thing. You’ve never had to ask for space in his life, because you already live in it.

And for the first time in years, Seungcheol is completely speechless.

He doesn't say a word as you plop onto his couch and toss him the bag of chips.

Doesn’t respond when you yell from the cushions, “Put something on, and if it’s another action movie I’m walking out.”

He just moves. Slowly. Quietly. Heart pounding in his chest as he sits beside you, watching the way you tuck your legs under you, the way you grumble about his remote always being sticky, the way you fit here without even trying.

And as the opening credits roll on some cheesy romcom you insisted on, all he can think is—

How the hell did I not see this before?

And worse—

What do I do now that I have?

=

The night air is soft, cool against your skin, the kind of evening that makes the city feel quieter than usual. You and Seungcheol are walking side by side, bellies full from the ramen place you both pretend to be tired of but always end up at anyway.

He’s holding your umbrella, even though it’s barely misting now, and you’re nursing a cup of milk tea, chewing on the straw like you’re deep in thought.

He’s doing it again.  Walking beside you, hand in his pocket, eyes drifting toward you like he forgot what he was about to say.

And staying quiet.

You’ve noticed it. For weeks now.

He still argues with you about dumb things. Still rolls his eyes when you steal the last piece of meat. Still dramatically sighs when you ask for "just a sip" of his drink and finish half.

But then he gets quiet.

Not the relaxed, comfortable kind of quiet that’s always existed between you two, but the thinking too hard kind. The staring at you like you rearranged the stars and he’s only now catching up kind.

And tonight? It's more noticeable than ever.

So you stop walking.

He takes two more steps before realizing you’re not beside him anymore. He turns back. “What?”

You squint at him, arms folded around your milk tea. “What’s up with you?”

He blinks. “What?”

“You’ve been weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

You level him with a look. “No. Like… actually weird. You’ve been all in your head lately. Staring off into space. Being all quiet for no reason.”

He tries to play it off. “Maybe I’m just finally at peace around you.”

You give him a flat look. “That would require inner peace, and I know for a fact you don’t have that.”

He chuckles under his breath but doesn’t deny it.

You step closer, lowering your voice, more serious now. “Seriously, Cheol. If something’s wrong, just tell me.”

He looks at you.

And there it is again. that look. Like he’s trying to memorize you. Like he’s in the middle of some grand realization and doesn’t know where to start saying it out loud.

You nudge his arm gently. “Did you break something in my apartment?”

“No.”

“Are you seeing someone?”

“No.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“I plead the fifth.”

You smile a little, but it fades as you meet his eyes again. “Then what is it?”

He hesitates. Breathes in like he’s about to say something then lets it out slowly instead.

“I just…” He rakes a hand through his hair, gaze dropping to the sidewalk before lifting to you again. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

“Well, there’s your problem.”

He snorts.

You wait.

And finally, he shrugs one shoulder. “About us.”

Your chest tightens. “Us?”

He nods. “Yeah. You and me. This. Everything.”

You blink, caught off guard by how serious he suddenly looks.

“I don’t know,” he says, quieter now. “It’s like… something shifted. And I’ve been trying to figure out if I’m imagining it, or if it’s always been there and I just wasn’t paying attention.”

You’re stunned into silence. He lets out a breath, eyes still on you.

“I’m not trying to be weird,” he says. “I just… I think I’m realizing things a little late.”

And somehow, even with all the vague words and hesitation, you understand exactly what he means.

The pact.

The silence.

The way he looks at you now, like he’s already halfway in love but too scared to say it outright.

You look down at your cup, the condensation cold against your fingers, and when you speak, your voice is soft

“So… are you still figuring it out?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“I think I already did.”

And suddenly, everything is different.

And nothing is.

=

That night, Seungcheol waited.

When he finally said it—“I think I already did,”—he expected more.

A follow-up. A question. Something.

But you didn’t ask.

You just looked at him and gave him this small, unreadable smile. The kind that didn’t reach your eyes. Then you turned, walked a few steps ahead, and never looked back.

And after that?

There was silence.

Not the easy, comforting silence that had always existed between you.

This one was sharp. Foreign. Laced with something heavy.

At first, he thought maybe you just needed time.

You texted less said you were busy. He understood. You were always swamped with work, and he didn’t want to be overbearing. He gave you space.

But then the excuses started.

You couldn’t make dinner. You were out of town. You were tired. You were “catching up on deadlines.”

Until the excuses stopped altogether—and you just stopped replying.

Stopped showing up.

Stopped being you with him.

The worst part? Your birthday passed, he sent you a message, even tried to call but nothing. Just silence. He even drove by your office but your co-workers just said you left early. Then his birthday passed. 

For years, since you were kids, you would always be the first one to greet him like it’s your yearly goal. Sometimes he’d wake up and you’d be there singing happy birthday so loud and so off key at 7am in the morning. 

But this year? Nothing. 

Now it’s been weeks.

He’s tried to play it cool. To wait you out. Because if he pushes, you’ll shut down. He knows that. You’ve always needed to come to things in your own time.

But tonight, it all breaks.

Because tonight, he runs into you by accident.

A friend of a friend invited him for dinner. One of those events you used to drag him to. He’s not even sure why he said yes. Maybe part of him hoped.

And there you are.

Looking like nothing’s wrong. Sitting two seats away from him, smiling like you haven’t been avoiding him like the plague. You greet him, polite. Like a stranger. Like months, years of friendship aren’t stretched out thin between you both.

And maybe that’s what finally snaps something in him.

So when you’re both out on the sidewalk after dinner, ready to go your separate ways, he speaks up.

“You’re really not gonna say anything?”

You stop mid-step. Slowly turn around. “About what?”

He stares at you. “Don’t do that.”

You lift a brow. “Do what?”

“Act like you don’t know.”

You sigh, looking away. “Cheol, I’m tired.”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice tight. “You’ve been tired since the night I told you the truth.”

You pause, just for a second. Then you keep walking. “It’s late.”

He follows. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been ghosting me,” he snaps, louder now. “Don’t lie.”

You turn then, sharply. “What do you want me to say?”

He stops.

And for a second, neither of you speak. You just stare at each other under the streetlights, years of friendship hanging dangerously by a thread.

“I told you how I felt,” he says quietly. “And you walked away.”

You look down, throat tight. “Because I didn’t know what to say.”

“You could’ve said something. Anything.”

“I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

“Since when are you scared of saying the wrong thing to me?”

“Since I realized this might ruin everything!” you shout, finally

And now your voice is shaking. “You don’t get it, Cheol. You don’t get to drop that on me—after all these years, after that stupid pact—and act like it doesn’t change everything!”

“I never said it because of the pact,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “I said it because it’s the truth.”

“But it feels like it’s because of the pact!” you bite back. “It feels like you’re settling for something safe. Familiar. Me. And I can’t be that.”

“You’re not safe,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re everything. You’re the only person who’s ever really seen me. You think this is me settling?”

You laugh bitterly. “Then why now, Cheol? Why not all the other years? Why not before we hit a stupid deadline?”

“Because I was stupid,” he says, raw now. “Because I was blind. Because I was scared, and I thought we had more time.”

You’re breathing hard now. So is he. Neither of you move.

Then you shake your head slowly, voice small. “I’m not willing to lose you over a maybe.”

His mouth parts slightly, like that one hurts. Because it does.

You blink fast, like you’re trying not to cry. “We’ve always been us. Don’t you get it? If this goes wrong, I don’t just lose a boyfriend—I lose you. And I’m not ready for that.”

Silence stretches out.

“I thought I meant more to you than just the fear of losing me,” he says quietly.

“You do,” you whisper. “That’s exactly why I can’t risk it.”

He nods, jaw clenched, stepping back like he’s swallowing every word he still wants to say.

“I guess I don’t get a vote.”

You don’t answer.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “Okay. Message received.”

And then he turns.

You don’t call after him.

You don’t run.

You just stand there, tears stinging behind your eyes, watching the person who knows you best walk away, for the first time not knowing if he’ll come back.

That night, the moment you closed your apartment door behind you, the weight of everything came crashing down.

You didn’t even make it to your room. You slid down to the floor right there in the entryway, your knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself like that could hold the pieces together.

And then you cried. Not the quiet, pretty kind.

It was the kind of crying that shook through your bones, tore through your chest like it had claws, and made your throat burn from trying not to scream.

You’ve been through heartbreak before. Bad dates. Good relationships that fizzled. Almosts and not-quites but nothing ever felt like this.

This wasn’t just a breakup. it was the unraveling of something you thought was unshakable. A bond that had been your constant. Your foundation. The one thing in your life that never had conditions, that never threatened to leave.

Until now.

And the worst part?

The only person you wanted to call to make it all better

Was him.

Your phone was right there. Just a few inches away.

It would take two seconds to open his contact. You still had a text thread filled with memes and old photos and inside jokes. You still had voice messages of him reminding you to eat, of him singing horribly in the car, of him just being there.

And you reached for it. You really did but your hand stopped halfway because what would you even say?

Your vision blurred again as you curled tighter into yourself. You’d always been able to call him for anything.

Late-night breakdowns. Victories. Bad dates. Stupid fights with your mom. Times when the world felt too heavy. Times when it felt too light.

But this? This silence?

This was the first time he wasn’t the one to hold your pieces together.

Because you were the one who broke them.

And now you’re left with the weight of a love you never got to hold properly, and the echo of a goodbye you never really wanted to say.

=

You don’t even hear the door open.

Not the first time your older sister knocks, not when she uses the spare key, not even when her footsteps echo through your quiet apartment.

You only notice someone’s there when the blanket cocooned around you is suddenly ripped away, and you let out a tired, raspy, “What the hell—?”

“Get up,” Hyeri says flatly, standing over you with her arms crossed and her judgment radiating like a mom in a sitcom.

You squint up at her from the couch where you’ve been buried for... days, maybe. Time has stopped meaning anything. “You can’t just invade people’s personal space like this.”

“I can when they’re clearly rotting in the dark like a Victorian ghost.”

You groan and reach for the blanket again, but she holds it up like she’s taunting a dog. “Nope. Get your ass up.”

“What are you even doing here?”

Hyeri sighs. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“You live three hours away.”

“Okay, fine.” She sits down at the edge of the couch, eyes scanning the room ”Cheol called me.”

That makes your stomach flip, and you hate how your heart clenches the second you hear his name. You say nothing. Just pull your sleeves down over your hands like a child, lips pressed together.

“He didn’t say much,” she adds. “Just said I should check on you. That was weird enough.”

She looks at you carefully now. “He always shows up when you’re not okay. He’s never asked me to do it before.”

You feel the tears threaten again, and you press your face into the couch cushion, voice barely audible. “Can you not.”

Hyeri sighs again, softer this time. She reaches over and tugs gently at your hair, the way she used to when you were kids and hiding under blankets after nightmares.

“You look like crap,” she says, even gentler now.

“Thanks.”

“You smell like instant noodles and poor life choices.”

“That’s fair.”

She’s quiet for a second before speaking again, more serious. “What happened?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The second you try to form words, your throat closes up.

She watches you for a moment, then gently pushes some hair away from your face. “He didn’t tell me anything. Just that you weren’t okay. And the way he said it… I don’t know. It scared me.”

You close your eyes, and your voice cracks when you finally whisper, “I think I broke it.”

“Broke what?”

You swallow. “Me and him.”

Hyeri goes still. And then, gently, “Was there even a you and him?”

You let out a soft, choked laugh. “That’s the thing. I don’t know. Maybe there was. Or maybe it was just… everything but the name.”

She doesn't push. She never does when you start unraveling like this.

You keep going, the words spilling now. “He told me how he felt. I said nothing. I ran. And now I miss him so much I can’t even breathe properly but if I try to fix it and lose him anyway, I don’t think I’ll survive that.”

Hyeri looks at you, something tightening in her face. She’s still the same older sister who used to patch up your scraped knees and lie to your parents when you got caught sneaking out but now, she sees you as more than just her baby sister. 

She sees a girl completely wrecked by the kind of heartbreak that doesn’t even need a relationship title to destroy you.

“I’m not gonna give you a dramatic speech,” she says after a while. “But I know you. And I know you don’t fall easy. So if you let this go, it better be because it wasn’t real not because you were scared it was.”

You blink hard. A tear slides down your cheek anyway.

Hyeri sighs, then tugs the blanket back over you. “I’m gonna make you something that has a vitamin in it. And then we’re gonna shower. And maybe open a damn window.”

You nod weakly. “Okay.”

As you lie there, the ache still heavy in your chest, you realize something else. He knew you wouldn’t call but he made sure someone came anyway.

Hyeri watches you.

Really watches you.

And for the first time in a long time, she sees you as something other than the stubborn, sharp-tongued little sister who always had a comeback. Who used to stage dramatic breakups in your room only to be fine the next day. Who bounced back, every single time.

But not now.

Now you're quiet. Small. Curled up in on yourself like a house with the lights off.

And crying again. Not out of impulse. Not for show. But in that quiet, soul-deep kind of way that says something inside you has cracked wide open and you don’t know how to close it again.

And she hates it.

Because even though she’s your older sister, even though she used to be the one you'd run to with scraped knees and middle school drama, she knows that this is beyond her.

This isn’t a boy you had a fling with.

This is Seungcheol.

Your constant.

Your person.

You and him have always been a unit. Never one without the other. Always in the same stories. Always in the same breath. From scraped knees to college finals, to grocery runs and hospital emergencies. He was the other half of every sentence you spoke. The shadow behind your laughter. The one who always knew what kind of day you had just by the way you closed a door.

And now here you are, broken without him.

So she doesn't try to give more advice. Doesn’t try to fix what she can’t reach.

Instead, she quietly says, “Come here.”

You hesitate, then scoot toward her, and the moment she opens her arms you fold yourself into them like you’re five again.

And you cry. God, do you cry. 

You bury your face in her shoulder and it all comes out again. Your body trembles with it, fists curling in her shirt as the words keep coming out in jagged whispers between sobs.

“I messed everything up.”

“I miss him.”

“I don’t know how to go back.”

She holds you tighter, rocking you slightly, her own throat tightening now too.

Then, softly, she says, “You know you’re only scared because it’s worth something. Maybe everything. If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be like this. You’d bounce back like always. But you’re not. You’re wrecked. And if I know anything about Seungcheol…” she pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes gentle, “he’s just as wrecked as you are.”

You try to speak, but your voice comes out small and cracked. “He probably hates me now.”

Hyeri actually laughs. A warm, disbelieving kind of laugh. “God, no. You really don’t remember?”

You blink at her.

She smiles, shaking her head a little. “You were, what? Eight? Nine? That one summer, you spilled paint all over the living room carpet. Bright green. Looked like Nickelodeon slime.”

You blink, a vague memory surfacing.

She grins, nostalgic. “Eomma stormed in asking who did it, and you were crying, freaking out. I was upstairs, I checked and saw you two. Seungcheol just looked her dead in the eyes and said, ‘It was me.’”

“Eomma didn’t even question it. She told his mom and he got grounded for two weeks. No bike. No sleepovers.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Wait, that was him?”

“Yup.” She brushes your hair gently back. “He didn’t even blink. Just took the fall because you were panicking and crying and he couldn’t stand seeing you upset.”

You stare at her, stunned.

“Tell me, little sister,” Hyeri says gently, tucking a blanket around you now, “does that sound like someone who could ever hate you?”

And suddenly, you’re crying again.

Because even after all this, after all your fear and silence and the walls you threw up between you, ome part of you still knew:

He’d never hate you. He might be hurting. He might be angry.

But he'd never stop being him.

Not with you.

And maybe, just maybe… that means it isn’t too late.

=

You told yourself you were just going to take a walk.

No plans, no destination just air. Movement. Something to pull you out of the black hole you’d been sinking in.

But your feet carried you here. To his street. To the building you’ve walked into a hundred times, always without hesitation.

Now, you’re frozen. Standing across the street, staring up at the familiar windows like they might blink and tell you what to do. Like maybe the universe will write your answer in neon against the clouds.

You don’t move.

The sky darkens, but you barely notice. Not even when the first raindrops fall.

You just stand there, heart a wreck in your chest, because this was never supposed to be hard. Not with him. You never thought there’d be a day when even the idea of seeing him would make your throat close.

And then the rain comes in full soft at first, then harder, steadier. Soaking through your hoodie, clinging to your skin.

Still, you don’t move.

Not until you see the door across the street swing open, and him—Seungcheol—stepping out into the lobby.

He’s got earbuds in, a parcel under one arm, checking something on his phone as he walks toward the concierge desk.

He doesn’t see you at first.

But then he glances up and his eyes skip past you

Then double back. He freezes. Like his brain short-circuited trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.

And then he moves.

He runs.

The doors swing open again, and he’s out, dodging the puddles, eyes wide and wild and locked on you. He doesn’t stop to think. Doesn’t say your name. He just grabs your wrist and pulls.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he says as you stumble after him. His voice is sharp but you hear the tremble under it.

You don’t respond. Can’t. Your throat is already tight, the air around you thick.

He yanks the lobby door open, dragging you inside with him, rainwater dripping from both of you. The security guard at the front desk raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. He’s seen this duo before just never like this.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop until you’re in the elevator. Doesn’t let go of your hand.

He’s soaked. So are you.

Only when you’re inside his apartment, when he shuts the door and turns to face you, does he speak again.

“Are you out of your mind?” he breathes, pacing a little, running both hands through his wet hair.

“It’s pouring. You don’t answer for weeks and now you’re… what? standing in the rain like a scene from a drama? Are you trying to make me go insane?”

You’re still dripping. Still shivering. Still unable to say anything. And then your lip trembles. And your shoulders shake.

And suddenly, the tears you thought you were done crying break loose again silent at first, then full.

He turns just as you collapse to your knees, crying harder than you meant to, unable to stop even when your hands come up to your face.

You feel his arms around you before you can fully register it.

He’s on the floor too, pulling you close, arms strong and warm despite being soaked through.

“Hey. Hey.” His voice is quieter now. Rushed but gentle. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I got you. It’s okay. It’s okay, I got you.”

You cling to him like the lifeline he’s always been, sobbing into his chest, fists clenching the fabric of his shirt.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you finally manage, choking on the words. “I didn’t know what to do, Cheol—”

“You could’ve told me,” he whispers into your hair. “You didn’t have to go through it alone.”

“I was scared,” you say, the words ragged and broken. “I was so scared you didn’t mean it. That it was just the pact. That I’d lose you.”

“You almost did,” he says, not angrily—just honest. Just raw. “But not because of the pact. Because you shut me out.”

He presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut tight. “You don’t get it. The pact didn’t make me love you. I already did. I’ve been in love with you long before we made some dumb promise.”

Your eyes open slowly, wet lashes heavy. He cups your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s memorizing you.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he murmurs. “I didn’t want to lose you either. But losing you slowly like this? It’s worse.”

You stare at him. Breathless. Wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He nods, swallowing hard. “I know. Me too”

His thumb brushes beneath your eyes again, slower this time. He notices everything, because he always does. The tears, yes. But also the dark circles that weren’t there before. The way your face is a little slimmer, like you haven’t been eating properly. The curve of your cheeks, those soft, round cheeks he’s always teased you for but secretly adored, faded now, like even your joy forgot how to sit there.

His chest tightens.

He wants to be mad. He should be mad. But he’s not.

His hand settles against the side of your face like it belongs there. His voice comes out low, barely holding together. “You haven’t been eating, have you?”

You glance down, embarrassed, and don’t answer. That’s enough.

He sighs, fingers brushing damp strands of hair behind your ear as he says gently, “You always get sick when you skip meals. You know that, right?”

You nod. Still avoiding his eyes.

He exhales shakily. Like he’s been holding in all the worry, all the nights he wanted to show up at your door but didn’t know if you’d even open it.

And then he says it. Barely a whisper. “Why did you shut me out?”

You flinch a little. He sees it, regrets asking it almost instantly. But then you finally look up and it crack something in him. Because all the anger, all the confusion, all the pain—it melts under the weight of how wrecked you look.

He sees it. Right there on your face. The fear. The guilt. The ache.

And that’s all it takes.

He closes the space between you two, hands cradling your face as he murmurs, “Hey. Hey, no. You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

“But—”

“I get it.” His forehead presses to yours again, grounding. Warm. “I see you, okay? I see how scared you are. And I’m sorry I put you in a place where you felt like you couldn’t tell me.”

You shake your head, voice trembling. “No. It wasn’t you. It was me. I just… I didn’t know how to believe it. That you meant it. That this—us—could be real. I thought the second I believed it, I’d lose you.”

“You didn’t,” he says quietly.

“I almost did.” And his thumbs catch every tear before they fall.

He looks at you for a long moment. His voice cracks a little when he says, “You’re still my person.”

He hugs you close arms tight around your back, chin tucked into your shoulder, heart pressed against yours like he’s afraid the space between you might open up again if he lets go.

“It’s okay,” he whispers over and over, voice so soft you almost miss it. “I’ve got you. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

And then, finally, you whisper, voice hoarse and soft:

“I’m sorry.”

He pulls back just enough to see your face, brushing a thumb gently over your cheek again.

“I know,” he says, and for once, there’s no pain in his voice. Just warmth. Just truth. “I am too.”

“For walking away,” he adds, eyes searching yours. “For giving up too easily. I should’ve stayed. Should’ve talked to you. Not waited for it to fix itself.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he shakes his head gently.

“No, listen. I knew something was wrong. I knew you were scared. I just… I didn’t know how to help you if you didn’t want to be helped. So I backed off. I thought giving you space was the right move but—”

His voice catches.

“—it felt like losing you. Every day. Little by little.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, eyes filling with tears.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. soft, lingering, full of all the things you both haven’t had the words to say until now.

“Me too,” he murmurs. “But we’re here now, right?”

You nod slowly, resting your forehead against his again.

Quiet. But whole.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, the kind that settles somewhere in your chest. You pull back just a little, your cheek still damp, your arms still loosely wrapped around him.

“Wait,” you say, your voice a little hoarse but lighter now, “did you really get grounded when you told my mom it was you who spilled the paint?”

He grins, wide and sheepish. “Two weeks. No TV. No snacks. My mom was pissed.”

Your eyes widen. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugs, brushing a strand of hair from your face like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You looked like you were gonna cry. I panicked.”

You laugh, even if it’s wet and shaky. “You panicked and decided to get grounded?”

“Was worth it,” he says, without skipping a beat

And that, that does it.

The smile you’ve been holding back finally breaks free, even through the lingering ache in your chest. You press your face lightly into his shoulder, half laughing, half trying not to fall apart again.

Then, quietly, you murmur against his shirt, “I’m sorry I said it so late…”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you again, brows furrowing gently. You meet his eyes.

“But you’re my person too, you know?”

He freezes, like those words hit somewhere deeper than anything else tonight.

You keep going, your voice barely a whisper.

“That day… when we walked away from each other… it was the worst day. I didn’t know how to breathe without you. But even then, even while I was hurting and confused and angry, the only person I wanted to call to make it better…”

You blink, fighting tears again, even as a soft smile plays on your lips.

“…was you.”

Something flickers in his eyes then something soft and deep and unshakably sure.

Like maybe all this time, he was waiting to hear that.

He exhales slowly, forehead resting against yours once more. “You’re never too late,” he whispers.

“And Cheol?” you mumble

“Mhm?”

“Happy birthday”

He smiles, like really smile. He leans closer, giving you another gentle kiss on your temple, your forehead, all while holding you like you’re the most fragile thing. 

“Happy birthday to you” he says back to you

After the storm of everything, he gently led you to the kitchen. Just warmed up some leftover soup, put rice in a bowl, and sat you down.

You ate slowly, quietly. He didn’t comment on how little, just gave you a soft, satisfied nod when you took the last spoonful.

Then he handed you one of his old shirts and a pair of sweats. You changed in his bathroom, and when you stepped out, he was already fixing up the couch with pillows and a blanket.

You stood there in the hallway, watching him.

And before you could even think to say it, he looked up and patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate. Just you and him again.

You curled into him, tucked under his arm, your cheek pressed against his chest. He smelled like his usual laundry soap and faint traces of rain. He ran his fingers through your hair until your breathing slowed, until your tears dried completely.

And for the first time in weeks, sleep came easy.

You didn’t dream. You didn’t stir.

Just peace.

Just him.

And when morning crept in through the windows, soft and golden, Seungcheol stirred first.

Still groggy, he blinked against the light until he realized something.

You were there.

Not across the couch. Not curled up far away like someone unsure of their place. But right there, tucked into his side, face buried against his shirt, one hand resting on his chest like it never left.

And God, if he didn’t feel like something finally made sense again.

He didn’t move. he just looked at you. The sight undid him all over again.

You were here. Still his. Still you.

So he smiled, just a little and fell back asleep.

You stirred slowly, like surfacing from somewhere deep and warm. Your lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you stretched slightly, and that’s when you felt it

Warmth.

A steady heartbeat beneath your palm.

You blinked fully awake then, gaze shifting to the slow rise and fall of the chest beneath your cheek, the familiar smell of his shirt, the arm curled securely around you.

Seungcheol.

It came back all at once.

The rain. The fight. The breaking. The soft patching up.

It was the first time in weeks you’d woken up not feeling hollow. The first time you didn’t want to bury yourself back under blankets and disappear from the world.

Because he was here. Still holding you like you hadn’t almost lost each other.

You exhaled softly, forehead brushing against his collarbone.

And that’s when you felt it. his breathing shift, the subtle tightening of his hold, the way his hand moved slowly along your back. Then, his voice. Groggy. Deep and warm and laced with sleep.

“You’re awake.”

You nodded against his chest, your voice small. “Yeah.”

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

You nodded again. “Better than I have in a while.”

His hand stilled on your back. “Good.”

You looked up at him, finally meeting his eyes. “You?”

He smiled, soft and crooked, and something in you settled when he said, “Only because you were here.”

Your throat tightened, but not with sadness this time. Just something full. Whole.

“You still mad at me?” you asked quietly.

He shook his head slowly. “No. I think I’m just… glad you came back.”

You gave him a small smile, fingers gripping his shirt again like you were afraid he might slip away.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” you whispered.

His smile widened, gentler this time. “Good.”

And then because it felt natural, like breathing, like it had always been meant to happen—he leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmured.

You smiled into his chest, eyes closing again.

“Good.”

Just as you’d started to melt back into him, his warmth like a blanket you never wanted to leave—

BZZZ-BZZZ-BZZZ.

His phone explodes to life on the nightstand.

The buzz is so aggressive it practically vibrates the whole table, followed by a shrill ringtone Seungcheol absolutely forgot he set: a dramatic trumpet intro that blares through the peaceful morning like a marching band declaring war.

You both flinch.

Seungcheol groans, reaching blindly behind him while trying not to knock you off his chest. “What the hell—who calls this early on a Saturday?”

You peek sleepily toward the phone just as he squints at the screen and goes:

“…Hyeri?”

Your eyes snap open.

“Answer it!” you whisper-scream, suddenly very, very awake.

He fumbles with the phone and hits answer on speaker, just in time for your sister’s voice to scream through the phone like a banshee.

“WHERE THE HELL IS MY SISTER?!”

You both jump.

“Hyeri—” Seungcheol tries, but she’s already off.

“I WENT TO HER APARTMENT AND SHE WAS GONE. GONE, CHOI SEUNGCHEOL. NO SHOES, NO WALLET, NO PHONE. WAS SHE KIDNAPPED? DID SHE SNAP AND GO OFF-GRID? DID SHE JOIN A CULT?!”

You slap a hand over your face. “Oh my god.”

“She’s fine,” Seungcheol says, trying to keep his voice calm. “She’s here.”

“Here?! WHERE’S HERE?! DON’T GIVE ME VAGUE MYSTERIOUS BOY WORDS RIGHT NOW.”

“In my apartment,” he clarifies quickly. “She’s—she’s okay, Hyeri. She’s literally lying on top of me.”

You slap his chest. “Don’t tell her that!”

“Right. Sorry.”

There's a beat of silence. Then Hyeri speaks again, voice flat.

“Is she alive or did you just find a raccoon wearing her hoodie?”

You sigh and grab the phone from him “Unnie, I’m alive. Please stop yelling, my soul is already hanging on by a thread.”

“You ghosted me then when i came to check on you, you were gone! I thought I’d have to start calling hospitals!”

“I was—” you hesitate, glancing at Seungcheol, who just shrugs like you might as well tell her, you’re caught now. “—emotionally compromised.”

“And somehow that landed you in his bed?”

“…Technically, his couch.” you mumble then add

“Hyeri, I’m fine. We talked. We’re okay now. I’m okay now,” you say finally, voice softer.

There’s a pause on the other end. Then, more gently:

“You sure?”

You glance at Seungcheol, at the warmth in his eyes, at the way he’s still holding your hand like he’s afraid to let go.

“Yeah,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’m really sure.”

“…Okay. Fine. But I swear, if you ever pull a main character disappearance arc on me again, I will have you microchipped.”

“Duly noted.”

You hang up with a groan, tossing the phone onto the pillow between you.

Seungcheol’s grinning. “Microchipped, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “I was feral. She had every right.”

And just like that, the chaos passes,leaving just the two of you again.

Still tangled. Still warm.

Still yours.

=

Hyeri’s chopsticks freeze mid-air, eyebrows lifting as she leans in across the table like she’s about to hear state secrets.

“So,” she says, in that too-casual, too-predictable tone that makes you instantly suspicious, “I only know bits and pieces… but tell me the full lore.”

You blink, pausing mid-sip of your drink. “Lore?”

She grins. “Yeah, the Choi Seungcheol Origin Story. How did you—you—turn the scary, always-serious, grumpy-faced Seungcheol into a golden retriever who acts like he’s afraid to let go of your pinky?”

You nearly spit out your drink.

“He does not—” you start, flustered, but she cuts you off.

“He literally walked you to the bathroom earlier. Like. Escorted you. What is that?!”

You laugh, cheeks burning. “He was making sure I didn’t slip on the wet floor, thank you very much.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, smirking, “now spill. Come on. Give me the good stuff.”

You set your drink down, eyes flicking toward the buffet where Seungcheol is piling your shared plate with way too much garlic shrimp, as usual.

You lean in slightly, voice lower. “I don’t know how it started… like this thing. We were bestfriends, we still are. I just… we just realized we like each other too much to stay friends” you mumble

Hyeri nods along, already invested.

You continue, “He… uh. He was also my first kiss.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. Not really suprised to hear this “Really?”

You smile sheepishly. “In his defense, I was his too. We were like… I don’t know. Thirteen? It was raining. We were bored. Teenagers. Curious.”

She stares at you, eyes wide. “A kiss? That’s some Wattpad-level backstory.”

You shrug, sipping your drink again like you’re not sitting on a ticking time bomb of additional context. But Hyeri narrows her eyes.

“Wait,” she says slowly. “Wait wait wait—” Her eyes widen. “You’re not telling me something.”

You freeze. “I—what?”

She leans in dramatically, whisper-hissing like someone uncovering a conspiracy.

“Oh my god, you minx, you two did not—”

“WHAT!” you yelp, nearly knocking over your glass. “We were curious! And stupid! Teenagers do things!”

Hyeri gasps so loud the couple at the next table flinches.

“You did the things?”

You bury your face in your hands. “We were sixteen, we were… responsible”

She’s wheezing. “You- He- You two- OH MY GOD WHEN?! HOW??!”

“Unnie!” you hiss, eyes darting around. “Lower your voice! He’s gonna hear you—”

As if summoned by name, Seungcheol starts walking back toward the table, balancing three small plates with too much confidence and not enough concern for physics.

Hyeri grins like the devil herself. “Wow. Knowing what I know now, I cannot look at him the same. That man once cried during Frozen.”

You hiss, “If you say a single word—”

She puts a hand on your shoulder. “Relax but just know… I’m gonna make a toast at your wedding. And it’s gonna include this.”

Seungcheol slides back into his seat, setting the plates down. “What’d I miss?”

Hyeri smiles way too sweetly. “Oh, nothing. Just reliving childhood memories.”

You avoid his eyes completely as he hands you your garlic shrimp.

He gives you a suspicious look. “Why is your face red?”

Hyeri answers for you.

“She’s just emotional.”

You kick her under the table.

And from across the table, she just mouths: you minx.

“Wait—” she points her spoon at you like it’s a loaded weapon. “Don’t tell me.”

You freeze mid-bite. “Tell you what.”

“Don’t tell me it was at our childhood home.”

You blink. Say nothing. Her jaw drops.

“OH MY GOD.” She slams her spoon down so hard the table rattles.

“YOU TWO?? IN MY HOUSE?? UNDER MY ROOF?! I WAS THERE?!”

Seungcheol, who was innocently reaching for kimchi, pauses mid-air and looks at you like, did she just figure out—?

You wince. “Unnie, please lower your voice.”

“NO,” she yells, scandalized. “I WAS IN THAT HOUSE. I COULD’VE BEEN IN THE NEXT ROOM. I WAS LIVING MY LIFE THINKING YOU WERE JUST BICKERING OVER WHO GETS THE LAST DUMPLING BUT YOU WERE—YOU WERE—EXPLORING?!”

Seungcheol lets out a choked cough.

You cover your face. “It was just one time! We were just dumb and it was raining and there was that blanket fort we built in the—”

“THE BLANKET FORT?!”

You stop talking.

Hyeri slaps the table, utterly betrayed. “I HELPED YOU BUILD THAT FORT! I STAPLED THE STUPID FAIRY LIGHTS!”

Seungcheol tries to help, sort of. “Technically, we didn’t plan it. It was just a weird teenage moment—”

“Oh my god, you were weird teenagers in my house.” She grabs her glass dramatically. “How did you even go back to normal after that?! I’d be a ghost. I’d vanish. I’d change my name and flee the country.”

You groan into your hands. “Because we’re us. We were best friends. We just… didn’t let it get weird.”

Hyeri gapes at both of you. “You mean you had your weird little hormonal storm moment, kissed in a blanket fort in my living room, and then you… you two what? Acted on your intrusive horny thoughts then went back to watching cartoons and fighting over instant noodles like nothing happened?”

Seungcheol shrugs. “She beat me in Mario Kart like twenty minutes later.”

You smack his arm. “You let me win.”

Hyeri puts both hands on her head. “This is insane. This is actually insane. You two are the weirdest non-couple who’s clearly a couple I’ve ever seen.”

You and Seungcheol glance at each other. And that’s when Hyeri narrows her eyes and points between you.

“You’re together now, aren’t you?”

Both of you freeze. Then, perfectly in sync, you go, “Define ‘together.’”

She SCREECHES.

“You absolute menaces.”

Later you’re in one of his old shirts again, you flop onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. You’re scrolling on your phone when you hear him walking down the hall. 

He leans on the doorframe.

“So,” he says, trying very hard to sound casual, “you finally told someone.”

You don’t even look up.

“In my defense,” you say, deadpan, “she figured it out.”

He walks into the room, tossing the towel onto the chair, and quirks a brow. “Figured it out… after you admitted I was your first kiss, your permanent plus-one, and that we may or may not have defiled her blanket fort?”

You groan, faceplanting into the pillow. “She ambushed me! It wasn’t supposed to be a confessional!”

He laughs, dropping onto the bed beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. “You literally said ‘we were curious and stupid’ with a full dramatic monologue. I was across the restaurant. I heard.”

You peek at him from under the pillow. “And you didn’t come save me?”

“I was busy getting you garlic shrimp, which you still haven’t thanked me for.”

You roll onto your side, narrowing your eyes. “That shrimp was for both of us.”

He shrugs. “Details.”

You reach over and flick his forehead.

“Ow,” he mumbles, grinning, rubbing the spot.

There’s a pause then, just the quiet hum of the room around you, the air warmer now that it’s just the two of you again. No chaos. No teasing sisters. No secrets.

Just this. You. Him. Finally existing in the open, no longer just almost-something.

He leans back against the headboard, exhaling. “Feels kinda… real now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It does.”

He looks at you then, not just with the familiarity of years but with something gentler something brand new, but also always there. Then you reach over, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Still my person?” you ask.

He squeezes your hand.

“Always.”

He’s looking at you like he always does. soft, steady, like he’s memorizing every single version of you without even trying. Then he smirks a little, eyes flicking down to where your hands are joined before looking back at you.

“But now…” he says, leaning in just slightly, voice lower, warmer, “we can do this.”

And before you can ask, before you can even breathe

He kisses you.

Not like your stupid teenage first kiss in a blanket fort. Not like an accident, or a maybe, or a one-time thing.

But like a promise.

Like home.

His lips are warm and certain, and the second they touch yours, your heart stumbles over itself because this is different. Not scary, not confusing, not hypothetical anymore.

It’s real. It’s him.

You sigh into it, hand tightening around his, your other one curling into the front of his shirt like it’s second nature. He pulls you closer, deepens it just a little, like he’s been holding this back for too long.

When you finally part, barely inches between your faces, both of you are breathless and maybe slightly dizzy.

Your voice comes out small, teasing, “Well. That’s new.”

He chuckles, forehead resting against yours. “Took us long enough.”

You grin, still close. “Yeah. But we’re not stupid teenagers anymore.”

He smiles. “Nope. Now we’re just stupid adults in love.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

But you kiss him again anyway.

And the kisses? God, the kisses.

You don’t know why you’re surprised. You really shouldn’t be.

The man does everything with full conviction. he argues like he’s in court, hugs like you’re the last person on Earth, and kisses like the world might end in the next five minutes and he wants to make sure you remember him forever.

Bestfriend Seungcheol? He used to kiss your forehead. Your temple. Your knuckles. Quick, warm little things that said “I got you” without needing a whole conversation.

Boyfriend Seungcheol? Boyfriend Seungcheol kisses like he’s starved and you’re oxygen. Like he’s waited years for the green light, and now that he has it, he’s not pacing himself. He’s devouring every second.

He kisses you good morning, mid-laugh, between bites of food, when you're annoyed at him, when you're in the middle of brushing your teeth and yell "not now!" but he's already pecking your cheek anyway.

But it’s the ones after dark that live in your bones.

The kind that start slow, with just his fingertips trailing up your spine, his voice low as he says your name like a question he already knows the answer to.

He knows how your breath hitches when he kisses just below your ear, how you curl your fingers in his shirt when you want him closer but can’t say it out loud. 

He knows how to touch you like it’s not just about your body but about every version of you he’s ever loved—childhood best friend, teenage almost-mistake, grown woman who made his life feel whole again.

=

You’re awake first. That never happens. Never.

Normally, Seungcheol is the one who wakes up before you but this time, for once, the universe grants you the rare peace of watching him completely knocked out.

Well almost peaceful.

Except for the fact that he’s currently clinging to you like a human-sized sloth, one leg hooked over both of yours, arm heavy across your waist, and his face buried into the side of your neck like you’re a very cuddly pillow that smells like coffee and bad decisions.

“…Cheol,” you groan, voice hoarse, trying to wiggle. “Get off.”

He only groans in return, nuzzling deeper into your neck.

“Cheol,” you say again, poking his bare back.

He mumbles something completely incoherent, but it sounds suspiciously like “no I live here now.”

“You’re crushing me.”

“You’re comfy,” he whines

“You’re heavy.”

He shifts just enough to mumble, voice still muffled against your skin, “You know you can be sweeter to me in the morning.”

You roll your eyes. “After last night? Absolutely not.”

That wakes him up a little more. He peeks one eye open, lips twitching. “Excuse me woman?”

You scoff, “Excuse? You wanna try that again?”

“May I remind you,” he says, lifting his head just enough to smirk at you, “how you sounded just a few hours ago?”

Your eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He’s already smug beyond saving. “You were all—oh my god, Cheol—right there, yes—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “Stop talking.”

He laughs against your palm, completely unbothered. “I’m just saying,” he says, words muffled, “you’re acting real tough for someone who nearly cried when I—”

You shove a pillow into his face.

He rolls back with a wheeze, still laughing, dragging you with him until you land right on his chest. “You know,” he says, arms caging you in again, “I love this version of you. Morning grumpy, still sore, pretending you’re not obsessed with me.”

You mutter into his collarbone, “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine,” he says smugly, kissing the top of your head. “So. Suffer.”

You groan dramatically into his chest, voice muffled. “This is what happens when you date your best friend.”

“Yup. Lifetime supply of premium cuddles and unwanted flashbacks to your own noises.”

You shove him again. He doesn't budge. Of course he doesn’t. The man is a human boulder when he wants to be.

“You used to be cool,” you grumble, trying to wriggle free again.

“I was never cool,” he says proudly. “You were just in denial.”

You pause, sighing. “Tragic. I dated my best friend, now I can never get rid of him.”

“Exactly.” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your jaw “Now you’re stuck. Blanket privilege. Lifetime teasing rights. Access to the vault of embarrassing teenage stories.”

You sigh again, settling into him, hopelessly resigned. “This is what happens,” you repeat quietly.

“What?”

You glance up. “When you fall in love with your best friend.”

He doesn’t tease you then. Doesn’t say anything snarky.

Just tightens his hold on you, presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, and mumbles against your lips, “Best thing I ever did.”

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

nct dream: college boyfriend edition!

tags: headcanons! fluff <3

7dream as college boyfriends hihi... includes headcanons on them as a student!

MARK LEE:

he has a double degree. just like he's in two teams, this man juggles two majors, which are music composition and english literature! he's usually found in the faculty studio, headphones on and a pen in hand.

mark's the type to always have a notebook in his bag! often, he'd be found writing down things... and when i say often, i really mean often. people always assume it's lyrics but sometimes it's love letters for you.

speaking of, love letters! mark is big on love letters, gives you one at least once a month! they're always so sweet too, and he always starts off his letters with "my dear," or "my darling."

obviously, mark's constantly busy. if he's not in the studio, then he's in the library. regardless, he makes sure to always make time for you. if he doesn't have time to go on a proper date, he'd include you in his day instead. like, if he's doing an assignment then he'll come over to yours. you'd be watching tv and he'd rest his legs on your lap as he types away... just so you can feel that he's there!

mark also loves movie marathons. he makes it like a twice a month kinda thing, and he's lowkey serious about it. he'd set up a nice atmosphere — makes sure that it's the right temperature, and prepares the coziest pillows, with the nicest snacks.

it's cute how if you try to kiss him during the movie, he'll push away and go "babe, this part's interesting!" this loser omg... ends up giving in anyway and you end up making out LOL

also he rambles so much, like seriously. tells you about his day a lot. watch out for random voice notes of him rambling about something happened. it's like you're his diary or something.

HUANG RENJUN:

passionate art student forreal. always seen in the art studio, laser-focused on a canvas or a sculpture. always turns in his assignments in time, the kind of student people silently admire because of how passionate he can be.

sometimes makes you the subject of his artworks. whether it be the landscape of a place you love, or a portrait of you — you're renjun's muse. makes you pose for him for hours and sneaks you kisses every now and then just to keep you motivated. he doesn't do this all the time but it's often enough that his classmates know you lol.

the kind of boyfriend to give random, thoughtful gifts. sometimes it's cute handicraft things like a sun-catcher, sometimes it's a bookmark with a painting of your favourite scenery on it.

big on quality time! your dates doesn't even need to be fancy, renjun's content with a simple lunch at a hotpot restaurant. just wants to spend some time with you <3

he plans a lot of your dates. this might be an unpopular opinion but he's quite the romantic. he'll find a free weekend and plan out a proper date. starts with picking you up, then brings you to a picnic spot you've never even heard about. prepares literally all the food and the activities you'll do (of course he'll make you pose for a sketch again), takes about a gazillion pictures of you. and then for dinner he'll take you to a restaurant and then go on a walk along a river before he finally takes you home.

and it's not over when he takes you home... of course he'll make you a little supper and help you take off your make up before tucking you in. he's just so sweet.

LEE JENO:

jeno is an architecture major. busy 24/7, but always makes time for you. always stressed but you can never really tell because he tries to be calm around you, always wants to be someone you can lean on.

study dates all the time!  always working on some kind of project so study dates occur often. sometimes he'd be building a mock-up on the floor and he'll let you lay on his lap and help him here and there… maybe glue some trees… but he always includes you in things just to spend time with you. 

midnight drives every time things get overwhelming. he likes driving you in the city at midnight, enjoying how the streets are empty and the skyscrapers glimmer with light. drives one-handed with his free hand on your thigh. shows you all his favourite buildings and shares a little lore behind them. 

has a tendency to ramble without noticing, but only when there's just the two of you. he would share some things he learned during class while walking out of campus with you, hand in hand. also has a habit of puckering his lips when talking and it's the most endearing thing ever. 

in a frat only because mark and jaemin somehow dragged him into it. obviously attends the parties (only because they're the hosts) but prefers to sit on the couch with you. 

not the biggest on pda, but he'll happily walk around the campus with you. doesn't post on social media much either but every now and then he'll post a random photo on you. 

LEE HAECHAN:

perhaps this is a hot take but i think he would be a public relations major LOL. it would suit him!!! the major focuses mainly on practical work and he likes that. excels in the course because he has that natural aura that makes people want to listen to him every time he presents.

might i also add that he's the kind to bring a single pen and notebook to lectures and borrows the other shit from people...

speaking on presentations, he makes you give him a ‘good luck kiss’ every time he has one. “if you don't kiss me and i fail, that would be on you.” and when he gets complimented on his presentation he texts you “i told you the kiss is important.”

goes to a lot of parties and is a social butterfly. he's also straight-forward (and lowkey unashamed…) met you for the first time at a 127 frat party and tells you straight-up that he's into you. he's got no time to be shy! catches you sitting alone by the pool, approaches you and asks for your number. he can't hide the grin on his face when you type in your number. 

every time you're at a party and you're playing a party game like spin the bottle he chants "please let it be yn please please please" as if you're not already together??

whiny. like seriously whiny. 

the kind of boyfriend to say “ugh you're so clingy,” but he's literally clingier than you are. memorized your schedule and would wait for your classes to finish. his class ended at 11 but here he is waiting until 2 just to eat with you. stands outside the lecture hall with your favourite drink saying, “aren't i the best boyfriend ever?”

haechan's class outfits are simple. a sweater, a pair of jeans, and sneakers. he likes to keep it simple but he'll happily surrender himself to you when you want to style him. stays still and patiently poses for pictures just because he knows it makes you happy. 

very proud to have you! mentions you anytime he can, the kind of boyfriend to consistently say “oh my girlfriend told me…” “oh my girlfriend has that too…” okay dude we get it, you've got a girlfriend.

leaves cute little post-it notes around your dorm! especially during days when he knows you're stressed. you'll find them on your fridge, on your mirror — consisting of silly sketches and words like “i love you!!!!”

you're the most hated couple in the campus because of the pda… like oh my god you’re together we get it — chill haechan you can get your hand off their waist now thank you. 

NA JAEMIN:

medicine major! jaemin's particularly interested in plastic surgery because he thinks it's so cool that you can reconstruct faces. he's also good at convincing people so he'd do good in this field.

jaemin's really good at planning dates. he often does the planning for your dates, from what date, what time, to the venue. and the date ideas are quite creative, he would do things like pottery, to picnics, etc. he'd pick you up in the morning, waiting by your door with flowers. smiles so wide upon seeing you, twirling you around telling you how pretty you look. brings you for pottery and it's so fun!! makes you a mug and paints it our favourite colour, does some cheesy shit like carving your initials under the mug too. 

changes your pet name every 5 days. name a term of endearment, he's probably called you that. ranges from basic things like “babe,” “baby,” to some real weird shit like “sugarplum,” or “honey poo.” today it's “pumpkin…” next week, who knows? sets your contact name to something ridiculous like “sugarplum honey poo poo pie.” when you ask why, he'll tell you, “because even seeing the name will make me laugh and it'll lift my mood even more to talk to you and our conversations will be more meaningful.” okay smooth.

jaemin would go to your classes for fun. he'll sit in during lectures, scribbles some of the notes just for fun. if you share any class with him, he'd invite you to play tic-tac-toe on his ipad. he definitely has an ipad but only uses it to play games btw. and if you want to skip class he'll go to your class and sign the attendance for you. he's got you dw!!!

actions of service is one of his love languages. on days where it's too tiring to do anything, he'll drop by your dorm, cook your comfort food and help out with your chores. by the time you wake from your nap, he's done your laundry, washed the dishes, and is now laying beside you, with heart-shaped pancakes left on your table. 

ZHONG CHENLE:

sports science major of course. probably has a basketball scholarship. and he makes you come to every games, even got a custom jersey for you made. your lucky number along with 'zhong' in the back. he gets so hyped whenever he sees you in a crowd.

chenle practically lives in your dorm. you don't remember but it just happened. he just comes over so often that it's come to a point where he would go even when you're not around — you would come home from class and see him lounging on your bed eating a bag of your chips. he says it's because he likes being surrounded by your smell but you have a hunch it's because your pantry is always filled T_T

on the occasion where he actually leaves your dorm for his (which is rare,) he would leave his hoodies around which smells so much like him. it's definitely a ploy to get you wearing them because he thinks you look so cute with them on.

loves cooking together with you. sometimes it's something as simple as tomato eggs, but he just loves doing it with you. lets you sit on the counter and steals kisses from you as he cooks.

so gossipy it's crazy. he's the honorary boyfriend allowed during girls' nights because he's got all the tea. curls up beside you, massaging your arm as he tells everybody about what he heard from haechan's girlfriend or something. if you know something and you need a continuation to the drama... give him 3-5 business days and he'll find out.

yes you are his partner but chenle absolutely refuses to lose any game. nope. so competitive, he's serious as he stares at the screen and clicks on the controller. tells you he let you win if he loses LOL.

PARK JISUNG:

performing arts major!! and you bet he's not letting you miss out on a show ever or he’ll sulk with you so bad… one time you overslept and missed his performance and it took you an entire day to comfort him. (hint: you have to compliment him so much that he physically cannot take it anymore and he's turning all red and all he could do is smile stupidly.)

jisung's like an emo loser but he's not actually emo, he just looks like it. with his red hair and his glasses, he really looks like a loser. especially because he's always minding his business quietly with earphones on. little does everyone know (except you) he's probably blasting one direction. most emo music he listens to is probably mcr. 

he likes to take the bus to campus with you. he'll walk to the bus stop by your dorm, ride the bus together with you and his favourite thing is to share earphones. has an exclusive playlist (updated weekly) for your bus rides. 

chronic reel sender! you’ll wake up and see about fifteen reels sent to you…even sends them when he's bored in class. also sends “this is us” memes.

always treasures your gifts. you gave him a jacket once and he’s posted a picture with it like five times… and he only has seven posts…

makes excuses just to not end your dates!!! a simple lunch date could extend to a midnight walk by the han river with him. he simply refuses to send you back home. suddenly he’s craving for ice cream, suddenly he thinks you need to get a breath of fresh air together. almost always ends with you spending the night. 

still so shy despite having been together for a while. just linking fingers with you in public has him sheepishly smiling. so cute.

taglist: @ch3rryd0ll @jenohyun @untilthesunrises @raevyng @peachysoso @peartreegarden @iliveforsmut3000 @chenlezip @222low

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

ways haechan tells you he loves you.

tags: 500 words. haechan x reader. fluff, drabble.

love, to lee donghyuck, is not limited to only three words.

it is love when he traces your spine at midnight, drawing invincible circles on your back, etching his affection onto your skin. you've had a hard time falling asleep lately, he knows — he could tell from the toss and turn of your body and the soft sounds of tiktok late at night. so he makes you chamomile tea and rubs your back — the room smells like eucalyptus oil and him. he presses kisses on your shoulder so tender, as though you were porcelain. he rubs your back until you fall asleep, and the first thing he asks in the morning is "did you sleep well?"

love, to lee donghyuck, is his habit of kissing you every morning. hyuck carresses your cheeks with his palms, snickering at the way you blink your eyes to adjust to the sunlight. "baby... missed you while we were asleep..." he kisses you on the forehead, your cheeks, your nose, then your lips. he doesn't miss a single step, maybe adds a few extra kisses on your lips — it is as though it is a superstitious routine. he has to do it or else his day will feel terrible. and in a slight chance that he forgot... well, expect multiple messages of apologies and sobbing emojis.

donghyuck tells you he loves you by physically latching onto you every chance he gets. he always says he hates the clingy type — when in truth, he's often the clingy one. you're watching tv? he's hugging your arm, legs rested on your lap, chin buried into your neck. you could feel his breath against your skin every time he makes a commentary, like "that's literally us," and "you think i'm more handsome than him, right?" you're making coffee? he's hugging your back, littering kisses across your collarbone. you're taking a walk? well... the two of you are! he'll go on that walk with you, lacing your fingers together and swaying your arms.

you never listen, and hyuck's aware. he tells you to bring a jacket and you never do. when you start shivering, rocking your legs under the table, hyuck glances at you and sighs. "i told you it'll be cold, didn't i?" he babbles, "you never listen!" nevertheless, he's quick to take his jacket off and lay it on you. "bring an umbrella, it'll rain!" but of course, you don't. still, he'll rush out of practice and pick you up with his car, sighing to see you drenched. he quickly shelters you with the umbrella, pointing it towards you, uncaring of the fact that his shoulder's wet. "thank god i have your location, i told you it'll rain, baby. i don't want you getting sick." you never listen, he knows. to be loved is to be known, isn't it?

it is also love when hyuck tells you his secrets. he's always been the oldest in the family, rarely ever shows that he's struggling. but sometimes, behind closed doors, when it's just the two of you, he crawls into your embrace, tucks his head into your neck and cries. "i'm tired," he whispers. his voice is barely there, like it's a sin confession and you're the priest. hyuck lets you comb your fingers through his hair and kiss away his tears. to some, it may be a small thing, but to hyuck, it means everything. after all, a secret's an intimate thing.

lee donghyuck loves you, endlessly.

taglist: @ch3rryd0ll @jenohyun @untilthesunrises @raevyng @peachysoso @peartreegarden @iliveforsmut3000 @chenlezip

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

Lee Donghyuck is an opportunist (spoiler: the endearing kind). 

He knows you like a book he's read over and over again a million times, maybe more. He knows you like no one else does. That is mostly a good thing (keyword - mostly). 

Because as much as he never fails to pick the right gift for your birthday and always gets your coffee order right, he is also a manipulative bitch person who takes advantage of this knowledge and exploits you at your weakest.

Like right now when you really want to be mad at him because he hasn't done the dishes or the laundry, but Donghyuck's hand sneaks under your shirt in the midst of your monologue and you just freeze. 

When his breath ghosts your neck, a kiss landing on your nape, you don't even remember what you were on about anymore. Donghyuck loves it when you go pliant under his touch. He loves seeing the crease between your brows disappear, loves feeling your body going lax in his arms, loves the control he has over you. 

He pins you against the nearest horizontal surface (which happens to be the dining table) and pulls you into a (life-altering, mind-blowing, fantastic) kiss, leaving you completely and utterly disoriented. He loves watching your spit slick lips and the fading hickeys on your collarbone, loves undoing the buttons of your tight work blouse that hugs your chest a little too deliciously. 

He is a manipulator and a great one at that, but he also gets your mind off of your big girl duties because oh- he's sucking another bruise at that spot. He knows your body just as much as he knows you; he pushes all the right buttons that'll have you begging him for more, more, more in a matter of minutes.

And even though Lee Donghyuck is a serial exploiter, he is also a dutiful male wife who finishes the dishes and the laundry by the time you wake up from your exhaustion-induced nap. 

After all, he's your favourite wheeler-dealer.

-

Note:

Reblog if you like my fics, it really helps! I especially love reading the tags/comments when y'all reblog.

I don't know what this is. Let's pretend neither of us read it. Probably my most unhinged fic yet (this was for the tags but I reached my maximum tag limit).

Thankyou for the support.

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

23:45

Haechan loves touching you.

He traces the swell of every curve and the outline of every bone in your body until he could carve a sculpture of you with his eyes closed.

His lips press feather-light kisses to your collarbone as his finger glides over the shape of your lips. His touch holds so much reverence that you wonder if he’s praying, if the gentle line down your spine is his quiet act of worship.

Sometimes, in the silence between breaths, you almost believe he needs this to survive. That memorizing every dip, wrinkle, and pore of you is essential for his existence.

And maybe it is.

-

notes:

small one but hope you guys enjoyed it! like, reblog, and comment if you liked the story please:)

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

(tw: panic attack)

Academic rival Haechan x Reader

23:27

Your eyes burn. Every blink aches. A dull pulse behind your eyelids, red veins prominent in the white of your eyes, vision blurry everytime you take your eyes off the screen.

The words don't make sense anymore. You read the same sentence once, twice, thrice; it feels as though your brain has reached its maximum capacity and refuses to accept anymore information.

Frustrated, you massage your forehead in an attempt to relieve it from some of the tension. You desperately need rest. The sterile white lights of the library are too bright, too sharp. The silence is driving you insane.

You bury your face in your hands. You can't give up, not right now, not when the exams are so close. The pressure sits heavily on your shoulders, weighing down on you more than ever. You hear your own muffled sobs, chest full of hatred and head swollen with thoughts it can't hold anymore.

It feels like a storm is raging in your head — loud, messy, and impossible to calm. Everything’s spinning too fast, and you’re right at the center of it. You feel like you’re drowning in plain sight, invisible in a sea of open books and tense shoulders.

And in the midst of it all, out of nowhere, a quiet:

"Hey."

You almost don't hear it. A gentle hand on your shoulder makes you flinch. But the hand doesn't move, it is as firm as it is gentle.

You look up through tear stained cheeks and blurry eyes. You know that voice, and you know the face, even though you can hardly see through your tears.

Donghyuck crouches down beside your chair, another hand holding your cheek, thumb wiping away the tears as they flow.

"Breathe."

You can't. But he doesn't give up so easily either. His voice is deep, deep, deep, as he gently persuades you to breathe with him, counting each breath with uncharacteristic patience.

"You're okay, you're okay."

"Donghyuck," you manage to say between sobs. "Donghyuck."

"I'm right here, love." And he pulls you into his chest. Your face fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, his warm skin enveloping you in a bubble of comfort. He lays his head on top of yours and sways from side to side.

It feels strange just as much as it feels right.

Donghyuck - with a sharp tongue and a hot temper - insults you for every wrong answer and rolls his eyes at every right one. Every score higher than yours is worn as a crown, and each one lower than yours is a constant reminder that his best is sometimes still not enough.

Donghyuck - with his soft voice and warm body - tells you how great you are doing, how much he admires your hardwork, how he wants to be as good as you.

"I want to be as good as you too," you croak.

He chuckles.

"You can't, not like this. You need rest."

You protest, there's still so much to do and you already feel better, but Donghyuck is hard to convince.

He packs your things and drives you home. He pulls the blanket up over your shoulders with surprising care, tucking you in like he’s done it a hundred times before. His hands linger for a second, as if making sure you’re really safe — like the storm in your chest might still come back if he lets go too soon.

And then he turns to leave.

You don't want him to.

"Stay."

That's all you can say, not another bit of energy left in you.

And he understands.

The warmth of his body feels like home as he pulls you against him, hand wrapping securely around your waist. You feel him press his lips to your hair, unable to resist the closeness. You shift closer, craving the safety and comfort his presence brings.

Both of you lay in the quiet of your bedroom, not saying, but thinking the same thing.

Maybe this is what love feels like.

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

Welcome to my cozy library!

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╰┈➤ recent stuff: supernova (l.dh) Note: currently reconstructing the masterlist

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

MY BAMJJI TURNED INTO A HUMAN?! Σ(°ロ°)

bamjji who's been with you since high school, tucked lovingly onto the zipper of your backpack—always there, always soft, always still. the keyring is fraying at the seams from years of loyalty—from rain-soaked commutes and sunlit walks through campus, from being clutched too tightly during both moments of excitement and nights that hurt too much to breathe. all while still staying so painfully adorable.

bamjji who listens to your soft ramblings on the bus, your whispered rants about professors and friendship drama, about your heartbreak over that boy with constellations on his cheek who never once looked your way—soft ears bent from all your absent-minded fiddling. 

bamjji who you tuck under your chin at night. who smells faintly of custard from that one bungeo-ppang incident last semester. who absorbs your tears like they're meant for him. whose round face is the first thing you see every morning, blinking sleep from your eyes and wondering if anything in the world could be more constant than him.

bamjji who you lose one thursday evening. you come home, place your bag down, and he's just—gone. like a piece of your soul dropped off without warning. just emptiness where warmth used to be. you search the streets. retrace your steps. tear through your sheets. you even call your mom crying and she thinks someone died.

that night, you stand at your window and tilt your head towards the sky.

"please," you whisper to the stars above, to every alien and cosmic creature you've ever believed in, "bring my ji back to me."

a stranger with messy brown hair, sleepy eyes, and a paper bag of roasted chestnuts crinkling in his hand knocks on your door at exactly 5:02AM the next morning. a man who looks like he stepped out of a cartoon and fell into the real world—soft mole placed perfectly on his cheeks, pouty features, and a wide-eyed wonder like everything around him is both terrifying and fascinating.

"can i help you…?"

the stranger smiles, slow and soft, like the morning light curling through your curtains. like he's waited a long, long time to see you like this.

"i found my way home!"

you take a step back, eyeing the stranger more closely. there's something familiar in the way he rocks back on his heels, in the slight tilt of his head when he looks at you like you're his whole galaxy. the mole you once traced your thumb through fabric feels unmistakable now. there's a warmth blooming in your chest that feels like muscle memory—your body recognising him even when your mind can't quite believe it yet.

"bam…jji?"

human bamjji who stares at you like the sky handed him back every star it stole. he nods—slowly, shyly—like he’s still learning how to move in this strange new body, still figuring out how to balance his height, his limbs, the foreignness of feeling his own heartbeat.

you let him in before your brain catches up with your body. maybe it's instinct. maybe it's fate. or maybe it's just the way he stands there barefoot on your welcome mat, chestnuts in one hand , looking at you with that gentle, awestruck look in his eyes like you hung the moon just for him.

human bamjji who walks through your apartment like it's sacred ground. like every corner is both familiar and brand new. he gasps at the toaster—the same one you used to balance him on, pretending he was just another slice of bread. he pokes the alien sticker on your fridge with a look of solemn reverence. kneels beside your backpack and whispers, "i missed you."

you should be concerned. or at the very least confused. but instead, you boil water for tea, sit across from him at the coffee table, and ask if he's cold.

he shrugs, cheeks puffed. "only a little. but not when you talk."

human bamjji who follows you around like a confused puppy, trying to understand every light switch, button, and beep that was once too far away for him to reach, too real for him to use. he burns the eggs while trying to help with breakfast. gets overwhelmed at the grocery store and buys five different brands of cereal because they all looked cheerful.

human bamjji who stands in front of the mirror for hours. pokes at his own cheeks, his nose, and frowns. "my cheeks were rounder before…" he mumbles, mourning the plushness he left behind.

you laugh—fully, freely, almost too loud for the early morning. he startles, then beams at the sound. like your laugh alone makes his transformation worth it.

human bamjji who you find curled up awkwardly on your couch that night, knees tucked to chest, as if he's still the size of your palm. you drape a blanket over him, brushing the hair from his forehead—because your hands still remember how to care for him, even now. and quietly, you wonder what kind of magic could've stitched him into your life like this.

human bamjji who decides he needs a human name after a week of blushing and covering his flushed ears whenever you call him bamjji in public. you're mid-rushing a project, hunched over your laptop with three deadlines breathing down your neck, when he bursts into your room without knocking and blurts it out.

"jisung," he says, eyes wide and hopeful, like he's just gifted you the name of a star he discovered. "i read on google that it means stars in chinese. do you like it? do you think it suits me? ah... maybe i should think of another one…"

you glance up—noting his messy hair, wrinkled shirt, chestnut crumbs on his cheek—and nod. "i like it."

he beams so brightly you have to look away.

jisung who blushes even harder now than when you called him bamjji. who hides his face in your neck when you say his human name out loud, like the sound of it spoken in your voice makes his knees go weak.

jisung who whines dramatically whenever you pull him away from the roasted chestnut stand, dragging his feet like you're separating him from a long-lost lover. who insists the stall glows with a golden aura, a reunion of souls.

jisung who signs your notebook pages with hamster doodles, scribbles on the corners of your assignments and research papers, even doodles on the back of your receipts—as if afraid you'll forget the shape he once held in your life, and the new form he's learning to hold now.

jisung who tries to act all cool and mysterious but still cries during animated movies. sniffles quietly during inside out. clutches your sleeve tightly during wall-e. who gasps during alien documentaries and points out which ones he's apparently met before. who leans close and whispers conspiratorially, like he's sharing secrets only he and the stars know.

jisung who never forgets how you held him. who, even now, rests his cheek against your shoulder whenever you fall quiet. who listens for the rhythm of your heart like it's a lullaby he memorised a lifetimes ago. a melody that once told him he was loved—even when he couldn't speak it back.

jisung who you catch whispering to the sky sometimes. standing barefoot on your balcony in the dead of night, arms folded across his chest like he's sending something back.

he hums lullabies you've never heard before—soft and strange and impossibly sweet. his eyes closed, chin tilted towards the stars like they're old friends.

and when you ask him what he's doing, he turns to you with a sleepy-eyed grin, soft and shimmering with something almost otherworldly, and says,

"just thanking them."

thanking the stars above. thanking every alien and cosmic creature the two of you ever believed in.

thanking the universe for loving you so loudly that it brought him to life.

notes not proofread sorry :[ but writing this was so fun!!! the whimsy of aliens turning bamjji into a human... truly wonderful. happy reading!!!!!! (>ᴗ•)

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[everything-fine-n-peachy]

@ forloverswhohesitate fmab reader | (brother's best friend) johnny non sexual intimacy first time confessions implied yearning lighthearted & sweet | 1.3k words

JULY 5TH 72 degrees 📀 for lovers who hesitate by jannabi

"You know, you have a beautiful voice,"

The compliment falls from the direction of the shower curtain, barely audible over the sound of running water--thudding down upon the bath like an unrelenting storm--and your own voice, consumed in a pretty lilt that rivals a songbird. Despite this, it's meant to be heard. Syllables spoken clearly, shaped in a low baritone that just manages to slip through the droplets and a short intake of breath. Landing in the hollow of your ears where it rings, putting up a fair fight for dominance against your tinnitus. It's not that the praise was unusual (you've had it said to you no less than ten times) but that it was coming from him.

Johnny, who for all intents and purposes, barged into your bathroom without a care in the world. Announcing that your brother wanted to go out and he's hogging his own bathroom, leaving Johnny with the only alternative of using yours to freshen himself up ("Sorry, I can leave if you want," he said, but if you told him to leave--to get out as soon as he stepped foot inside--would that not make whatever exactly it is you feel about him obvious? So you settled for a simple "You're good. I don't mind," instead, as if any amount of faux nonchalance would eventually transform into the real thing). He stayed as if it were something normal for you and he to do, as if he weren't nothing more than a friend of your brothers and therefore not something forbidden and off limits to you (because despite being well into your twenties, your older brother still acts like you're fifteen). A domestic type of intimacy saved for families and lovers, one you've shared a dozen times but never felt quite like this.

"Thank you," under normal circumstances, you would acknowledge his praise only to ignore it--continuing your song without much thought to the words and their owner--but in this one, you find yourself silent. Much too afraid of letting him know just how affected you are by such a simple accolade. Though you suppose he probably already knows, judging by the lightest hint of laughter sounding from your sink.

"Mhm," you can practically see the shrug of his broad shoulders as he leans against your sink, "I used to love that song,"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You'd sing it all the time when guys used to live with your parents,"

If it weren't for the fact that you were standing completely still, like a deer caught in headlights, you're positive you would have slipped and lost your footing. Landing smack on your back and bleeding out against the drain as you replayed his words over and over and over again until his voice became warped and muddied--turning into the steady stream of the shower heard. The same words that gave you an inkling of an indication that you haven't been completely out of his sight for the last decade. That he saw you more than just the annoying little sister who occasionally interjected into her brother's conversations to try and make his friends laugh. More than someone in the shadow of her brother, trying to be seen but never succeeding. More than you ever thought. Or at least enough to remember what song you liked to sing.

"I'm surprised you remember that,"

"You shouldn't be," he scoffs and you hear his elbows come to rest upon the countertop of your sink, "I was always paying attention to you,"

It turns out, you didn't have to fall flat on your back to have the wind knocked straight out of your lungs. Johnny was more than capable of doing that with nothing more than seven measly words. Words you've heard a hundred times in a hundred different ways just never in that heart-stoppingly, candid order. You can't tell if it's some sort of confession or just something boys would admit casually to one another, meaning nothing and leading nowhere. But you find yourself fumbling for a foothold--grasping on with a single hand as you choke out a laugh.

It's a laugh Johnny has been on the receiving end of his entire life, the sort where your face is ducked down--hands behind your back as you lean back and forth from heel to toe. A coy smile dancing on your lips, hidden with the angle of your jaw as you do your best to stifle it from becoming something more akin to a grin. Something bashful but not unconfident, flustered but refusing to admit it. A softened, light noise which draws upon a smile of his own as he would knock your shoulder--scrutinizing you with a raised eyebrow and a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes--"Come on, I can make you laugh more than that,"

"To me?" you ask, body finally back in motion as you rinse out your hair for what feels like the umpteenth time--anything to avoid getting out of the shower and having to face him head on, no curtain to duck behind, "Or to my brother and by proxy me?"

"You," he answers as if it were the most natural response in the world, unfettered by any hesitation or thought, "I mean first it was you by proxy but then it was you. By the time we were both in high school," he clarifies, "By the time I liked you,"

"Liked me?" you laugh in an ill attempt to hide the fact that you were still trying to catch your breath and calm your racing heart--it doesn't work as well as you think it does, "First I'm hearing of this,"

"I've said it before," a pause, "I think,"

"I think I would have remembered that. You confessing, I mean,"

"Big moment for you?"

You can practically picture the shit eating grin on his face, like the cat who caught the canary. A sight which, unfortunately for you, only makes the drum of your heartbeat louder. You do your best to force a scowl, furrowing your brows and narrowing your eyes to avoid looking too gleeful at this sudden revelation as you turn the water off. The previous shower reduced to nothing more than a steady drip, drip, drip of the faucet. The bathroom suffocated in a sudden silence, broken only by the scuffling of your attempt to grab your towel and the slightest shift in Johnny's stature.

"Average," you poke your head out (scowl morphing pathetically into an instinctual smile in little less than half a second), hair dripping onto your forehead as you scrutinize him--curtains clutched around your chest.

He's watching you from the mirror, large hand poised against his scalp as he smooths out his hair in long strokes. Movements finely tuned in a practiced precision, capable of repeated perfection without even watching (though he supposes he wouldn't be able to watch even if he wanted to, utterly unable to break your gaze).

"And if I confessed now? Still average?"

You shrug, pawing for your towel before successfully retrieving it and sliding back behind the curtain and away from his prying eyes that make your stomach drop straight to your toes. "Below, probably. Saying it while I'm naked in the shower, not facing you, doesn't exactly earn you any points,"

"Tough crowd," he says, spitting it out on the end of an exhale as if his next words pushed them straight off the tip of his tongue, "I liked you then. Like you now,"

"You've mentioned it,"

Johnny's quick to rebut, "Not the present tense confession. Did I?"

"It was implied. Wishful thinking. And still below average, by the way"

He groans playfully and you can hear subtle noises of his movements as if he were trying to find the right footing. "Then I'll keep saying it until it's show stopping enough for you,"

"You might wear it out, you know,"

"Nah," he hums and you can hear the cheeky smile on his lips--pursed around words that are filled with nothing short of an easy confidence, "Not when it's about you,"

🗯️ TAI NOTE. sometimes i just sit down and black out for thirty minutes and when i come to there's an entire one shot written. this is one of those times. i've really been on a johnny kick lately, he reminds me of an older brother you'd see in a teen movie. the kind i'd totally be head over heels for as a kid, a sort of crush that transitions over into adulthood as you punch and kick yourself for not being closer friends with anyone who had a cute older brother to crush on. except i did date my friend's older brother and he was not how i'd imagine johnny to be. maybe in a different life johnny is my friend's older brother and i got my wattpad esque happily ever after--if i did, i imagine the confession would be sort of like this :)

🧾 © 098kw 2O25

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

JOHNNY SUH AS A BOYFRIEND

- He’s a fantastic cuddle buddy. Like long arms and legs that were made to wrap around you. And cuddling with him is far from boring. It probably started with you and him watching a movie, then it turned into him complaining about you being too far away. Which turned into you cuddled into his side and him whispering jokes about the movie in your ear.

- Speaking of jokes, you and him are definitely a walking bestfriends to lovers trope. Like it took ages for him to ask you out, but once he did the transition from friend to boyfriend was so smooth. He never fails to make you laugh. Can so easily turn your frown into a smile with just his presence. But he’s also very in tune with your emotions, and is able to determine when you need a listening ear instead of a laugh. Which brings me to my next point.

- He’d be such a good listener, and probably gives amazing advice. Gives the best hugs too, so when you walk up to him with tears in your eyes he’s immediately dropping everything and wrapping his arms around you. And he’ll let you cry it out until you’re ready to talk about it. Also doesn’t mind telling you you’re in the wrong when it comes to arguments you have with friends. But he does it when you at home and calmed down.

- It’s so important to him that you get along with his family. And he’d make a big effort into getting along with yours as well. Like any family you have that you invite him to, he’s turning up the charm so all cousins, aunts, and uncle adore him. Your mom is begging for you to bring him back. And your dad, who has never liked any of your boyfriends starts texting asking how Johnny likes certain foods cooked, and what sports team he goes for.

- Loves you so much and is not afraid to say it. He’ll hold your hand in public, give you kisses, even sends you pictures of himself while he’s out so you know he’s missing you. I think he’s the type to save I love you’s for special occasions. But makes sure you know through his actions as well. The first time he said I love you was after you met him mom.

- Very much not afraid to share his feelings with you. A firm believer in communication and being transparent with your partner. So late night talks with him spilling his guts happen, not frequently, but often enough for you to not be worried where his head is at. And he makes sure you also know that he’s a safe space for you as well.

- Despite having a busy schedule, he does everything he can to make sure you’re not feeling lonely while he’s gone. He calls throughout the day to keep you updated on what he’s doing. Your call get interrupted all the time by the other members. In the background you’ll hear a ‘tell y/n we said hey’ and as soon as Johnny starts to repeat the message the member ends up just taking the phone from him.

- In conclusion, Johnny is the most thoughtful boyfriend ever.

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

agree to disagree (z.cl)

pairings: zhong chenle x reader genre: high school angst summary: y/n thinks chenle has the biggest head on the planet (literally and figuratively) and chenle is a boy with a crush and a lot of issues to work through.

warning: slight mention of parental neglect and ensuing anxiety

You hated Chenle’s guts. 

There was just something about this boy that made your eyes roll every single time he was with you in the same room. You had to agree that there were perks to haveing someone as affluent as Chenle in your grade. The sponsorships from his family during school events meant that teachers were inevitably more lenient. But behind this so called generosity, you could clearly see the humble brag that he was. 

Everyone adored the fair skinned boy who liked to laugh obnoxiously loud with his friends who all wore rolex watches. There was an undeniable envy behind the thin veil of admiration that everyone seemed to have though. Except you, ya’ll stay safe. 

You knew it since day one of the 7th grade when the teacher announced elections for class officers a week prior. Elections that you intended to win. The next day Chenle showed up with a bag of lollipops for everyone, automatically securing him a win as president of the class while you lost with less than five votes to your name. 

It wasn’t to say that he did a lousy job. But he wasn’t going to silently work behind the scenes, no. He liked to make everyone aware of his status and wealth in the most subtle of ways. Free snacks whenever he felt like it, free entrance at the golfclub their family owned, and souvenirs for everyone from when he would go overseas with his grandparents. And you hated it. The feeling of being treated as a charity case. Like this boy thought he could buy everyone’s love. But not you. 

“I hope everyone enjoys the free handwash mom says they cost a lot,” he announced. You with the long French braid and mouth full of braces promptly had enough by then. 

You approach him with your irritation having reached it’s limit within your stature of four-feet-eleven. “If you’re always going to tell us how expensive everything is, then I think you should just shut up,” you spat, shoving the pink paper packing into his chest. You walk away with satisfaction as Chenle muttered crap about how it was from the tropical islands of whatever country you couldn’t pronounce. 

Your hate was was palpable across the entire grade for the next five years. Everyone knew that you and Chenle didn’t mix except maybe your 12th grade English teacher. 

“Class this is just for the first term. No one is being forced to sign a marriage certificate so I would appreciate if everyone cooperated with their partner,” Ms. Son commented as she flashed the list of pairs on the screen in front.

You visibly frowned, “you gotta be kidding me.” Jaemin, who sat next to you tried to contain his laughter upon realizing that you had in fact been paired-up with Chenle. Ms. Son eyes anyone who dared to complain before explaining the project. “I want each pair to pick a topic that you disagree on. For the next nine weeks I want you to come up with a presentation on how communication skills will help you understand a different perspective.” 

Murmurs fill the room. Some of your classmates are excited. Many are quite bored and just wish the bell would ring. You are downright fumming at Chenle’s audacity to wave at you from across the room when your eyes meet. 

On the first meeting you drag yourself into the library for the inevitable. Chenle lounges lazily on one of the bean bags, engrossed in his tablet. You drop your things on an empty table before clearing your throat. 

“I think the sooner we get this over with the better,” you say with a tight lipped expression. He agrees before standing up and joining you on the table. 

You notice him studying you and can’t help but fumble with your pencil and notebook. “Why are you looking at me?” 

“I just can’t figure out why you hate me so much,” he mutters more to himself than to you. 

“We’re here to discuss the assignment.” you pointedly respond before proceeding to go over some of the topics you wanted to tackle. As you’re reading off the list you notice Chenle’s eyes linger on you a few times. You find the way he can keep eye contact unsettling but you push on wanting the assignment to be over sooner rather than later. 

The good news was that you found plenty of topics that you disagree on. The bad news was that none of you could get through a conversation without picking a fight, well mostly you couldn’t get through a conversation without picking a fight. 

You mutually decide that Renjun would be present on your second meeting. You both think maybe a mediator would help you. But not even 30 minutes in and Renjun’s hands are rubbing his cheeks in frustration. 

 “Let’s take this from the top shall we?” He reiterates,” you need to listen to each other first. Stop trying to win over each other.” 

“I think there’s nothing wrong with using your connections to get farther in life, if I have an advantage why shouldn’t I use it?” Chenle states.  

“If said advatange is within your reach because of privileges that you have, shouldn’t that be regulated by policy?” You bite back. 

“They /are/ regulated by policy. Don’t companies have referals? Isn’t that even better since people are vouching for them?” 

At this point Renjun let out an exasperated sigh. None of you were listening to each other, let alone him. “Guys, the pont of this assignment is to hear both sides. I need you to find some common ground,” he exclaims earning some looks from other kids in the lounge. 

The two of you promptly stop arguing. Renjun sighs again, “you don’t actually disagree as much as you think.” 

You snort in response, “yeah and Chenle just needs to get his big head back to earth to see that not everyone has a rich family who can get them places.” 

“Why do you always act like that’s a bad thing?” Chenle retaliates. 

“It’s a bad thing when you keep trying to buy your way through life!” you yell. 

You visibly see Chenle shrink back into his chair. His face morphs into something you’re not sure of. Even you are a little surprised at yourself. 

Chenle presses his lips together. He laughs to himself before speaking, “well, I don’t know what to say to that. But I have taekwondo training in five, so …” 

You watch Chenle gather his stuff in silence. You stare hard at the blue metallic surface of the table long after Chenle is out the door. 

“That was pretty mean even by your standards,” Renjun said. “I get that he’s annoying but isn’t that a bit unfair considering you barely know him?” 

That night you stare up at the ceiling finding it hard to sleep. You toss and turn thinking about Chenle. You remember the boy who bragged about his thousand dollar drone, the boy who accidentally dumped his iphone in the pond and had a new one the next day, the boy who liked to tell people that money wasn’t a problem. 

Then you also remembered that he was the boy whose parents didn’t show up to any ribbon ceremony, the kid who constantly brought nannies instead of family to his school shows, and the only one who hadn’t received a personalized letter from his mom or dad during the senior retreat in 10th grade. 

You think you don’t really know Chenle as much as you’d like to think. Maybe you were the problem for allowing your 7th grade grudge get the best of you for the last five years. Maybe, you needed to give this project a chance by not sabotaging it nearly as much as you did. 

You’re nervous when the third meeting comes up. Words have been scarce between you and Chenle but you at least have the decency to set up another meeting at the library. You’re a few minute early but soon five minutes turned into ten and ten turned into twenty. You attempted to text your partner but to no avail, you try and look for him yourself. 

A few steps into the 12th grade corridor you hear shuffling in one of the rooms. Curious, you follow the sounds and find yourself face to face with Chenle who was in the process of pacing. You can’t help but notice that his hands shake a bit. 

“Go away,” he says. When you don’t follow his command, he let’s out a shaky breath and a tiny laugh before slumping against the wall. You stand and watch as he sinks to the ground. 

“You’re probably right. All I have going for me is my family and I can’t even please them. Can't win a medal, can't get on the merit list.” 

You find yourself sitting next to him, leaning your head against the wall. Not quite sure what to respond, you let him drawl on. 

“I don’t even like taekwondo,” he laughed to himself again. 

“Why do you do it then if you don’t like it?”

“It’s the only tournament my dad ever attends.” 

Your eyes look straight at the windows that offer a view of the sun setting beautifully in soft hues of pink and stark orange while you both bask in the misery of the moment. 

“I got into university today. The university that they wanted for me so badly.” 

“Do you want to go?” 

“No,” he chuckled, covering his face with his hands. 

“Then don’t go. You’re plenty smart I’m sure you’ll find a good university that you actually want to go to,” you reply turning your face to look at Chenle. 

He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “My parents have already paid for the first semester.” 

There’s a long pause before Chenle speaks again. “I was thinking about what you said a couple of days ago. It kinda stung but it wasn’t something I heard for the first time.” 

You unconsciously shift your position, uneasy at how Chenle’s demeanor changed from the last time you spoke to him with Renjun at the students’ lounge. He seemed so vulnerable, cocky have-it-all attitude all gone. Instead, a very much exhausted Chenle seemed to take his place. 

“I don’t take any offense, don’t worry,” he assured you. “I just reaized for the first time that I actually let myself use my pain as an excuse. I parade this generational wealth around since that’s all it was ever good for.” 

You feel yourself soften at his confession. Not that he was totally forgiven but it was a start. “That still isn’t an excuse for me being mean to you for the longest time. I apologize,” you mutter, eyes looking ahead. 

“I guess we can call it even since I’ve been a jerk to you, too. Sorry bout that.” 

You turn only to realize that Chenle was already looking at you. He had always been looking at you except you never did notice. He liked the way your eyes reflected the pretty sunset. Even after five years, his crush on you hadn’t worn off. 

Truth be told, he pulled half the stunts he did to get your attention. Winning class president, giving away free strawberry hand soap because he had overheard that you liked the color pink, engaging you in arguments, and everything in between. 

He knew from when you didn’t back down from him during class elections. Since then he only found more reasons to reaffirm his feelings with everything you do. His heart would skip a beat when your bright voice fills a room when you talk about social injustice, the way you were so proud of your dad, a teacher on career day, or the way you earnestly listen to your friends when they have something to say. 

Chenle offers his hand, “to new beginnings?” 

“To new beginnings,” you replied. 

As you’re both standing up to leave you can’t help but feel the urge say something. “Chenle, about the university. I guess there won’t be any harm if you honestly tell your parents that you don’t want to go. Just a suggestion,” you offer with your palms raised. 

For the first time, you experience Chenle smiling at you. Like, really smiling at you. You aren’t particularly sure why but you notice the crinkle of his eyes and the lopsided curve of his lips and you can’t help but feel endeared. 

“Well, there’s that,” he says. “But I’m hungry. We should order pizza.” 

You nod in reply, “as long as you aren’t getting them with pineapples, I’m down.” 

Chenle’s eyes widen as he slowly lowers his phone, “you don’t like pineapples on pizza?” 

“They’re disgusting, no.” 

“But they bring out all the other flavors!” he exclaims. 

You smile at him while he continues to tap on his phone. As you walk down the corridor you think- no, you feel that something has changed and even if you wouldn’t want to admit it, you were glad that it did. 

“Let’s just agree to disagree,” you finally said, putting one foot in front of the other. 

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

HOW TO LOSE YOUR MIND (AND GAIN A PAIR OF FUZZY EARS) IN 3 MONTHS

he’s been your best friend for ten years, your boyfriend for three months, and apparently, your personal teddy bear since forever. haechan doesn’t know whether to run, cry, or cuddle—so naturally, he does what any sane man would do—become the bear of your dreams.

pairing lee haechan x fem!reader genre fluff, comedy, established relationship warnings reddit post format, profanities, jealously (SILLY), spiralling (SILLY), dumb boy in love word count 1.7k notes HELLO i need to stop disappearing on here sm im sorry :( but i wrote this thinking of ubereats hyuck!!! the plot lowk doesnt make any sense BUT i just missed him sm and i missed writing silly stuff on here so yay... i hope u enjoyoyoy and happy monday!

r/AmItheAsshole posted by

u/haemuffin・18 hours. ago

my (25M) girlfriend (25F) forbids me from going into her childhood bedroom and has a sock drawer stuffed full of bear keyrings. some of them even look a little like me. AITA for feeling uncomfortable?

i (25M) have been dating this girl (25F) for like, three months now. we’ve been best friends for years, and i finally confessed to her after she fell asleep on my shoulder during a horror movie and called me her personal teddy bear.

obviously, i thought that was the greenest flag a guy could ever get. she accepted my confession right away, and we kissed in the parking lot next to a build-a-bear, which now feels a little too ironic in hindsight.

anyway. recently she invited me to her parents’ place and told me i could go anywhere but her childhood bedroom. i thought she was joking at first until i simply walked past it and she appeared out of nowhere like a horror movie ghost and pulled me away after giving me the gnarliest glare EVER. i did, however, sneak a peek before she dragged me off and i caught a glimpse of like, a hundred bear plushies just sitting there on her bed.

she also has an entire sock drawer in her apartment stuffed full of bear keyrings. one of them wears a hoodie that looks suspiciously like one of mine. another has beauty marks on its cheek in the exact placement i have mine on. her phone case? bears. her ringtone? bear noises. (???)

i’ve also been told all my life that i look like a bear, so i asked her once—half-jokingly, of course—if she only started talking to me because i looked like a one, and she didn’t deny it. she just giggled and kissed my nose.

TLDR, AITA for feeling a little… i don’t know. concerned for my safety? or identity? or left out that my girlfriend, my best friend of TEN YEARS, didn’t care to tell me about her morbidly insane obsession with bears?

⬆️ 82 ⬇️ 💬 5

haechan didn’t consider himself a paranoid man. if anything, most people described him as laid-back, albeit slightly overly affectionate, and also kind of a menace. he believed in good omens. he even had a crystal phase once—charging his rose quartz on his windowsill routinely, hoping it would make you, his best friend, look at him in a different, more romantic light. safe to say, it worked.

but ever since the two of you started dating, he started noticing... things.

it started when you first invited him over to your apartment. you had always preferred hanging out at his when you were just friends, but now that things were different, you opened your door to him like it was nothing. he tried not to think too hard about the bear-themed bath mat or the oddly specific collection of bear-shaped coasters you owned. he even overlooked the bear stickers you often slapped onto his belongings without asking, claming it gave them character. but it was your sock drawer that tipped him over the edge.

you were in the shower when it happened. he’d just been looking for a pair of fuzzy socks—your fuzzy socks, to be exact—because his feet were cold and your drawer always smelled of baby powder and comfort. what he found instead was an entire drawer, stuffed with tiny, keychain-sized bears. rows and rows of them, in different shades of brown, textures, and expressions. some were handmade—crocheted, clearly by you— others were store-bought, but a disturbing number were… familiar.

one wore a grey hoodie that matched his favourite one. another had tiny stitched moles that matched the placement of the ones on his own face. he lifted it closer, blinking. the stitching on the bear’s right cheek wasn’t a manufacturing detail—it was intentional.

he stood there for a while, just holding it. not even sure how to feel.

when you finally walked out of the bathroom with your hair wrapped in a towel and a toothbrush between your teeth, you saw him standing next to your dresser with a look of existential dread painted across his face.

“you okay?” you asked around the toothbrush.

“yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “totally fine. just... um, hanging out with my twin, apparently.”

you looked at the bear in his hand and smiled, unbothered. “oh. you found my gomdo lee.”

he blinked. “i’m sorry, you named it?”

you gave a light shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “of course. it’s also based off you, by the way. i started customising him back in college after renjun called you his winnie the pooh bear.”

“that was—okay, that was a joke, a passing comment. but this? you’ve been making bears based on me since before we were even dating? wow... and i thought i was the obsessed one...”

“can’t a girl have hobbies?” you replied sweetly.

but the way your eyes sparkled? haechan wasn’t so sure this was just a hobby.

that night, he couldn’t sleep. he laid stiffly in your bed, staring at the ceiling while you snored softly beside him.

it wasn’t that your bed wasn’t comfortable. it was too comfortable—covered in plush blankets and stuffed animals that made him feel like he’d been swallowed into the softest cult imaginable. you looked peaceful, one arm wrapped tightly around a fluffy beige teddy that looked older than both of you combined. its fur was worn and slightly matted in places, but you held onto it like it was made of gold. it wore a navy cardigan—buttoned and everything—which wouldn’t have been so strange if haechan himself hadn’t worn a nearly identical one just a few weeks ago.

he glanced down at your sleeping form. you nuzzled deeper into the plush bear’s chest, mumbling something incoherent under your breath that sounded dangerously like my bear…

he exhaled slowly and turned onto his side. the ceiling fan spun lazily above him, doing nothing to calm the growing questions in his head.

was he your boyfriend… or your living build-a-bear?

he wasn’t even sure he was mad or uncomfortable. mostly confused. and—if he was being painfully honest—kind of flattered?

which was possibly worse.

he brought it up to mark the next day at their usual brunch spot, halfheartedly picking at his tofu stew while trying to rationalise everything out loud.

“i’m not saying i’m jealous, or anything,” haechan insisted, even though his tone sounded exactly like someone who was jealous. “i’m just… confused. and maybe a little left out. like, this is clearly something she’s obsessed with. i mean—her ringtone is literal bear noises. but she never once told me about it. not when we were friends. not even when we first started dating. i’ve also never had to compete with stuffed animals before. it’s humbling.”

mark, who had been half-listening while texting chenle about wanting to go home, finally looked up. “you’re jealous of teddy bears?”

“i’m not jealous,” haechan repeated. “i’m just confused about all the attention these bears are getting. i’m her boyfriend. i bring her food. i fix her wifi. those bears just lie there like limp little freeloaders!”

mark chewed thoughtfully. “okay, so like… what’s the issue? you think she’s only dating you because you look like a bear?”

“…i don’t know.” haechan slumped back in his chair. “everyone does say i resemble one. i mean i do have a round face and round eyes but i don’t think i’m so bear? but she once said my yawns were ‘cub-like.’ what does that even mean? fuck, this is all your fault.”

mark blinked at him. “you need help.”

“I NEED ANSWERS.”

haechan tried to forget about it. really, he did. he convinced himself it was harmless. you liked cute things. he was cute. case closed.

but then he caught himself googling do women imprint on men who resemble animals? and realised maybe he was truly losing it.

the final straw came when he returned home after dance practice and collapsed onto your shared couch, only to knock over one of the keyring bears you’d lined up neatly against the shelf. it fell to the floor face-up, staring at him with those same round eyes and smug little cardigan.

and suddenly, haechan had a thought so stupid it almost made him laugh.

what if he leaned into it?

what if, instead of questioning everything—he just became the bear for you?

he spent the next hour pacing the apartment and scrolling through bear-themed accessories before finally rage-ordering a headband with ears and a hoodie with paw prints on the sleeves.

if he couldn’t beat the bears… maybe it was time to join them.

on the night of your three-month anniversary, you opened your apartment door, expecting a simple dinner—or at most, one of his overly dramatic love coupons written using jaemin’s glitter pens. instead, you were greeted by a full-grown man standing outside with a slightly awkward grin and a big red ribbon tied around his neck.

he wore a soft brown hoodie, complete with stitched fabric ears poking out from a headband. his cheeks were flushed, both from embarrassment and—if he were honest—hope.

he cleared his throat and held out a single paw-printed card. “hi,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “i’m your true, real bear now.”

you stared at him for a long, stunned second. he shifted on his feet, suddenly regretting the ribbon. and the headband. and quite possibly his entire life.

but then you dropped everything and launched yourself into his arms with so much force he stumbled back into the hallway.

“i love you,” you whispered, breathless, like it was the easiest truth in the world.

he blinked, ears twitching, unsure he heard that right.

“what?”

you looked up at him, eyes glassy. “i said i love you. my real bear.”

and just like that, every second of spiraling and confusion was worth it. he grinned into your hair, holding you tight. “damn. all it took was a pair of fuzzy ears and a ribbon, huh?”

“no.” you giggled, chest blooming with warmth as you cupped his face. “it took you. you’ll always be my one and only lover-bear.”

r/AmItheAsshole posted by

u/haemuffin・7 days. ago

my (25M) girlfriend (25F) forbids me from going into her childhood bedroom and has a sock drawer stuffed full of bear keyrings. some of them even look a little like me. AITA for feeling uncomfortable?

UPDATE, i dressed up as a bear and now we’re inseperable. still not allowed in the childhood bedroom though. apparently there’s a bear with my baby photo sewn into its chest. she said it was a prototype. i am terrified. also flattered. but mostly terrified. wouldn’t trade her for the world though :)

⬆️ 127 ⬇️ 💬 66

perm. taglist — @dreaminabtrj @ddolbyong @f6llsun @kkyeoji @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r @dejundesign @uncasings @sweetpinkblueberry @spacejip @yushiela @insbread @t-102 @haelvrty @pl4netx1a @haeivie @natakgae @fae-renjun @sunghoonsgfreal @jaemcaffe @xikskrrrs @rubiiisyeon

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

Broken Melodies: Stories from a Secret Place (7dream highschool series)

Highschool: A season of young love and heart ache, of best friends, the craziest rumor mills, homework horror stories, and just figuring out who you want to be. Stories from a secret place is a series of pivotal moments. Some to be celebrated or held close to the heart while others stored away in the dark recesses of the mind. Each one equally of value in any coming of age. Note: - Stories are set in a different places and can be read separately - The boys only serve as muses. While some events bare similarities to real life situations, this is purely a work of fiction. - boarder is from @lilac-dreamxxz 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈

Mark is the leader. The proverbial golden boy who is cool, responsible, and mature all at the same time. A man made machine, he thinks. In his world, there is always more to do, people to please, and obligations to fulfill. So, when love knocks on his door, will he let you in? Mark's log: ⇢ Year 11 time capsule (fluff, angst) pairing: studentleader!mark x fem!reader • Status: incoming senior 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈

Renjun has always been the studious type. You can bet that he'll hand in his assignments earlier than everyone else and have enough time to help a friend out. Composure is what he's best known for. That is, except when it comes to the person who makes him blush. Renjun thinks there should be a scientific formula for asking you out, except there really isn't. Renjun's log: ⇢ Year 11 when daffodils bloom (fluff) pairing: honorstudent!renjun x honorstudent!reader • Status: incoming senior 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈

Jeno was prince of his own kingdom. That is, he is loved or, should we say feared by many. He certainly has a reputation of breaking hearts and leaving scars. You are not supposed to care about him and he is not supposed to care about you. But when you're assigned to write the stage play for his final requirement, suddenly the world is upside down. Jeno's log: ⇢ Year 12 chryslis (angst, suggestive) pairing: dancemajor!jeno x writingmajor!reader • Status: graduating 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈

When Donghyuck is on stage, he is the brightest star there is. Everyone's happy pill and adored by many. But when the show is over and the glamour fades, he's just your annoying bestfriend that you're secretly in love with. Haechan's log: ⇢ Year 11 the sun is also a star (angst, fluff) pairing: bestfriend!haechan x fem!reader ⇢ Year 12 supernova (angst, no comfort) pairing: bestfriend!haechan x fem!reader Status: graduated 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈

Jeamin was easy to like. The kind of boy that still believed in chivalry and romance. He's the supportive friend, the class tutor, and resident mediator. He was polite to everyone and yet set apart all at the same time. To him, love would come when it's meant to so he gladly marches to the beat of his own drum. That is until he does find himself lonely. His solution was simple: join the prom committee. Jaemin's log: ⇢ Year 12 two sides, one coin (fluff) pairing: volunteer!jaemin x studentleader!reader • Status: graduating 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈

sci·on /ˈsīən/ sai·uhn - descendant of a wealthy family Money talks. For Chenle? he sure let it speak volumes for him. What Chenle wants, Chenle gets. No questions asked. For a long time he enjoyed the privilege of having people grovel at his feet just to be within his good graces. That is until he gets the pleasure of meeting someone who doesn't take no for an answer, you. Chenle's log ⇢ Year 12 agree to disagree (fluff, angst) tw: allusions to self-harm pairing: richkid!chenle x fem!reader • Status: current senior 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈

Jisung only cared about two things in school: soccer and smiskis. He spends his afternoons on the field and recess with you. Sometimes there's a little studying in the middle. Life is that simple. Until it isn't. All it takes is one anonyomous post, withheld feelings, and some nosy friends to spice up the season. Jisung's log ⇢ Year 9 Coming soon • Status: year 8

𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈 𓈈⠀⠀ 𝅄 ⠀᧔◍᧓ ⠀⠀ 𝅄 𓈈

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

honeybee ✦ lhc

it’s a late night out with the boys, and all haechan wants is to take take you home…

✦ genre/tw est.relationship! disgusting levels of fluff!! haechan being the sweetest bf in the world! kisses, petnames, and talks of marriage!! reader has hair long enough to run your fingers through! unedited!!

✦ w/c 1301

✦ a/n i haven’t written for haechannie in maybe a year, but i missed him sm and im sooo excited for the comeback so here this is!! i hope you love it and it brings you the kind of quiet comfort that haechan brings in this fic <3 please remember to reblog and tell me how you feel!! xoxo

masterlist | requests now open!!

“I think he really loves you,” Mark says, his voice terribly honest, yours viciously hopeful in your response:

“You think?”

“Yeah, I mean… I’ve never seen him so quiet before.” Mark knows this could be seen as a bad thing, that Donghyuck’s usually vivacious personality being tuned to zero could be perceived as negative—like he wasn’t acting like himself—but he means that he seems more himself than ever before. The way your boyfriend looks at you, gentle and adoring, the way his energy hums with content rather than the erratic confidence it usually has… He’s fully inhabiting himself, instead of that familiar persona their job coats him in. “It’s like, he couldn’t get to sleep and now he’s finally resting.”

When you were little you thought love was shown in loud moments, when there’s nothing left to try but true loves kiss. You thought it would be like a fast paced pop song or a race car going off the tracks, but it’s not really…

“He makes me feel like that too,” you say shyly, looking across the room at where Donghyuck is laughing with Johnny. Sometimes, you feel so anxious you can’t eat or sleep, and can barely get the words out to ask for help… Yet, one look from your love and the world quiets.

You used to think love wakes things up, but really it lulls everything else to sleep. It’s just you and him, all alone in bed, serene and peaceful like a lullaby.

Your love is not found in those golden hour moments of heat and want, it’s in the blue, when the world is quiet and all you can hear is your breath.

Mark looks at you and smiles, a large goofy one that he usually only gives to Chenle or Jisung. His hand comes up to ruffle your hair and he tells you, earnest even in its humor, “I better be the best man at your wedding.”

It brings a swarm of evil insects to your tummy to think about marrying Hyuck, it would be too amazing—everything you’ve ever wanted. The nerves crawl up your spine and implant themselves in your chest cavity, the thought too brilliant to let yourself think of it calmly. Hyuck would look so beautiful, standing before you and your family and promising to love you forever… you could envision the way he would look, as pretty as a sunrise.

You turn to look at him again, watching as he moves closer to you, eyes sweeping over your figure. Every step closer to you is another deep breath, in and out… in and out…

“Whose wedding?” Hyuck asks, emerging beside you as easy as a breeze.

He’s so handsome today, bronze skin shining under the lamps, his heart shaped lips folding themselves into a large smile. Having him next to you eases the butterflies, that familiar quiet finding a home deep in your chest. If Mark notices the change in you, he doesn’t show it, he just quietly watches you both—a secret smile playing on his mouth.

“Yours obviously,” he says.

“Aish, Mark Lee, don’t get too excited.” Haechan’s eyes glint with mischief, his mouth curving into a sinister crescent moon. “You’re gonna have to wait a while, I won’t be a child bride.”

Your heart surges, it kills you to hear that surefire confidence—the way he’s talking about your future like something that isn’t in question, like it's going to happen no matter what.

Their conversation goes on for a while, going back and forth between jokes and the most disgusting displays of love two boys could show. You find yourself zoning out, falling into a deep calm of thoughts—all about him. Hyuck’s just so wonderful, so pretty in the lowlight of the bar. You can feel his hands softly flow through your hair, nipping the skin behind your ear with his fingers.

He loves you like this, soft and pliant in his hands, a flower he can put between the pages of a book and preserve forever. He wants to take you home, wrap you up in his blankets and clothes, and consume all of the soft kisses and sighs he can conjure out of you. It’s been eating at him all day, from the second you got out of your jammies and into your tight moonlit dress. He wishes he didn’t have to share you with anyone, wishes he could open his chest and move you in between his ribs.

It’s not that he doesn’t want anyone to see you together, he doesn’t want to keep you a secret—rather he wants to keep you safe; a fire is dangerous when there's too much oxygen.

“You okay, honey?” he whispers to you, drawing you in closer against his side.

You realize you’re alone, Mark back with all the boys—you can see him, giggling with Jaemin over something Renjun said. Hyuck is still smiling, but its softer now, the smile he only gives you.

“I’m okay, baby, just tired.”

“We can go home whenever you want,” He tells you, his eyes soft with affection. His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs swiping the slopes of your cheek bones. If you were paying enough attention you’d notice the soft touches were in time with the song playing through the bar speakers… if you were paying more attention you’d see the boys looking over at you with barely concealed fondness, but as it is, you’re only looking at him.

“Okay, baby,” you say, voice soft and flushed with romance. “Take me home.”

Your words make him flush and smile wider than a full moon, how he loves knowing that home is together—he wishes he could snap his fingers and get you there faster, do without having to call a car and walk up the steps to your door. He would do anything to have you alone and warm under the covers, make any choice if it brings that moment closer.

He adores you any and every way that you come, yet the version of you now, makeup smudged and warm from one too many moscow mules, is a close favorite. You’re so special to him, a starfall that crash landed into his life, a parade of colors behind his eyes.

“I love you, honey bee.” He says, voice so quiet you can barely hear him, “You’ll let me tuck you in won’t you?” His smile is coming closer, hiding kisses in your hair and drawing secret hearts on the skin above your belt.

“I’ll let you tuck me in, Hyuckie,” You tell him, grinning as his kisses move closer to your lips—awkwardly swiping against your nose and cheeks before landing a toothful kiss onto your grin. “Just remember my goodnight kiss…”

He smiles infinitely bigger, if that's even possible, kissing you through his quiet giggles and replies,

“And your lullaby too, huh?”

You love him you love him you love him…

Quietly and loudly and everything in between, you love everything about him—in dreams and memories, in the daylight and once the stars come out… you love him so much.

You can’t wait to be in bed next to him, sharing smiles and breath, mirror images intertwined into and around each other.

“Don’t forget my bedtime story, baby.” You say, giggling as he nips your nose.

“I would never baby, I'm already writing it now,”

You can vaguely hear the boys heckling you, making kissy sounds and gagging, but the only thing that seems important is the way he’s looking at you. He loves you, you know he does, but you’ve never been so sure of it until now.

“I love you,” you tell him, and you know by the look in his eyes and the way his lips lift as they meet yours that he feels the same.

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

07:53PM, 1010words

i’m never going to finish this but i think he’s a bit sexy here so….haechan doing the least and trapping you under his thumb

“You could stay the weekend.”

It’s a throwaway comment. It has to be. But…when you check, when you look up from your slice of cake just to see his face and maybe understand how you should react to the idea, you realize that it isn’t. It isn’t a throwaway comment and his eyes are fixed on you like he’s waiting for a Real Answer.

A sick feeling fills your stomach. You want to believe that your answer will change the course of your relationship, but boys are weird and you’ve never been able to tell what’s true or false with even the most honest, open-book ones. Attempting to figure out what’s going on behind Haechan’s words —to hope to read those soft brown eyes and find something more— is a pitfall. You’ve known that from the beginning.

You could stay the weekend. You could stay the weekend and sleep next to him and pretend for a few days that the person in front of you belongs to you. Maybe then you could get over the crush you’ve had on him since he was assigned to your team.

“What’s with that?” You aren’t sure where the question comes from, and you check your watch to keep from having to look at him. “My train literally leaves in twenty-seven minutes.”

“A train leaves in twenty-seven minutes. It doesn’t have to be yours.”

The piece of cake balanced on your fork falls, just barely making it onto your plate, and you set your utensil down as an afterthought. The sickness in your stomach twists, maturing into a curiosity that you have to swallow to settle down.

He’s right. Every statement is a fact. You could stay the weeknd. A train leaves in twenty minutes. It doesn’t have to be yours. 

You turn them over and over in your head, feeling them roll around like one of those hotdogs under the heat lights at 7-11. You take an irrational stab: If you stayed the weekend, then the train doesn’t have to be yours; If the train doesn’t have to be yours, then you could stay the weekend.

It’s a fallacy—

“I’m serious,” he admits.

Oh. —but he’s serious. Whatever that means.

“If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Serious about what?” You sit back in your chair, pretending to consider his suggestion. (You’ve already made up your mind. Already decided on the easier choice...) 

“If I said whatever way you want to take it, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“Yeah…” He laughs, breathy with amused disbelief. “I didn’t think so.

“I’m serious about you staying the weekend. I know we were working, but I enjoyed our week together. I—” He laughs, running his hands through his hair as he finally looks away from you. 

For the first time all week, it feels like you can breathe. The rush of clarity tells you to go home. It’s a bad idea, babe. You know it. Nothing good comes from any part of this. 

But, he looks back at you and that feeling returns, as though he has his own atmosphere. It’s thinner and warmer and makes everything else obsolete. You’re fucked, really. Each choice is the worst, and as you process this you realize that he’s offered you another fact dressed as a throwaway comment.

He takes a sip of his drink and the pull of his throat draws you closer.

You could stay the weeknd. A train leaves in twenty -seven minutes. It doesn’t have to be yours. He enjoyed your week in Busan. 

“It’s selfish and childish, but I don’t want it to end yet.”

“Do you always get what you want?”

His eyes met yours again and they’re guarded. It’s something you’ve never seen from him before, and it only reinforces the fact that he’s a world of his own because it again pulls you closer. As though you’re nothing but some untethered thing searching for something to be found in.

“We should get going. If you want to make your train.”

You laugh this time, confidence blooming in you as he tilts his head curiously. “And if I don’t?” 

Excitement passes over his features, brief but thrilling before his signature little smile quirks his lips. “Then we’ll keep walking. I live a street over.”

You take a sip of your tea before getting up from the table you’ve been sharing for nearly an hour. (It only just dawned on you that you’ve been back in Seoul for long enough to have dinner at one restaurant and dessert at another. With your suitcases tucked neatly together, as though it’s normal. Routine. When the truth is you aren’t particularly used to spending your Friday nights with anyone, let alone with handsome coworkers one-on-one.)

As he finishes off the table of desserts you’d been sharing, the fact that he uses your fork for one and doesn’t swap it out for the rest doesn’t slip by you. And when you stretch to shake off the day of travel and sitting, you don’t miss the way his eyes smooth up your body. It’s the most honest thing he’s ever done in front of you, made even more so by the way his cheeks visibly flush when he realizes you’ve been watching him the whole time.

Heat practically pools in your stomach.

“Yn-sunbaenim—”

You laugh, watching as he uses your now-shared fork to scoop up the rest of one of the desserts.

“—you liked this one best, right?”

He holds it up for you, free hand under to catch anything that falls.

“Yeah.” You take the bait, leaning in. “That bite is way too big…”

“It’s fine.”

His eyes are focused on your mouth as you let him feed you, and you share a laugh as he pulls the fork away, your cheeks full as he brushes crumbs from your mouth. He licks his thumb after, looking away to finish off the last cake, and you realize you’re done for.

Staying the weekend with him won’t address your crush. Not in any good way. But, you’re going to do it, anyway.

[everything-fine-n-peachy]

NCT DREAM 'BTTF' MV Teaser Images #HAECHAN