𝘼𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝, everything is bright and warm. Shoes come off, toes sink into the sand, Bags get dropped. Keonho squints at the ocean. “You chose the windiest place possible.”

“It’s called atmosphere. dumbass”

“It’s called sand in your eyes.” You laugh. seonghyeon runs straight toward the water, turning back to grin at you. “Last one in buys snacks!”

“That’s not fair,” you protest, chasing after him anyway. Keonho follows, laughing, pretending to sprint before dramatically slowing down. “I’m conserving energy!” The water is cold, but not enough to hurt. Seonghyeon splashes you lightly, and you gasp. “Oh my gosh—” He laughs, hands up. “I barely touched you!” Keonho wades in too, standing beside you. “He’s lying.” You splash Seonghyeon back. “Traitor.” Keonho grins like he’s won something.

𝗟𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿, you’re stretched out on towels, sun drying your hair. Seonghyeon offers you his hoodie when you say you’re cold without even thinking about it. 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣, Keonho points toward a row of stands further down. “Fruit,” he announces. “And drinks.” Seonghyeon groans. “I wanted açai bowls.”

“You’ll survive.” You walk with Keonho while Seonghyeon stays back to guard the bags. The fruit stand is bright, watermelon, mango, pineapple stacked high. The guy behind the counter hands you cups overflowing with color. Keonho pays before you can argue. “Hey—”

“oh please,” he says. “Just take it.” You sit on a low wall nearby, juice dripping down your fingers almost immediately. “This is messy,” you laugh. Keonho hands you napkins. “I see.”

You catch him watching you take a bite, like he’s waiting for your reaction. “Oh,” you say. “This is so good.” He grins, satisfied, taking his own bite. “Told you.” Juice stains his fingers too. He notices, frowns at them like they’ve betrayed him. “You’ve got some—” you gesture. “Where?” You reach out without thinking, wiping his thumb with a napkin. It’s quick, But both of you pause. “Oh,” you say softly, pulling back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, just as quiet. Neither of you mentions it when you walk back.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙤𝙤𝙣, drifts by in pieces, collecting shells, Seonghyeon walks on your other side, quieter but still loud in his own way, pointing things out. “Yo, That shell looks like a heart,” he says, crouching down. You bend beside him. “It’s broken.”

“Still counts, right?.” He hands it to you anyway. “Please..Keep it,” he adds, casual. You slip it into your pocket, smiling. “I will, thank you..”

𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣, Seonghyeon insisting on taking photos even though you didn't really want to. “Smile,” he says, holding his phone up. “I am smiling.”

“That’s a lie.” Keonho laughs from behind him.“Yeah..thats perfect, take it now.” When the sun starts to set, the air cools. You sit between them on the sand, knees pulled up, watching the sky turn pink and orange. “This is nice,” you say quietly. Seonghyeon nods. “Yeah. I’m glad you came.”

Keonho adds softly, “Me too.” They don’t look at each other when they say it.

That night, back where you’re staying, you end up on the couch together, legs tangled, a movie playing that none of you are really watching. Seonghyeon leans back, pulling you with him so you’re halfcurled against his side. It feels natural at this point. Keonho sits close too, shoulder pressed to yours on the other side. At one point, you laugh at something dumb on the screen, and both of them look at you at the same time,

𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀. “Good day,” Seonghyeon says sleepily. “Really good,” you agree. Keonho nods. “Yeah.”

© saevss.

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Instead, he goes quiet. “….You made this?” he asks. You nod, suddenly shy. “It’s not perfect.”

He looks at you, then at the cake, then back at you again. His smile is small, real.

“I love it,” he says. “I love that you always try.”

When you make him blow out the candles, he closes his eyes a little longer than necessary.

“Okay,” he says after. “My turn.” He hands you a small box nothing fancy. Inside is something simple, something that clearly took thought. Something that proves he loves.

“I know it’s not a big anniversary or anything,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But one month with you feels…..important.” You don’t even think before leaning in and hugging him, arms tight around his shoulders. He hugs you back just as hard.

Later, you’re back on your bed, cake half eaten, legs tangled together, his head resting on your shoulder while some random movie plays in the background.

“Happy birthday,” you murmur.

“Happy Valentine’s,” he replies. “And happy one month.”

He tilts his head up just enough to kiss your cheek. “Happy us.”

an hour passes

You’re lying next to him on your bed, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the ceiling while the movie plays forgotten on your laptop. Keonho’s fingers are lazily tracing patterns on your arm, something he does without thinking now.

It’s comfortable. Too comfortable. That’s what makes the guilt creep in.

“…..Hey,” you mumble. He hums in response, turning his head toward you. “What’s up?”

You hesitate, chewing on your lip. “I feel like I didn’t really do much for your birthday.”

His hand stills.

You rush on before he can interrupt. “I mean—I know we had cake and stuff, and I know you said you didn’t need anything big, but still. It’s your birthday. I wanted it to be more special.”

Keonho props himself up on one elbow, fully facing you now. “Hey.” You glance at him. His expression isn’t disappointed or upset just soft. A little confused, even.

“What do you mean?” he asks gently.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just keep thinking maybe I should’ve planned something more. Or gotten you something better. Or—” You sigh. “I don’t want you to look back and feel like it was boring.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he reaches out and cups your cheek, thumb warm against your skin.

“Can I tell you something?” he says.

You nod.

“This is the first birthday I’ve spent just….being myself,” he says slowly.

You blink.

“I got to come over. I got to eat cake you made. I got to sit on your bed and steal your blanket.” He smiles a little. “I got to spend it with my girlfriend.”

Your chest tightens.

“That’s not ‘not much,’” he continues. “That’s everything.”

You swallow. “Really?”

He laughs softly. “You keep thinking birthdays have to be huge to matter.” Then he leans closer, forehead resting against yours. “I was happy the whole day. That’s the part that matters.”

Your voice comes out small. “I just wanted to make you feel loved.” His thumb brushes under your eye. “I did. I do. You make me feel loved all the time.”

You don’t realize you’re tearing up until he notices.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, pulling you into his chest. “No crying on my birthday. That’s illegal.”

You laugh weakly, pressing your face into his shirt. “Sorry.”

He wraps both arms around you, holding you like there’s nowhere else he needs to be. “Don’t be. You care. That’s my favorite thing about you.”

You stay like that for a while, just breathing together. Then he adds, quieter, “Next year, we can do more if you want.”

You pull back slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “But only if we still do this part too.”

“…What part?”

He kisses your forehead, gentle.

“Us. At home. Together.”

You don’t even remember when the idea comes up, just that suddenly Keonho’s digging through one of your drawers with a triumphant, “Wait—YOU HAVE A POLAROID?” You groan. “It barely works.”

“That makes it aesthetic,” he says immediately.

Five minutes later, the room is a mess. The lamp’s been dragged closer for lighting, your bed’s a disaster of blankets, and Keonho’s sitting cross-legged on the floor like this is the most important mission of his life.

“Okay,” he says, holding the camera up. “First one. Birthday boy.”

You roll your eyes. “I hate posed photos.”

“Too bad,” he grins. “It’s my birthday.” You end up sitting beside him instead, shoulder pressed into his. The camera clicks, the photo whirring out slowly, and both of you immediately lean in to watch it develop.

You hover over it anxiously. “Do not shake it.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“You always shake it.” He laughs but listens, setting it carefully on the desk. As the image slowly comes into focus, your heart stutters a little.

It’s not perfect. The lighting’s soft, a little dim. But you’re both smiling—real smiles. His eyes crinkle. Your head’s tilted toward him “…That’s cute,” he says quietly. You glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nudges you. “That one’s getting kept forever.”

You take more. One of him holding the cake, cheeks puffed as he tries not to laugh while the candles melt unevenly.

One of you mid-laugh, blurry because he clicked it too early.

One accidental one of the ceiling that he insists still counts because “it captures the vibe.”

Then he turns the camera on you.

“Okay,” he says. “My turn.”

You immediately hide your face. “Nooo, I look bad.”

“You look beautiful,” he says, way too easily.

That makes you pause.

You peek out just as the camera clicks.

The photo comes out, warm and soft. You’re sitting on your bed, hoodie sleeves too long, looking slightly surprised. Comfortable. At home.

He stares at it longer than the others.

“I like this one,” he says. You fidget. “I didn’t do much today.”

He doesn’t look up from the photo. “You did this.” He gestures around your room, the cake crumbs, the half-empty drink cups, the scattered polaroids.

“You gave me a day I’ll actually remember.” Your throat tightens again, but before you can say anything, he pulls you closer. “One more,” he says.

“Keonho—”

“Last one. Promise.” You end up curled into his side, his arm around you, your head tucked under his chin. No posing. No warning.

Click.

This one takes the longest to develop.

When it does, it shows exactly what the day felt like quiet, warm, safe. Like something you’ll look at years later and remember how young you were, how soft everything was, how much love fit into such a small room.

He flips it over and writes the date on the back, then adds:

us.

He hands it to you.“For when you feel like you didn’t do enough,” he says softly. “Look at this.”

You press the photo to your chest.

“…Happy birthday,” you whisper.

He kisses your temple, smiling.

“Best one yet.”