gyu enthusiast

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who, after you two arrived at your apartment, pushed you up against the wall. practically eating at your mouth.

"you think you're funny, huh?" mean dom!nicho says in between kisses, roughly tugging your shirt over your head.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who, after getting you two to the bedroom, pushes you right onto your back. shoving your pants and panties down too.

"this is what you wanted, right? you got so used to me being nice that you just wanna be fucked dumb now." he scoffs, lining himself up with your cunt.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who doesn't stop, who doesn't even slow down. the whole time, like he's doing his best to break you.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who knows your sobs and whimpers aren't from the pain. that's why he's ignoring them.

"what's wrong, baby? what's gotten you so shaken up?" he laughs right into your ear, hands gripping onto your quivering thighs.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who starts grunting with the closer he gets. he's already held himself out for three of your own orgasms. he couldn't hold it in himself anymore.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who pushes his hips flush against yours when he comes, moaning out a, "don't fucking move." right into your neck.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho pulls out of you slowly, running his palms all along your sides, presses kisses to your neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry, baby..." he whispers, voice full of guilt when he sees the red hand marks on your hips, and how your body is still slightly shaking.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho whose eyes widen when you scold him gently. telling him to, "not fucking apologize" for, probably, the best orgasm you've had.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who carries you to the bathroom afterwards, soaping your hair and body, taking care of you while giving you occasional kisses.

****

you and yuma had known each other since you were little kids - 6 years old to be exact. a heated argument over sharing the toy box in class led you to be sworn enemies, and younger you had promised herself she wouldn’t be friends with him. ever. but, by the time you were 13, the two of you had so many mutual friends that you’d ended up being in the same friend group, despite liking each other still. the universe simple wasn’t on your side when it came to yuma.

---

ever since the group had formed, you’d practically been forced by the others to get along with him. that meant no pointless arguments, no bullying, no pranks, nothing of the sort. not wanting to ruin the fun for the rest of them, you followed the order - or at least tried to. it was difficult when yuma constantly teased you for your style of clothing, your makeup, and tiny details like the way you walked. he enjoyed hearing the frustrated huff escape from you, loved seeing the annoyed expression on your face even more. what he loved the most, though, was the fact you fought back. it made things more entertaining when you’d shoot a reflective insult to his own outfit in defence.

your friends simply rolled their eyes every time. they were used to it by now, referring to you both as ‘tom & jerry in human form’.

---

somewhere along the way, you found your feelings of hatred towards yuma had faded, and something new had replaced it - love. or at least a variant of it.

his rude teasing had no negative effect on you anymore, instead you found it endearing, the way he’d look you up and down before saying,

“i can’t tell if you just rolled out of bed or not. you look a mess, sweetheart.”

however, you knew he didn’t feel the same way. it was obvious, and it made sense. the two of you were meant to hate each other, right? you were sure it was just a stupid little phase of yours, something that would fade after a couple of weeks. a month maximum.

---

your crush on yuma was pushing its 1 year anniversary when you started to notice the change in how yuma acted. his insults were less heated, becoming more playful instead. when your group of friends hung out, he wouldn’t refuse to sit next to you on the couch anymore, happily plopping down next to you, letting his leg brush yours. what really made you realise something was going on was when you’d catch him staring. during movie nights, picnics at the park, anywhere. whenever you glanced his way, yuma would already be looking at you, his classic, sly grin plastered on his face.

“whatcha lookin’ at? you look like you wanna kiss me or somethin’.” he’d taunt, as if he wasn’t the one caught daydreaming in your direction. you’d look away, praying he didn’t see the pink tint on your cheeks.

it made you wonder if his feelings for you had developed into something deeper, or if he was toying with you.

---

it was a saturday night, and the group was sardined in your bedroom, people practically piled on top of each other on the bed, some watching the movie playing on your laptop, some already knocked out. you were situated on the edge of the bed, not focused on the movie. yuma was sat between you and another one of your friends, fuma, who was fast asleep and snoring rather loudly. yuma was watching the movie quietly, an occasional glance cast in your direction.

the heat of the packed room finally caught up to you, and you excused yourself from the bedroom, heading out to the balcony.

the chilled breeze helped cool you down quickly, allowing you to relax. it was late by now, and the night sky was practically pitch black, the small glistening stars scattered across it. despite feeling tired, you weren’t ready to fall asleep yet. mainly because there was barely any room left on your bed, but also because of who you had to sleep beside - yuma.

as if right on queue, the balcony door slides open and shut and yuma emerges next to you, leaning against the ledge of the railing on his elbows. he doesn’t say anything at first, simply scanning the dark skyline.

“it’s hot in there,” he says finally, breaking the silence. you let out a small laugh, nodding.

“yeah, it is.”

the two of you stand, shoulder to shoulder, the silence stretching on longer than it usually does between the two of you. maybe it’s because the others were asleep inside, but it felt different being just the two of you. more intimate.

---

a few minutes had passed before he spoke up again.

“you know, you look really pretty tonight.” he turns his head to face you, eyes on your face. your stomach churned with an unfamiliar feeling; a mix of nervousness, confusion and flattery. you weren’t used to him being nice to you like this.

“thanks, yuma.” you manage to say, trying not to let your face hint at your inner turmoil. he shifts closer to you, arms pressed up against each other.

“i’m sorry i always tease you.”

you snap your head to look at him at the apology, surprised. his voice carried a tone of sincerity you’d never heard from him before, but you could tell it was genuine. you feel his pinky brush yours on the railing, and he interlinks them absentmindedly.

“you never actually look ugly. you don’t walk funny, either.” he admits, eyes flickering over you, pupils sparkling in the moonlight. “you’re, uh.. you’re perfect, actually.”

the heat that rushes to your face was sudden and warm, you knew yuma could probably see it. and by the faint smirk growing on his face, you could tell he definitely did.

“i’ve barely said anything and you’re already blushing.” he scoffs amusedly, nudging you gently.

“shut up,” you whisper, looking away in attempt to hide your pink cheeks. he lifts his free hand, cupping your face and gently turning you to face him.

“i need to be honest with you.” yuma says, expression more serious now. you nod, urging him to continue.

he clears his throat, thumb brushing the skin of your cheekbone.

“well, um..” for the first time in his life, yuma seemed.. nervous. it was unlike him. “we’ve always hated each other, haven’t we? it’s just how it’s been for us since we were kids. i thought it would always be like that, as long as we knew each other. but, recently, i don’t know why.. my feelings are changing.”

your eyes widen ever so slightly.

“...i think i’m in love with you.” he admits, eyes searching yours for reciprocation. a part of you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. he’d pulled pretty believable pranks on you before, and now you were cautious.

“yuma, don’t joke about that kinda stuff.” you say quietly, huffing. his hand pulls your face closer to his, lips just centimetres apart.

“i wouldn’t joke about this. c’mon, i’m not that mean.” he grins, letting out a small chuckle.

once his laughter died down, being replaced with silence, he cleared his throat.

“please don’t tell me i’m the only one feeling like this.”

as you look up at him, the cool breeze flowing through his hair, desperate gaze fixed on yours, you realise how serious he is. he actually loves you. yuma, your childhood-enemy-now-friend, was admitting his love for you. this didn’t feel real. but you knew you couldn’t lose this chance.

“i love you too, yuma.”

yuma’s face brightens up almost immediately, disbelief and happiness visible in his eyes. without saying a word, he leans down, crashing his lips against yours, years worth of love, hatred, and everything in between put into the kiss. your hands find his shoulders, gripping them for stability.

you pull away from the kiss to catch your breath, and the smile on his face was the happiest he’d ever looked.

“i would’ve never expected this from us,” he says with a giggle, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “but i’m not complaining.”

---

hand in hand, you head back to your bedroom, where your friends were all fast asleep, scattered across the bed. there was basically no room. you share a whispered giggle at the positions they were all laying in.

the two of you managed to squeeze next to each other at the bottom of the bed, and yuma wraps his arms around you. pulling you into his chest, your senses are filled with him; the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the soft sound of his breathing. everything felt perfect.

“goodnight, pretty.” yuma whispers, another kiss pressing to your forehead. “i love you.”

"why are you still here?" his question echoes around the room and into your head, where it continues to bounce back and forth.

after a moment, you mutter, "because the only reason you haven't died yet is me." you toss the dirty wipe and grab a fresh one, reaching to wipe his neck down next. "if I weren't here, you would've been outta commission long ago."

you notice his throat bobbing while you cleaned around his jaw and exposed collar, now littered with fresh cuts still oozing blood and deep purple bruises that looked like they'd take weeks to go away. he angles his gaze away to give you more working room but also because he couldn't bare to look you in the eyes. you pretend not to notice, but you chuckle at the small pout on his bloodied lips.

"shirt off." your command rings cold but gentle. this had already become a routine for the both of you, every other friday night, you'd tag along to another one of his matches, praying he wouldn't get as beat up as the previous time. of course, that prayer was never heard by anyone that cared enough.

"why do you even put this back on after the fight?" you ask absentmindedly, a part of you genuinely puzzled as to why he would even bother to put on a shirt when he was too worn out to even walk properly.

yuma parts his lips but no words leave them. "because I hate it."

"hate what?"

he takes a deep but shaky breath. "how I look. I feel…"

his breaths turn shallow, "…I feel small."

your hands stop their routine movement just so you could stare at him, really look at him. "you're so stupid."

his eyes search yours, looking for something he doesn't know himself.

you take one scan of his torso and notice a large cut, larger than the ones sprinkled all over, on his shoulder.

"christ, yuma, we might have to get you stitched up again this time." you try to clean around the gash as much as you can, minimizing the sting and trying to hurt him as little as you could. "how did this even happen?" you mumble, a tinge of annoyance in your tone. "how do you let them do this to you?"

"leave it." he looks at you before looking down at his tired, calloused hands, "just leave it. I'll be fine." his jaw is clenched, eye still avoiding yours.

"you're hopeless, you know that?"

he doesn't respond. he only stares at your hands methodically working at his wounds.

you pull his gaze up to yours, your fingers under his bruised chin. "if I were to leave you right now, you'd be back within three days tops, maybe four if you manage to cook something."

he rolls his eyes and lays his head back against the padded post, a soft chuckle shaking his being. "is that a challenge? I'm sure I'll survive."

"no it isn't. I'd rather you not burn yourself again on the stove." you lightly smack him on his cheek, "don't think I can spend another week helping you wipe your ass."

the corners of his lips curl into a small smile, the best he could muster with the skin on his face red and sore. the feeling of your hands dressing his wounds calms him, brings him back down to the ground, tethering him to the quiet of the moment.

he carefully reaches his hand to your cheek, fingers grazing your skin so lightly it feels no different from a small gust of wind. his hand is trembling, too tired and weak to move gracefully, but it's enough, enough to express the thoughts running through his head. thoughts of shame, shame that he carried with him every day, lodged in some dark crevice in his mind, regret, regret that he couldn't do better for you, that he couldn't give you the life you deserved, doubt, doubt about whether he was even enough for you, about much longer you'd bear to be by his side, and hope, hope that whatever cosmic force or hand of god that led you to him in the first place would remain strong enough to hold you close to him.

"you're not small." you take his hand in yours and hold it steady against your cheek, leaving a small kiss on his palm. "you never have been, and you never will."

yuma forces a lump down his throat.

"don't leave."

his words beckon you for an answer but his eyes don't push you.

you lean forwards, close enough to smell the sweat, blood, and grime on his skin. the scent of fresh antiseptic stinging your airways. yet, you don't pull away. you brush the tip of his nose with yours, and rest your forehead against his.

"never."

"Mhm?"

"I'm in bed right now."

"Yeah?"

"Next to you."

"Uh huh."

"And I'm really comfy."

"Okay."

"And cozy."

"Good for y-"

"And I really don't wanna move."

"Wait-"

"But I forgot something really important."

He lets out a dramatic sigh, despite already putting his phone down in preparation to get up. "What is it?"

You pause for a moment.

He asks again. "Hmm? Whaddya forget?"

It's time. You bust out the prettiest, soft girl, puppy eyes along with the smallest, cutest pout you could muster and mumble," I forgot to put on my lip mask."

You see the color drain from his face, along with any and all desire he may have had to help you. He grabs his phone from where he placed it down earlier.

"Yumaaaa," you plead. "Pleaseeeeee?"

"No."

"But my lips will be dry."

"Drink water."

"It's not enough, though."

"What makes you say that?"

He caught you there. "Okay it's hard to explain but pleaseeeeee. I'd go get it myself but my cramps hurt too bad right now."

He puts his phone down again and turns to you. "You are in bed."

"Yes."

"And so am I."

"Yes."

"Next to you."

"Mhm hmm," you don't know where he's going with this.

"Also tucked under the same blanket you're under."

"Uh huh."

"But you want me to go grab your lip mask becau-"

"Because my cramps hur-"

"Hurt too bad right now. Is that right?"

"Yes..."

Now it's his turn to pause. You see it, in his eyes. He's thinking about something and you're absolutely certain that 'something' is not him getting up to go fetch your lip mask.

"You don't want dry lips, right?"

You nod slowly.

"So all I have to do is help you get them moisturized, right?"

"Uh huh-"

He leans in and takes your, admittedly not even dry, lips in his.

This motherfucker.

You go wide-eyed for a moment, unable to withstand the degree of audacity flowing out of the man in front of you.

But then admittedly, his lips are so soft. And warm. And sweet. Why the fuck do they taste sweet? It doesn't matter, you don't have enough time to ponder anyway since you're already closing your eyes and drifting into that state of bliss that comes over you every time Yuma decides to slot his lips so snugly against yours.

You curse him out in your head. Then you lean deeper into him. This dichotomy of man was so jarring it could put all fanfiction writers to shame.

Just when you thought you were free from his lips and were returning from kiss-induced blissland, it seems the devil himself has possessed your boyfriend as he fiendishly starts leaving small licks all across your lips. What. The. Fuck. Is what you think in your head but in person all you really manage to get out is a slurred delivery of his name.

"There." He pulls away. "Moisturized."

This motherfucker. You're in love with him. God forbid you're going to let him have that over you right now, though, so all you do is glare at him through your lidded eyes and your lips still pink, plump, and pursed.

He chuckles and grabs his phone.

you think about it. could he have already known? from months of watching yuma in his natural habitat, like you were a wildlife researcher, you had learned quite a handful of different behaviors and reactions he had a tendency to exhibit. but if you had to revisit the moments yuma exhibited extraordinary levels of pest— which really was more than one could count on one hand, or even two hands, since yuma truly was a smug, teasing rat—, you couldn't argue that watching you unashamedly gawk at him for the hell of it was something he'd do on a whim, be it purely for entertainment or something to boast about to his friends.

this idea being implanted into your head by one of yuma's closest friends doesn't help.

“what?” you return to the present.

nicho doesn't respond and continues taking pictures of his textbook.

“what do you mean?” you pry again.

still no response. you reach over and swipe his phone from his hands. at a quick glance at the screen, you can tell he's trying to feed his biology questions into an ai chat bot.

“bro? give that back!” nicho looks at you both in alarm and confusion. he also has to make sure he doesn't knock over his drink that's placed a little too close to his books for comfort.

“not until you tell me what you mean,” you smile at him sweetly, definitely not dangling his phone behind your head as you stare into his eyes.

your little friendly spat catches the attention of the boy across the room. his eyes find the back of nicho's head, catching the way nicho tries to reach for the phone in your hand while trying to keep his drink from spilling over.

in less than a second, yuma makes his way over to your table but you're too focused on interrogating nicho to notice. but once you do, it's too late.

“quite the study partner you got there, nicho,” yuma’s voice tears through the bubble you were in just a moment ago. your throat dries up immediately at the sight of him standing over your table. your eyes widen and your lips twitch, not able to form anything close to human speech. nicholas notices this and has to control every fibre in his body from cackling.

“yuma! what perfect timing! my study partner here,” he glares at you with the most sickening grin you’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing, “has a question for you!”

yuma's eyebrow quirks up before turning back to you, "a question?"

if you weren't in such a public place, you'd have thrown his phone square at nicho's face.

"oh no, he's lying. don't worry about it. were we too loud? I’m sorry I uh-" your attempt at a relaxed response makes your insides shrivel up. it takes more effort and self-control than you'd care to admit to stop your eyes from wandering.

"wait no, I’m curious now." he pulls up a chair from a nearby table and sits down at your table.

"actually guys, I'd prefer if you guys moved to that table over there," nicho points at a table shrouded in shadows on the other end of the room, "kinda have some studying to do and she's done everything but let me focus."

before you can even utter a retort, yuma grabs your drink and stands up. you just sit and stare at him, trying your absolute hardest to gauge what was happening, what he was trying to do, and how you were supposed to react.

"well you heard him, come on." he takes your drink and drags his chair away, very loudly making his migration known to the entire cafe. the prolonged shriek of the metal chair's legs across the floor was loud and obnoxious enough to wake a hibernating bear. you don't know how yuma keeps a straight, infuriatingly attractive, face.

"there. you're welcome. if you want to thank me, send me your bio notes later." you'd comment on how stupid nicho's smug face looked but the pit in your stomach right now held higher priority.

"nicho, fucking help me. what am I supposed to do?" if it weren't for how packed the cafe was right now, you'd be screaming instead of mouthing vague curses at him.

"fuck if I know. go on now, I need to work." he doesn't even bother to look up at you anymore.

just then, yuma's voice travels across the room, "hey, what's taking so long? I'm waiting!" about a dozen different heads turn in either yuma’s or your direction.

you mutter small apologies as you begin the walk of shame towards him.

"finally, sure took your time." yuma sits down and slides the drink he swiped earlier to you.

you hesitantly sit down, "that was…loud."

"good thing I took your drink. if not, you probably would've run out the cafe instead." yuma leans back in his chair, tilting his head when you don't respond immediately. "or at least pretended you didn't know who I was."

when you do say something, it comes out softer than you intended it to. "you're…enjoying this."

"what was that? you're enjoying this?" he chuckles and perches his head on his hand. "I figured. though I'll admit, you're a lot quieter than you make yourself seem."

"huh?" there are a lot of things going through your head right now— wanting to ask him what he meant, telling him to get his ears checked, among other things— but all you could muster up was a furrow of your brows and a small, "what is happening?"

"you tell me. nicho said you had a question?" he smiles and you don't miss the way his cheeks puff up, before, of course, being reminded awake by the sweat forming in your palms.

right. you almost forgot what led you here in the first place. in your head, you start plotting how you'll replace all the keywords in your bio notes to various curses when you send them to nicho later.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?" he takes a sip of your drink. you only then realize your drink was in his hand. "what? it was getting cold!"

"what did you just say?" you struggle to process his words, maybe you were the one who needed to get your ears checked.

"your drink is getting cold," he keeps gulping down your slowly depleting drink. "come on, let me in on what you're scheming. you are planning something right?"

to anyone else, you'd look like two friends— that maybe despised each other's existence just a tad bit— just catching up, but that couldn't be further from the truth. it was a life or death situation, and you were two steps away from embarrassing yourself in front of the boy you’d been fawning over for the past four months.

you're now faced with a major dilemma: do you forego all restraint and just stare at yuma's annoyingly gorgeous face or do you forego all your remaining dignity and ask him if he just called you pretty? neither option sounds particularly desirable.

you're not proud to admit what you decide to do next.

"pretty?" the word catches his attention. "did you just say I was-"

"pretty?" yuma cuts you off. "surprised you actually caught that, I was starting to think you had the hearing of an eighty-year-old."

he chuckles before downing the rest of your drink. "thanks for the drink! now I owe you an answer," he wipes his lips with a tissue, "an answer to the question you had earlier."

you'd be lying if you said your eyes didn't wander down to his lips.

"my question…," you don't know how long it's been but one can assume you've been staring longer than socially acceptable.

"what? are my lips chapped?" he smirks, fully aware of what stole your attention.

---

"-and then she called management and complained about me! can you believe that? what a real b-"

"-give that back!" a familiar voice rings from the other end of the cafe.

"dude, are you even listening?" maki waves a hand in front of yuma's face, "earth to yuma?"

prior to that, yuma had been relishing in your unwavering gaze on him. hyper aware of his actions, making sure he batted his eyelashes at specific intervals as if he was the main protagonist of a coming-of-age anime, all whilst fighting his own urge to stare back at you. alas, curiosity killed the cat— yuma, the cat was yuma.

yuma takes one last sip of his already empty drink and stands up, "maki, hold that thought for a bit, yeah?"

"what? bro?" maki's voice fades quieter as yuma walks away, his eyes locked onto the table the voice came from.

there you were, your arm outstretched behind you, holding nicho's phone hostage. the look on your face is priceless. the raw, unfiltered crazy from your eyes is so visceral, yuma swears he feels chills down his spine. when he gets close enough for you to notice, he finds the way you freeze your movements cute but he decides not to dwell on it for long.

“quite the study partner you got there, nicho." yuma doesn't miss the red creeping up your neck. when you look away, he feels a small sense of relief, like the calm before a storm. if you stared at him any longer, the calm, chill facade he was trying so hard to uphold would've shattered on the spot. but he also wants you to stare at him again. keep looking at me. he pushes the thought away when nicho speaks up.

the next time his composure resurfaces, he's already dragging a chair he doesn't remember grabbing, a drink he doesn't remember acquiring in his hand.

he rests his elbows on the table and leans forward to get a closer look at you. he's been waiting and he's grown so impatient.

when he calls you pretty, it's half a slip up and half intentional. it's hard to hold his tongue when you're right there, within an arm's distance.

he sees the faint print of your lip balm on your drink and he's taking a sip before he can stop himself. cold and hard, and tasting slightly of berries. still, the mug doesn't do your lips justice, he thinks. he wonders how your lips would feel on his own.

yuma doesn't remember when he started paying so much attention to you. he doesn't even remember when he first noticed your glances directed towards him. he only remembers not giving it a second thought for the longest time. until one day, he saw you kicking and shaking a vending machine because it ate your money. if not love at first sight, the initial wave of fear after witnessing that definitely morphed into something closer to intrigue, and eventually infatuation.

he'd watch the way you stare at the desk you stubbed your toe on with so much vitriol he was afraid you'd kick it over. watched how you'd stare back when someone asked you a question so obvious you thought your pet fish could've answered. how did yuma know you were thinking about your pet fish? because you said out loud, "that's so dumb my pet fish could've given you the answer."

he remembers one time you told the teacher his private email inbox was showing on the projector and that he should probably get his mole checked at the doctor's instead of asking on reddit. it took all of him and then some more to hold in his snort.

so now that you were sitting in front of him, staring at him like you couldn't decide between running, kicking him, and jumping onto him, he's going absolutely insane.

he gets a little too excited when he catches you staring at his lips.

"what? are my lips chapped?" he wishes oh so dearly for you to latch yours onto his. "you can stare as much as you'd like but you'd have to buy me a drink first."

"buy you a drink? considering you've downed my coffee, you're asking for quite a lot."

maybe it was the slight quiver of his lips when you asked if he called you pretty, or the way he gulped down your very bitter coffee like it was water, or maybe even the way he's been tapping his feet underneath the table the whole time, but the playing field was leveling out again. he's just as fair game as you were to him.

"I was doing you a favor, didn't think you'd be one to enjoy lukewarm coffee." yuma snickers and turns away, praying to whatever god was listening that you couldn't notice the heat engulfing his ears.

"didn't think you'd be one to call the first girl you talk to pretty." you chuckle, noticing how his finger kept tapping at the already empty mug.

his eyes flicker to you, his head still turned away. "you're not the first girl I talked to."

"thanks, what a heartwarming compliment." you swipe the mug from his grasp and peer inside, it really was empty. "if anything, you owe me a drink."

he finally turns to you, his eyes wide and brows raised in an almost shocked expression. "get you a drink, huh?" the corners of his lips curve into a smug smile, the type you can't decide whether to kiss or slap away. "does that mean you want to see me again?"

"if you come packaged with a coffee and snacks, sure."

it's hard to combat the sheer cockiness that yuma's exuding all of a sudden, but you also know that it's well within your ability to match it. and so, you muster up as much brat as you possibly can, tilt your head at a tight 35 degree angle— an angle you had predetermined to be the most efficient when pissing someone off, verified by the countless times you landed in the principal's waiting room—, and poke the corner of your lips with your tongue in an attempt to hide the oncoming smirk. yuma sees it anyway and decides to take on the challenge, head on.

"not the best way to ask me out on a date, but I'll take it." he stands up and offers you his hand. "come on, as your soon-to-be-date, I need to make sure you get back home safe," his insufferably adorable grin already showing, "or at least back to your table in this case."

you chuckle and take his outstretched hand, but before you can stand on your own, he tugs you up. a lapse in judgment on your part, you must admit, you should not have lowered your guard so carelessly. as it turns out, his outstretched hand was a cover for his true intentions. while he used his annoyingly perfect face to pull you in, his leg was also outstretched, conveniently in your way, right out of your field of vision.

you feel yourself falling, against gravity, your body no longer fighting, the ever-so-slightly sticky floor of the cafe approaching, but what do you have it. as you accepted your fate, already having decided to take the impact over reaching out and grabbing onto the culprit, a hand conveniently wraps around your waist, barely stabilizing you. you feel weightless, if only for half a second. around your body now, a grip dripping with so much intent, you didn't know whether you wanted to crawl closer to him or run, screaming bloody murder.

"gotta watch your step, pretty girl." yuma innocuously puts his other hand on your back, "if you fall too hard, you might end up back in hell."

"I'd say I'd take you with me, but something tells me you'd enjoy that." you regain your balance, your palms flat against his chest, keeping your gaze locked onto his. this was a battle you weren't going to let up so easily.

"can't say I'd turn down the offer." and he didn't plan on forfeiting anytime soon.

back at your table, nicho is still wrestling with chatgpt about what the krebs cycle was. maki had moved and was sitting with nicho, talking about the krebs cycle being about crab life cycles.

It would be easy to blame your dad for the irreparable emotional damage that shapes who you are as a person.

In reality, your father was only concerned; he never wanted you to turn into someone that hurt others.

Why is it that, now, you’d hurt anyone you could?

Anyone who dared to get close to you always left.

It wasn’t easy being with someone that always carried a storm everywhere they went.

Malcontentment wasn’t many people’s specialty.

That was until Hyunjin entered your life, unsuspecting.

He wasn’t aware of the trouble that you would bring.

You’d always put a strong shield around yourself. People couldn’t get hurt if they couldn’t get close.

It was Hyunjin’s fault for being curious. After all, he was the one that knocked on the door to your heart.

One thing about Hyunjin is that he is both patient and preserving.

Once you realized that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, you realized that you’d have to show him why you’re unlovable. Considering everything, he was a visual learner nonetheless.

Any time that Hyunjin got close to the sensitive parts of your personality, you’d lash out. Even on the days when you didn’t want to fight, it was so easy to return to your natural defense mechanism.

On nights when you brought yourself to tears, Hyunjin was persistent in comforting you the whole time.

“I don’t deserve you,” you sniffled as Hyunjin held you close.

“You deserve the world,” he gently reassured you as if it were a fact, even if you had just berated him moments ago.

Once you realized that your cold heart had grown a warm spot for Hyunjin, you panicked. It was rare for you to open up to other people. This was an uncharted territory.

As he had for the past few weeks, Hyunjin came to visit you one Saturday night. He found you in your backyard staring up into the midnight sky. You immediately felt his presence.

“Have you ever stared directly into the sun?” you asked, acknowledging the boy behind you.

While he wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, Hyunjin allowed his body to nestle into the grassy area beside your head.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin’s statement came across as a question, showing you that he wanted you to keep going.

“The sun imprints on you,” you mindlessly spoke as you leaned toward Hyunjin’s presence. “A lot like people do, too, you know?”

He mumbled a gentle ‘mhm’ to acknowledge what you were saying. His fingers effortlessly found themselves tangled in your hair as you continued to ramble.

“The sun is blinding. It burns - literally and figuratively,” you took in a sharp breath, unsure of where this confidence came from.

“But, the sun doesn’t leave…” you trailed off before derailing the conversation again, “Have you ever been close to anyone before, Hyunjin?” you asked, slowly turning your head to meet his adoring gaze.

“Of course I have,” he answered with ease. This wasn’t a trick question for him like it would be for you.

“With people, it’s easy to get close and be so open. Someone can know you inside and out and still want to leave. I grew tired of being so exposed just for people to spit it back at me.”

Hyunjin watched you carefully as you opened up to him. This was the most progress he’d made since meeting you. Slowly, he was opening the doors that you tried to conceal.

“I think that I don’t deserve positive relationships. My track record proves that,” you sighed. “Why put in effort for something I’ll never get?”

“Maybe one day you’ll see what I see,” Hyunjin barely spoke above a whisper. He never tried to invalidate your feelings; you had no clue what you did to deserve his gentle love. “For now, you don’t need to work hard for me. I just want you to keep being yourself.”

You found yourself chasing his fingers as they ran through your hair. While you didn’t believe what he said, it was nice to have that feeling of comfort for even a fleeting moment.

It wasn’t long after that conversation that you began to push Hyunjin away.

You realized that you couldn’t leave him. You were addicted to everything that was Hwang Hyunjin. Knowing that you couldn’t leave him, you were left listing reasons for Hyunjin to pack up and leave.

“I’m not emotionally available.”

“I have difficultly controlling my anger.”

“I don’t know who I am.”

“I am too impulsive.”

“I don’t know how to keep a stable relationship.”

“I can’t always be open for you.”

Hyunjin never saw these as a determining factor for ending the relationship that you two had built. If anything, he was grateful that you shared the ugly truth with him.

These aspects of your personality weren’t going to scare him away. Instead, knowing this information taught him how to handle you with care.

Regardless of how many doors of opportunity you gave him to leave, he wouldn’t open them up. He was here to stay.

He wanted to work with you, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

Even after realizing that love was present in your relationship, you still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that Hyunjin wanted to stay. Each morning, you prepared yourself for the breakup/ghosting that was never going to occur.

Early in the morning, when you hear the rattle of his keys, you immediately jump.

“Are you leaving?” you ask with a small voice.

“No, babe,” Hyunjin answered. Rolling over in bed, he wrapped an arm around you to be closer. “I’m just waking up.”

Looking over, you notice that his keys remain on the nightstand. The rattle was simply from him grabbing his phone, which was left right beside of his keys the night prior.

It was hard to believe that he was content with staying, but he proved his devotion time and time again.

One thing is certain: Hyunjin wouldn’t be giving up on you any time soon.

he stood there for another second like he was deciding something.

then he walked straight over to the couch and quietly climbed into your space without a word, curling up against your side.

you laughed under your breath as his arms slipped around your waist.

“tired?”

“mhm.”

“did you drink a lot?”

he shook his head against your shoulder. “just enough to miss you extra.”

your heart gave the tiniest ache.

yuma sighed softly once you wrapped your arms around him, like he’d been waiting for it all night without realizing.

for a while, neither of you talked.

he just stayed close, cheek pressed against your shoulder while your fingers played with the ends of his hair.

then quietly:

“i kept thinking about coming home.”

you looked down at him. “yeah?”

he nodded once.

“i think my favorite part of going out is getting to come back to you after.”

the way he said it was so simple.

so honest.

like it wasn’t even meant to sound romantic.

you felt him shift slightly closer after saying it, like he instinctively wanted to hide from how affectionate that sounded.

“you’re being really cute right now,” you teased gently.

“no, i’m not.”

“you literally just said your favorite thing is coming home to me.”

yuma went quiet.

then he tightened his arms around you a little and mumbled into your shoulder:

“…because it is.”

you completely melted.

a quiet silence settled after that, warm and heavy in the nicest way.

then suddenly, yuma tilted his head up and stared at you for a second like he’d just noticed something important.

“what?” you laughed softly.

he didn’t answer.

he just looked at you with that sleepy, unbearably fond expression for another second before one of his hands slid up gently against your cheek.

then he leaned in and kissed you.

slow.

warm.

the kind of kiss that lingered before it even really started.

you could still feel his small smile against your lips, soft and sleepy and completely full of you.

when he finally pulled back, he stayed close enough that your noses still brushed.

“…there,” he murmured quietly, like he’d been meaning to do that since he walked through the door.

side note . . this is inspired mostly by bnd’s film: finding home.

the curtains near the window barely blocked the painfully bright light. soft steam gently blowing from your mug of soup— still untouched.

every small thing in the hospital made you feel sick, homesick. knowing your condition you knew you didn’t have long, your sickness had yet to die down.

doctors whispering outside your door, the kind with a solemn knowing tone. your parents' soft sobs filtering through.

Most of your friends had dropped you, they didn’t want to get too attached before your passing. it was stupid, nobody visited. that was until yuma made his weekly visits, always bringing you hot food from the convenience store.

sometimes he experimented in the kitchen, tried to make your favorite dessert, and ended up sending you into the bathroom with terrible food poisoning.

you never really acknowledged him, always brushing off his visits and pretending to be asl, pretending time while he babbled about school to you.

deep down you just wanted everyone to leave you alone, the deep, disgusting, nauseating thought of it being your last month was enough to make you emotionally detached.

instead of living that last month on the open beauty of nature, you were stuck in the stuffy dry hospital room eating hospital food.

you now lie, eyes staring at the grey ceiling. your hands playing with the hospital gown, tugging at the soft fabric.

your legs are nearly numb from the medication, that painful ache in your heart— just wanting to go home. the desire to wake up in your own bed, hear your mother's voice when she wasn’t sobbing; that emptiness of never having your mother cooking you breakfast again.

it felt as though the hospital was your home, you’d never return to your ordinary life.

your hands weakly grab for the small diary on your bedside table, the humidifier gently lighting the room.

the weak bones were barely able to pick up the book, hands trembling as they held the pencil. You wrote:

I walked around for a while

Not knowing where I was

Where is my home?

I wondered

it was that deep feeling, the knowingness of spending half a year here, yet it still felt like a stranger. you didn’t know the halls outside of your room.

your brain was too foggy to remember the faces of anyone who’d taken care of you. that day, you picked up your feet, finally stepping outside the door you once entered… it was all dark and blurry; you couldn’t even remember coming here in the first place. it felt like you spent every hour of your life here.

the agitating pain sprang you awake, hands holding onto your head for dear life. throbbing pain deafening your ears. your hands reached for the case of pills, quickly sitting up and chugging water— trying your best to push down the disgusting taste it left behind.

you sat, on that same window seal, your head ringing, legs numbing.

you stare, watching the sunrise. watching as the city roars awake, cars driving to work, people pushing past the large crowds; traffic brewing.

“you’re up early today.” the caretaker folds your sheets nicely. her voice soft, in that way they talk to you knowing you’ll be out of here by next month.

you ignore her, never having enough energy to hold a conversation. your eyes stare out the window. that familiar figure prancing through the streets, holding his typical delivery food bags. it was something he did on the job, it was his way of getting by. his mother was ill, couldn’t work, so he’d taken it upon himself to support her.

with one deep sigh, you bring yourself to the small balcony door in your room, stepping outside for the few moments of fresh air. before you became nauseous from standing.

those parts of your day always felt a little more colorful, the dull grey room you live in was a sort of jail.

the night fell, lying in your hospital bed, hands playing with the wall above your head, the bones of your back digging into the stiff mattress.

a soft knock broke you out of your daze, your ears perking, not daring to look who it was.

“I brought pizza let’s eat!” his soft voice ringing in your ears, the gentle smile you could hear in his tone.

the rattling of the plastic bag, a sweet scent followed him. it felt like the only scent you could tolerate without gagging.

“i’m not eating,” you responded, not acknowledging him one bit, eyes glued to the window, counting the twinkling stars.

he sat gently on your bed, something you got used to— him invading your space.

“not feeling well?” a low hum followed.

“wanna go for a walk?” he chirped, hands placing the pizza box beside him. one hand still tucked into his black raincoat, still a bit wet from the weather.

“no.” your voice is cold.

he starred at you, a blank expression plastered on both your faces. without a word he grabs your wrist, yanking you up. it was silent, your face met his, a small bit of shock covering your cold face. before you could speak he dragged you out of the room, your feet tripping over each other as he ran out of the hospital with you.

he was silent, his expression blank, his jacket leaving a small trail of water behind him. his sneakers squeaked against the floor.

it was silent, gently wrapping your hands around his waist as he sped on his motorbike.

“yu- what the fuck.” your voice cracked, head buried in his back. your nails dig into his sides.

he didn’t utter a word, didn’t fight back, just hit the gas and drove you down the city. passing every old memory, the katsu place you’d always eat at after school, passing the arcade you two would meet at for club activities.

he even drove you past your parents' home, the lights still on, silhouettes visible through the curtains.

“they had time for guests but not to visit me..” you murmur against his neck, eyes stinging.

he moved a hand to grasp your thigh, squeezing it tightly before moving it back to the bar handle.

“forget about them—“ his voice low, sympathetic.

“where to next?” trying to change the mood.

you shrug weakly, wind brushing through your thin short hair. “surprise me.” you smile softly, chin planted on his shoulder, hands still fisting the fabric of his jacket.

that night felt alive, made you feel more emotion than you ever had. you two spent hours driving around the city, feeling the cold breeze against your skin.

he never talked much while driving, it was almost like he knew you wanted to just enjoy the moment.

when you two finally stopped in the middle of the quiet bridge it all seemed well. you felt like you finally felt the heaviness of your heart slowly chip away. you head buried in his back, hands around his waist, softly holding onto him with every last bit of strength.

“yu-chan,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“hm?” he hummed moving a hand to pat your head. he could tell you were emotional- but didn’t know for what reason.

“i’m sorry i’ve been so…” you pause not finding the right words.

he stayed quietly, hearing your soft voice against his back, the gentle kneading your hands did when you were anxious, everything you did warmed his heart.

you sign, heavy, filled with the built-up turmoil.

“i’m sorry for being so distant.” you catch your breath the words heavy.

“i didn’t want you to feel attached… i didn’t understand why you kept coming back, i expected that one day you’d just disappear like everyone else. but you kept coming back— why?” the tears sting in your eyes, streams flowing down your cheeks, down to his jacket.

he hummed gently, his hand softly patting your thigh. “i didn’t want you to be alone— i knew we weren’t the closest before you were admitted in. but i saw the way your closest friends didn’t even show up, the way they tensed when i asked them if they wanted to visit with me.” he squeezed the soft plump flesh gently.

a lump forming in his throat. “i just couldn’t bare the feeling knowing you were dying, knowing that even your own parents would leave you.” he feels the sharp sting in his throat, but he continues. “i know i wasn’t the ideal person to stick with you, but i hope my company made you feel less lonely.” he turns to face you, his eyes red, lips swollen from sobbing.

you meet his eyes hands cupping his cheeks before pulling him into a kiss, you both sob, tears mixing with your saliva.

the sadness is heavy between you two.

“yu… I’m scared.” your voice cracks.

“i don’t want to leave you…” you pause hands cupping his cheeks harder, your thumb moves to brush one of his tears. you let out a heavy sigh.

“my surgery is scheduled for tomorrow… they say the mortality rate is 70%.”

he stayed silent, the soft sobs hiccupped out of his lips, and the shaking of his hands as they held your arms. it all felt so comfortable.

you couldn’t remember much the next morning, only clinging to the now dry raincoat he left you with.

the rain poured down outside your window, almost like the world knew. the loud beeping from your heart monitor is almost piercing.

the nurse quickly rushes in, your chest tightening.

“we have to start surgery early— do you consent to the following…” you couldn’t make out much of what she was asking you, it was a whole bunch of medical terms that didn’t really register in your brain in the moment.

you nod halfway and grip the soft fabric of your hospital gown. she was in a panic, her hands and feet moving immediately, her mouth moving faster, shouting random codes.

the other nurses are helping wheel your bed into the surgery room.

“we need all outside items to be removed.” your hands grip the scratchy raincoat Yuma left you. the tears you fought back— “please return it to its owner.” your voice barely above a whisper. she nodded, you didn’t know if she’d actually return it but you’d hope that the small chance of you making it meant you could see him again.

the last thing you remembered before you fainted was the blinding surgical lights, stinging your eyes until the anesthesia got to you.

he stood there for another second like he was deciding something.

then he walked straight over to the couch and quietly climbed into your space without a word, curling up against your side.

you laughed under your breath as his arms slipped around your waist.

“tired?”

“mhm.”

“did you drink a lot?”

he shook his head against your shoulder. “just enough to miss you extra.”

your heart gave the tiniest ache.

yuma sighed softly once you wrapped your arms around him, like he’d been waiting for it all night without realizing.

for a while, neither of you talked.

he just stayed close, cheek pressed against your shoulder while your fingers played with the ends of his hair.

then quietly:

“i kept thinking about coming home.”

you looked down at him. “yeah?”

he nodded once.

“i think my favorite part of going out is getting to come back to you after.”

the way he said it was so simple.

so honest.

like it wasn’t even meant to sound romantic.

you felt him shift slightly closer after saying it, like he instinctively wanted to hide from how affectionate that sounded.

“you’re being really cute right now,” you teased gently.

“no, i’m not.”

“you literally just said your favorite thing is coming home to me.”

yuma went quiet.

then he tightened his arms around you a little and mumbled into your shoulder:

“…because it is.”

you completely melted.

a quiet silence settled after that, warm and heavy in the nicest way.

then suddenly, yuma tilted his head up and stared at you for a second like he’d just noticed something important.

“what?” you laughed softly.

he didn’t answer.

he just looked at you with that sleepy, unbearably fond expression for another second before one of his hands slid up gently against your cheek.

then he leaned in and kissed you.

slow.

warm.

the kind of kiss that lingered before it even really started.

you could still feel his small smile against your lips, soft and sleepy and completely full of you.

when he finally pulled back, he stayed close enough that your noses still brushed.

“…there,” he murmured quietly, like he’d been meaning to do that since he walked through the door.

It would be easy to blame your dad for the irreparable emotional damage that shapes who you are as a person.

In reality, your father was only concerned; he never wanted you to turn into someone that hurt others.

Why is it that, now, you’d hurt anyone you could?

Anyone who dared to get close to you always left.

It wasn’t easy being with someone that always carried a storm everywhere they went.

Malcontentment wasn’t many people’s specialty.

That was until Hyunjin entered your life, unsuspecting.

He wasn’t aware of the trouble that you would bring.

You’d always put a strong shield around yourself. People couldn’t get hurt if they couldn’t get close.

It was Hyunjin’s fault for being curious. After all, he was the one that knocked on the door to your heart.

One thing about Hyunjin is that he is both patient and preserving.

Once you realized that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, you realized that you’d have to show him why you’re unlovable. Considering everything, he was a visual learner nonetheless.

Any time that Hyunjin got close to the sensitive parts of your personality, you’d lash out. Even on the days when you didn’t want to fight, it was so easy to return to your natural defense mechanism.

On nights when you brought yourself to tears, Hyunjin was persistent in comforting you the whole time.

“I don’t deserve you,” you sniffled as Hyunjin held you close.

“You deserve the world,” he gently reassured you as if it were a fact, even if you had just berated him moments ago.

Once you realized that your cold heart had grown a warm spot for Hyunjin, you panicked. It was rare for you to open up to other people. This was an uncharted territory.

As he had for the past few weeks, Hyunjin came to visit you one Saturday night. He found you in your backyard staring up into the midnight sky. You immediately felt his presence.

“Have you ever stared directly into the sun?” you asked, acknowledging the boy behind you.

While he wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, Hyunjin allowed his body to nestle into the grassy area beside your head.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin’s statement came across as a question, showing you that he wanted you to keep going.

“The sun imprints on you,” you mindlessly spoke as you leaned toward Hyunjin’s presence. “A lot like people do, too, you know?”

He mumbled a gentle ‘mhm’ to acknowledge what you were saying. His fingers effortlessly found themselves tangled in your hair as you continued to ramble.

“The sun is blinding. It burns - literally and figuratively,” you took in a sharp breath, unsure of where this confidence came from.

“But, the sun doesn’t leave…” you trailed off before derailing the conversation again, “Have you ever been close to anyone before, Hyunjin?” you asked, slowly turning your head to meet his adoring gaze.

“Of course I have,” he answered with ease. This wasn’t a trick question for him like it would be for you.

“With people, it’s easy to get close and be so open. Someone can know you inside and out and still want to leave. I grew tired of being so exposed just for people to spit it back at me.”

Hyunjin watched you carefully as you opened up to him. This was the most progress he’d made since meeting you. Slowly, he was opening the doors that you tried to conceal.

“I think that I don’t deserve positive relationships. My track record proves that,” you sighed. “Why put in effort for something I’ll never get?”

“Maybe one day you’ll see what I see,” Hyunjin barely spoke above a whisper. He never tried to invalidate your feelings; you had no clue what you did to deserve his gentle love. “For now, you don’t need to work hard for me. I just want you to keep being yourself.”

You found yourself chasing his fingers as they ran through your hair. While you didn’t believe what he said, it was nice to have that feeling of comfort for even a fleeting moment.

It wasn’t long after that conversation that you began to push Hyunjin away.

You realized that you couldn’t leave him. You were addicted to everything that was Hwang Hyunjin. Knowing that you couldn’t leave him, you were left listing reasons for Hyunjin to pack up and leave.

“I’m not emotionally available.”

“I have difficultly controlling my anger.”

“I don’t know who I am.”

“I am too impulsive.”

“I don’t know how to keep a stable relationship.”

“I can’t always be open for you.”

Hyunjin never saw these as a determining factor for ending the relationship that you two had built. If anything, he was grateful that you shared the ugly truth with him.

These aspects of your personality weren’t going to scare him away. Instead, knowing this information taught him how to handle you with care.

Regardless of how many doors of opportunity you gave him to leave, he wouldn’t open them up. He was here to stay.

He wanted to work with you, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

Even after realizing that love was present in your relationship, you still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that Hyunjin wanted to stay. Each morning, you prepared yourself for the breakup/ghosting that was never going to occur.

Early in the morning, when you hear the rattle of his keys, you immediately jump.

“Are you leaving?” you ask with a small voice.

“No, babe,” Hyunjin answered. Rolling over in bed, he wrapped an arm around you to be closer. “I’m just waking up.”

Looking over, you notice that his keys remain on the nightstand. The rattle was simply from him grabbing his phone, which was left right beside of his keys the night prior.

It was hard to believe that he was content with staying, but he proved his devotion time and time again.

One thing is certain: Hyunjin wouldn’t be giving up on you any time soon.

The door clicks softly when it opens, almost hesitant, like it knows the hour is too late— or too early— to be making noise, especially the dreaded chime of the keypad.

You’re half-asleep on the couch, a blanket tangled around your legs, your sweatpants rolled up to you knees as if you were a pirate, the TV long gone to a silent, dim screen and the blare of your playlist in the background.

You squint up at the ceiling, eyes barely open, as another heavy metal track crashes into your skull like it personally hates you.

“Who the fuck—” you mumble hoarsely, not even finishing the sentence.

Curse Spotify's autoplay feature.

The only light left is the small lamp in the corner, sat on the side table casting a warm, tired glow over the horrendously disorganised room you swore you’d clean before he got back. A hoodie is half hanging off the armrest, a mug sits abandoned near the edge of the table, and there’s something on the counter you definitely meant to eat hours ago.

Guess that's out the window.

Your phone rests on your chest, screen dark now, though you remember watching, waiting for that last message.

Landed.

You must’ve drifted off after that.

There’s a soft click at the door. You hear it and register it, but your brain, still foggy and sleep-heavy, doesn’t fully process it. It just files it somewhere in the background between the music and your slow, blinking thoughts.

Then a thud follows—muted, like something heavy being dropped without much care left to give—and your brows pinch faintly as you shift, turning your head just a little while the music continues to blare like nothing important is happening at all.

A few slow steps follow, dragging and uneven, like whoever’s walking hasn’t quite remembered how walking works yet. There’s a pause after that, long enough to feel deliberate, and then—

“...seriously?”

His voice cuts clean through the noise, low and rough and so tired it almost sounds offended.

Your brain finally catches up.

Oh.

Before you can even react, the music abruptly cuts off mid-scream, leaving the room in sudden, blessed silence that settles over everything like a weight. You exhale without meaning to, shoulders loosening slightly as the quiet sinks in.

“Thank—” you start, voice scratchy and half-formed, but the word dies in your throat as the couch dips beside you.

Warmth presses in behind you almost immediately, an arm sliding around your waist before you can fully turn, pulling you back into something solid and familiar. The movement is slow, unhurried, but certain—like he already knows exactly how you’ll fit.

You let out a quiet, surprised breath. “…Sungho.”

A soft hum answers you, right against the back of your shoulder, low and warm and there.

“I’m home.”

His voice is quieter now, closer, the words brushing against your skin as he settles in. You shift slightly, just enough to glance back at him, and yeah—he looks exactly how he sounds. Exhausted in a way that goes past surface-level tired, hair messy, uniform wrinkled, eyes barely open like he’s running on muscle memory alone.

“You turned it off,” you mumble, blinking at him.

“Was hurting me,” he replies immediately, like that was a personal attack.

You huff out a weak laugh. “It was hurting me too.”

“Why was it on?”

“Spotify betrayed me.”

“Mm. I’ll file a complaint.”

There’s something so dry about the way he says it that your smile lingers for a second longer than it should— but it softens almost immediately when his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer like he’s already done talking for the night.

He presses his face into the back of your shoulder, breath warm and slow, and just stays there—no rush, no explanation, just quiet presence. You can feel the way he breathes you in, steady and grounding, like he’s been missing something he couldn’t quite name until now.

Your hand lifts without thinking, fingers slipping into his hair, and the reaction is immediate. He exhales, long and quiet, his entire body relaxing like something just clicked back into place. The tension drains out of him in a way that’s almost visible, his shoulders dropping as he leans further into you.

“Tired?” you murmur.

A soft sound hums against your shoulder. “Missed you,” he corrects, voice barely above a whisper now.

You smile, eyes falling shut for a second. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I can tell.”

He shifts closer— if that’s even possible— his grip firming just slightly around your waist. His fingers curl faintly into your shirt, like he needs something to hold onto, something solid after hours of nothing but distance.

Your hand keeps moving through his hair, slow and gentle, and he leans into it like he’s been waiting for it.

“Did you sleep?” you ask after a moment.

“A bit.”

“You’re lying.”

“Mm.”

“Sungho.”

There’s a pause before he answers, quieter this time, like the truth slips out before he can stop it. “Couldn’t. Not properly.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Why?”

His fingers tighten just a fraction where they’re curled into your shirt. “…bed’s too big without you.”

The words land gently, but they settle deep. You don’t tease him, don’t laugh—you just shift closer, pressing back into him as your hand softens in his hair, thumb brushing lightly against his scalp.

“Then sleep now,” you murmur. “You’re home.”

A quiet hum follows, softer than before— relieved.

His arm slides from your waist to your stomach, pulling you in tighter, like he’s making sure you stay exactly where you are. His face tucks deeper into your neck, breath warm and steady against your skin, and you tug the blanket up over his shoulders, smoothing it down instinctively.

“Did you eat?” you ask.

There’s a beat before he answers. “…no.”

You sigh, already expecting it. “Sungho—”

“Don’t,” he mumbles, voice lower now, slower, already slipping toward sleep. “Later.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he beats you to it.

“Five minutes,” he adds, a little quicker, like he knows you too well.

You snort softly. “That’s never five minutes.”

“Mm. Still counts.”

There’s the faintest hint of a smile in his voice, and you shake your head, but your fingers don’t stop moving through his hair.

“Fine,” you whisper. “Five minutes.”

He exhales, deeper this time, like that alone settles something in him. His weight sinks fully against you now, heavier, warmer, his breathing evening out almost immediately. Every so often, his fingers twitch faintly against your shirt— like he’s checking, even in sleep, that you’re still there.

You shift just enough to get comfortable, resting your head lightly against his as the quiet settles properly over the room. No music. No noise. Just him, warm and steady against you.

“Welcome home,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer, but his grip tightens slightly, and he presses closer, face tucked securely against you like he belongs there.

Which he does.

Time passes without you really noticing how much. Your eyes drift shut again, slower this time, the warmth pulling you under gently.

And just before sleep takes you, you hear it— soft, slurred, half-asleep.

“…missed you.”

Your lips curve faintly, your hand giving one last slow pass through his hair.

“I know,” you mumble.

And this time, when you fall asleep, it’s quiet— and warm.

creds: plane by @thecutestgrotto, blue lace by @cursed-carmine, please support by @dollywons ♡

tags: @tsanho ⸝⸝ @pupillary ⸝⸝ @taestulipss ⸝⸝ @leehanaholic ⸝⸝ @beomtomie ⸝⸝ @mwotgata ⸝⸝ @kaixlix ⸝⸝ @haede-shi ⸝⸝ @ivehan ⸝⸝ @angelwings-fly ⸝⸝ @kjunebuggie ⸝⸝ @niiqv ⸝⸝ @haniipie [wanna be tagged in my next fic? comment on the reader registry!!]

001. would think the nicest things are the bare minimum

for your one year anniversary, one of his gifts was the matchbook photo frame trend with all of your favorite things. it took him weeks to make it including all the other gifts he got you, and he literally thought it was so normal-- or the bare minimum-- to do things like that

"baby, i'm really happy you like the gifts, but... you do know you deserve more than this right? your standards have to be in hell right now if you think this is more than what you should have..."

"you just told me you burned yourself seven times making three of these gifts that collectively took you over three weeks to make, sungho."

"a man's reason for living is to work for their mates."

"okay......."

002. always gets three of everything

case in point: your favorite lip liner. why three instead of two you ask? one for when you use it inside the house, one for your everyday pounch you carry in every bag, and one for him just in case you lose it (you forget to bring your spare every time)

003. loves when you include him into your skin care routine

i honestly think he would just love the overall experience as opposed to the routine because he would make sure the ambiance is just right. not only would the bathroom be illuminated by gorgeous scented candles, you would also be centimeters apart making him choose what kind of mask he wants to do while tom misch is playing in the background

i personally believe he would also love those cute decorative headbands you see on tiktok… it’s the babygirl in him

004. loves catering to your family in silent ways

remembers every little thing you’ve ever told him about your family just in case it’s useful in the future.

you mentioned gardening peonies with your mom a few months prior because it was her favorite flower. the mothers day afterwards, he found limited time peony bouquets and shipped them to your moms address

you two were listening to a song from an artist your sibling introduced you to growing up, saying that it happened to be their favorite performer in passing. a few months later on your siblings birthday, you get a call from them with concert tickets in their hand screaming about how amazing your boyfriend is

you brought up his silent acts one day when you two were mindlessly scrolling on the couch and all he did was smile and kiss your temple… ooouuuu that man

005. he keeps one flower from every bouquet he ever gives you to know when it’s time to get you a new one

i am the FIRMEST believer of sungho giving you just because flowers

you always saw a cute thin vase in his room with one flower in it every time you came over, and it was a little embarrassing how late it took you to realize that every flower you saw was one from your own.

it wasn’t until you heard woonhak complaining about the falling leaves when you realized the bouquet sitting in your room was also starting to wilt

again, acted like that’s a completely universal thing that all guys do when you asked him about it, when in reality so many people don’t even think to give their partners “just because” flowers in the first place

006. lowkey your personal butler

WALK EM LIKE A DOGGG. i think sungho would live and breathe you, because he is #1 believer of bringing chivalry back. that being said, you’re on a shopping date? he’s holding all of your bags and still finding a way to open the door to the next store you walk into. something more activity based, lets say mini golf, for example? he’s carrying two ice cold water bottles, your purse, and his own things while you happily hit the ball closer to the hole.

and you know he would do it all with a smile on his face

007. looks for your reaction everytime he makes a joke

your reaction is all that matters to him because, well what else would? he falls in love with you all over again when he sees you laughing at something he says. and honestly he would be the loudest one laughing at yours. he just gets you

008. extremely observant and in a really quiet way

you were sleeping over at his dorm like usual when you both decided to wash up for the night. your skin care has always been stacked, especially given you reset days where you layer more products than usual, so sungho knew almost all of your routine already

while he’s brushing his teeth, he’s watching you silently struggle getting the last of your face wash out of the bottle. before he can help however, you get some product out and victoriously rub it on your face. he also noticed your usual toner pads were gone and one serum you use was near empty

the next day when you get back home from work, you see 5 to 6 boxes stacked in front of your door. three toner pads of different brands, four serums of different ingredients, and three facewashes with different targets; all with a little note reading: “don’t try all of them without me, love you most sweet girl.”

009. sends you secret messages on stage

we all know he loves having fun on stage, so he would love sending you different signals on stage knowing your watching. definitely tells you beforehand so you can watch him even closer than you already are

he would give a little heart to the camera every time he sang a line that started with the first letter of your name, or do a small hand gesture you two made up in your first year of dating

getting his phone back after his performance, his favorite part is reading your feedback and catching all his little messages to you… you are his biggest cheerleader after all

010. enjoys doing domestic things with you

his personal favorites: deep cleaning (obviously), apartment shopping, and sunday resets.

he sees something so beautiful about going shopping for apartments, even if you’re not living together yet. it’s as if he’s given a chance to look into his future with you everytime it happens… even something as simple as doing the laundry with you.

you’re sitting on the floor in silence together at your place, both of you setting piles of what’s his and what’s yours. a decent sized pile is made when he suddenly stops folding one of your white dresses and looks at you.

“this is gonna sound stupid, but if my life had to be just this-- folding laundry with you forever… i think i would be set.”

it’s like his little glimpse into the future with you that he is so sure he’s gonna live with you