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you gaze out over the glimmering skyline of your college town, the buildings and houses bright in the dark night that envelops the rest of the world. tomorrow you leave for your home, leave your roommates and your friends and the places you’ve come to inhabit over the past year for a summer back where you grew up. and come the next year, you won’t be back - you’re moving to a new apartment, one that’s closer to campus but not nearly as generous with the view.

so here you are. braving the cold night one last time.

you sigh, resting your forearms against the railing. the metal is cold, and you wince as the sensation bites into your skin - but it’s not nearly as painful as the lump in your throat, and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why. it’s not as if you’ll never see your roommates again. it’s not as if you’re going to leave forerver. so why does everything feel like its slipping through your fingers, and you can’t hold on?

you’re leaving home.

a new message buzzes on your phone, and you pull it out of your pocket, the white glare of the screen lighting up your field of view. it’s a new message from woonhak, in your group chat with your college friends.

hakathon: have a good summer guys! when you’re all home lets keep talking lol

you’re going home.

the place where you grew up somehow doesn’t feel like home anymore. not anymore, when you’re living life on your own terms. now that you have the freedom and independance to live as you please, take the classes you wanted to, spend time with whomever you like for as long as you wanted to.

wooriwoo: yeah!! myungjae: leehanie you better be checking the gc fr wooriwoo: and yn dont forget to send us a tour of your new apt wooriwoo: you should do a before and after of when you first move in and later when it’s all decorated and like home lol giant mountain: oh yeah that would be cool

you smile to yourself.

home.

a barren apartment turning into your safe space. what a concept.

in truth, though, hasn’t it always been like that? you take a space and make it your own. over and over and over again.

what is home?

perhaps home was your bedroom in your parents’ house that would remain a time capsule of someone you once used to be. perhaps home was the many library tables you’d spent hours studying at. perhaps home was your bunk bed in an apartment that was never going to be forever and yet is at the same time.

you pause.

no.

no matter the amount of decorations you put up, your apartment hadn’t started to feel like home until you’d been sharing it with people you could call friends.

what is home?

home is the people you share these places with. friends, family. friends who become family. it’s only because of them that these places hold meaning to you. they’ve been there long before you were born, and will still be there long after you pass through. it’s arbitrary to call them yours, and yet they are. perhaps places like those belong to everyone who ever smiles or cries in them.

you exhale slowly, watching the stars twinkle in the sky above you. somehow, you feel as through you can breathe a bit easier.

you: wait i’ll do that lol you: also jae is right leehanie please check the gc park sungho: bro he’s literally too busy starinf at his fish we’re never going to see him again

you laugh to yourself.

home is the people you share your life with.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ want to check out the planetarium's other exhibits?

it's a bit overwhelming, especially because this is all happening right before his race, but martin attempts to interact with as many people as he can. he's the sweetest to everyone he sees, acknowledging each person down the line.

—an angel in a ferrari formula one race suit. that's what martin is.

and when he's near the end of the walkway, he notices how you're standing in an empty section with guards separating you from his other fans.

the blond giggles when you pretend to be a fan, asking for his autograph and holding out a sharpie and a polaroid of you two. martin ruffles your hair as he glances at the photo, smiling to the point his eyes become little crescents.

"you're so cute, baby." he says before taking the sharpie from your grasp. using his teeth, he pulls the cap off of the marker and effortlessly sweeps the pen over the vacant spot of the polaroid.

once martin’s done, he puts the cap back onto the sharpie again before handing you that and the now signed polaroid.

"one more." he murmurs, gloved hands cupping the sides of your face. "just for you."

martin plants his soft lips on yours, kissing you sweetly for a few moments. he only remembers where he is when there's a tap on his back, his manager telling them they have to prepare for the race.

"i'll see you later." the tall, blond boy smiles at you, waving goodbye as he trails behind his manager.

a couple hours later, martin enters a secluded part of the pit that's reserved for him and the team.

he's won first place again, of course.

the blond male sighs as he sits down in a chair, taking off the cap, balaclava, and helmet from his head. slivered locks stick to his skin from sweat, dampening his forehead and neck. but of course, martin doesn't look horrible. sweaty and out of breath, he still looks very handsome.

you come pass the security to go find him, with a towel in water. making him tilt his head up and open his mouth for water—he likes being hand fed, anyways. “you were so good out there,” you praise him. “won for me.” you giggle and he laughs along kissing your forehead.

“…first i need to get out of this,” he gestures to his suit, then martin stands up—still sweaty—and peels off that race suit right there in front of you. a simple black athletic shorts and a white tank top clinging to every muscle on him because god, is this man sculpted or what?

“so annoying.” you humor

martin flashes you a tired but warm smile, that dimple appearing on his right cheek—always so cute when it shows up. he pads over to where you're sitting and drops onto the couch beside you with a soft thump. his body sinks into the cushions, completely melting from exhaustion.

he leans sideways and rests his head against your shoulder. warm breath fans across your neck as he sighs deeply—the kind of sigh that carries all the weight of everything he's been through today.

his eyes are already half-lidded, heavy with fatigue. “ya’ and i’m tired.”

martin shifts slightly, his arm sliding around your waist as he pulls you closer. despite being bone-tired, the moment you're within reach, he nuzzles into the curve of your neck—kissing soft pecks there like little drowsy butterflies.

after a few quiet seconds of this sweet gesture—just him loving on you quietly—the blond mumbles something against your skin, “missed you so much today.” his voice is rougher than usual from yelling over engine noises during races.

"i was so nervous before the race," martin admits, his voice still rough but softening as he speaks. "the track was wet in some parts and the conditions were tricky."

he shifts again, turning to fully face you now. one hand lifts to gently brush a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"but i kept thinking about you standing there today with that photo… it made me smile even when i was focused." a small, fond grin spreads across his lips.

“aw yeah? you had a picture, you slyly took it?” you suspiciously look at him.

"mhm," whe nod, reaching into his earlier worn coat pocket.

he unfolds it slightly to show him the photo—a sweet candid of you two from earlier that day before he had to leave for prep. in the picture, martin is mid-laugh with his eyes crinkled shut, one arm around your shoulders while he signs something for another fan.

he stares at it quietly for a second… then his expression softens impossibly more.

“this is so cute,” martin breathes out, gently taking the photo between his fingers like it’s something precious.

martin gently folds the polaroid back and tucks it carefully into his race suit pocket, right over his heart. “keeping this forever,” he says softly, voice warm with sincerity.

✶

that following morning, it was planned to be more active.

the sun was shining brightly over seoul, casting golden light across the bustling streets. the group of formula one drivers—martin included—were dressed casually for a day out after their intense race weekend.

martin walked hand-in-hand with you, his other teammates chatting and laughing ahead. there was a fair occuring too.

they were heading toward hongdae first—a trendy district filled with cafes, boutiques and street food stalls. "what do you wanna do first?" martin asked softly beside your ear as he squeezed your fingers gently

“i… don’t know.” you hummed.

martin's teammates split up as soon as they reached hongdae—some heading into record stores, others toward a tattoo parlor.

after some looking and thinking martin spotted something—a small stall selling handmade leather bracelets with tiny charms dangling from them. his eyes lit up slightly at that discovery.

maybe you guys can handcraft bracelets for each other.

martin's face brightened as he led you toward the bracelet stall, his steps quickening with excitement. the artisan behind the counter—a middle-aged woman with warm eyes—smiled at them when they approached.

“ah! would you both like to make one?” she was already pushing a small wooden bench forward for customers to sit.

martin nodded eagerly and pulled out his wallet without hesitation. "yes, please two," he said before turning back to you with an adorable hopeful look on his face

“what charm should we get?”

“let’s see.” martin studied the charms laid out on a velvet tray—tiny silver racing cars, little hearts, cats, stars.

his eyes immediately zeroed in on the car charm first (of course), but then flicked to a delicate silver keychain with an f for ferrari.

"hm..." he murmured thoughtfully before glancing at you again.

the artisan watched them fondly while preparing two blank leather bracelets. “perfect, love.” you cheesed.

martin's fingers deftly threaded the ferrari charm onto his bracelet, letting it dangle perfectly. he took a moment to admire how sleek and cool it looked against the dark leather.

when the artisan handed you your blank bracelet, martin leaned over slightly—his shoulder brushing yours—to watch what charm you would choose. but you wanted to do something cute for him, as always.

“i’ll make a bracelet out of the car charm, yeah?” you suggested.

martin watched with quiet fascination as you carefully selected a small silver car charm—one sleek and modern-looking. then, to his surprise, you also picked up a tiny heart-shaped charm.

his breath hitched slightly when he realized what you were planning. the artisan smiled knowingly as she handed over delicate tools for customizing the bracelets.

you spent the time handcrafting it, martin held his breath as you finished the bracelet—perfectly sized to match his wrist, with a sleek silver car charm and a delicate heart dangling beside it.

when you lifted it toward him, the morning light caught on the charms, making them glimmer softly.

his eyes shimmered too—not from sunlight this time.

he waited quietly for you to put it on him—the gesture somehow more intimate than any kiss they’d shared today. the moment the bracelet clicked into place around his wrist, martin stared at it—completely mesmerized.

he turned his hand slightly, watching how the light danced across both charms—the sleek car and that tiny heart symbolizing you loving him.

then suddenly, he grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you deeply. no hesitation. no softness this time—just pure overwhelming emotion poured into a passionate kiss right there in public. people walking by might’ve glanced but neither of you cared.

✶

on friday, the ferrari team had a press event—high-profile photographers and fashion editors from car magazines and luxury brands swarmed the pit area.

martin stood among his teammates for official photos, dressed sharply in sleek black tactical gear with ferrari’s logo stitched on the sleeve. but today? something was different.

every time he lifted his arms for dynamic poses—the flashbulbs going off—his handcrafted bracelet caught light perfectly. journalists noticed immediately. cameras zoomed in on that small detail: the silver car charm beside a heart. it stood out.

questions came.

‘whose bracelet is that?’

‘did martin edwards make it himself?’

martin caught your eye from across the room, a soft smile tugging at his lips—just for you. one of the photographers noticed how he kept glancing in your direction and called out, "who's that? your alleged girlfriend?"

journalists were instantly intrigued by this personal detail about ferrari’s rising star—the usually private driver who rarely showed affection publicly.

without hesitation, martin lifted his wrist slightly to show off the bracelet clearly… then nodded proudly.

the press event quickly shifted focus—reporters now waving notebooks and microphones toward you both. a producer from a major sports magazine approached, holding out a sleek camera.

"may we get one photo of you two together? With the bracelet?" she asked eagerly, her eyes darting between martin's wrist and your face.

Another journalist from vogue korea piped up. "Yes! It would be so romantic—the champion driver wearing something handmade by his girlfriend." because, the media just loves to know everyone’s business at every chance they get.

martin slipped his hand into yours as you stepped beside him, the press instantly going wild. flashbulbs popped rapidly—click click click—capturing every second.

he didn’t hesitate. with a gentle but confident motion, martin lifted your joined hands and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek right where cameras could perfectly frame it.

the gesture was sweet yet effortlessly cool—the kind of romantic moment fans loved. journalists whispered excitedly.

"so pure"

"they’re so in love"

martin turned slightly, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you closer against his side. the photographers scrambled for better angles—kneeling, climbing on chairs.

he looked down at you with that warm smile—the one only you ever saw—before dipping his head and pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

this time, the press collectively awwed.

the ferrari team manager in the background just sighed but smiled too—knowing this moment would be everywhere by morning.

i love you guys, happy no school

‘💬’ ─ COME TAKE IT BACKKK yo i'm sorry ts hits 😭💔

✶ ⋆ ©wonroha . . est ‘26 ୧٭✩

INTRODUCING YOU as Y/N L/N; THE INTERNET’S FAVOURITE TRUE CRIME AND GOSSIP GIRL !

HOW IT STARTED

to be honest, you just wanted to talk to someone…

when you and sunoo got bored together (which was more often than you two should be) you would always find yourself listening to true crime podcasts and doing skincare, baking, or simply laying down

however, after hearing about an unsatisfying episode about The Facebook Killers, you and sunoo quickly found yourselves doing research by yourselves, forcing the two of you to make a document that is around fifty seven pages long compiling all the facts.

in fact you were so into it, that you couldn’t help but format it into a story, a story you desperately needed to tell someone

so you tried with jungwon, another friend who you always managed to see only when eating, meaning that the least thing he wanted to hear about was some murder that took place somewhere when he was trying to eat his american chinese food before doing his bioengineering homework.

so that didn’t work

meaning you tried with niki, who was just a baby in sunoo’s eyes - meaning that sunoo would genuinely choke you rather than you tell niki about the horrors of the world

which left you with one single thing, turning on your macbook camera, your ipad in your lap with the document open, a mic you got from your uni’s music department, and a bowl of popcorn beside a can of iced tea as you started telling the camera your most recent true crime hyperfixation

so you posted your first video… which was posted under the channel name of the notes app investigation a joke sunoo made after he helped you get your lighting to be more flattering

you didn’t get many views, like 30 on your first video after a week, but that didn’t deter you as you found your next case to hyperfixate on

you put in all the effort, using your journalism major to use as you went through all the public sources talking about anything remotely related to the case you wanted to discuss, after all you didn’t make this channel for popularity, you just wanted someone to hear you talk - even if it were thirty insomniacs who always commented on how soothing your voice is

jungwon once barged into your dorm to tell you that, holding some pad thai noodles for the two of you to share but t comment was disregarded because you immediately started telling him about the crazy conspiracy theories about elisa lam

jungwon just smiled awkwardly, not really wanting to eat after hearing where she was found

you didn’t notice though, having found yourself on weibo, now looking at the story of crazy roommates in australia

thus began your deep dive into stories beyond true crime, you found yourself talking about scandals and juicy gossip all around the world

it was simply your channel, and your ipad, macbook, and borrowed microphone, and snacks and whatever story that you were hyperfixated on against the world

you weren’t really sure when all the subscribers came in, but you did like the comments that were sharing their own opinions and offering their own theories

after a year of posting, people began calling you one of the best comfort true-crime channels the internet had ever seen, with people commenting on your neutral stance, your etiquette when discussing victims as well as gory details, as well as your attempts to ensure that the episode always ended in a lighthearted way

not that you would know, too busy having fun talking to people on niconico and having niki translate your weird conversations for you

which meant that sunoo stepped up to be your social media manager, jungwon chose to be stressed about you not only as your friend but now as your manager who forced you to sleep, and niki was there to keep you company

not that you were complaining, as the notes app investigations had six million people listening to you talk

HOW ITS GOING

you lived by jungwon’s schedule

jungwon who had stepped up to be the mother of you and sunoo, despite being younger than both of you

despite his busy schedule, jungwon always made sure that you were eating, sleeping, and touching enough grass to be sane

which meant that 25% of your channel had become “day in the life vlogs” because you were too knee-deep into your research to finish a video every week

meaning that you, sunoo, niki, and jungwon were slowly becoming known amongst insomniacs, true crime lovers, and the worst group: people you knew in real life

while your videos were still being filmed in your room and through you macbook camera - to keep your aesthetic sunoo said - your mic had become crispr, which meant when you raised your hand to ask a question in one of your lectures, someone would come up to you and ask if you were on youtube

you always glitched out and let sunoo do the talking - feeling more embarrassed to admit it more than anything

anyways, you let sunoo, niki, and jungwon, run your socials for you and when niki suggested that you do a q&a video, you just mindlessly nodded as you went through the police report you foyer requested about the case you were researching

regardless, you found yourself in front of your macbook, crisp microphone clipped to your sweater, and ipad holding in your lap with niki-approved questions

the first few questions felt like a job interview…

how did you come up with the idea?

why do you like true crime?

when do you go outside if you reach so much?

you answered to the best of your ability, but you honestly hated that the questions reminded you of when your parents were questioning you

still, you loosened up by the time questions like

what is your favorite case?

what is the best part of making these videos?

and finally… how do you organize your research

and that is how you became known as ms. notes app

what was supposed to be a cute q&a session for listeners to learn more about their favourite yapper (affectionate), turned into you proudly displaying your notes app and how you organized all the bloody (literally) details for twenty minutes

you honestly didn’t even care of you were dubbed as ms.notes app, after all you still got to talk about all the true stories you wanted to

INTRODUCING LEE HEESEUNG as EVAN; THE INTERNET’S FAVOURITE VIDEO GAME BOYFRIEND

HOW IT STARTED

lee heeseung was just trying to be unemployed in peace before the bills came knocking down his door

which meant that his dreams of playing league all day were slowly fading away

he sighed as he came to this realization one day at the internet cafe near campus

jake looked at heeseung who was pouting at the world’s worst bank account (which means he was pouting at his own) and couldn’t help but pat his friend as an attempt to console him

heeseung sighed as he accepted his fate, he needed money and he needed it fast

he used jay’s card, printed out all the resumes he could and started giving out to any and every establishment near campus - regardless if they were hiring or not

it wasn’t until he sat down at his gaming setup — the one that had drained most of his money — that it really hit him

he didn't want to sell it, how could he?

he practically built his set up and took care of it the way a new mom would take care of their child

hesseung is a bit embarrassed to admit that he started his channel, player evan, because while crying over his bank account he started watching video game streams

he shot out of bed and looked to his gaming set up that had emptied out his pockets - maybe he could get a return on his “investment”

so what if he looked like a creep asking the university’s video department for three cameras at three in the morning, it was going to be worth it as he set a camera to look at his hands and his mouse and keyboard, and two cameras facing him.

heeseung knew he probably should be hiding his face so he could deny ever doing this when it eventually flopped but heeseung wasn’t dumb, he knew he looked good - so not only would he be profiting off his gaming skills but also his face

he accepted his faith as he signed up for a twitch account, and quickly did his first stream on a whim

it was okay, he was absolutely cooking on league, beating everyone near him and absolutely powermaxxing, and he got like eight views!!!

at the end of a three hour league grind heeseung made like ten dollars, but that instant relief of knowing his balance isn’t at zero was enough to make him continue doing it every night after classes and doing his computer engineering homework

it was after three months of him streaming on twitch did one of his insomniac fans typed out a comment that said, ‘damn i wish you had a youtube channel’

it was like a dump of knowledge had be off loaded at his brain - so he quickly messaged sunghoon to help him learn how to edit on capcut without completely blowing up his phone

so, alongside his twitch channel he opened his youtube channel: player evan and let (meaning forced) sunghoon to edit his streams to youtube

he also expanded, because as his insomniac audience grew, so did their demands, and who was heeseung to deny his lovely fans (who donated sometimes) their lovely requests

therefore, he made jake - a decently skilled player - and jay - an easily ragebaited noob -  play games together with him

he also learned how repetitive league could be - meaning he switched it up and started playing horror games

and then he forced sunghoon to help him look cool to post online to match his given boyfriend title

so yeah, heeseunf was thriving, not only did he make enough money that living off of cup ramen was a choice, but he was also getting away with playing video games for as long as he wants with his six million followers

HOW ITS GOING

heeseung was now known for horror games 

which would be great, if he wasn’t a coward or dedicated to streaming at odd hours at night and the darkness did not help his fear

his most popular video, was unfortunately the one he went through hell with

his poppy playtime chapter one playthrough

listen, heeseung was having a long day but he had been putting off poppy play for so long he had forced himself to play it that day

he did not think he would ever be so scared by a walking doll to the point where his screams could be mistaken for high notes

it didn’t help that sunghoon - who was know his video editor - included a scared jake and a sleepy jay walking in with pots and pans ready to defend their roommate from whatever horror was causing him to hit perfect pitch high notes

causing player evan to go viral for his screams of terror and how “his cute bambi eyes widened in fear” 

heeseung hated the bambi comment, he was a grown man after all

after that embarrassment, heeseung needed to recover

so he compiled his embarrassing loser friend group (him included) and started filming vlogs and challenges for youtube

they did everything, they did study vlogs, day in the life’s, everything to solidify heeseung’s internet boyfriend status beyond just random flirting he did on stream and with the horror characters that he was supposed to be running away from

heeseung had to be known as something more than screaming good high notes, he just had too

but he wasn’t because the fans now waited for him to play poppy playtime every single time a new chapter came out

it got so bad the his playthrough of poppy playtime one got him the name mr. huggy wuggy

when jay told him this, he almost exploded the can of banana milk he was holding

so he played more horror games, he did all the chillas art, as much of the backrooms as he could, these random horror games recommended to him

but he always found himself looking at comments that asked mr. huggy wuggy to “go back to his roots”

so heeseung found himself setting up his stream, the same camera angles just with better quality, and mentally prepared himself to be jumpscared by a pink spider and to call her “mommy”

it also didn’t help that jake decided the vlog heeseung’s getting ready process, framing it as a “get ready with me”

but as heeseung played and as he saw the views, he found himself remembering why he started player evan, the money and the idea that people found comfort in him (the second answer was made up but he needed a better reason than money in the q&as jay made him do)

so he accepted his status as mr. huggy wuggy and kept playing

after all, that is what the fans wanted to see

INTRODUCING THE COUPLE; MR AND MRS "GO TO BED"

HOW YOU MET

now why the campus film department was open 24/7 was no one’s business

in fact it helped you, as you realized that you still had the microphone you borrowed after filming a deep dive on the tragedy of Reena Kirk that you should probably return it

so off you went, at two fifty four in the morning to return the microphone that was laying around your room

you expected to be the only person there, rightfully so because who else would be at the film department at this time of day

so you reached the counter, where a sleep deprived film student who needed money was at the counter waiting for something to happen

except, you weren’t the only person there

there was a man there

a pretty man - but a man nonetheless

you paused at the door

he was also waiting at the counter, staring at sleeping student whose headphones were in watching a video

he was … awkward to say the least

he was standing there, looking over the counter, moving his hand to awkwardly hover over the shoulder of the sleeping student, with every intention to wake him up, only to chicken out and glue his arm back to the counter

you walked up to the counter, needing to return the microphone in your hand

you coughed to announce your presence - startling the pretty man and the sleeping student

you smiled at the both of them

“can i return my microphone please?’

the student nodded, still half asleep and booted the system up

the man looked at you, blinked and silently brought up the cameras in his hand -  silently asking you to return it to the department

you sighed internally and brought the three mini cameras to the counter as well, mentioning them to the student who was signing in to the computer

it was quiet for another moment 

and then the pretty man turned to you, “thank you for - “ he gestured to the cameras on the counter

“of course” you said, not really wanting to ask why he needed the cameras or why he was here at three in the morning - your social battery had been used for the day

the two of you stood there awkwardly, waiting for the sluggish student to do his job

the pretty man looked at you again, “i’m heeseung,” he said

you nodded politely, “y/n”

it was then that the student shot up, suddenly wide awake

the two of you blinked, unsure what caused the student get a boost of energy

he, the student, looked up at the two of you and asked, “like the youtubers?”

you blinked, and nodded while heeseung did the same

the film student, completely awake like he chugged two monsters, “woah, this is so cool, i didn’t know that the two of you went here,”

you awkwardly nodded along, not really wanting to be here any longer - still happy to meet a fan ! but maybe not someone you might see more often

heeseung wasn’t doing much better, fan interactions weren’t as rare, but it still weirded him out to actually think that people watched him to the point of recognizing him

the student went on, now more eager to help log the three cameras and the microphone back into the system, “you know its actually kind of insane, i was watching his stream before, and then fell asleep to your recent video,”

heeseung looked over to you as you were trying not to malfunction, he felt something within him stir up, you looked so awkward 

he mustered up all the courage he can, “hey, i’m sorry of this might sound harsh but would it be alright if you just returned our items and called it a night, we’re kind of tired”

the student’s eyes widened, “of course,” he said, “sorry, i just got super excited,”

you smiled, “its okay, its just been a long night”

the student nodded, “i get that!” and he simply continued on with logging the resources back into the system, “the two of you could leave!” he said, “i got this!”

the two of you smiled as you left with heeseung

when the two of you went out building, you turned to him, “thank you for helping me!”

heeseung wanted to look cool in front of you, but you were so beautiful that he found himself stuttering over the words “of course,”

it was quiet for a moment, you being comfortable with the silence while heeseung mourned his cool guy image

“so,” you asked, “your a youtuber too?”

heeseung’s heart stuttered, you sounded so cute, he nodded

“i make video game content, you?” heeseung patted himself on the back for sounding normal

you smiled at him, “i make true crime and gossip content,”

heeseung’s eyes widened, “you don’t look like you do,”

your eyes narrowed, “excuse me?”

heeseung panicked, “it’s just that you look so cute and sweet, and true crime is not,”

you nodded, “i get your point, but i mean not most killers look like they kill, like ted bundy you know?”

so heeseung was out until five twenty eight in the morning, listening to a cute girl tell him about the crimes of ted bundy outside the univsersity’s film department

what a perfect way to meet his girlfriend

THE BEST COUPLE AWARD GOES TO...

jungwon was stressed when he realized he had to add “talking to boyfriend” as part of the things he needed to make you do to remain human

until he realized that heeseung came to you and not only did that task for him but also made you go outside and take breaks

sunoo and niki both told heeseung that they have never seen jungwon cry tears of joy until now

jay and jake were so happy to have someone else to ragebait heeseung while sunghoon almost cheered with glee as he realized he doesn’t have to make heeseunf boyfriend-able anymore

ignoring the friend group

you and heeseung were gross (affectionately)

around campus people would see the two of you together, you would be talking about a case or a scandal while heeseung would dit there and point out gaos in your notes, and ask questions as he was listening

you would be spotted at the internet cafe learning how to play league with him and cheering when you finally beat him (despite heeseung clearly letting you win)

the level of comfort that the two of your brought each other rivaled the comfort that 2000s romcoms brought to teenage girls

you two were magical

heeseung would listen to you talking about any obscure detail of any true case at any time of day

jake once found heeseung up a seven thirty on a saturday morning smiling as he hummed into his phone - when asked heeseung just said that you had called him three hours prior to talk about the try guys cheating scandal

you would learn not only how to play video games but about their storylines, making sure to mention to heeseung the significance of the vase he was trying to throw at the demon he was running away from

the two of you were just always around each other, just existing around each other

“you know” niki said in front of your combined friend group, “i don’t think your actually dating, i mean none of us have ever seen you kiss,”

heeseung thanked the stars for his nonchalant gamer boyfriend image because he simply grabbed your face and kissed passionately in front of everyone, making sure to show that why yes, you two were boyfriend and girlfriend

THE INTERNET'S PARENTS !

now the way the internet found was was due to sunoo and sunghoon’s amazing pr skills

filming still went as normal, you both would release something once weak, whether it be a vlog or a video

however, these two (gremlins) geniuses started adding hints 

in your vlog you were seen wearing a beanie that was very close to the one heeseung wore on his streams the past month

in his stream, heeseung was spotted drinking the same iced tea brand you would be seen drinking in all your videos

small hints, but subtle enough for some heads to turn

the one hint that got many people suspicious were the matching duck keychains the two of you added to your set up

it was near heeseung’s keyboard, the white duck sitting there and can be seen on the camera that shows his hands moving

it was in your snack bowl, yellow and providing a pop of colour while you talked about the PTA mom turned stalker

it was a small detail, but fans of both were quick to point it out

it was after a month of planting small details did a vlog come out on both channels, on the same day

heeseung’s titled : girlfriend takes me out on a date !

yours titled : taking my dream man on my dream day !

it was safe to say that the internet lost their minds

that didn’t stop you though

heeseung started appearing in your videos, now instead of you talking to just your camera with your ipad, you were talking to heeseung, who soaked up every word you told him and asked questions and cracked jokes when appropriate

fans loved his commentary and how soft you looked when he talked, always commenting that they wanted what the two of you have

you started joining heeseung in games that required more than one player games, viewers loving the dynamic of heeseung’a panicked yet melodious screams while you just info dumped while running away

the next few years you both graduated, making sure that both of your content didn’t just become couple content but also adding small vlogs here and there about your dates, your next steps, your first day on jobs, your first apartment together, setting up your new filming locations

everything was perfect

you would come on heeseung’s live stream and chat with the audience who had fun telling you to “go to bed”

you two naturally refused, choosing to spend your time talking on stream with each other and fans

you two simply became the most beloved couple on the internet

and everything was amazing

so imagine, to the internet’s surprise

when you and heeseung both posted a video with the titles 

mr huggy wuggy and his fiance mrs notes app

and

mrs notes app and her fiance mr huggy wuggy

congrats, you two just broke the internet for the gazillionth time

❛ 𝓦𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒+𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. ❜ angst ⠀·⠀⠀swimmer!keonho x volleyball player!reader ⠀·⠀⠀non-idol!au ⠀·⠀⠀ right person, never the right time

❛ 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. ❜ a short old wip to commemorate blue lips mv release today 🥹 ⠀·⠀⠀sorry in advance guys i cried while proofreading this (it probably still has mistakes, idgaf i just want yall to cry with me) 😓 ⠀·⠀⠀also this is slightly different from my writing style but i’m tryna figure out what kind i like better :<⠀·⠀⠀and special mention to this bitch too @ramenoil fuck u

❛ 𝓦𝐂. ❜ 2.8k

the cruel thing wasn’t that you and keonho never dated. the cruel thing was that everyone around you assumed you would.

you were sixteen when it started—not officially, and definitely not dramatically. it just happened in the gymnasium after school—the heavy, echoing sound of a volleyball bouncing rhythmically against polished wood while a swimmer sat on the bleachers pretending to do his homework. his textbooks were always open to some random page he never actually turned, a mechanical pencil balanced between his fingers. he was just watching practice, and you were a girl who kept pretending not to notice how his eyes followed you across the court lines.

at first, he came because his practice ended earlier and his house was empty. then, he came because he liked the noise, or so he claimed when a teammate teased him. really, though? he came because you were there, but neither of you ever acknowledged the fact.

you’d look up after a particularly brutal drill, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and there he’d be—dark hoodie that was too big for him, a huge swimming bag dropped carelessly by his feet, hair still damp and curling slightly from the pool, with one earbud in. he was watching—always watching—not creepily or obviously, but just enough, like he wanted to memorize the exact way you played before the world got too loud.

one day, your coach went completely ballistic, screaming at everyone to run suicides and laps and dives and whatnot until the gym floor felt like it was spinning. you collapsed beside the bleachers afterwards, your face completely red, legs burning, and entirely convinced you were actually dying right there on the hardwood.

suddenly, a freezing cold bottle of sports drink appeared in front of your face, condensation dripping onto your kneepads.

you looked up, blinking through the sweat. keonho, the boy whose presence you’d grown accustomed to, stood in front of you.

“you looked like you were about to pass out,” he said, his mouth twitching slightly into that stupid, affectionate smile.

“i wasn’t,” you defended, your voice sounding breathless and pathetic.

“you were.”

“i wasn’t.”

“you literally couldn’t stand two seconds ago.”

“that’s unrelated,” you rolled your eyes, snatching the bottle from his hand.

he laughed properly this time, head tipping back slightly, a low, genuine sound that usually got lost in the rafters of the noisy gym. you hated that laugh—you hated it because every time you heard it, something inside your chest shifted, and it made you feel completely defenseless.

after that, it became routine. it was just an unwritten rule between you—he’d bring blue sports drinks, you’d dig through his bag to steal his chocolate snacks. he’d carry your knee caps when you forgot them under the bench, and you’d send frantic spam texts reminding him to actually eat a real meal after his morning swim meets.

small things. tiny things. things that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and yet meant absolutely everything to you.

nobody confessed, and nobody asked anyone out. you were young, you had practice tomorrow, and you had games next week. there was always time… or so you thought.

by seventeen, people knew. not officially, because there was nothing to put a label on, but everyone in your year knew.

“are you two dating?” your teammate asked during break, leaning so far over your desk she was practically sitting on your notebook.

“no,” you said, without looking up from your sketches.

“then why is he waiting outside class right now?”

“he isn’t.”

“he literally is. he’s leaning against the lockers. he looks ugly, by the way.”

your chest tightened. you glanced outside through the small glass pane of the classroom door, and keonho would immediately look away, rubbing the back of his neck, caught red-handed.

“no idea,” you muttered, turning a page to hide the flush creeping up your neck. your teammates never believed you, and honestly, neither did his.

at competitions, the gravity of it got worse because somehow, out of all the chaotic sports complexes in the city, you always found each other. different venues, completely different schedules, entirely different sports, yet somehow—always.

you’d lose a devastating match, and your phone would buzz against the bottom of your gym bag before you even finished crying in the locker room.

ahn 🩵: you played well

no greeting, no explanation. just that small message that made you feel just a little better.

after he finished a grueling freestyle race, you’d instantly send him a text.

you: you looked nervous before the start.

ahn 🩵: thanks?

you: it was cute.

you’d watch the screen. three dots. disappear. reappear. disappear again, as he probably choked on his water bottle on the other side of the city.

ahn 🩵: shut up.

you laughed into your palm for ten minutes straight in the back of the team bus.

it should’ve been simple—teenagers fall in love every day in cramped hallways and dusty gyms, the world keeps turning, and nobody notices. except by eighteen, the world had started noticing keonho.

it happened in a flash: national rankings, local television interviews, articles online, athletic sponsors, followers multiplying by the thousands overnight—people started calling him the future of the sport, the next big thing, a prodigy, a star. and the higher he rose into that suffocating atmosphere, the smaller his actual world became. every single hour of his day was scheduled by adults, every public appearance managed, every single word monitored by a PR team.

you noticed the cracks before anyone else did, because you noticed everything about him. you noticed the way he started looking entirely exhausted under the fluorescent school lights, the way his real smile appeared three seconds later and disappeared much faster, the way he checked his phone constantly like he was waiting for the leash to tighten, and the way he stopped laughing as loudly in the corridors.

one evening, you found him sitting completely alone on the concrete steps outside the swimming centre, still in his damp training clothes, staring blankly at nothing in particular.

“bad day?” you asked quietly, stepping into his line of sight and sitting beside him.

he jumped slightly, then smiled. the automatic kind. the fake kind. the polite, professional kind that never reached his eyes and was meant for reporters. “just tired.”

neither of you spoke after that. students passed in a blur of motion, streetlights flickered on one by one, and the city grew darker and colder around you. after a while, he leaned his head back against the cold brick wall and closed his eyes, his breathing heavy.

and for the first time in months, he looked his age. not a future olympic star, not an athlete, not a headline—just keonho, eighteen, exhausted, and human.

your chest hurt immediately—a sharp, ridiculous ache. it was unfair how much you loved him. you wanted to reach out, take his hand, and tell him he didn’t have to be extraordinary when he was with you, but you didn’t.

he wanted to ask you to stay right there beside him forever, to stop the clock from moving, but he didn’t.

that was the ultimate problem—you both kept choosing later, assuming the world would wait for you. it wasn’t going to.

you figured that out the hard way, because three months before graduation, the articles finally flooded the internet like a tidal wave: ahn keonho signs with major management company. olympic prospects. young swimming sensation rumored to be preparing overseas training.

you stared at your phone screen in the quiet of your bedroom, your heart sinking straight into your stomach, because he hadn’t told you a single word about it. not yet.

you convinced yourself he was just waiting for the right moment, that he would tell you after practice, but he didn’t—not because he wanted to hide it from you, but because the reality of it made every conversation feel impossible.

how do you tell the girl who knows your real laugh that you’re moving across an ocean?

suddenly, the calendar bled out. there were only two weeks left, then one, then three short days, and the silence between you was growing heavier than the pool water.

the night before graduation, you found him in the school gym. it was empty, dark, and completely silent—the same place everything had started. he was sitting in your usual spot on the bleachers.

you sat cross-legged beside him. for a long time, neither of you spoke.

“you’re leaving.” it wasn’t a question.

he nodded. “yeah.”

you stared ahead at the court. “okay.”

it was a pathetic, devastating word, because what you actually wanted to say was ’don’t go’, and what he wanted to say was ’come with me’, but neither happened.

“i watched your first practice here,” he said quietly into the dark.

you laughed softly. “that sounds creepy.”

“it probably was.”

“definitely was.”

he smiled, looking out at the court. “you were terrible.”

your jaw dropped. “i was not!”

“you missed, like, seven serves.”

“it was one serve.”

“it was seven.”

“it was one!”

the argument felt familiar, comfortable, and warm—the kind of conversation you only have with someone who matters, someone you’ve loved for years, and someone you’re about to lose.

the realization hit both of you at the same time. the laughter faded, and the heavy silence returned while rain began tapping against the windows outside.

keonho swallowed. you noticed, because you always noticed. his hand was resting on the bleacher between you, and your hand was only inches away—just inches. your skin practically buzzed from the proximity, the heat of him right there, but it was a distance neither of you crossed.

“you’ll do well,” his voice was incredibly quiet, almost swallowed by the sound of the storm outside.

“so will you.”

another pause.

“i’m going to miss watching your games,” he admitted.

you looked down at your knees, blinking rapidly because if you looked at him now, you might cry. “i’m going to miss your stupid texts.”

a laugh escaped him, small and broken. “those were good texts.”

“they were terrible.”

“they were excellent, because they made you laugh.”

the rain grew louder, but neither of you moved. neither of you left, and neither of you confessed, because somehow a confession felt too small for what existed between you.

love wasn’t the problem; you were already there. the problem was timing, distance, fame, and the entire world standing between two teenagers.

eventually, he stood up. his joints popped slightly in the quiet gym, a harsh, grounding sound that meant time was up. you stood too, and the gym suddenly felt enormous—too much space, too much air, too much ending.

he looked at you—really looked at you, his pretty eyes hidden slightly under his bangs, as though trying to memorize every detail. and you realized, helplessly, that was exactly what he was doing—memorising the shape of your smile, the curve of your eyes, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. everything.

he reached out, his hand hovering for a fraction of a second like he might actually touch your cheek, trace the line of your jaw, do something. your breath hitched. but his fingers just twitched, dropping back to his side as he clenched his fist into his pocket.

“good luck,” your voice cracked, small and pathetic.

he nodded once, his throat bobbing as he swallowed down whatever else he wanted to say. “you too.”

then he turned and left.

he didn’t look back. you watched his back—the broad slope of his shoulders under his dark hoodie, the heavy swing of his swimming bag—as he walked toward the double doors. the click of the latch echoed like a gunshot in the empty space. and then he was gone.

just like that. no confession, no kiss, no dramatic movie ending. just a boy walking out of a gym, and a girl left standing there, looking at the empty doorway like he was still something extraordinary.

you hated it—you hated him. you loved him so much.

years passed, and the world outside that gym caught fire. your volleyball career exploded, but his swimming career became an absolute monolith.

by nineteen, keonho wasn’t just a boy who smelled like chlorine anymore; he was a brand. he was a national asset.

the change was dizzying to watch from a distance. suddenly, you couldn’t walk into a convenience store without seeing his face plastered over billboard advertisements for luxury watches, sports drinks, and skincare lines. he had stylists who tamed his messy hair that you loved, managers who curated his public captions, and media trainers who taught him exactly how to smile for the flashing cameras without actually revealing anything at all. you realised you hadn’t seen him actually smile for years now.

his world became hyper-curated, clinical, and completely suffocating. every interview was a rehearsed script. “i’m just focusing on the upcoming trials,” he’d say into a cluster of microphones, his eyes blank and polite. “i owe everything to my coaches and the fans.”

you hated those interviews. you hated them because his smile appeared too late and disappeared the moment the camera panned away. you knew the exact cadence of his real laugh—the raw, head-tipping-back kind that made you laugh too—and you never heard it on television. not once. never after high school ended.

sometimes journalists asked him about high school memories, trying to find a human angle for their articles. he’d mention volleyball—only volleyball, every single time. “there was a great energy in the school sports department,” he’d tell a reporter, keeping his voice perfectly level. “the volleyball team trained right next to us. it kept me motivated.” the internet went wild trying to decode it. rumors flew quickly across forums—was he dating a volleyball player? did he have a secret first love? but he never dropped a name, never gave them a single crumb to follow. people never understood why he was so fiercely protective of that one specific, mundane detail of his youth.

neither of you explained.

at twenty-three, you sat cross-legged on a hotel bed halfway across the world, your laptop screen illuminating the dark room. your own team had a major match the next day, but you were wide awake, watching him stand on an international podium.

the arena was deafening, and you could hear it thrugh the screen itself. thousands of people were screaming his name, waving banners with his face on them, camera flashes exploding like miniature stars in the arena.

he had a gold medal heavy around his neck, flowers in his arms, and the entire world looking at him with absolute adoration. and all you could think, your chest aching immediately with a ridiculous, familiar pain, was that he was still biting the inside of his cheek. right there on global television, surrounded by endless applause, his jaw was tight, his teeth catching the inner lining of his mouth.

he was terrified and exhausted. and some habits never changed.

that same night, oceans away, keonho sat in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. his phone buzzed in his palm; not with a text, but with a google alert—an article about your team winning a major championship.

there was a photo attached: your hair was messy from practice, your face flushed, a heavy trophy raised high above your head as you laughed with your teammates. you looked pretty when you were tired… which was completely unfair.

he stared at the screen for a long time as the driver silently navigated midnight traffic.

his thumb hovered over the keyboard, ’congratulations’: fifteen simple letters. he typed it out. his thumb shook slightly above the send button. but then his screen flashed with a notification from his head manager, reminding him of a 6:00 AM press conference and a commercial shoot. the corporate machine waiting to swallow him whole the second the sun came up.

he looked back at your photo. you looked so bright, so grounded, so entirely untouched by the artificial gold cage he lived in.

he deleted the text.

he never sent it, not because he didn’t want to, but because he wasn’t sure if reopening that door would save him—or completely destroy the one pure, quiet thing he had left.years later, people would say ahn keonho had everything—fame, success, medals, recognition. and maybe they were right. but sometimes, late at night, after the endless applause died down and the managers left him alone in an empty luxury apartment, he’d remember a nearly empty school gym. a girl laughing beside him, pen ink smudged against her hand, and a distance of just a few inches that he had been too afraid to cross.

he’d wonder, for the rest of his life, whether the greatest thing he ever lost was never actually his to lose. while somewhere else in the world, sitting in the quiet of your own room, you’d wonder the exact same thing.

⌣ ﹒ ୨ৎ ﹕an. hey so 😂😂😂😂😂 i cried. like a fucking baby. ⠀·⠀⠀also this reminded me 2521 sb i want to cry all over again 😁

⌣ ﹒ ୨ৎ ﹕tl. @jjuhyeons @miisoluvsdeer @its-vante @angelyseo @sailuvsu @sevvycoer @chbq2 @miseulsoup @bananabread785 @sstrawbxrry @pbananalover @griinspire @lcvehyeon @stxrrymarsz @ilovegojosatoru13 @lunaryoongie @aphantassia @teacuplps @marsgirltyshi @qngelical @thesvxntyb @mxddi3-the-mnm-lover @nic-andhisfics @yatta-exe @sw4gprinc3ss @casszzzii @mareliio @whitefang1919 @hollyoongs @haezki @enhaha94 @lurvno @mercilessasylumoracle @mershyjershy @eunjjx @one-chance-pls @r0ckst4rjk @letterstohyeon @yaksokhay @rixieisfreaky @simpqueen2025 @hiitzstar @sese-blurbs

You didn’t know where you were, but that was part of the fun. If you were going to get lost, at least let it be together. Even if it was because of that useless Google Maps (or your terrible sense of orientation).

Cars passed by you every now and then, but for some reason, they never stopped where you and he were. As if it were a secret place, just for the two of you. One that the rest of the world respected. If you looked forward, there was only a vast river and more and more mountains.

It couldn’t have been more perfect.

A laugh escaped your lips as you squeezed Youngjae’s hand, your fingers intertwined like a vine.

He looked at you and smiled, giving you a gentle, playful nudge.

“What are you laughing at now?” he asked, his eyes almost closed from the smile.

You shook your head. “At nothing. I’m just happy.”

“Happy?” he said, tilting his head.

“Yes.” You smiled from ear to ear. “Aren’t you?”

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind in a split second, but none of them had anything to do with being unhappy. In fact, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world. Right there. Next to you.

“Hm,” he nodded, his hair blowing across his forehead in the wind. That alone made you laugh again.

“You know?”

“Tell me,” you looked at him.

“I don’t know how we ended up like this.” He smiled. “But I love it.”

You smiled back.

“Me too.”

He let out a breathless laugh. Was this what happiness felt like? It was a strange one, for sure. He’d never felt that kind of joy before. Nevertheless, he definitely wanted to feel it again.

Suddenly, you started running toward the fences separating the road from the parking lot, and he followed right behind you, like a chain reaction. Though he wasn’t running, because his legs were way longer than yours and he didn’t need to run to keep up with you.

“What’s going on?” he said, accompanied by a little chuckle. You turned around, letting go of his hand, and looked at him with those sparkling eyes that drove him wild.

“Want a picture? It’d be a shame not to take one with you looking this handsome today. The GC could do a whole photoshoot for you right now.” You winked at him.

A pink flush spread across his cheeks and he rolled his eyes. “Don’t exaggerate… but okay.” He stepped closer to you, taking your hands again, while swaying them from side to side. His back arched, his gaze amused. “Only if you promise we can take one together later.”

You smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the nose, taking advantage of his closeness. “It’s a deal.”

Taking photos of Youngjae was one of your favorite hobbies—though the only exercise you got was running back and forth across the office, so you weren’t sure if it really counted. He posed like a pro (maybe because he was one) and always let you snap a photo of him pouting or doing the kind of idol stuff he’d be too embarrassed to do outside of his idol persona.

Aegyo was one of your favorites. Although you didn’t ask him for it that time.

With his super-expensive smartphone, you took photos of him.

Lots of photos.

Different angles, different poses.

So many photos that Youngjae started to feel like he was really in a work shoot. And even though he felt bad interrupting you when you were in your flow state, he’d had enough of photos.

He didn’t need a photo to remember this.

A gust of cold wind blew and out of reflex, he hugged himself because of the sudden chill.

“Sweetie.” He called out to you, looking at the camera. “I’m cold.”

You took your eye off the phone’s camera. “Cold?” you asked, getting up from the floor and quickly coming over to give him a warm hug. “Do you want my gloves? Or my hat? Or my coat? I told you to bring an extra layer, but you never listen to me, Jae…”

He snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I should had. But I’m fine like this with you; I don’t need anything else, really.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, concerned. “I have another scarf in my pocket…”

He narrowed his eyes, frowned, and kept smiling, puzzled. “Another scarf? Why would you want more scarves if you already have one?”  The boy teased.

“Hey! Who knows. Maybe it was just in case you got cold.”

Youngjae laughed, this time fully and freely. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s a possibility.” You defended yourself, raising your hands, but laughing too.

“Uh-huh.” He replied, and kissed the top of your head. “You’re one of a kind.”

You smiled, snuggling closer to him.

“Maybe that’s why I’m your girlfriend.”

For some reason, hearing that word come from your lips made everything in Youngjae tremble, and gave him goosebumps. Maybe he was still having a hard time processing the fact that you were his girlfriend.

His girlfriend. You were his girlfriend. Just… wow.

“Maybe.”

Needless to say, those photos went straight to his Weverse. He knew 42 would love them just as much as he did. Because, after all, you were a professional at taking photos, weren’t you?

Just as you were at stealing his heart.

© jellyluvsjihoon 2026. do not copy or repost. ask to translate. (cr for the dividers to @tsumiinum)

it's a rainy day outside, so you and your boyfriend decide to move your planned date inside.

he had just finished cooking an amazing lunch for the two of you, and instead of watching a movie as was planned, the two of you decided to just lounge on the couch, kissing each other silly and giggling about nonsense until the food coma started to set in.

seokmin's in a cute, off-white cardigan, arm draped around your waist as he lays behind you. he's pushed your hair away to kiss your shoulder and neck, giggling every time you release a small sigh.

"what are you doing?" you giggle nervously, knowing your face is red hot from seokmin's actions. he just sighs overdramatically, tugging your skirt down over your legs as he pats your thigh gently. "nothing."

he says the word with a flirty undertone, and you catch it quickly, giggling again when he wraps his arms around your waist a little tighter and kisses the tip of your ear.

"what you're doing to me now isn't 'nothing'," you roll your eyes, not truly stopping him or moving away from him. instead, you relax into him more, taking his ring-free hand in yours and playing with his fingers.

"you smell good." seokmin says softly, voice low and crooning against your warm skin. "you taste good too, but we're not talking about that right now."

rolling your eyes, you maneuver yourself to face seokmin. he has his head propped on his fist, sparkling dark brown eyes glazing over your face as he smiles softly, the familiar smile lines gracing his handsome features. "what?"

"you're getting sleepy, aren't you?" you question, and seokmin shakes his head, eyebrows slightly furrowed at your accusation.

"no? what makes you think that, lovebug?" he frowns slightly, and you reach out to run your thumb across seokmin's cheek and lips. he kisses your fingertip softly, and you giggle at the feeling of his breath against your skin, nodding.

"you're getting really kissy and clingy. the food coma is setting in as we speak, isn't it?" you say, leaning in to press a kiss to seokmin's soft lips.

he whines a little, but doesn't say anything, flushing a dark red as his head falls from his fist and into the couch. that draws a snort out of you, and you run your hands through seokmin's hair, positioning yourself back to where you were before. "i'm just teasing you, seok. don't stop kissing me if you don't want to."

seokmin's head raises from the cushion slowly, lips curving into the cutest smile you think you've ever seen. he pulls you to him with his arm snug around your waist yet again, allowing himself to rest his head in the crook of your neck.

"you're right. i am getting sleepy." you feel his eyelashes brush against your skin ever-so-slightly, and you reach your hand up to rest on seokmin's soft hair, patting his head as you smile.

wanna see more blog posts? prev | masterlist | next

a/n: turns out i’m alive and finishing this smau 🤯

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The first thing you notice is the soft golden slant of morning sunlight spilling across the rumpled sheets, painting the room in warm, sleepy light, and the faint click of a camera turning on. Martin’s low, raspy voice cuts through the haze before you can even open your eyes. 

“...Is it on?” 

You squint toward the nightstand where the little red recording light blinks at you, and your groggy brain registers that he’s leaning over the camera, blonde hair messy, eyes half-lidded and still heavy with sleep. He’s so tall that even lying down, his shoulder brushes yours when he moves closer. 

“Good morning,” he mutters, checking his phone. “Eight-oh-three. Vlog starts… now.” He tilts the camera toward you and you groan, dragging the covers higher over your head. 

“You didn’t tell me we were filming first thing.” 

“That’s the point,” he says quietly, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Authenticity. Real chaos.”

He swings the blanket off the bed and crawls closer, long legs tangling with yours as he nudges you with his hip. You feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his arm stretching around you until your head barely reaches his chin. 

He presses a quick kiss into your temple, whispering, “Cute mess.” 

You can’t stop the soft laugh that escapes into the pillow. “I’ll allow it,” you murmur, and for a few minutes you both just lie there, breathing in sync, letting the camera record the quiet intimacy of your shared warmth, the sunlight sliding slowly across the rumpled sheets. 

You drift back toward sleep together until the alarm rings thirty minutes later with a sharp, insistent beep. Martin groans into your shoulder, “Nooo…” 

You peek at him, still half-asleep. “Exactly thirty minutes.” 

He buries his face in your neck, “Time is a social construct.” 

You laugh, tugging gently at his sleeve. “We can’t ignore it. You have to film later.” 

He sighs, reluctantly swinging his legs off the bed, hair sticking up in all directions, and flashes you a lopsided grin. “Fine. Only because you’re cute.”

He picks up the camera and props it on the nightstand again, leaning over it with that playful sleepy grin. “Step one: complain. Step two: actually get up. Step three: brush teeth without terrifying the audience.” 

The bathroom is a warm, narrow space with pale light making the tiles glow faintly. He sets the camera on the ledge, tilting it to catch both of your reflections. 

“We could skip teeth and call it a morning adventure,” he jokes, picking up his toothbrush. 

“Or you could not look like a sleepy raccoon,” you counter, pointing yours at him, making him laugh through the foam already at the corner of his mouth. 

His shoulder brushes yours as you move, reflection showing him towering over you slightly, his arms long enough to wrap around you if he wanted, and his grin softening every time your eyes meet in the mirror. 

When you finish, he wipes a stray speck of toothpaste from your cheek and hugs you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, and murmurs, “We look cute like this.” 

“You look like you still need to sleep,” you reply. 

“Same thing,” he says, voice soft, letting the morning linger a few seconds longer.

By the time you reach the kitchen, the sun is higher, and the counter is cluttered with cereal boxes, a few mugs, and two cans of Red Bull standing like trophies. 

“Breakfast of champions,” he announces, cracking them both open and handing one to you. 

“No coffee?” 

“Too slow. We’re living dangerously,” he says, smirking. 

You clink your cans together and take long simultaneous sips, grimacing immediately as the carbonation hits. 

“Regret,” he coughs. 

“You made me do this too,” you laugh. 

“Exactly,” he says, taking another sip. “For the vlog. Our subscribers must see the real struggle.”

You sit at the small table, leaning back just slightly to feel him brush against your arm while he sips. Conversation drifts lazily from what to film that day to jokes about hating on Ahn Keonho, his long limbs occasionally brushing yours as he gestures, reminding you of the gentle height gap between you. 

After a few quiet moments, he looks over at you, voice softening, “I like mornings like this. Just… here, with you. No rehearsals, no cameras, nothing but us.” 

You squeeze his hand and smile. “You should film mornings more often.” 

“Only if you’re in them,” he murmurs, a small laugh escaping as he finally stands, tugging his hoodie over his head and reaching for the camera.

You slip on socks and shoes, fingers intertwined as he towers over you, long strides pulling you along slightly, the height difference making his protective presence all the more noticeable. 

“Ready for our first destination?” he asks, tilting the camera toward both of you. 

“You mean the bookstore,” you reply, already smiling. 

“Exactly. Secret mission: find the perfect book,” he says, adjusting the camera so it catches both of you walking down the quiet streets, sunlight hitting his short blonde hair in soft streaks, the long legs forcing you to match his stride, fingers brushing occasionally as you walk side by side. 

“Also, look cute while doing it,” he adds, glancing down at you. You laugh, leaning just slightly into him as he nudges your shoulder gently, “I’ll try.”

The city is waking up as you follow Martin down the quiet streets, his long legs carrying him easily while you match pace, fingers brushing occasionally, the camera balanced in his hand. He narrates softly in that sleepy-host voice, “Here we have Y/N, on their first mission of the day: survive a caffeinated morning and look adorable while doing it.” You shove him lightly. “You’re ridiculous.” He grins, towering over you, brushing a strand of his short blonde hair back from his forehead, eyes crinkling as he laughs. 

“Ridiculous and charming, thank you very much.”

The bookstore comes into view, its wooden doors small compared to the tall, imposing figure of Martin at the entrance. He opens it for you with a flourish, stepping aside so you can slip in first, towering slightly as you duck under the frame. The bell above the door jingles softly, mingling with the quiet rustle of pages and the faint scent of paper. 

You wander slowly between aisles, fingertips brushing the spines, while Martin trails behind, occasionally reaching for a book just to hold it up and examine the cover, whispering his commentary into the camera. 

He crouches low to pick up a paperback from a lower shelf, and you catch yourself glancing at him, noticing how his long frame fits perfectly in the cozy, sunlit space.

A magazine on the front display catches his eye, and he groans, ducking behind a nearby shelf.

“I can’t escape,” he mutters, voice muffled by the books. You grin, lifting the camera to catch him hiding dramatically, whispering, “Wild Martin in his natural habitat.” 

He peeks out, flashing a cheeky grin. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he whispers back, then ducks again. 

You’re laughing so quietly you almost forget to breathe, the way he towers over you in every aisle, brushing past your shoulder occasionally as you pick books together, the warmth of him close to you entirely comforting.

Eventually, you leave the bookstore with a small paperback tucked under your arm, stepping into the sunlit street once more. 

The walk to the park is casual, the city around you alive but soft, distant from the peaceful cocoon of your little world together. At the park, he lets you sit on a bench first, towering over you slightly as he slides in beside you. 

He leans his shoulder against yours, brushing yours lightly, and you rest your head briefly on him while he whispers observations about the clouds and how one looks like a dragon, another like a tiny cat. 

He gestures with his free hand, laughing at how you tilt your head to see what he’s pointing at.

Time drifts lazily—snacks shared on a park bench, an occasional stolen fry or bite of fruit, both of you laughing as the camera catches the candid moments. When he leans down to adjust the camera, you can’t help but notice the height difference again; even crouched, his long frame feels safe and comforting, a presence that wraps around you like a blanket. 

He nudges your shoulder lightly, joking about needing a manual to navigate a day out with you, and you push him back just slightly, both of you laughing, cheeks warm from the soft afternoon sun.

The walk home is slow, hands still intertwined, fingers brushing, thumbs occasionally rubbing each other in tiny, unconscious gestures of comfort. 

The sun is dipping low as you step inside, the apartment wrapped in that warm, golden light that makes everything feel calm and soft. Martin drops the camera on the counter with a small clink, grinning at you. “Home sweet home. Mission accomplished: survived caffeine, bookstores, and pigeons.” You laugh, shrugging off your shoes, and he slides onto the couch beside you, tugging a blanket around both of you.

“I’m starving,” he murmurs after a beat, glancing at you. You nod, thinking about takeout. “Let’s get something simple,” you suggest. “Pizza, sushi, or ramen,” he adds with mock-seriousness. “Your choice, commander.” “Commander?” “You’re the general of this operation,” he says, nudging you lightly, “and I am your obedient, hungry soldier.” You can’t help laughing, following him into the small kitchen, where he leans casually on the counter as you gather the takeout boxes.

You start opening the containers together, fumbling slightly as he teases you about condiments. “You’re supposed to put that on the noodles, not eat it straight.” 

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully. “You’re lucky I like you.” 

He grins, ducking down just enough to press a brief, soft nuzzle to your temple. The gesture is subtle but tender, and you feel a warm ache of affection.

Dinner is cozy and relaxed. The clinking of chopsticks and soft laughter fills the apartment as you steal bites from each other’s plates and tease about who eats more quickly. Occasionally, he reaches across to brush crumbs from your sleeve, and you flick his arm lightly in return, both of you laughing. The camera perched nearby captures all the small moments: the shared glances, the comfortable silence punctuated by jokes, and the quiet happiness of being together without distraction.

After dinner, you both curl up on the couch under blankets, talking softly about the day and what to watch next. He drapes an arm around your shoulders, and you lean into him, feeling safe and warm. Conversation drifts lazily from playful debates over movie choices to joking critiques of the day’s vlog footage. His fingers brush yours absentmindedly, tracing gentle circles as you settle into the quiet rhythm of the evening.

When you tease him about his dramatic commentary at the bookstore, he laughs, leaning slightly into you.

“I’m a professional entertainer. You can’t hold me accountable,” he says, voice low and fond. You hum softly, resting your head against him. The apartment feels cozy, the light soft, and the outside world distant.

By the time the kitchen is quiet and the takeout boxes are cleared, you both sink back into the couch, the blanket draped loosely over your shoulders. You curl up next to him, head resting lightly on his chest, and he wraps an arm around you, holding you close. The room is filled with quiet contentment, laughter from earlier in the day still lingering in your mind, and the soft hum of evening settling in.

He murmurs, half-teasing, half-serious, “I could stay like this forever.” 

You hum, closing your eyes for a moment. “Me too.” 

He squeezes you gently, and you feel the warmth of the day folding into the quiet, simple comfort of being together, the soft ordinary moments making everything feel perfectly complete.

The movie starts, the screen glowing softly in the dim apartment, and you both settle into the couch under the blankets. You tuck your legs against him, and he drapes an arm across your shoulders, holding you close. The quiet hum of dialogue from the TV fills the room, mixed with the soft rhythm of his breathing. 

Every so often he murmurs a comment about the scene—sometimes teasing, sometimes just observational—and you laugh quietly, leaning a little closer to him.

You reach for a bowl of popcorn sitting between you, and he nudges your hand playfully, stealing a kernel before popping it in his mouth. 

You flick his arm lightly in mock protest, and he grins down at you, soft and fond. The conversation drifts lazily, from joking critiques of the movie to reminiscing about moments from earlier in the day—the bookstore, the park, even the Red Bull breakfast. 

Every memory sparks a small laugh, his warmth radiating beside you as you lean into him.

At some point, you rest your head fully on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of him beneath you. He adjusts slightly to make you more comfortable, wrapping an arm more securely around your shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

The blanket slips around both of you, cocooning you in quiet warmth. The world outside the apartment fades, leaving only the soft glow of the TV, the quiet apartment, and the gentle intimacy of the two of you together.

Your eyelids grow heavy, and he hums a quiet, soothing tune, one you recognize from practice but softened for this private moment. You shift slightly, nuzzling closer, and he presses his cheek to the top of your head.

 “Sleepy already?” he murmurs. You hum, not bothering to reply. He squeezes you gently, his presence grounding and comforting, the day’s laughter, adventures, and small chaos folding into this peaceful end.

Eventually, your breathing slows, and he settles fully, holding you like this as the movie plays quietly in the background. The camera, now off, sits forgotten on the table, leaving only the warmth of the apartment and the quiet intimacy between you. 

He whispers softly, “Goodnight,” and you feel safe, content, and entirely at home. The soft light fades as the movie continues, but you don’t notice anymore; you’re too wrapped in him, in the warmth and comfort of the day, drifting slowly and perfectly into sleep.

creds: pearl by @cursed-carmine, butterfly by @dollywons, scalloped by @chrisssiren ♡

tags: [wanna be tagged in my next fic? comment on the user directory to be added!!]

The dorm is unusually quiet. You can hear the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant sound of cars outside. The usual chatter of the other members is gone, leaving the apartment feeling almost too empty, but comforting in its own way. Sunlight cuts through the blinds in broad stripes, painting golden lines across the tiled floor. Dust floats lazily in the rays, and the subtle scent of shampoo and the remnants of snacks lingers in the air.

Keonho stands at the bathroom sink, a towel draped over his shoulders, head tilted forward as he examines the box of ash-brown hair dye. “You really think this is a good idea?” you ask, gloves on and fingers curling nervously around the plastic packaging.

He shrugs, a playful spark in his eyes. “You’re careful, right? I trust you.”

Trust. The word sits in your chest like a soft weight. You glance at him, heart fluttering, and for a moment, forget the gloves and the dye entirely. He’s smiling, calm, leaning slightly forward, and it makes your stomach twist pleasantly. You take a shaky breath and nod, letting your hands move toward the first section of his damp hair.

The moment your fingers brush through the strands, you realize how soft his hair really is. It’s warm under your touch, slightly sticky from the conditioner, and you almost pause at the sensation. He hums softly, eyes tracking your movements. That small sound makes your chest tighten — the intimacy in the quiet, the simplicity of touching his hair, feels enormous in the emptiness of the dorm.

“You’re… really gentle,” he murmurs, voice soft, almost hesitant.

“I… I’m just following directions,” you reply, laughing nervously. But your heart is pounding. Your hands move more deliberately now, brushing and separating strands, careful not to miss any spots, yet acutely aware of how close you are to him.

As you finish applying the dye to the first section, he leans forward, his hands sliding around your waist in a gentle, grounding motion. You freeze, the warmth of his body pressing lightly against yours, heart skipping a beat. He hums softly against your ear, subtle and grounding, like a quiet reassurance. You adjust your stance slightly, leaning back into him, and the small contact sends shivers down your spine.

“Relax,” he whispers. “You’re doing great.”

You can’t help but smile, cheeks warm, fingers brushing lightly against his temple as you work. Every small motion — the way he holds himself still for you, the faint smell of his shampoo mixing with the chemical scent of the dye — makes the world narrow down to the two of you in this small, sunlit bathroom.

Minutes pass, and the small intimacy grows in waves. He teases you lightly about reading the instructions too carefully, and you respond with a mock glare, though your fingers linger in his hair a fraction too long. His hands stay around your waist, steady, reassuring, almost possessive in the softest way. He hums quietly, a gentle vibration against you, and you feel a dizzying mixture of calm and fluttery nervousness.

When it’s time to rinse, the quiet balance collapses. Water splashes everywhere — the showerhead slips slightly in your hands — and Keonho yelps, laughing so hard he almost tips off the stool. You’re both drenched, hair plastered to your foreheads, clothes clinging damply. Towels are grabbed and dropped, dripping all over the bathroom tiles, and laughter fills the space, bouncing off the walls.

“You look like you lost a fight with a sprinkler,” he teases, shaking water from his hair, droplets scattering across your shirt.

“Yeah? Says the one who trusted me with chemicals on his head,” you fire back, flicking a droplet of water at him.

The chaos dies down into a soft, steady quiet. You reach for a towel, brushing the damp hair from his forehead, hands lingering a fraction too long. His hands remain around your waist, holding you close, his body warmth grounding you in a way that makes your chest ache. He hums against you again, leaning just slightly, and the small tilt of his forehead to yours says more than words ever could.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, soft and low.

“Anytime,” you reply, brushing your fingers along his temple, heart fluttering with every subtle movement.

He leans just a little closer, the faintest touch of his lips brushing against your hair. “You did a really good job,” he says.

“You’d look good even if I’d ruined it,” you whisper.

His smirk is soft, affectionate. “Lucky for me, you didn’t.”

The dorm has settled into a calm rhythm. Outside, the sun has dipped low, painting the windows with a soft amber glow that warms the walls and casts long shadows across the furniture. You sink deeper into the couch, the fabric soft under your palms, wrapped loosely in a damp towel still smelling faintly of shampoo and the chemical tang of the dye. Keonho is beside you, leaning in, head resting lightly on your shoulder.

One arm drapes over you, hand brushing absentmindedly along your side, fingertips tracing idle patterns that send small shivers through you. You can feel the warmth of his body, steady and familiar, pressing slightly against yours. The quiet of the dorm — the soft hum of the air conditioner, the distant rustle of papers or a door somewhere down the hall — makes everything else fade away.

You brush his damp hair gently with your fingers, lifting strands that have fallen against his forehead. The hair is soft, warm, and slightly sticky from the dye rinse, and it clings lightly to your skin. He hums softly in response, a low, contented sound that vibrates faintly against your shoulder. Your chest flutters, a delicate rhythm matching the steady thump of your heartbeat.

“You know,” he murmurs after a few minutes, voice low and thoughtful, “I didn’t think dyeing my hair could feel… this nice.”

You glance down at him, eyebrows raised in surprise, smiling softly. “This nice?”

He hums again, eyes half-lidded, and tilts his head slightly. “Yeah. Just… you being here. Helping me. Touching my hair. It’s… nice.”

Your stomach twists pleasantly at the unspoken affection behind the words. You tuck your fingers more carefully into the ends of his hair, brushing them back, and your fingers linger longer than necessary. He shifts slightly closer, pressing a little more into your side.

“You’re warm,” you say softly, a little shyly, more to yourself than him.

He grins faintly, tilting his head down just enough to nuzzle against your shoulder. “And you’re… soft,” he replies, teasing lightly, but there’s a quiet sincerity under it.

You let yourself lean into him, closing your eyes briefly, breathing in the mix of shampoo and faint lingering dye, the faint musk of him that’s uniquely Keonho. Your fingers curl into his hair, and he hums again, tilting his forehead lightly against yours.

“You smell… really good,” you whisper, almost embarrassed.

“Really?” he says, a soft laugh escaping, warm and musical. “Guess I’ve been saving this just for you.”

Your cheeks flush, heart fluttering. You look down, and he’s watching you, eyes bright in the soft glow, lips curved in that small, teasing smile that always makes your chest feel tight. You can’t help but smile back, feeling the gentle thrill of being so close, of sharing this quiet moment together.

He shifts, one hand brushing down your arm to rest over your hand, fingers curling slightly around yours. “I could stay like this forever,” he says quietly, voice soft enough that you almost don’t hear it.

Your breath catches. You squeeze his hand gently, leaning your head against his. “Me too,” you whisper.

For a few minutes, neither of you moves. You stay wrapped in the quiet warmth, the faint scent of shampoo and dye, the subtle creak of the couch as you both settle. Outside, the light fades further, the dorm shadows stretching longer, but inside, it’s a cocoon of warmth and softness.

Then he nudges you playfully with his shoulder. “You’ve got a little dye on your shirt,” he says, mock stern, but his grin gives him away.

You laugh softly, brushing it off with your fingers. “And? You’re soaked, too.”

He laughs, the sound low and musical, and leans against you again, hand resting over yours, squeezing just enough to remind you that he’s here, warm, present, and completely yours for these small, perfect moments.

The rest of the evening stretches slowly, filled with soft touches, quiet laughter, and the simple comfort of being together. Each small gesture — a hand brushing a strand of hair, a nuzzle against your shoulder, shared teasing that melts into laughter — carries the kind of intimacy that doesn’t need words to feel important.

By the time you finally get up to grab water, he sighs softly, stretching against you. “I could get used to this,” he says.

“Me too,” you reply, smiling down at him, feeling the warmth of your chest bloom outward. And in that ordinary, quiet dorm space, with faint sunlight fading and your fingers brushing his, it feels like the most extraordinary evening in the world.

Minutes pass in comfortable silence. He shifts slightly closer, resting his cheek against yours, warm and steady, and you notice your eyelids feeling heavier with each passing minute. A small yawn escapes, and you brush your lips against the top of his head without thinking.

He chuckles softly, a low, sleepy sound. “You’re tired,” he murmurs, nuzzling against your shoulder.

“Maybe a little,” you admit, letting your body relax into his.

His hand tightens slightly around your waist, fingers curling over your side as if to anchor you. “Stay like this for a while,” he says, voice low and soft. “I like it.”

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours. The soft brush of his fingers against your side, the faint scent of his shampoo and the lingering dye, the gentle hum of the air conditioning — all of it lulls you further into calm. Another yawn escapes, this time shared silently as he stretches one arm over your waist, drawing you closer.

You rest your head against his, cheek pressed to his temple, heart fluttering as you feel him inhale softly. The room grows dimmer, the amber sunlight fading to a gentle glow from the ceiling light. His breathing steadies, slow and even, and you realize your own pulse is syncing, soft and steady against his warmth.

“You feel… really nice like this,” you murmur sleepily.

He hums in response, a content, sleepy sound, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “So do you,” he whispers.

The world outside ceases to matter. The dorm, the air, even the faint chemical scent of the dye — it all blends into a cocoon of warmth. Fingers intertwined lightly, your legs tangled, bodies pressed close, you both sink into the couch fully, drifting together toward sleep.

Your last conscious thought before the pull of sleep takes over is the simple, beautiful feeling of being held, warm, safe, and inexplicably at home with someone new, someone gentle, someone you already care about more than words could say.

And then the room quiets completely, save for the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing, matching yours, as the two of you drift into dreams, wrapped up in each other.

Sunlight spills lazily through the blinds, painting golden stripes across the living room floor. You stir slightly on the couch, still wrapped in Keonho’s oversized sweatshirt, hair mussed from sleeping curled against him. His head rests lightly on your shoulder, one arm draped across your waist, fingers brushing lazily against your side even as he snores softly in that low, contented way that makes your chest squeeze with fondness.

A quiet yawn escapes you, stretching and rolling your shoulders. You glance down at him, blinking at the sunlight catching in his damp, newly-dyed strands, and a small smile tugs at your lips. He murmurs in his sleep, shifting slightly, nuzzling closer against you without waking fully.

“Cute,” you whisper, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. He stirs, mumbling something incoherent, then settles again, eyes still closed. You take a deep breath, the warmth of his body, the faint shampoo-and-dye scent, the softness of his sweatshirt — it’s all so cozy, so safe.

The sound of footsteps and chatter announces the other members’ return. They pile in, half-teasing, half-caring, and the dorm instantly fills with life.

“Whoa! Who did your hair, Keonho?” one of them calls, pointing at him. “Did you finally let someone brave do it?”

Keonho groans softly, burying his face deeper into your shoulder. “Someone talented,” he mutters, a blush spreading faintly across his cheeks. His hand tightens slightly over yours under the sweatshirt, just enough to remind you he’s present, warm, and sharing this small private moment with you despite the teasing.

You bite your lip to suppress a giggle, feeling your own cheeks flush. “He let me do it,” you say softly, squeezing his hand.

“Lucky you,” one member teases, nudging him gently. “Did they make you pay for it in hugs or something?”

Keonho blinks, then smirks faintly, still half-buried against you. “Something like that,” he says, fingers tightening over yours.

You glance down at him, heart fluttering at how small, shy, and content he looks like this — hair messy, body pressed lightly against yours, warmth radiating through his sweater. You rest your chin on his head, letting a soft sigh escape as you take in the playful chaos around you.

“You’re really… something,” you murmur quietly, almost to yourself.

He shifts slightly, peeking at you with a sleepy, teasing grin. “I could say the same about you,” he whispers, thumb brushing your knuckles.

The members continue their playful banter, but you barely notice. Your attention is entirely on the subtle, perfect intimacy of the moment — the warmth of his body, the gentle pressure of his hand, the faint sound of his breathing matching yours. Even amid the teasing and noise of the dorm, it feels like a small bubble of just-the-two-of-you serenity.

Sunlight glances off the polished floor, dust floating lazily in the golden rays, and for a moment, you simply stay there: wrapped up in him, fingers intertwined, hearts fluttering, silently knowing that these small, domestic, and quiet moments are the ones that matter most.

Keonho shifts again, tilting his head to nuzzle against your cheek. “Don’t ever let me forget this morning,” he murmurs sleepily, voice soft, warm.

You smile, leaning into him, your heart swelling with the unspoken, gentle confession of new love. “I won’t,” you whisper, and the world feels impossibly soft and perfect, filled with the quiet certainty of belonging to each other in these little, tender moments.

creds: pearl by @cursed-carmine, cat by @ianrkives, scalloped by @chrisssiren ♡

tags: [wanna be tagged in my next fic? comment on the user directory to be added!!]