ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀꜱ

you don’t know how it happened. you’re pretty sure neither does he. except you don’t have any alcohol you could blame, because you didn’t drink anything. you’re fairly certain mingi didn’t drink enough to completely lose all composition, either, but who knows. not like you could judge, not like you know how much alcohol is needed for what degree of uncontrolled behaviour. you’re not sure if he drank enough soju to warrant having sex. you’re not sure what it was that made you have sex with him. it’s almost funny, how cliché this is, we’ve always just been friends but then it just happened and now i don’t know what’s up. at a party, too. at least you were at his place, at least you didn’t fuck in some stranger’s bed, but still. this is bad enough, as a look into the mirror confirms when you go to clean yourself up the next morning. you’re purple from the ears to your belly button, your thighs, too, and you doubt there’s any way for you to explain this away once you return to uni in two days. well, you clearly didn’t think that far last night, too busy trying to get his shirt off without making him stop attacking your neck. how the fuck did it even get to that point?

“you’re so pretty.”

that was how it started. it wasn’t like he never called you pretty, or like you never called him pretty, but he never looked at you like that when he told you that you’re pretty. but now he did. and you didn’t really know what to do with it.

you knew he’d drunk a little, though you hadn’t kept track of how much, had gone around to socialise while he played host (even though he wasn’t - seonghwa was, but since they lived together mingi decided to claim the title for himself, as well), before you returned to the living room and plopped down next to him. he’d looked at you in surprise, as if not recognising you, before his face lit up. and then he told you this. told you that you’re so pretty.

and you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t like it. that you didn’t care if he thought you were pretty. you were hoping he’d say more, though you’re not sure why. maybe it was just the way he said it, the way that was so different from his usual compliments. you didn’t like him, you were pretty sure, had been eyeing one of the guests all night in hopes that maybe something would happen, but it seemed like that wasn’t meant to be.

so here you were, with your best bro, leaning against him because you were getting kind of tired, and he told you that you’re so pretty. with an earnesty that made you look up at him again, even though you were so incredibly tired; now that you’d gotten to rest at all you crashed, ready to fall asleep immediately. but you still looked at him, and he looked at you, and then he leaned in and mumbled out something that kind of sounded like “okay?” and you could guess what he meant. and he wasn’t unattractive, definitely not, so you figured a small kiss couldn’t hurt. it wasn’t like it was in the law that you can’t kiss friends. you liked kissing, and you knew he wasn’t drunk enough for this to be questionable from your side at all. you knew he wasn’t completely knocked out, because he had been once and you’d been the one to drag him to bed because no one wanted to deal with him throwing up, and he most definitely would not have asked if it was okay if he was in that kind of state. so it was okay.

and then his lips were on yours. you were a little disgusted, you had to admit, by the taste of alcohol still on his tongue, but you decided to ignore it. you figured that pulling away and saying “ew” or something of the sorts wouldn’t really land well with him. and by the time he leaned in to kiss you again you didn’t really notice the taste anymore, and then it was nice. he was a good kisser, you guessed. not that you had that much experience, but you figured you’d know if he wasn’t. he was incredibly sweet, careful, too, trying not to come off too strong, and you appreciated that.

you didn’t know where to put your hands, so you opted for his hair, except just when you put your hand in his hair he leaned in even more, changed angle, and you ended up pulling at his hair. not hard, but you were about to apologise either way, until you heard what could only be a moan. and while mingi wasn’t off-his-ass drunk he was drunk enough to not be embarrassed about it, pulling you closer, less gentle now, until you pulled away. you just wanted to change positions, get into his lap because this was awkward, but your best friend immediately pulled back, looking at you worriedly, as if to ask if he’d crossed a line.

that worry disappeared when you got into his lap and straddled him, tired of the weird angle you’d been in before, your butt pressed against whoever sat next to you on the sofa, and mingi seemed delighted about this turn of events. his mouth was back on yours in a heartbeat, hands on your waist, pulling you tight, and by the time he’d moved to your neck you were more than aware of the fact that he had a boner. for some reason that only made you pull him closer, rolling your hips, even though you knew that this was where you should have stopped.

you didn’t stop there, and you didn’t stop when he asked you if you wanted to go to his room, and you didn’t stop when he gingerly took off your dress, and you didn’t stop when he left your entire chest covered in purple - you’d managed to give him his fair share of hickeys, too, by this point -, or when he proceeded lower, or when he painted your thighs purple as well, or when he took off your underwear, or when you felt him kiss you at the opposite end of where he’d put his mouth just minutes prior, or when his nose nudged at your clit, or when you got to experience first-hand just how long his fingers were, or when you buried your hands in his hair to keep him there when he got worried by how quiet you were (you weren’t the type to be loud during sex, and this action told him all he needed to know about whether you were enjoying this or not), you didn’t stop it when he drew the first moan of the evening out of you with his tongue, or when he decided he needed your juices for dessert, and you did quite the opposite of stopping when you grabbed his crotch - why was he still in his pants, anyway? -, pulling at his pants impatiently until they joined the rest of your clothes on the floor and he looked at you with an expression you’d never forget, you grabbed his dick and were embarrassed by how small your hands were in comparison, convinced you’d suck at this because you couldn’t even fit the entire thing in your hand, had to work with both hands, but if his sounds were anything to go by you had no reason to be embarrassed. where you were quiet, mingi was vocal, and it made you want to do better. so after his thighs had gotten the adequate attention you decided that it was too late to stop now anyway, and you took him in your mouth - as much as would fit, anyway - and you gave him a blowjob, mingi displaying admirable levels of self restraint as he kept himself from bucking up into your mouth, up until the very last moment, cumming into your mouth but still controlling himself enough to not make you choke on his dick, and you appreciated that, because you weren’t stupid and you’d noticed how the muscles on his thighs were incredibly tensed, twitching every now and then. he definitely wasn’t that drunk, you were sure.

and he was still the kind, caring mingi you’d befriended, taking a moment to calm down before he gave you a quick kiss and went to the bathroom, coming back with a glass of water and a couple wet wipes, cleaning up after the two of you while you got to get rid of the taste of cum in your mouth, throwing one of his boxers your way and putting on underwear himself, before collapsing on the bed and pulling you close to his chest. and then you fell asleep.

and that’s where you are now. or, more accurately, where you’re planning to return now after your trip to the bathroom that confirmed that you did not, in fact, just have an incredibly graphic wet dream about your best friend. bourgie brat has a small toilet in his room, something you usually tease him about but that you’re now incredibly grateful for. you don’t exactly want to meet anyone else - having to face mingi after all of this is bad enough.

you hope he’ll tell you that this doesn’t have to mean anything, that you’re still friends, just friends, but when he tells you exactly that upon your return you feel your stomach sink. and again you wish you’d drunk so you could pretend you were hungover, rather than hurt by the thought that to your best friend this was what you’d assumed it was, a one-night stand and nothing to worry or think about.

you nod, sit down on the bed while mingi goes to scavenge for a pair of pants that might fit you, throwing you some clothes before getting dressed himself.

and then he asks if you want to get breakfast, to which you just nod, and you don’t even realise that something’s off when he offers to make you pancakes. mingi never cooks.

you eat your pancakes sullenly, trying not to let him notice anything, and he’s too deep in his thoughts to be aware of your unusual silence. that is, until one of his flatmates comes into the kitchen, sees mingi making pancakes while his neck and thighs are bright purple and so is your neck, and decides to make a joke that isn’t at all funny.

“so either the sex was really good and you’ve got him on his best behaviour now, or the sex sucked and he’s trying to make up for it.”

mingi’s “shut up” gets interrupted by your “we didn’t have sex” - which is technically true, you rationalise with yourself, because usually people think that sex is p in v, and that didn’t happen, so you didn’t have sex and you don’t have to feel like a pathetic one-night stand -, and instead of getting mad at his friend the cause of your messed up feelings now looks at you completely baffled, his eloquence entirely gone as all he finds the words for is: “what?”

it’s fairly clear that something is going on here and that that something maybe isn’t meant to be broadcasted to everyone around, so you’re left alone, mingi still incredulously looking at you even after the two of you are alone in the kitchen.

“don’t look at my like that”, you tell him when you can’t bear it anymore, “you said we should just act like this didn’t happen so that’s what i’m doing.”

“no but i didn’t mean it like that”, he replies, even though he doesn’t even know how he meant it. he just said what was expected of him in that situation, really. he didn’t have the time to think about it. as long as you’re still friends.

“then how?”, and your poor pancakes have to deal with your hurt feelings as you reduce them to the particles everything in this world is made of.

“i don’t know”, he admits, and you sigh. you should have expected this. what did you think would happen if you fuck your best friend? because even if you’re trying to deny it, even to yourself, that’s what happened.

“yeah.”

you don’t have much more to say to that, continue angrily eating the pancakes he made for you, and he stands there, helpless, not sure what else to do so he just mass-prodcues more pancakes, anything to keep him at least a little busy.

by the time you’re done with your breakfast an impressive amount of pancakes is waiting for whoever wants them, because mingi isn’t about to eat until he knows if he’s messed up your friendship, and he isn’t about to discuss that in the kitchen. so he suggests that maybe you should talk, about, you know, in his room?

and there you are, sitting on his bed, an awkward air surrounding the two of you, until he says: “sorry. i shouldn’t have started anything.”

because obviously what’s wrong is that this happened in the first place, right?

“you were drunk. i should’ve stopped you. should’ve known that i shouldn’t have come to your room with you when you’re drunk. i should’ve made sure you won’t regret this.”

because obviously he just did it because he was drunk, right?

“you asked me like every two minutes if this was fine. and i wasn’t like, completely shitfaced drunk, just enough to get my head out of my ass and finally-”

there he interrupts himself. because obviously you’d never want to hear how he really feels about you, right? because obviously you want to just go back in time and prevent this so you can go back to just being friends without anything awkward and in-between going on between you two, right?

but he can tell from your expression that you’re about to argue, about to blame yourself even more and the last thing he wants is you thinking you took advantage of his drunk state when it very much had been him who’d almost dragged you to his room, so he decides you being mad at him for tricking you like that is better than you being mad at yourself.

“finally tell you that i like you.”

those words drop like a needle to the floor, everything else entirely silent as you try to take in what he just told you. he’s not just saying this because he can sense you’re upset, right? he’s not just-

“and like, not the best way to go about it, but i thought hey, i can just pretend i was completely knocked out if you make any weird comments about it. didn’t think you’d start thinking you like, forced me or something. though i should’ve been prepared for that, you’re always way too worried about hurting others even when they say it’s fine.”

he smiles, a halfhearted smile, trying to be at least a little funny as he tells you that he likes you, but he fails miserably. you just stare at him dumbfounded, can’t believe what he’s saying, so he continues because embarrassing himself is better than this tense silence that follows whenever he stops talking.

“i should’ve just asked you on a date i guess but like, how weird would it be if you said no? like that would’ve been so awkward, be honest.”

as if this isn’t. but it makes you smile, frees you from your frozen state, and “yeah, it really would’ve”, you admit, and when he hears that you’re still talking to him he mentally lets out an exaggerated, cartoonish “phew”, because really, he’d been convinced you’d just ask him when you should return his clothes before leaving and not coming back ever again.

“but this is super awkward too”, you add.

he lets out a short, huffed laugh, because it sure is, but it seems like the ice is broken now and you can actually talk about what happened.

the first thing you say is that you don’t regret anything, that it didn’t, like, suck or anything, as if you needed to specify that with how both of you looked, and then you apologise for acting weird this morning.

“i have a question, though. i’d say feel free not to answer but i actually really want you to answer.”

an awkward laugh from your side and the sound of blood rushing in his ears on his.

“you said that you like, kind of wanted the party to end up this way? but then why’d you tell me to just forget about it? did i like, suck?”

you know that isn’t it, that it’s not that you gave him a bad blowjob, but you are scared that he changed his mind after having seen you like that, naked and vulnerable and horny, and that he decided that he isn’t actually into that kind of stuff. into someone like you. that the idea he had of being with you was much better than reality turned out to be.

but that isn’t what happened, and even though he’s embarrassed he decides that he might as well. it’s not like it can get worse, really.

“well i mean, it looked like you got caught trying to sneak out when i woke up this morning, so i kind of just short circuited and said what they always say in the movies. like, we can still be friends, this was just a mistake, a one-time thing, whatever. this doesn’t change anything, you know the gist. as long as it gets you to not like, block me and tell everyone i have a small dick, i would’ve told you whatever, really.”

you nod, “mmh”, thinking of what to reply, but he doesn’t like the thinking pause, apparently, because he goes on to tell you: “actually i was kind of hoping to ask you out if that’s what you wanted to get at with that question. but like, it didn’t really seem like you wanted to hear that, you more looked like you’d just seen a ghost or something. so i decided to play it safe. sorry if that like, upset you.”

you know he’s serious, that he’s genuinely sorry and that it’s just the situation that makes everything awkward. and you appreciate that he even told you, because if you’d been in his place you’d probably have come up with the stupidest lie ever.

you don’t really know what to reply, though, kind of overwhelmed by it all, but you know he’s anxious and you know it’s not fair to just be silent and make him do all the talking. so you say the first thing that comes to mind, which is: “take two?”

he looks at you bewildered, even as you walk towards his little toilet, and now it’s your turn to feel anxious.

“you should go to bed if it’s gonna be authentic.”

because that’s exactly what he needs to hear in this situation. this certainly wasn’t your brightest moment.

“if what’s gonna be authentic?”

he looks so lost that you feel sorry for him.

“like, you can, uh… ask me out again?”

those last words are said in the same breath, hurriedly, because it’s embarrassing and you don’t want him to tell you that he doesn’t want to, but you know you have to say it.

“oh. okay.”

his reaction is a little underwhelming,but you get it. this is weird. the entire day has been weird so far. and in a funny twist of events, the fact that you sucked off your best friend isn’t the weirdest part of it all.

you take a deep breath, walk into the bathroom and then out right after, and you’re surprised to find that mingi actually went back to bed. he’s dressed this time, but you still remember how he looked when you first woke up, and part of you wishes you just hadn’t gotten up.

“uh, good morning”, he mumbles, then shakes his head.

“i mean, come here?”

he pats the space next to him and you tentatively walk towards him, still unsure where this will go even though he’s basically already spelled out his intentions for you.

“do you want to, uh, hug?”

why he’s more shy about asking you to hug than he was about telling you to cum on his face will probably remain a mystery forever.

you scoot closer to him and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you to his chest where his heart beats against your forehead, faster than you think it should. he seems aware of it, too, because he chuckles, embarrassed, “i get nervous when asking out pretty ladies”, and that joke - or whatever it was - seems to be what gives him the courage to actually get to the ‘asking out’ part.

“so, uh, do you want to go on a date? or two, i mean. as many as you want. i guess i’m asking if you’d consider dating me? not right now, no pressure, just whenever. like, an interest check?”

the more he says, the weirder the things he says get, but you appreciate that. it tells you he’s serious in what he says.

and you’re serious, too, when you say that yes, you do want to go on a date or two, and that you’d like to pre-order girlfriend benefits.

your way of phrasing it is possibly the worst way you could have phrased it, but mingi seems delighted, a smile lighting up his features that makes your stomach do flips, and you can’t help but smile as well.

“do you want a pre-order benefit? like, an exclusive gift, i guess those are still a thing, right?”

then he puckers his lips and you can’t help but laugh, and he laughs too, until you shut him up with a peck. then he looks like he just saw jesus in drag, shocked but not unhappy about it.

you will never ever agree to go on a trip with your friends again. especially not if said friends have just entered their hippie phase and want to be close to nature and know no better way to do that than to go to a cabin in the middle of the woods, with no electricity and no air conditioning and absolutely no protection against the ruthless insects that call the forest their home and seem to love blood more than a vampire ever could. this was a horrible idea and you regret ever letting yourself be convinced to join, because you know you’re not the one-with-nature type, you’ve known this since you were a child and your father was convinced the perfect bonding activity would be to go fishing. needless to say, you found it boring, kept on complaining and the two of you ended up not catching a single fish.

when you arrive at the cabin your friends rented you have to admit, though, that maybe you were a little dramatic, because your housing does have electricity and you don’t have to shit in the forest either, contrary to what you were fearing until now. and then something happens that makes you take back every single less-than-nice thought you’ve been thinking about this trip while in the car on the way to bumfuck nowhere, and that something is a man in a half-unbuttoned flannel and a pair of denim shorts. and that man, it appears, is the one to rent out this place to whoever desires to abandon civilisation for a while.

and his name is jongho, as he lets you know while unlocking the door to let you in.

jongho shows you around and seems especially proud of the fireplace, telling your group that if you run out of firewood you should give him a call, he’ll take care of it, flexing his biceps jokingly but the way you can’t take your eyes off him afterwards sadly isn’t a joke at all. and now you almost hope that your electricity will die and some mystic happening will cut you off from all civilisation, so it’s just your friends (you choose to ignore them in your little fantasy), you and jongho.

you know not to provoke fate, though, so you quickly push those thoughts away; but not without engaging in a little fantasy of him wrapping you in a blanket and carrying you toward the warm fireplace, letting you know that in order to stay warm you’ll have to cuddle. that much you allow yourself before you return to reality.

however reality isn’t too bad either, because during the next few days jongho comes around regularly, either with some more chopped wood or with a fish he caught himself or one time he visits just to make sure everything is still okay, and the heart eyes you get whenever you are in his general vicinity are obvious to everyone but the man himself. or maybe he just chooses to ignore them. you wouldn’t be able to blame him, really, because you’ve barely exchanged more than two words - partly owed to the fact that any and all coherent thoughts leave you when he’s around and all your brain manages to come up with is tarzan and jane-type scenarios featuring him and you. that is not exactly what you want to tell him about, so you remain silent for the most part and let your friends do the talking.

you don’t even really listen when they talk, too busy admiring jongho’s voice and then getting embarrassed over how easily this man affects you, and this comes to be your demise because with your friends’ hippie phase also comes a newfound interest in “free love” and since your interest in the host is incredibly obvious they decide to set you up, telling the object of your desire that out of all of you you’re the one with the most fishing experience when he asks if any of you like to go fishing. it’s not a lie, technically, because their only contact with fish has been in pre-cooked form, but that is a detail no one finds relevant enough to mention.

and when jongho asks if you’d like to join him on a fishing tour somewhen you really can’t find it in yourself to say that no, you’d rather not.

so once more you curse your friends for your situation, except this time the presence of the perpetually flannel-clad jock - he’s a lumberjack, you’ve gathered by now - is more a reason to wail than a source of joy. because, let’s face it, you are going to embarrass yourself horribly, and you’d rather embarrass yourself in front of your friends than in front of a total snack like this. you just hope you’re not going to fall into any waters.

at least in that regard fate is on your side, because the fishing trip goes without you getting soaked, and generally goes better than you’d expected - turn out that fishing for the most part is just sitting and not being loud, and you’ve become quite good at not saying a word around jongho these past days.

maybe the success of this fishing tour made you a little too confident, though, your demise lurking just around the corner. the next embarrassment is never far; in this case it comes when you offer to help him collect all the fishing utensils but then step too close to the water and almost fall right in. you would have fallen right in if he hadn’t had good reflexes and pulled you back, towards him, and of course you land on his chest, staring at him wide-eyed and completely shocked until he gently pushes you off, your body weight seemingly no issue to someone with biceps like these.

you apologise profusely and can’t even look him in the eyes, convinced he thinks you’re just some weirdo from the city, and you’re ready to go take a swim in the lake voluntarily when you hear him laugh - anything to escape this embarrassment, anything to escape his mockery.

except he isn’t mocking you, he’s laughing off the awkward situation before he asks: “are you okay?”

“yeah, i’m, i mean, you’re the one that almost got crushed by me, so i should be asking you, uh-”

here he interrupts you.

“if that would’ve been enough to almost crush me maybe i should consider another profession.”

and again he flexes his biceps, winking when he sees you staring. okay, so maybe you have a thing for muscles. and maybe you’re not as sneaky about it as you thought.

you don’t really say another word as he walks you back to the cabin - which, you convince yourself, is only because otherwise you’d get so horribly lost -, but once there he lightly touches your elbow as if to stop you without actually stopping you. it’s enough to make you freeze in your spot.

“if you’re not too scared of ending up actually taking a bath, maybe you could join me next time i go fishing as well?”

the words don’t register immediately, and when they do you’re not sure you didn’t hallucinate them, and first when jongho says “i get if today was too scary though” with a smile that’s either teasing or masking disappointment do you realise that he did, in fact, ask you for real.

“no yeah that’s fine! i’m not scared, it’s fine!”

maybe you sound overeager. you don’t care. it’s not like today can get any more embarrassing, anyway.

his reply of “i’ll see you then!” goes nearly unnoticed, because you’re too busy staring at his smile and imagining what your wedding would be like. but he does come to see you again, two days later (now you’re glad your friends found three weeks to be the minimum time for the vacation you cursed a week ago but that you never want to end now that you have a crush), skillfully hits the last piece of wood of this chopping batch with the axe you’ve grown used to seeing him with - and makes you swoon with that - and asks you if you want to go on another fishing tour.

of course you do.

so you go to the lake again, except this time it seems like jongho wants to talk to you, albeit quietly, and you try to not sound too boring, try to not sound too much like a spoiled city kid.

you fail miserably, but he just laughs, doesn’t seem to mind, and you actually find out some things about him as well. you’d probably have found out even more if you hadn’t been so busy staring at his arms and legs and chest whenever you got the chance.

soon you get better at coordinating the staring and the conversations, because he invites you out to join him after that, too, until two days before you’re set to leave he doesn’t take you to your usual spot at the lake but instead to a small clearing, and turns out the basket he’s been carrying wasn’t food for fish but rather food for humans.

you’re surprised and don’t fully get what’s going on, but jongho is quick to explain.

“okay so uh… you like me and you’re leaving in two days so i figured i might as well take you on a date.”

he sounds confident, as if he was stating facts rather than assumptions, and that’s what leaves you dumbfounded enough to not even question it but just stutter out: “oh, uh, okay. sure.”

you’re glad it’s nothing too fancy, though, because that would have embarrassed you more than it would have made you happy, but he seems to have understood that much about you from the conversations you had while fishing. it’s just some sandwiches, some fruit, and a whole lot of water. the summer heat is cruel even in the cooling shade of the forest.

jongho tells you that he’s noticed the way you’d look at him, and since he didn’t want to be too hopeful he admits to asking your friends about his suspicions - his wishful thinking, he claims -, and those traitors ratted you out like it was nothing. you’re not sure whether to be angry or grateful right now.

he then goes on to say that he’s been trying to use the fishing tours as dates, but that’s not very romantic and also he never actually said it straight out, and he didn’t want you to go back without even trying so that’s how you got here.

“so we’re on a date?”, you ask, just to be fully sure, and he nods, though he adds: “unless you’d rather not, i mean.”

“no!”, surprised by how loud your voice is, “no, it’s… i’m glad it’s a date.”

again he smiles at you, a smile that still makes you kind of wobbly in the knees, and then you’re on a date. you wouldn’t ever have expected this kind of date, but you don’t complain, find yourself thoroughly impressed when he splits an apple in two with his bare hands and offers you one half to eat, and even more so when he picks you up with one arm while carrying the picnic bag with the other.

he puts you back down before you reach the cabin, because being caught like that would have been embarrassing and also a reason for endless teasing, though your friends find such a reason anyway when you peck his cheek on the doorstep and tell him you hope you’ll see him again the next day.

that maybe would have been forgotten after a week or so, but jongho wraps you in a bear hug that he uses as an opportunity to ask you if he can kiss you without anyone hearing, and when you confirm that he can he doesn’t hesitate at all.

you’re on cloud nine for exactly three seconds before you hear one person hollering and another three people ‘shh!’ing that person, and with a heavy sigh you pull away from him.

“i’ll see you tomorrow”, you tell him, voice laced with regret because this was so nice and you very much didn’t want to stop yet, but it appears you have no choice.

“yeah”, he says, presses a kiss to your forehead and leaves you to your fate, though he makes up for it the next day by asking if you’d like to date him for real, and when it turns out that this is just his summer job that he uses to live his lumberjack dreams and that he doesn’t actually live too far away from you you agree, grinning like an idiot from that point onwards and it’s fairly obvious what happened.

and it’s even more obvious when he, dressed in a flannel as always, takes you out on a city date, a date which ends with him bench pressing you because you were convinced he couldn’t and he was unable to accept this slight to his honour.

“so i have a hunk of a boyfriend now and you have another set of weights, i guess.”

shit. shit shit shit.

you’re glad mingi isn’t home right now, both because you don’t want him to see the poor excuse of a cake you’ve managed to bake and because you know he doesn’t like it when you swear. he’s proposed a penny jar before, but when after a week you had lost more money than you had available per week he decided to have mercy on you and gave you back your money, and instead he’s just looking at you disapprovingly now whenever you swear. and you really try not to, but what was supposed to be a sunglasses-shaped artistic masterpiece of vanilla cream and chocolate instead looks like a two-year-old’s drawings come to life. and that two-year-old had horrible motor control, it seems, because if you close one eye, then the other, and then use all your imagination this might be interpreted as egg-shaped. it’s definitely not what you imagined when you started making a cake for your beloved boyfriend who wears sunglasses even in winter because they make him look “hip”. and you know his friends won’t be able to keep him busy much longer, you know he loves birthday celebrations because “it’s my day so all of you have to do whatever i say”, and that the arcade will get boring sooner or later - though you selfishly hope that it’s later, because it gives you time to try and fix your mistake.

you don’t exactly trust your own hands to fix this, though, so you call the only one you can trust in cooking emergencies - wooyoung.

“please come over right now, i think the cake is alive and if i’ve learned anything from frankenstein then it’s that i shouldn’t upset the creation of my hubris any further”, is what you tell him as soon as he picks up, interrupting his yeoboseyo because you really do not have any time left to spare. you don’t want to disappoint mingi, and though you know that he’s no stranger to cooking mistakes - as proven when he tried to woo you on one of your first dates but instead made you eat half-raw-half-burned pancakes -, but this is his birthday and even if he might not mind you know you definitely would. plus, you don’t want to give him any leverage against you, and a messed-up cake is perfect blackmailing material for an extra five minutes in bed even though you’re already late anyway.

“don’t be dramatic”, wooyoung tells you, but he agrees to come over and really, that’s all you were hoping for.

“okay, so you weren’t being dramatic”, is the first thing you hear after wooyoung lays his eyes on what once was a cake, followed by a deep sigh and you being shushed out of the kitchen because this is going to be more difficult than expected. and you oblige without protest - this is not the time to argue, and you are grateful he’s willing to help at all.

you pace the living room as you hope for the best, like someone that was late to their partner giving birth and is now anxiously waiting to hear how it went.

in your case, though, the sound that makes the heart beat faster is not a baby’s cries but rather a key being turned in your front door, and you rush to the kitchen to let wooyoung know that mingi is coming home, to which he tells you to distract him for five more minutes, then the cake won’t scare the life out of the birthday boy, at least.

so you do.

you drag him to the bedroom while telling your mutual friends to go to the kitchen and get out some plates and cups, please, knowing that once they see wooyoung they will understand the severity of the situation, and you make mingi sit down on the bed and tell him not to move while you start searching through your underwear drawer.

“baby, you know my friends are in the next room, right?”, your love reminds you, so you turn around only to roll your eyes before you continue your search.

“i’m looking for your present, silly. i know you searched through the cupboards but i also know you’d never touch my underwear without permission so this was the safest place i could think of. yes, i know you went through the cupboards. you’re not as sneaky as you think you are”, because judging by the small sounds he makes at that accusation he didn’t expect you to know.

“then show me my present. please.”

you don’t even need to look to know he’s pouting at you, just as he doesn’t need to see your face to know that you’re rolling your eyes - again.

“just a second, i forgot just how many layers of underwear i wrapped it in.”

so he waits, impatiently, while you try to drag this out, giving wooyoung as much time as possible to fix your mistakes.

you are relieved when exactly as you pull out the little gift box you hear your saviour yelling from the hallway: “what’s taking you so long? you have guests, so i hope you’re not up to anything freaky!”

“perv!”, you shout back before giving mingi your full attention. poor boy really has waited enough, and it wasn’t even his fault that everything is taking so long. it’s just you and your bad planning.

“here you go, baby. happy birthday”, with a small peck on his puckered lips.

then you watch him unpack the present.

“it’s nothing big, but…”

but he loves it. and he makes sure to tell you so, arms engulfing you and there’s no escape from his bear hug until he decides he’s had enough.

“thank you”, face pressed into your stomach, and then: “did you get new laundry detergent?”

“no?”, you reply, now unsure yourself, entirely unsuspecting of his evil plan.

because as he pretends to lift your shirt to sniff on it you expect nothing bad, but when he quickly puts his head in under your shirt you know what’s coming, and sure enough he starts blowing raspberries on your stomach, laughing as he lets everyone know that you just farted, and beelining for the kitchen since he knows you don’t want any witnesses to whatever crime you’re thinking of committing right now.

there he stops dead in his tracks, though, because what resembled a creation á la lovecraft when you left now looks like an actual cake, and a nice one at that, and though this isn’t your first birthday together it still manages to surprise him.

“baby!”, he yells out, even though you’re right behind him, still half convinced you’ll have to beat his ass for the stunt he just pulled, but he seems to have forgotten all about that.

“is this for me?”

as if it was anyone else’s birthday right now. you tell him that.

“yeah, but like, a cake? for me?”

“well, you are expected to share with us. but yeah. a cake, for you.”

and up you go, wrapped in another tight hug, one that lifts you off the floor this time, because your big baby isn’t going to the gym for nothing, and you screech in surprise.

“thank you thank you!”, jumping up and down, and you suspect that if he doesn’t stop you’ll get whiplash.

“we’re still here, you know”, yunho finds it appropriate to remind, and while you get flustered by that mingi just nonchalantly replies that they weren’t the one to make him a cake for his birthday.

thank the heavens that he doesn’t notice wooyoung rolling his eyes, too busy staring at the cake in adoration.

(you’d think the cake is dating him rather than you.)

“you owe me”, your saviour lets you know quietly, fully aware that he now has some leverage against you but equally aware that he’d never tell mingi either way because he, too, enjoys seeing his friend happy like this.

“no. absolutely not.”

you look at him with pleading eyes, hoping that your pout will be enough to convince him, because really, how could he say no? how could he be so cruel, break your heart like this, crush all your hopes and dreams and ruin your future and-

“that’s unfair and you know it”, seonghwa’s stern expression a little softer now, though he hopes you don’t notice. but of course you do, the sight filling you with hope, so you push your bottom lip forward even more, almost comically much, widen your eyes even more, until your cruel boyfriend bursts out laughing.

“you look like you just saw... i don’t even know what, but definitely not anything pleasant.”

his words earn him a quiet ‘hrmph’, but at least your expression changes from whatever that was to a normal one, though now you look even more unhappy, frowning at him with as much anger as you can muster, which, considering this is your best friend of seven years and boyfriend of four, isn’t a lot.

”i just saw the man who promised he’d do anything it takes to makes me happy refuse my proposal of decorating our new home in a way that makes me happy”, you inform him, still grumpy, and he can’t help but chuckle at how cute you are, surrounded by different paint samples as you frown at him, apparently not realising how adorable you look right now.

“when i said anything it takes that didn’t include mod podging wallpaper strips onto our hardwood floor boards or painting half our house in different shades of pastel pink, though”, something he has definitely not told you about when he made the promise. there hadn’t been any terms and conditions then, and you tell him so.

“because i thought it was clear!”, a weak defense before the jury and you know, know that oral contracts are just as binding as written ones and that the terms have to be specified, and even though you only know this because you’re a huge fan of watching judge judy it still counts, because the tv wouldn’t lie to you - or that’s what you tell yourself as you try to pretend that you know what you’re talking about in front of your evil, cruel, heartless boyfriend who just promised things that he didn’t intend on keeping.

“but-”, though you change your mind and ignore the logical argument, instead get out the big guns, “but it would make me happy.”

complete with a pout and a small, shaky voice. this is unfair and you know it, but you can’t be bothered to care right now.

instead you continue using methods that would never be legally acceptable but that you know work on seonghwa, and add: “and we could have a lego corner in the living room where you get to build all your stuff completely undisturbed. you can even put up some lego stuff in our bedroom! but those patchwork floors looked so cute and once we’ve settled i probably won’t ever be able to try that again, not with our floors because we have the furniture and it’d be a hassle and i mean, not on other floors either because, well, i don’t live there.”

you bend your knees slightly for the grand finale because you know he likes feeling like he has to protect you, like you are his princess and he is your big, scary knight, take a deep breath - who knows how long you might have to beg, better stock up on oxygen - and use the voice that has worked with your parents and countless babysitters and that has convinced your boyfriend before too, a drawn-out, whiny: “pleeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaseeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

you can see his defenses crumbling, and he’s probably tired of discussing this, too. you know the end is near, know that you’ve almost convinced him, and your final blow is the one to entirely break down the last of his tough persona.

“i mean, if you say no i guess i’ll accept that. just… i think i’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, i don’t want to drag you down with me and like it is a really stupid thing to get sad over, and i don’t want to annoy you when i sob over my pinterest board, that’d be kind of really mean and manipulative.”

though what you’re doing right now isn’t better, and you know that, so before seonghwa can say anything you quickly apologise.

“no, sorry, that was a lie, i won’t go and sob and i won’t sleep in the guest room either. i mean, i will probably be like, sad, but it’s fine, like you know i literally get sad when i see cute animals on tv so it’s not like, deep. but can we do something else now before i end up actually getting sad?”

in a way that apology makes it even worse, because now he knows you’re not being overdramatic, unlike when you told him you’d sleep in the guest room. he knows you’re being genuine, trying to let it go and probably convincing yourself it’s not actually that deep and as long as you get to have your own home with him it doesnt matter what shade the walls are or if the floors are boring. he can tell from the way you try to have a neutral expression and probably don’t even notice your lip is quivering, from the way you avoid his gaze because you don’t want him to see that you really are sad over this.

he is a weak man and he thinks that maybe pastel pink walls would do his fragile masculinity some good.

“we’ll have a shrine in the living room. where i can put my lego star wars collection. and at least some of our floor pattern i get to choose. and i don’t want the bedroom to be fully pink. any other colour is fine - within reason, disclaimer -, but if it’s pink i want some pattern or something. do you accept these terms and conditions or do we have to call in a lawyer to mediate?”

it takes a moment for you to realise that he’s serious, but once you do there’s not a trace of sadness left in your expression.

“wait, for real?”, hoping he’s not just lying, even though you know he’s not the type for that. he also isn’t the type for pink walls, so you can’t be too sure.

“yeah. but the star wars shelf won’t be pink. i have full custody over that one”, a condition you don’t mind accepting at all, and suddenly the paint samples no longer look sad to you but instead tell of a promising future. a future with your very own patchwork floor, and a lot of mod podge involved.

“we can literally center the entire living room around your star wars shelf if that’s what it takes”, you promise, too euphoric about your dream floor to realise that you just made the same mistake that put seonghwa in this situation.

soon you will realise though, because as soon as your mod podge floor and the paint on the walls have dried your boyfriend introduces you to his living room floor plan, and lo and behold, the star wars shelf is the centre of the living room, with all other furniture spreading around it as if it really was a shrine, the centre of whatever universe is contained within your living room.