Then your doorbell rings and you groan and throw the covers over your head. Maybe someone is just at the wrong door. You can only hope. You miss your boyfriend horribly, but you feel like shit, you haven’t showered, or eaten, or tidied up, and your cramps are killing you. You’re the definition of a hot mess. And he hasn’t seen this kind of hot-mess-you yet.

Closing your eyes, you silently beg whoever’s at the door to go away, but they fly open at the sound of a key turning in your lock and you spring out of bed. Blood rushes down to your legs and up to your head as you rush out of your room because the last thing you need is Yoongi witnessing your rock bottom. He’s stepping out of the foyer, shoes neatly tucked in the corner, by the time you skid into the living room, blanket flailing behind you like a cape.

“Uh, hi,” you greet lamely, moving to get in his way of further entering your apartment. “You couldn’t wait for me to answer?” Fuck, you sound mean. Pms has gotten the best of you.

Despite your tone, he smiles. This guy just has to make it hard to shut him out. “I thought you might be asleep.”

“I wasn’t,” you say, self-consciously wrapping your blanket beneath your neck to hide as much of you as you can.

He turns his snapback backwards, revealing his entire pretty face. “Well, I haven’t heard from you in a few days, my love. I know you need your space, but I need to know that you’re alive. Why else would you give me your spare key?”

“So that you can bring it in case I lose mine.”

He puts his free hand on his hip, leveling you with a playful glare. “I’m your boyfriend, not a locksmith.”

You shrug, and glance over your shoulder, checking to make sure your unkempt living room didn’t manage to become more unkempt just because he showed up.

“Are you gonna let me in or am I just gonna be your food delivery guy?”

“It’s a mess in here. I’m a mess.”

He tilts his head. “Babe, when have I ever cared?”

“I care. I hate that you’re seeing me like this.”

“I just like seeing you. No matter what state you’re in.”

You stand there like a statue as you go to war with yourself because you miss him but you’re having a hard time believing he doesn’t care that it looks like a category 5 tornado ran right through your place.

“It’s not that bad in here,” he says, stepping around you to head for the kitchen. Okay, mind reader. “Just come eat.”

“I’m gonna shower first.”

He just nods and sets the food on the counter to unpack it. Halfway through your glorious shower, you pause when the bathroom door squeaks open. Instinctively, you reach for the handle to adjust the temperature to a cooler one he can stand, expecting him to join you, but you don’t hear his footsteps pad onto the damp, steamy tile. You don’t hear anything.

“What are you doing?”

All you get in response is a closed door. Okay?

After brushing your teeth, washing your face, moisturizing, and changing into clean sweats, you come back into the main area to find Yoongi in the kitchen washing dishes. The washer is running in the corner, half-empty hamper by the end of the counter. You’re horrified, that thing was overflowing, clothes smashed against the wall. And he took it upon himself to start doing your laundry?

“Please don’t clean up after me,” you say in a panic, darting into the kitchen.

“Can’t hear you,” he says, tapping his earbud, and completely ignores your attempts to stop him from scrubbing a plate. You would be annoyed if you weren’t so relieved you don’t have to do your dishes tonight. The least you can do is help.

Side by side, he silently passes you one of his earbuds and you finish up with the dishes and wiping down the counters while listening to his playlist, the one that’s filled with songs you both picked together. You almost start crying when “Mansard Roof” comes on - a song on your playlist that was on in the background when Yoongi first told you he loved you. Corny, you know. But that was the two of you. Before you can reminisce and become more emotional, Yoongi bumps hips with you and loudly sings the lyrics. You shriek when during the bouncing beat of first verse, he grabs your hand and twirls you around, ignoring your shouts of his name as he pulls you into a silly, uncoordinated dance routine. You laugh giddily and the sound surprises you. Leave it to Yoongi to bring out the sun when all you’ve known is rain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggle breathlessly when the song ends, pushing at his chest but he remains close. He grins and swoops in for a swift peck.

“You love it.” He turns around for the food before you get the chance to say you love him.

You sit next to him at the island counter, legs tangled together, picking from each other’s bowls. Yoongi makes sure you have enough protein, you give him extra vegetables. As you eat, your cramps slowly creep in and get worse, and they become harder to ignore, but you try your best not to let your pain show.

“Cramps?” Yoongi asks after you start cleaning up.

“You can tell?” How the fuck?

“You make a face.” Oh. You shouldn’t be surprised. Your boyfriend is insanely attentive.

“Need meds?” You shake your head.

“Heating pad?”

“It’s somewhere in my closet.”

“Go get it. I’ll finish up here.”

You can’t get over how good he is to you despite the fact that you ignored him for three days. He brought food, did your dishes and laundry, and twirled you around the kitchen when he hates dancing. Just to make you laugh. He put on your favorite chill playlist while you ate together. He didn’t ask you about your week, didn’t try to push you for answers about why you went MIA. Because he knows you prefer to eat in silence, especially when it’s been a while since you’ve eaten. And he knows when you’re in pain because of a face you make? You really hit the jackpot with him. You need to show him how grateful you are.

When you come back to the kitchen, he’s back at the sink, towel drying the dishes and putting them away. You set the heating pad on the island counter and stride up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek planted on his back.

“I’m sorry I sounded like I didn’t want you here,” you apologize, guilt swimming through you. “I just don’t want you to think I can’t take care of myself.”

He sets down the dishes and swivels around, eyes filled with something that makes you want to shy away as he reaches up to hold your cheek.

“Baby, it’s okay if you can’t sometimes, though. God knows I’ve been there. You know I’ve been there.” You sniffle, remembering the times when you’ve been in his shoes, worrying about his prolonged silence, wondering if he’s okay, if he’s taking care of himself, showing up unprompted to do it for him. You don’t know why it’s hard to accept when he does it for you.

“And I love you, or something, so I want to be there for you.” You glance up to the small smile playing on his lips and it spreads onto yours.

“‘Or something’?”

His gums show under a grin and you can’t help but crack into a full smile. He reaches out to brush the corner of your quirked up lip.

“Love seeing this.”

You’ve known this man for a little over two years and dating him for eight months but he still makes you so, so shy. To hide it, you knock your face into his shoulder, heart melting when his hand smooths up to your neck and his lips press into your temple.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his shirt, tears jumping to your waterline when his scent overwhelms you with comfort.

“Missed you, too, baby,” he says softly.

“And,” you sniff. “I’m really grateful for you.”

He tilts up your chin with a knuckle. “I love you.”

Heart bursting, you lean in and kiss him with a full smile, and he holds both sides of your face as he kisses you back - soft and slow and warm and with a silent promise that he’ll always care.

“Can I stay?” he whispers after you break apart, feeling dazed and like you’re floating on a cloud.

“Please.”

“I’ll even suffer through watching your favorite show,” he sighs exasperatedly. You roll your eyes. Like he doesn’t verbally scrutinize the plot after each episode and make insightful commentary about the characters’ dynamics. 

“You know you’re just as into the drama as I am, stop denying it.”

He shakes his head belligerently. “No.”

Laugh resonating in your chest, you push him towards the living room, curl up with him on the couch under a big, soft blanket, and get into a huge debate about the direction of the cliff hanger.

Hours later, after making your bed together, you crawl under the covers, each on your designated side, and he pulls you into him as you get settled. You nuzzle into his neck and breathe in his intoxicating and soothing scent. You’re so comfortable and safe, and now you have a better reason for not leaving your bed. With his beating heart echoing under your skin and his arms wrapped snugly around you, you find yourself the happiest you’ve been in a while. You could stay like this forever.

“I’m calling out tomorrow,” you declare against his throat. 

“Good,” he yawns. “I already did.”

You kiss him in a silent thank you. As you get settled, his hand finds yours under the covers and tangles your fingers together. You go to sleep wondering how many times he can make you fall in love.

.

.

.

base ver. without magazine/plastic overlays as always :)

From a seat at the kitchen island, you chuckle at his recovery position, (one hand on the railing, one hand still clutching his sock, and one leg just sticking out in the air,) hiding your wide smile behind a coffee mug which proudly asserts you as world’s best dad.

Seungcheol’s mouth drops open. “You’re still home?”

Nodding, you take a sip from your (or his; or Jeonghan’s; or Joshua’s) mug. “Nothing going on for me today.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Seungcheol pouts as he finally slips on his sock.

You push yourself from the counter and make your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing a soft kiss to his jawline. “It’s been such a long week for you. I thought you could use the rest today.”

His pout deepens, but his arms can only do one thing when you’re near him, and that’s holding you close. “But…”

“I already called Inho,” you explain, bringing your hand up to play with the hair that hangs in front of Seungcheol’s eyes. “He said he’s got everything sorted for the morning but told me to tell you, Mr Everything Has To Be Perfect, that he knows you’ll want to give the final say on the… what was it? The Hsu contract?”

About to nuzzle his face in your neck, Seungcheol jerks back. “Wait? The Hsu— That should’ve been closed yesterday—!”

You chuckle again, twisting away to swipe a set of car keys off the counter. “I need the Blueberry today, so I’ll drop you off, yeah?”

You hand him a thermos that he knows contains coffee just the way he likes it, and just like that, he’s off to his office with you at the wheel.

“The twins—” he says when the caffeine finally sets in.

“Are at their summer camp,” you tell him, cool as a cucumber in the freezer. “It's butterfly day today, so Joshua made sure they brought their watercolours with them.”

“Chan—” he says.

“Went with Jeonghan to visit grandma and grandpa Yoon. Hayoung is making yakgwa, which I'm sure Chan will be ecstatic about.”

Seunghcheol bristles only a little, glancing at himself in the side view mirror and tucking away the pout he didn’t know he was making until he saw his reflection. “I like Hayoung eomoni’s yakgwa…” he mumbles, totally nonchalant.

“Do you?” Not taking your eyes off the road, you smile. “Hm. I didn’t know that. Maybe they can bring some back for you.”

Seungcheol bristles again, but only because he takes great pride in being Yoon Hayoung’s favourite. Well. Okay. After Chan, Seungkwan, and Vernon… Hayoung’s fourth favourite. Shit, wait, fifth after you. Maybe sixth after Jeonghan. But solidly sixth, at least, ever since the great kitty escape of 2022.

Suck it, Joshua.

Wherever his standing, Hayoung eomoni knows he loves her yakgwa — almost to the point where you had to confiscate them a few years ago, lest he get a heaven-disguised devil of a stomachache.

Don’t you remember that? You’re usually so attentive.

“I wouldn’t say no to an extra piece,” he says casually. “Or two.”

You grin. “Or ten? Or a hundred?”

Turning to you again, he narrows his eyes. “So you do remem—”

“Well!” You throw the Blueberry into park right in front of his building. “Have a great day at work, babe. Joshua will come pick you up when you’re done, okay?”

And just like that, Seungcheol is standing in front of his office building, thermos of coffee in one hand and his attaché in the other. He watches you drive off, but in the back of his mind, he can’t help thinking something isn’t right.

He gasps.

“The Hsu contract!” Seungcheol dashes through the front doors, vaulting up the stairs two at a time towards his office. For some reason, the floors leading up seem abandoned, but none of that registers to him while his brain tunnel-visions on the contract that was supposed be done and over with by now because he wasn’t even meant to have to worry about anything today because it’s—

Seungcheol’s entire body freezes right as he uses two fingers to grab the door handle to his office.

Oh. It’s his—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

The door in front of him swings open, revealing all the missing employees from the other floors crammed into his office. Confetti flutters over him, and people in colourful conical hats start singing while simultaneously chuckling at his dumbfounded expression.

Still in a state of shock, Seungcheol zones in on one specific man in the room, who’s leaning on his desk with a huge smile. “Inho,” Seungcheol mutters. “The… Hsu contract?”

This causes Inho to laugh, and he pushes himself off Seungcheol’s desk so he can walk up to him. He puts an arm around Seungcheol’s shoulders and leads him further into his office, where a black forest cake with way too many candles sits where his keyboard normally is. “Now, what kind of right-hand man would I be if that wasn’t signed and delivered exactly as planned?” He puts his free hand over his heart and pouts. “Do you have so little faith in me?”

“No— no, I just…”

Inho laughs again and pats Seungcheol’s shoulder. “I’m just playing with you. Your partners said it’d be a surefire way to get you here without suspecting anything.”

Seungcheol’s brows scrunch together just as the crowd around him cheers him on to blow out the fire hazard on top of his cake. After waving away the resulting smoke, he looks back up at Inho. “You… conspired with my partners?”

“All in good fun, of course,” Inho defends playfully. “I may be your right-hand, but I obviously don’t know you as well as they do. I mean— I never would’ve guessed it. I thought there was no way you’d forget it’s your own birthday.”

⭒-⭒-⭒

“There’s no way they forgot it’s your birthday,” Joshua tried to placate him to no avail. Seungcheol was already drunker than he’d be if you were here at the bar & grill they’d chosen for his party, and that was saying something.

The unfortunate thing was that Seungcheol was not typically a sulky drunk. He could get sulky enough with zero percent alcohol in his system, anyway. On any other night dedicated to fun and letting go and drinking until all the problems of being twenty-something disappear, (at least until morning,) Seungcheol would be the giggly drunk. He’d be standing on top of chairs and patting his friends’ backs and yelling, “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” all the way into the witching hour.

But he wasn’t, and he hated how both Joshua and Jeonghan, who had said almost the exact same thing as Joshua an hour ago (when Seungcheol had questioned for the fourth or fifth time where you were,) knew exactly why he was sulking in a lonely booth.

Said booth wasn’t part of their reservation, but Seungcheol could tell that the lady who ran the grill didn’t want to approach him, the pity in her eyes making Seungcheol feel all the more pathetic.

He didn’t bother responding to Joshua’s words because he knew it to be nothing but the truth. There was no way you forgot it was his birthday. He would never admit it out loud — because that would just ruin the bit — but he was always annoying about it. He’d spring a pop quiz on stuff like it: his likes and dislikes, his middle name (trick question!), et cetera et cetera, every once in a while. And even if you didn’t realize it, he cared the most whether you got the answers right over anyone else. You always did, though. Somehow, you knew him better than anyone, and even though you did know his birthday and the way he liked his eggs and that he hated acupuncture shoes despite wearing them because he had to acknowledge their merits, you knew one thing above all.

He cared that you cared.

His call went straight to voicemail again, and he had to stop himself from throwing his phone onto a burning grill.

Joshua sighed and held out his hand. “Give me that.”

Pouting already, Seungcheol held his phone, suddenly precious to him, tight against his chest. “No.”

“Their phone must be dead,” Joshua reasoned, wagging his fingers for him to hand the thing over. “You know how they are. I got them that stupid expensive power bank, and they still manage to forget it every time. C’mon, give it here. You’re only gonna bum yourself out.”

Seungcheol just scrunched his shoulders, shielding himself by turning further into the empty booth. “No…”

“Seungcheol—”

“They’re coming,” Jeonghan interrupted. He stepped up to the table beside Joshua and grabbed the half-empty soju bottle sitting on top of it. If Seungcheol wasn’t so busy protecting his phone from Joshua’s greedy fingers, he would've snatched it back, but instead, his eyes lit up as he looked at his friend.

As soon as his hope flared, though, hurt flared just as bright. “They told you?” he asked, and all three of them could hear his subconscious thought.

And not me?

“No,” Jeonghan quickly amended. “I just know them. And so do you.”

Joshua nodded despite the concerned look on his face as Jeonghan continued.

“They wouldn’t miss your birthday, and besides, they’ve still got—” He glanced at his watch, a simple black piece save for the worn out devil emoji sticker only the four of you know is stuck to the underside of the face. “—at least forty-five minutes before midnight hits. You do know it’s still the seventh, right?”

Seungcheol shook his head, brows furrowed. “Just because it’s not my birthday doesn’t mean it’s not my birthday…”

“You’re drunk, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan ruffled his hair like he would to a dog he’d just denied human food to. In kind, Seungcheol snarled and swatted his hand away.

It wasn’t the best his hair had ever looked. Overgrown jet black roots flowed into a faded silver-ish blond, but when his natural hair colour had started growing back, you’d said it was hot on him. It was just one of your every day sort of throwaway compliments, but still. Seungcheol kept putting off setting another hair appointment for some reason.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Finally able to catch him distracted, Joshua snatched Seungcheol’s phone and stashed it in his back pocket. “Go have fun with all the friends we invited here for you and stop sulking over whether or not they’re coming because they will.” He put a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “You trust them, don’t you?”

He did.

But your absence still weighed down on him, even when he rejoined everyone at the table and managed to get another beer. Especially when he noticed Wonwoo’s eyes darting around, caught his gaze, and then had to get up and sit somewhere else when Wonwoo shyly asked if you were coming.

Wonwoo wasn’t a bad guy. Not by far.

But sometimes Seungcheol would catch him looking at you in a certain way that made his completely unrelated chest pain act up.

So even though it was nearing midnight, and his whole thing was getting all wound up about people not wishing him happy birthday as soon as the clock hits 00:00, Seungcheol decided he needed a breather. He stepped outside, absently listened to the cheerful gabbing that leaked from the bar and grill, and wondered if — like the guy outside of the restaurant across the street — cigarettes were what he needed at a time like this.

(But you hated the smell and coughed like a sickly Victorian child when you got too close to a lit cigarette, so maybe not.)

Instead, Seungcheol patted at his pockets for his phone, only to remember that the little shit Joshua stole it. He looked at his watch — 23:54 — and sighed, tilting his head back to look at the night sky. There were no stars in sight, not in a big city like this.

Next birthday, maybe he’ll go past the outskirts, just so he can make a wish. It’ll be quieter, with fresher air, and he won’t get drunk. He could just lay back and admire the starry expanse of the August sky. (And check for birthday messages in the morning.)

He could bring you.

But would you even come? Maybe his birthday didn’t mean as much to you as he wanted it to.

No, he shouldn’t think like that.

Or should he?

23:58

Inside, voices arose in search of him, but Seungcheol shifted sideways so he couldn’t be seen through the front windows. He didn’t know why, exactly, he didn’t want to be part of his own celebration, but his eyes were drawn downhill, following the street in the direction of your place. His shoulders rose and fell with another sigh, his hands in his pockets, and the noise inside the bar went up in volume. Someone shouted his name, calling him the grandpa of the group, which he knew would haunt him until Jeonghan’s birthday in October, and okay, maybe he should just go back.

“Seungcheeeooooool!”

Your voice enraptured him immediately, and he whipped around in the opposite direction of your apartment to see you rushing down the slanted street. Too fast.

(The bar and grill’s placement on a steep street had caused many a drunken tumble in the past, but the food was so good and so affordable that it was a mainstay for you and his friends.)

Without thinking, Seungcheol opened his arms and braced his legs, grunting when you slammed into him. His arms wrapped around you, but your head pulled back, and he saw your out-of-breath expression right when you said, “I didn’t miss it, right?”

Using one hand on his chest to balance yourself, you grabbed at his left wrist, lifting it to check the time. A couple seconds from midnight. “Aha!” You grinned like a madman, keeping your eyes on his watch as it counted up. As soon as the seventh turned into the eighth, your smile widened, and you met his gaze again. “Happy birthday, Seungcheol.”

He kept his right arm exactly where it was. For a second, all he did was blink. “Where were you?”

“Getting your gift!” You brought up the hand that had held his wrist, and he finally noticed the patterned bag hanging from your elbow. “Remember that signing event you couldn’t get into?”

“The what?”

“You know… the soccer one.” There was a spark of pride in the way your lips quirked up, and Seungcheol’s eyes widened.

“You mean— no way.”

Stepping back, you slipped the handles of the gift bag down to your hand and held it up right in front of him. “See for yourself.”

Unable to help himself, Seungcheol snatched the bag from you as you giggled at his enthusiasm. He quickly and then carefully scooped out an encased, display quality soccer ball — his soccer ball that his mom told him must’ve gotten lost when she did her spring cleaning months ago. And smack dab in the middle of it was a black sharpie signature.

“No fucking way,” he whispered. “Son Heungmin signed my ball?” He looked up at you, incredulous. “You don’t even like soccer. That event sold out in seconds.”

You shrugged, tilting your head and swaying in that sort of yeah, I’m a pretty big deal manner. “I have my ways.”

“But…” Seungcheol turned the case around in his hands, still a bit unable to believe it. And even then, for some reason, it wasn’t the most important thing to him at that moment. “That was supposed to be a week ago.”

He stopped himself from asking why you were almost late. You were allowed to be. You weren’t his.

Unfortunately, you could read him like a neon sign. “I’m sorry,” you said, stepping closer with a regretful look on your face. Your hand came up to lightly touch his arm. “The signing got pushed back a week because the guy got sick, and the only return flight I could book was already cutting it close. Then my phone died — I can’t believe I forgot Joshua’s power bank again — and the cabbie never heard of this place and I couldn’t look up the address… I just gave him the nearest street I could think of and ran. But hey, I still made it, right?”

Smiling, you patted his arm almost like it was another apology. “I guess I missed a lot, though. And you guys were probably worrying about me because I couldn’t answer my phone.”

Seungcheol didn’t miss the fact that you weren’t only talking about him, but Jeonghan and Joshua too. For some reason, his chest started hurting again.

“Hey, okay, okay.” You must’ve noticed his expression and mistook it for his usual sulking. To placate him, you stepped even closer and wrapped both your arms around his torso, careful not to knock over the soccer ball still balanced on one of his hands. “How about I give you two gifts. This one—” You nodded at the ball. “—for your birthday, and whatever you want as my apology. An extra birthday wish.”

He held his breath. You were so close that he could count your eyelashes.

“Hm?” You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows, and Seungcheol could feel himself getting dizzy. “Got anything in mind?”

Slowly, Seungcheol nodded, letting his free hand drift back to its place around you. His eyes glanced downward.

“Seungcheol?” you whispered.

He leaned closer.

“Devil.”

Almost too innocently, you pulled away, tilting to the side to see Jeonghan exiting the bar, unsurprisingly followed by Joshua. 

“What happened to you?” Jeonghan asked. He stepped up to the both of you, draping an arm over Seungcheol’s shoulder. He couldn’t quite tell, but it almost felt like Jeonghan was trying to hold him back, all the while not looking away from you. “We’ve been trying to contact you all night.”

You let out a soft breath and smiled. “It’s a long story.”

Joshua jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Come on in. I ordered your favourite.” His gaze switched to Seungcheol. “You too old man.”

“Yah, who are you calling old?”

You laughed, and Jeonghan chose to hang himself off you instead, pulling you toward the restaurant. Joshua followed. 

Seungcheol stayed rooted to his spot, but he felt himself unfreeze when you looked back at him and held out your hand. He took one last look at the starless sky.

Next year. On his next birthday, he’ll make his wish.

⭒-⭒-⭒

“So?” Joshua smirks as soon as Seungcheol gets into the Blueberry’s passenger seat. “Have you thought of this year’s wish?”

He crosses his arms and makes a point of looking out the window. “Maybe that my partners don’t trick me into thinking a huge deal is about to fall through.”

“Oh, c’mon. That was funny and cute and you know it. Besides, your favourite person basically plotted the whole thing, so if you’re gonna get all sulky, you should do it at them.”

Brow raised, Seungcheol peeks over at Joshua as he drives. “It wasn’t you and Jeonghan?”

A small laugh escapes Joshua’s nose, and as if just the thought of you is warm, his smile softens. “I know you love us too, but only they’d be able to fool you with that little ruse. You’re way too wary of us.”

Well, he can’t argue with that.

“Speaking of,” Joshua says, “Obviously you know what’s going on, but you gotta prepare your shocked face for the boys. They learned what surprise parties are yesterday, and they’ve practically been bouncing up and down in excitement.” He glances over at him and smirks again. “Maybe you should practice now.”

Wary — because of course he is — Seungcheol eyes the blackbox camera of the car. “Are you recording me?”

⭒

The boys yell, “Surprise!” and jump out from behind various furniture, dashing toward Seungcheol as he crouches down to pull the little misfits into his arms. They laugh at his shocked expression and “oh my gosh I had no idea!” and the way he pretends to fall over from their affection until their cheeks go red, and Chan only lets go to run over to the kitchen, grab a bowl of homemade yakgwa from your outstretched hands, and bring it back to Seungcheol with a proud smile.

“For you!” he cheers, lifting the bowl with both hands. Seungcheol ruffles his soft black hair as thanks and then tosses a piece in his mouth, taking a moment to look up at you.

As you watch the whole exchange from the sidelines, you lean against the kitchen counter with a look that you only wear when everyone is together. Happiness comes in many forms for Seungcheol’s family, but he loves this one on you a lot. 

Chan almost drops his precious bowl when Joshua mentions making a “special surprise birthday lunch,” but Jeonghan swoops in to save both the bowl and Chan from tumbling to the floor. He and Joshua hype up making sandwiches to the kids — Seungkwan wants icing on his and Vernon wants baked beans — but it’s clear that the ulterior motive is to get Seungcheol a tiny reprieve with you. A little gift from the two of them.

“Happy birthday,” you say softly as soon as he nears, wrapping your arms around his middle. 

He gladly returns the embrace. “That was a mean prank,” he whispers.

“Was it?” You tilt your head with that smile he loves so much. “But you were so cute this morning.”

He pulls you closer. “Still. It’s my birthday, you know.”

“You’re the one who didn’t know, silly.”

His lips purse into a pout, and you chuckle, tightening your arms around him.

“Okay, okay, I’ll make it up to you. How about an extra birthday wish? Got anything in mind?”

“You know what I’m going to ask for.” He pinches your side.

Flinching with another chuckle, you lean just a little bit closer. “Maybe. It’s just the only thing you’ve used your wishes on since… how long ago now?”

He doesn’t know off the top of his head, and to be honest, it doesn’t matter right now. All he cares about is knowing he’s going to get his wish again, and next year, too. And on every birthday of his from now on.

“So?” you tease. “What’s your wish?”

He pulls you snug against him, right where you're supposed to be, and Seungcheol smiles with all the love he has to give.

“Kiss me.”

he looks surprised when you stop him at first, face crinkled in confusion before he sees the smirk on your lips and his own features change to match yours. “which is,” he trails off and starts to lean in, lips puckered slightly as he expects for you to close the distance and give him a kiss. however, you only take a step back, fingers trailing gently down his arm before you grasp his hand and lead him further into your apartment.

his eyes never leave your form, even as you push him to sit down on the couch and try to move away from him again. he doesn’t let you at first, keeping your hand firmly enclosed in his as long as he can manage before finally allowing you to escape him.

you take a breath to push the nerves down for a moment as you make your way to the center of the room, pulling out your phone and quickly finding the app where you’d already queued up a song. you double check that you’re connected to the speaker you’d set in the living room before you’d left for dinner and place your device on top. with one last breath, and a teasing glance over your shoulder to find your boyfriend practically on the edge of his seat, you press play.

you try to ignore the way you can hear mingi suck in a sharp breath as the song starts, getting an idea of where the night is heading, and you try to keep your focus on the choreography you’d planned, with a little help from yunho and san, earlier that week. you let the music flow through you, still facing away from the man you’re putting on a show for, and gather all of the confidence that you can muster as you sway your hips to the beat, emphasizing your ass with a deliberate arch of your back.

you whip around to face mingi and the way the man is looking at you almost causes you to pause before you remember that you’re supposed to be the one seducing him, his eyes practically removing every layer of the outfit you’d worn that night for his birthday dinner. however, as much as you want to just forget the rest of your routine and indulge in your boyfriend in this moment, you don’t want to disappoint with the present you’d promised. instead, you continue with your performance, sensually lowering yourself to your knees as the lyrics of the song prompted you down, down, down. you tried to continue focusing on yourself, using your hands to run along your body until you got to your thighs, giving them a gentle slap before spreading them with a wink. if you weren’t so focused on the moves you had planned to do next you might have noticed the way mingi had seemed to stiffen, very obviously affected by the moves you were pulling off.

as the chorus of the song hits, you move onto your hands and knees, starting to crawl toward your boyfriend and now fully aware of the way he instinctively spreads his legs for you, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches you inch toward him. you take your time but eventually end up kneeling between his legs, placing your palms onto each of his knees and using his sturdy legs to push yourself up, being sure to arch your back so that your chest is placed perfectly into mingi’s line of sight and making him lean back. his shoulders hit the cushion behind him with an audible thump and you, partly as a reflex but mostly because you know it will continue to rile him up, use your thumb to pull your boyfriend’s bottom lip from between his teeth. the act receives the intended effect immediately, mingi releasing a shuddering whine that sends a shiver through your limbs and makes the tips of your fingers tingle.

you trail your fingertips down the side of his neck and over his collarbone, resisting the urge to grab at his collar and just pull him into a passionate kiss to break the tension. instead, you continue to move your hand to press against his chest and let out a whisper to match the lyrics that have almost become background noise to the energy between you both. you command, let’s make tonight your birthday.

as the next line mentions hands, hands, hands, you use your own to grab his and lift his arms above his head, interlocking your fingers as you climb onto his lap. your thighs press into mingi’s gently as you straddle his lap, keeping your hips raised as to not place your entire weight onto him and to raise your face above his, forcing him to tilt his head back to look up at you. you continue to lean into your boyfriend, forcing his arms back gently and making his back arch slightly. as you move forward, you start to close the distance between your faces, mingi watching you with intense interest through heavily lidded eyes.

just as your bottom lip ghosts against the delicate skin of his chin you drop your hips down, releasing your weight onto his lap, and straighten out your fingers to let your hands slip out of his. you let your hands drag down the undersides of his arms as he starts to sit back up, no longer being pressed backward into the couch, but he keeps his arms up until your palms meet his body once more, pressing into the thick muscle of his pecs as you lean in until your chests barely meet.

for a moment he brings his hands down to wrap around each of your wrists lightly but you quickly push against him and maneuver your hands to switch positions, encasing his wrists in your fingers instead. he’s pliant under you as you move his hands toward your waist and he responds immediately, holding you with a gentleness that radiates the care only mingi can express through touch alone.

you try to mimic that tenderness as you place your hands onto either side of his face, using your thumbs to run over the apples of his cheeks before pressing into the mole under his eye, a gesture you’ve done hundreds of times before as a way to silently express your love for your boyfriend. you can tell he recognizes it right away, letting a sigh release from his chest and a shiver run down his spine as he closes his eyes, giving your waist a soft squeeze in gratitude.

before either of you can get too lost into the moment, you are pulling away from him, moving back into the center of the room to dance along as the chorus begins again.

being the more choreographed part of the routine, you opt to avoid looking at mingi for fear that his pointed gaze will make you freeze up once again. rather, you choose to keep your gaze on the floor or your hands, hoping that the decision comes off as sultry and mysterious instead of shy or intimidated.

the bridge approachs quicker than you anticipate and soon your eyes are flicking up to meet mingi’s as you bring a hand up, curling a finger toward yourself as you ask for his full attention as though his focus has been anywhere but you for the last two minutes and twenty seconds. however, with the outfit you’d worn to dinner tonight, his attention has been on you more than anything else for most of the night.

you can see the hesitation behind his eyes as he debates whether you’re asking him to actually approach you or simply keep paying attention but fortunately you answer that question for him quickly as you approach, one hand presented out in front of you for him to take and you tug gently to pull him to stand. you easily guide him to where you had been standing before and do a few seductive twirls, keeping your hands connected above your head before you let it go and release them to make your way behind him.

for a moment you don’t do anything, letting the tension simmer as the music builds, and mingi’s head turns out of curiosity. he tries to peek at you out of the corner of his eye, wondering what exactly you’re up to, right as the breakdown begins and your arms wrap around his waist, hands splayed on the fronts of his hips and moving down over the tops of his thighs.

he jumps slightly at the surprise contact, his head whipping down to watch your hands on his body.

“relax,” you breath as you notice how tense he is, muscle under your fingers held tight.

you hear him exhale and notice the way his back moves, his shoulders lowering as he tries to just enjoy the moment.

you continue to run your hands down as far as you can reach without bending your knees, your chest flush against his broad back for a moment too long before you pull your hands back up, passing where they had begun and ending up caressing his abdomen. once again, he tenses a bit, although before you can mention his reaction, he’s relaxing, head tilting back slightly and you assume he closes his eyes.

your lips stretch into a smile at his reaction and you run your nails over his abs, opening your arms to drag along the thin fabric of his dress shirt until your reach his sides and he jerks just slightly at the gentle tickle. you chuckle quietly at his response to the touch and you can already hear the beginnings of a whine bubble in the back of his throat but you don’t give him time to release it before you’re retracting your hands and moving around to be in his line of sight once more.

you’re a little surprised mingi has managed to keep his hands to himself this whole time, remaining loose enough for you to manipulate, but you’d guess it’s mostly due to the surprise factor.

the song has started to build to the chorus for the final time and with a single hand to his chest you manage to back him up until he’s seated once more, not even bothering to fight back even though you could see his hands itching to be on you in some way.

he settles quickly, ready to see the finale of your performance, and you watch his tongue trail over his bottom lip as he gives you a thorough look up and down.

you don’t back away from him as you turn once more and decide that he’s been patient enough for the last three minutes, sitting directly onto his lap as the chorus hits and rolling your body against his. your hands search for his own and once you find them you guide them to your body, pressing them into your front as a way to prompt him to place them anywhere he’d like. immediately he holds on, kneading and stroking along your form, being sure to pay extra attention to his favorite spots, and you can’t help but let your head roll back onto his shoulder. his lips find purchase on your neck quickly, gentle kisses quickly becoming open mouthed until he’s nipping at the shell of your ear.

neither of you are focused on the music much anymore as he wraps his arms completely around you, closing the distance between your back and his front. he continues to attack your neck as your hand finds its way into his hair, tugging gently at the black and blonde strands and feeling his hot breath on your skin as a breathy moan slips past his lips. his reaction sends a shiver through you, your nerves immediately lit on fire.

“thank you,” mingi breathes out, pressing a tender kiss on your shoulder that’s so sweet it contrasts the heated energy flowing between you both.

you hum in satisfaction when he returns to nibbling at your skin, noticing the final lines of the song booming through the speaker and you somehow manage to push through the intoxicating power of your boyfriend to pry his arms off of you and stand, although he refuses to let you get far as two of his hands catch one of yours.

you don’t fight, instead simply turning to straddle his lap once again, grasp firm on his strong shoulders. his own hands find purchase on the flesh of your ass and you try not to react when he massages your cheeks.

let’s make tonight your birthday

as the final line rings out into the thick air of your apartment, you lean in, finally pressing your lips against his own and letting them move together. the kiss is electric as you finally dance together, passionate and hot.

when you break away only a moment later, mingi follows you until you’re holding his face in your hands and you can finally say what’s been on the edge of your tongue all night.

“happy birthday,” you whisper, and as soon as the words are out, he’s diving back into you, the taste of appreciation on his tongue.

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note alexa, add birthday sex by jeremih to the queue