musicmania101

warnings: smut, toxic relationship.

"If I kiss you right now," your hand held the side of his face, rubbing over his bottom lip. "would you stop me?" There was something akin to fear in his eyes. You didn't understand why. Were you someone to be scared of?

"Is the little prince scared of me? Why?" You asked, your tone disgustingly condescending. He was scared, of course—scared of getting his heart broken, of falling for you and being treated as nothing worthy. You've been using him all along, but he stayed. He stayed for your touch, for the validation he gets while being in your arms.

You've mastered the art of fooling him. He mistakes the gentleness in your touch to be love. He sees the desire in your eyes as love. He sees everything as love. It was all love through his rosy lens, to his naïve mind.

You remember that he still hasn't replied to your taunt, and you wipe away a tear from his eye. Gently. Or in his words, lovingly. "I asked you a question, darling. Would you stop me?" Your voice was firm, but soft, barely above a whisper. Loving.

"I-I don't know.." He sounded so broken. Was it all from your hands? From your love?

"What are we?" Even while asking that, his voice had been shaky soft. He's never hid his vulnerability around you. Whenever he'd dare think you were using him, he'd kill that thought. Or rather, you'd kill it. With your words, with your touch, with your love.

"We're lovers, darling."

He shakes his head, tears streaming down his face.

"B-Baby.." It was pitiful, pathetic to your ears. But you pressed kisses against his skin, reveling in the salt of his tears.

Soon enough, as always, you were tangled in the sheets, moans escaping his parted lips as you ravished him. You'd run your hands all over his body, whisper praises into his soft, heated skin. You'd pet his hair, even hold his hand. He loved it. You loved it. He loved you. You loved it.

His pretty hands gripped your shoulders as he neared his release, hands that should be pushing you away with how much of a villain you were. But he loved you. His moans got softer, more desperate as your thrusts grew erratic. He came, and you held him close.

It was cute how he'd nuzzle into your neck every time, pressing soft and almost worshipful kisses. And as every time without fail, "I love you.." But you wouldn't even say it back in post-coital bliss.

"You're beautiful, Jinnie."

genre: smut warnings: language, deepthroating, oral (reader receives),slight mention of dacryphilia, one use of daddy

You were good at many things. Taking breaks was not one of them. Jisung understood how easy it was to lose track of time in the studio. But you've been there the whole day, and it didn't look like you were planning to come out anytime soon. He opened the studio door and leaned against the doorframe, watching as your eyes concentrated on the screen in front of you, eyebrows furrowed.

He walked in, wrapping his arms around your neck from behind. You turned your head, a bit startled from his sudden appearance. "Still up? It's one in the morning," he said, chuckling at the surprise on your face. You took off your headphones before stretching your arms in front of you, biceps straining and the veins in your forearms popping out. "It's one already?" you asked, taking a deep breath and leaning back against the chair.

"Mhm. It's past one, actually," he mumbled into your hair, pressing a soft kiss there. You tilted your head back and looked at him, patting your thigh. "Didn't realise. Can't shut my brain off sometimes, you know how it is." He saw you pat your thigh and immediately sat on your lap, straddling you with his arms around your neck.

"You're working too hard, babe," he purred, leaning closer and brushing your lips together. You sighed into his plump lips, fingers digging into his waist as you pulled him closer, capturing his lips in a deep, slow kiss. He smiled into the kiss, letting your tongue enter his mouth as his hands slid up your shirt, tracing the muscles beneath his fingertips. As you broke away, his hands reached your shoulders, working out the knots. You let out a relieved groan as he worked out the tension that had been building up for days. You tilted your head back, him not missing the opportunity to kiss your neck.

"Fuck.." You hadn't realised just how worked up you were, cock already stirring awake at his touch. He smirked, one hand coming down to palm your bulge while the other scratched at your nape. You let out a shaky breath. "Don't tease me, you brat." He just chuckled, squeezing your cock through your pants and leaning in to peck your nose. "You do need something to wind down, right?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to your racing pulse.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his warm mouth made contact with your pulse point, sending electrifying sparks dancing across your skin. "Yes, goddamn it… I need you to help me relax, darling," you breathed, resolve crumbling under the onslaught of desire. "Think you can do that for me, Sungie?" He slid down your pants and freed your throbbing cock, wrapping a hand around it and swirling a thumb around the weeping tip. "Anytime, daddy~"

Fuck. Him and his nicknames. You bucked into his hand, cock twitching with the way he was looking at you. You could resist breathing more than you could resist that look. Once he got on his knees in front of you, you grabbed the back of his head, guiding his lips down to envelop the swollen head of your cock. He teased your tip, hands on your thighs as he lapped up the precum and traced his tongue along the prominent vein on your massive cock. You were trying your best not to be desperate and fuck his mouth, but he was making it so hard. "Shit, baby…I won't hold back if you act like this…" You tangled your fingers in his silky hair as his talented mouth descended, taking you inch by glorious inch. He could feel your grip on his hair tighten and he was smirking as he looked up at you absolutely losing it. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he took your entire cock, nose touching your skin.

Your entire body went rigid, a low, guttural cry tearing from your throat as his mouth engulfed every throbbing inch of your length. "F-Fuck!" The feeling of your boyfriend's hot, wet throat constricting around your sensitive cock was too intense, too perfect. Your free hand gripped the armrest of your chair so hard your knuckles turned white. You thrusted shallowly into his mouth, not being able to resist the warmth. You watched with a predatory gaze as he pulled away to breathe, a string of saliva connecting his plush lips to your cock. He looked so fucking pretty—glassy eyes wide, soft cheeks pink, and lips glistening. You could eat him alive. He dove back in, sucking eagerly, making sure to keep those pretty eyes locked onto your lustful ones.

"God, you're fucking good at this, aren't you?" As if you didn't know. Throwing your head back against the back of the chair, you buried yourself to the hilt, orgasm crashing over you in waves of blinding ecstasy. It always hit different when you were too pent up, like a glass of cold water past midnight. Jisung kept his mouth still for a while before pulling back and coaxing the rest of your cum out, moaning in approval of your musky flavour.

"You're so hot when you come, you know that?"

You chuckled, pulling him onto your lap. Your thumbs brushed away his tears.

"And you're pretty when you cry."

genre: hurt/comfort, smut warnings: language, insecurities, strained relationship, one mention of sex (in dialogue), loneliness, feelings of abandonment, bp!chan, fingering, oral (chan receives), edging, overstimulation, unprotected sex, slight choking sfw-version

You were undressing, taking off the silk shirt you'd put on for your anniversary, rubbing off the eyeliner that Chan found attractive on you. At least the dinner was at home; you wouldn't have been able to handle the rejection of being stood up in public. Something in you told you to call him. But it was his duty as a boyfriend to remember your anniversary, right? You sighed as you looked in the mirror. You looked tired, when you had been very lively just a while ago. The dinner you made was already in the fridge. You had a slice of bread, not being able to stomach a full meal at the moment. You had texted him. But he didn't even see them. He was staying at the dorm, and you haven't seen him in four whole days.

There was the occasional video calls where he could barely keep his eyes open, but to you, it felt like he was doing it out of obligation. So you'd tell him to go to bed. He'd make sleepy promises about a date night, but you knew he wouldn't follow through. You understood his schedule, you were busy too. But you always made time for him. Maybe it was the exhaustion talking, or maybe the late hour, but you felt like you shouldn't make time for him anymore. Something petty in you snarled, telling you to let him initiate something for once. But you loved him, busy schedules and all. You've tried to talk to him about it before, but it would either end in him being too tired to talk, or making promises that would be thrown in the wind later.

Putting on a t-shirt and sweatpants, you went to bed. You couldn't sleep, though. You were tired of it, of not even being an afterthought. You tossed and turned, desperately chasing the sleep that was running faster than your mind. You've already counted hundreds of sheep, but no avail. You sat up, rubbing your eyes as you glanced at the clock.

12:56 am.

He sighed. That was earlier than he thought it'd be when he checked the time as he was getting ready to leave. At least that was progress, right? He grabbed his water bottle and phone, leaving the studio and heading straight to the dorm. A small smile tugged at his lips despite his exhaustion when he heard his members' chatter once he got there. Jeongin looked up, gasping jokingly as he saw Chan enter.

"Look who's here!"

"You're alive?" Seungmin deadpanned. Chan shook his head in faux exasperation as he put down his water bottle on the coffee table. "Surprising, I know."

"What's surprising is how your boyfriend still stays," Minho said, earning a smack on the bicep from a concerned Felix. Chan froze as he heard that. Was that something he could laugh off? It's not like Minho was wrong. "At this point, we spend more time with him than you do," Hyunjin piped up, looking up from his phone.

That…was true as well. Goddamnit. Chan clenched his fist, angry. Not at the members, but at himself. If you could make time, why didn't he? He wasn't that much busier than you. He opened his phone to check his messages. The lockscreen of you and him making a heart in the snow was crowded with notifications. From you, from his manager, from bubble, everything. Two missed calls from you as well.

"He's gonna be like, 'what boyfriend?'" That hit a bit too close to home. Chan was too focused on his phone to hear who exactly had said that, but it was probably Minho. He's the one who introduced you to him anyway. He opened your chat.

8:00 am - "Happy anniversary, channie 💖I love you so much."

Shit. It was your anniversary. And he forgot. Now it was 1:08 am. The next day.

9:00 pm - "You coming home?"

His heart drops as he grabs his keys and rushes out of the dorm, slamming the door shut behind him. Changbin looked startled. "Was that too far?" Minho rolled his eyes before glancing at the door. "He should learn to be a good boyfriend."

When he got home, you were in the kitchen—sitting on a stool with your laptop on the island. Guilt gnawed at his chest as he saw you look up at him when you heard the door open. You didn't say anything, just went back to typing. He walked over to you and sat on the stool next to you, wringing his hands as he thought of how to deal with this. He knew you had gone to work in the morning, and you'd still made dinner that you made him promise he'd be home for. He could see the trace of dark eyeliner in your waterline. You had dressed up for him. God, he felt like such an idiot.

"M/n…" he started, not really knowing how to continue. Your fingers stilled. A breath. And you continued typing.

"What?" It was cold, harsher than you meant for it to be. But you didn't care to change your tone. He winced at the sharpness in your voice that cut through him. He didn't blame you, though. You had every right to be hurt and disappointed, angry even. He deserved it. But he'll never deny it hurt. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was as if his words had a mind of their own, refusing to come out of fear. He rehearsed what he was going to say while in the car, but those words weren't enough, falling like leaves in the coldness emanating from you.

"I'm sorry." Not enough. Never enough. You were understanding, kind, fucking perfect sometimes. And all he could give you was a 'sorry'? He held back his tears as his mind screamed at him that he was even more inadequate than that apology. He didn't want to cry. Not now. He didn't want you to think he was doing it for sympathy. You'd never think that, he knew, but anger makes people act different.

A bitter chuckle left your lips at Chan's apology. How dare he show up late, not even on the day of your anniversary and say "I'm sorry"? Did he seriously think that was enough? You turned your head to look at him for the first time since he got home. He looked exhausted—skin dry and paler than usual, lips chapped, dark eyebags under eyes brimming with tears that you couldn't tell the cause for. Was he sorry, or were they tears of frustration and tiredness?

"Try again." The words were like venom. It sounded as if you'd throw him out if he gets it wrong. Maybe you would. He flinched at just how much pent up anger your voice was dripping with. You set your focus back on the screen, not letting yourself feel anything soft towards the man crying in front of you.

"I know I fucked up. I fucked up so bad." He tried to speak through his tears, wiping them away hastily. "I don’t… I don’t even know where to start," he choked out, his voice faltering with each word. "I’ve been so… selfish. So caught up in my own world that I didn’t even notice how much I was hurting you. How much I was making you feel… invisible." His hands reached out but he didn't dare to touch you. Not yet. "I should’ve been there, M/n. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve remembered us, and I should’ve been home with you tonight. You deserved that. You deserved better."

The tears spilled freely now, his hands shaking as they wiped at his cheeks, but they just kept coming. "I’m sorry," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "I’m sorry I made you feel unimportant. I’m sorry I didn’t make time for you when you’ve always made time for me. I… I was so blind, and now I feel like I’ve lost everything. You mean the world to me. And I… I don’t know how I let it get this bad."

You sighed, clenching your jaw in an attempt to fight back your own tears. They weren't from sadness. You'd buried that deep inside after too many instances of Chan being absent, of you being tossed aside. You didn’t meet his eyes, your focus unwavering on the screen in front of you. Your fingers continued to dance across the keyboard, an almost mechanical motion that didn’t seem to have any real meaning. You were so close but so far. He felt like he had to climb a wall and slay a beast to touch your heart now, to at least get you to glance at him.

"Did one of your members tell you to come? Were they the ones who told you it was our anniversary?" It stung. It wasn't completely false. If it wasn't for them, he would've just gone to bed. But he shook his head through tears.

"I-I saw your text."

"Wow, how nice of you, Chris. I didn't know you knew how to check messages." A part of you was guilty for adding onto his stress, but the bigger part was tired. You were tired of all this, and you weren't going to hold back. You were hurt, and you'd be damned if you don't show it.

"Baby, please.." He let out a choked sob. Every word from your mouth felt like daggers in his heart, and he'd willingly take them if it means you'd forgive him. "I love you, M/n. I love you more than anything. And I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know that. But I need you to know how sorry I am. I don’t want to be the person who keeps letting you down. I don’t want to be the reason you feel unloved or unimportant. Because you are the most important thing to me, and I’ve been too blind to show you that."

"I don't want to be the most important, Chris. I just want to be important." You shut your laptop and turned to him, your eyes red-rimmed from holding back tears. "I understand that you're busy, but so am I. I have a demanding job, and a social life. I still make time for you! Is it that hard to show up for me?" You clenched your fist when you saw his eyes widen at that. You'd accidentally let that slip. You didn't want to be vulnerable right now. You wanted to at least be in control of this argument.

"M-M/n, you know it's not-" Did you really think you were hard to love? He catches himself thinking 'I'd do anything for you' and then bitterness floods his chest. He can't even show up to a dinner.

"Forget it," you gritted out, hand reaching out to open your laptop. He caught your wrist, looking up at you, begging with his eyes. "I can't just let it go, M/n. I fucked up. Please, let me make this right. Please."

"What are you even gonna do, huh? How long has it been since we ate something together, since we had a date? How long has it been since we've had sex? Forget all that, how long has it been since we last had a proper fucking conversation??", you spat, veins bulging in your neck as you seethe. "You haven't been doing shit! You promised me the first time you cancelled that you'd try your best to be here, and look where we are!" Your eyes were wide with anger, a tear slipping free from the chaos inside you. You never got angry. But this is too much for even you to handle. You couldn't be a patient saint anymore.

Your words were hitting Chan where it hurt. 'You're not enough,' his mind echoed. His words, desperate to prove himself, spilled past his lips like a flood even when his logic was telling him to listen. This was the longest conversation you've had in a while. "I'm trying, M/n-"

"I don't want to hear your bullshit right now. You don't get to tell me you're trying. If I can make time, so can you! I'm surprised you even remember I'm your boyfriend." The words felt like ash in your mouth. It was uncomfortable to say all this to the man you loved so much. But what choice were you left with?

He buried his face in his hands, unable to keep it together any longer. The tears came harder now, shaking his entire body. His heart was breaking into pieces as he thought about everything he had taken for granted. He had hurt the person he loved the most, and he didn't know if he could fix it. But he had to try. He would beg to just try. He would beg to be selfish just one more time, for you to stay.

"I don't know if I can keep going like this, Chris. Do your promises mean nothing to you? Do I mean nothing to you? You have to follow up on your words, you know that right? Why didn't you at least have the fucking decency to text me you wouldn't come home? At least then I know you remember I exist." Your anger wasn't a crashing storm, but venom. You didn't destroy everything in your way, just the target. Every second stings, every word burns, and you'd keep going. "I can't wait for you to decide if you want to show up. I can't just be there when it's convenient for you. I'm a fucking human with a goddamn life if you forgot."

He sobbed harder. He wanted to hug you, but he was scared. "I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby, p-please."

"We don't even feel real anymore." Straight to the heart. He stilled, your gazes locking. Did you mean that?

"Don't say that.."

You didn’t say anything right away, but the way you looked at him—so tired, so hurt—spoke volumes. He could feel your heart breaking in the silence between you, and it tore him apart. He wanted to fix it, he wanted to make it stop, but he wasn’t sure if he could anymore. But if there was any chance, if there was even a sliver of hope that you might still want him, he would do whatever it takes to make it right. To make you feel real again, to make your love feel real again. "I’ll do anything," he whispered through his tears, his voice raw with desperation. "Anything to make you feel like this is real again. I’m so sorry. Please don’t give up on us. I’ll fight for us, if you’ll let me." His eyes stayed locked on yours, pleading, as he waited for you to say something—anything—that would tell him there was still a chance.

"You gave up on us first, Chan." You hadn't realised how tight you were gripping the fabric of your pants. You hadn't realised how tight your chest felt. Chan shakes his head slowly, going over to the sink to wash his face before sitting down on the floor, knees to his chest.

"I didn't give up, I swear." He sounded so small, so vulnerable. It had been so long since he was real with you. Sometimes, his persona would bleed into his interactions with you. You'd never mention it. But you'd always notice.

"Chan, get up." He looked at you, eyes wide and expectant as he stood up, walking over to you. You pulled him closer by the wrist so he was standing between your legs. He melted when your strong arms wrapped around him, nuzzling into your shoulder and reciprocating the action. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, holding you tight with the strength of his guilt. His love. Your lips pressed into his neck, breathing in his scent like fresh air after being deprived of it for so long. You kissed below his ear, hands sliding up his hoodie as you pulled him impossibly closer.

"I missed you, you know?" Your voice was soft. His heart ached. "I missed you too.."

You pulled away, taking in his features which had guilt written all over them. You brushed away a tear. "Don't cry anymore.." He nodded, leaning in. "Can I kiss you?" You smiled for the first time since he came home. You held his jaw with one hand, the other still on his back. Leaning in, you kissed him.

Your lips danced against each other, tongues tangling as you slid it past his lips. Lust replaced the oxygen he stole from your lungs as he gripped onto your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. You kissed him like you were trying to swallow him whole, like you've forgotten the shape of his mouth and want to relearn it. When you broke away for air, he slid off your t-shirt and let his hands roam your torso, leaning in to kiss your neck. Hickeys bloomed on your skin like flowers that would soon turn out like rainclouds in the sky. His lips were doing what he couldn't do with words. His hand tugged down your sweatpants, wrapping around your cock and stroking it to life. You pulled back, kissing along his jawline and down his neck as you stood, caging him against the kitchen island. You took off his hoodie and kicked off your sweatpants that were pooled around your ankles now.

Capturing his lips in another searing kiss, one of your hands found their way into his shorts sliding past his underwear, middle and ring finger parting his soaked folds as you thumbed at his clit. He squirms, lips latching onto your pecs. "B-Baby.." You wrap a hand around his throat, forcing him to look at you as you press him against the island with your hips pressed together, your cock against his thigh. You slide a finger in, watching as he moans sweetly. Greedy, you kiss him again, drinking in his sounds as if that could quench your thirst.

"You're gonna make it up to me, okay? I'm gonna fuck you for as long as I waited for you." He whimpers, nodding as he bucked into your hand. You slid another finger in, kissing and nipping at his sensitive chest. You use your hands to prop him up on the counter and lift him up when he instinctively wraps his legs around you. Once in the bedroom, you wasted no time to toss him onto bed and climb in, pinning both his wrists above his head with your hand as the other—fingers still slick with his juices—slid down his torso. You spread his thighs wider with your hand, lips attacking his neck and fingers curling into his leaking pussy. "So wet for me, darling," you purred into his ear, the tips of your fingers meeting his g-spot as he cried out and shot his head to the side.

"P-Please.." He sounded so fucking pretty. His moans were music, melodious and sweet. It always sounded better when he was begging. "Such a mess already, baby? I've barely done anything." There was a smirk on your lips. A proud, possessive one. He was yours. "But go ahead and finish your sentence for me. Please, what?"

"Want your cock.." You chuckled, your fingers curling cruelly as he clenched around you. "You don't get to be so impatient right now, lovely…just wait for a tiny bit, 'kay?" He nodded, gasping as his orgasm approached, looming over him like a shadow that will only be extinguished if you decide to. You kiss him. Again. Sloppy and passionate, not caring about anything else except etching into your mind the feeling of his lips against yours. You pulled away, only to hear his moans as he came onto your fingers. He was so pent-up. It was adorable. You pull your fingers out, bringing them to your sensuous lips as you suck them clean, holding eye contact. His face flushed a bit more than before. It wasn't something new—seeing you do things like this—but god, did it send him reeling every single time.

You let go of his hands and moved your head down to his pussy that was dripping with cum and arousal, not being able to resist such a delicious little treat. "Such a pretty little cunt~" You smirked, practically making out with his now sensitive pussy while his hips buck into your face, unconsciously or not, you didn't care. Your tongue swirled inside, tasting his sweetness, nose rubbing at his swollen clit. Your cock throbbed—red, angry, and aching for his warm heat. His hands gripped your hair and shoulder, trying to anchor himself in the storm of your lust. He could never get enough when you were like this. When you were insatiable, taking and taking. When you fucked him like you owned him. Already sensitive, he felt another orgasm approaching. You noticed too, how his pussy clenched around your tongue as if it wants to rip it out and keep it there forever. You pulled away, smirking at his whine. At his pouty lips, his face that was contorted in pleasure and disappointment from you pulling away.

"Said you wanted my cock, right?" You growled into his ear, positioning your dick at his entrance which was now clenching around air. You buried yourself in him in a single thrust, gripping his hips with both hands hard enough to bruise as you threw your head back, groaning in pleasure. He gripped you like a vice, trying to push you deeper into his inviting warmth. Eager. Desperate. You began to thrust, slowly pulling out and pushing back in. Just to tease him. You knew he'd be crying, begging for more. He gasped, hands fluttering uselessly over your body, trying to grab on somewhere. The tip of your cock kissed his sweet spot with every thrust, stretching him wide around your shaft. He writhed under you, hands finally finding purchase on your shoulder and bicep as he pushed back against each thrust.

"H-Harder, please…" He was so polite. Always. Even in bed. You chuckled, the sound morphing into a shaky moan as you thrusted particularly hard, headboard hitting the wall. "Like that?" His attempt at speaking just dissolved into words as he let go of whatever semblance of composure he had left. You always make him lose his fucking mind. Your hands, mouth, cock, everything just conspired against him, attacking him, leaving him breathless. You picked up your pace, grabbing one of his legs and putting it over your shoulder, every ounce of gentleness leaving your body. He asked for hard, you'd give him hard. He hears you say something, distorted as his eyes roll back and mouth gapes open, tears staining the bedsheet. You tried to speak, to act all cocky as if you weren't losing your mind with his tight little cunt gripping you like that. All that comes out are grunts and groans, occasional winces as his nails scrape against your skin.

"Y-You're so fucking tight, god, fuck." You didn't know what you were saying, for the entire world was reduced to his warmth around you. He couldn't feel anything but you rutting into him. He couldn't feel the bruising grip on his hips, and he could barely register you biting his neck—teeth dragging along his heated skin before sinking in, biting hard and just shy of drawing blood. Your tongue slipped out, licking up his neck before leaving open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, moving to nip at his ear, nose buried in his hair. Each buck of your hips knock the air out of him. He swears he could feel you in his damn throat. Your grip on his thigh tightens, your thrusts growing erratic as your orgasm rushes close. "'M close. You gonna come for me, baby?", you growl into his ear, the question met with desperate nods by Chan who was rendered speechless.

His pussy fluttered around you, body writhing as he came undone yet again, coating your length with his release. You groaned into his ear, burying yourself completely inside, balls hitting his ass and drawing up as your climax neared. He was overstimulated—panting under you, toes curling, cries tearing out of his throat—as you came deep inside him, warmth flooding his insides as his vision blurred, body going limp onto the bed. You didn't pull out, instead thrusting shallowly, taking in every inch of his pleasured- no, destroyed expression. You lean down, breath fanning against his lips as you thrust again, forcing him to open his eyes.

"I'm not done yet, pretty."

divider by @toastray

genre: fluff

The practice room, always home, now felt like hell. Minho couldn't even hear the music anymore—just his ragged breathing and his shoes squeaking against the hardwood floors. He kept messing up, and he didn't have enough nutrition in him to tell him it's because he hasn't taken a break in- he doesn't even know how long. His knees give out and he stumbles, hands on the mirror so he doesn't fall. He gets a look at his face up close—he looked more gaunt, which made sense because proper meals were a fantasy these days, his eyebags looked and felt heavy, settling into the space above his cheekbones as a vessel for his stress to melt down into from his head. His lips were chapped. You had been too busy with production to fuss over them, to immediately brandish his strawberry lip balm the moment you see it.

He heaved, sliding down the mirror, head in his hands. Tears of frustration threatened to spill, but he blinked them back. He didn't want to deal with the headache that came with crying. With a deep, exhausted sigh that left his chest through his mouth like a freed prisoner, he got up, legs aching as he turned off the music. It wasn't too late, but he'd been there since morning, agonizing over every minute movement—the footwork, the expressions, the hips, the fingers—he needed every bone and muscle under his control. He only just realised his throat was dry and craving water. His water bottle was empty, and his eyes roamed between the four walls for an oasis. Nothing.

He didn't remember a second of the journey home. He was too tired to stop at a convenience store for water, too tired to do anything but sit in his manager's car. After a weak but genuine thanks, he padded inside the house, no, the home he shared with you. Living together came to you both as naturally as a child splitting a candy bar in half for their best friend. No second thoughts, just pure love. Just you pulling him closer every morning with a mumbled "just five more minutes..", just playing mario kart and screaming at each other like you'd end each other's entire bloodline only to cuddle afterwards, just drinking on the couch with some movie in the background that's soon forgotten as you get lost in your giggly conversation, just comfort and intimacy. That's what he needed right now. Not from anyone else, only from you.

He was met with the aroma of the kimchi jjigae on the stove that slipped into his heart and planted a damn garden there, the smoke growing arms and hugging him as if in an old cartoon. Even better, the sight of you stirring the pot, the 'hotter than the stove' apron he got you clinging to your frame, turning around to look at him as if he was the only one who mattered. As if he was the only one who existed. Your eyes weren't wide with adoration, you didn't run to him with your arms open, there was no big smile on your lips. No, this was quiet. The way your eyes softened, the way you gestured with a tilt of your head for him to sit down, and the way you turned back to turn off the stove and reach for the bowls. There was no need for grand gestures, you knew he'd be sat on the chair with happy eyes once you return with the bowls. You were used to him, and he was used to you. And that was what mattered. That's what anchored the both of you in the chaotic storm of your lives. Familiarity. Knowing that no matter what happens, you have each other. Cliché, but it was familiar. Clichés never change. You were his moon, drawing him in and making his heart dance like tides. Even after countless sunrises, you'd still be there. And he'd be waiting. No matter what.

He'd always sit down at that gesture you make, supporting his head in his hands with his elbow on the table as he looks at you with a barely perceptible smile and soft eyes that made your heart want to leave your chest and fall into his hands. But not this time. Not when everything else blurred and all he could see was you, his moon—soothing, guiding, glowing. You weren't glowing physically by any means at the moment—exhausted after hours holed up in the studio, opting only for a simple shower and not bothering with your elaborate skincare routine. But you glowed to him, like an angel, caring for him when you knew he'd be too tired to do it himself.

He wrapped his arms around your back, and you held his forearms, the cold spoon in your hand pressing against his skin. You set it down, turning around and pulling him into your chest as he burrowed into your warmth, as if he wants to bury himself between your ribs and kiss that racing heart. He breathed in your scent as if his lungs would wilt without it, hands fisting your shirt as if you'd disappear. The tears he fought earlier spilled. But he didn't fight this time. Because you were there to wipe them away, as if touching a dewdrop on a flower, to press a kiss to his forehead that lingered like a promise. It was a promise. And he'd trade anything for this, just this. Your fingers carded through his hair, soothing, gentle, with all the love in your heart pouring out through your body, seeping through his skin to join the flow of his blood. He looked up, achingly beautiful, tears glinting on his cheeks like the moon on water. You wiped them away, gentle as always, leaning in to kiss his forehead as always.

His right hand pulled you down by the shirt, his lips meeting yours. You melted into it, as if it was where you belonged. It was. It is. The kiss wasn't fireworks or sparks, but the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. And with the aroma of a home-cooked comfort wafting between you, you both knew the kiss would stay the same years later. Even as your lips left each other's warm embrace, you weren't ready to let go, one hand on his waist as the other cradled his head. He smiled at you, forgetting that your eyes weren't the universe. You smiled back, leaning in to give him that forehead kiss you missed earlier.

There was no spoken "I love you", neither of you being able to find words, lost in the depths of each other's eyes, photographing this moment in your memories. There wasn't a need for words anyway, the way he looked at you as if you personally placed every star in the sky and drew up every constellation was enough. The way you looked at him as if understanding every love poem at once was enough.

"Let's eat. You're exhausted."

"Mhm…feed me."

"I'm not your mother." You feed him anyway.

You always knew your first kiss would be in your kitchen—the heart of your home and the home of your heart.