#being comfortable

A loud, unmistakable burp escaped you, echoing just enough to make its presence known.

Everything froze.

Keeho’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth. His chewing slowed, then stopped entirely. His eyes widened just a little as he slowly turned his head to look at you, like his brain needed a second to reboot.

The room went quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge.

You met his stare, completely unfazed. You just shrugged, lips pressing together to keep from smiling.

For half a second, he looked genuinely stunned. Then his face cracked.

He laughed. Not a polite chuckle or a controlled laugh. He bent forward, shoulders shaking, one hand braced on his knee while the other still held the forgotten piece of chicken.

“Wow” he said between laughs. “That was one majestic Burp”

You grinned, wiping your fingers on a napkin. “Yeah.”

Keeho laughed even harder, tipping his head back this time. “I have never heard you burp before. Not once. Ever.”

“Well,” you said casually, grabbing another piece of chicken, “there’s a first time for everything.”

He stared at you with a wide smile, eyes bright with amusement. “I feel like I just unlocked a secret level.”

You chewed, swallowed, then looked at him with a playful glint in your eyes. “I had to make sure you were the right one,” you said. “Now I can be my true self.”

That set him off again.

“Oh my God,” he said, laughing so hard he had to set the chicken down. “So this whole time you were holding it in? For me?”

You nodded solemnly. “Great sacrifice.”

Keeho pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “I’m honored. Truly.”

He looked at you again, really looked this time, like he was seeing something new and precious. Not shocking. Not embarrassing. Just real.

“You know,” he said, voice softer now, “this is actually kind of amazing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The burp?”

“No,” he said. “The fact that you’re comfortable. Like… fully comfortable.”

You felt warmth spread through your chest. “You don’t think it’s gross?”

He scoffed. “Please. I live with five dudes. This is nothing.”

You laughed, leaning closer to him. He bumped his shoulder against yours, easy and familiar.

“Honestly,” he added, grabbing his soda again, “this makes me like you even more.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased. “You say that now.”

He smirked. “I mean it. No performance. No pretending to be perfect. Just fried chicken, soda, and accidental sound effects.”

You took another sip of soda, eyes locked on him. “Careful,” you said. “There might be more where that came from.”

Keeho grinned back, fearless. “Bring it on. I think I can handle the real you.”

The night went on with grease-stained fingers, shared laughter, and zero pressure to be anything other than exactly who you were.

✫Theo✫

The sports bar buzzed like a live wire. TVs lined the walls, all tuned to the same soccer match, the crowd rising and falling with every near miss. You and Theo sat shoulder to shoulder in a booth sticky with spilled beer and history, wings and fries littering the table like evidence of commitment.

Theo leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on the screen. His jaw tightened when his team fumbled an easy pass.

“Come on,” he muttered. “What was that?”

You laughed and took a sip of your beer, watching him more than the game. You liked this side of him. Focused. Passionate. Just a little dramatic.

Then his team missed an open shot.

Theo groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Ah, damn it. You have to take that shot. You can’t hesitate like that.”

That was your cue.

Something snapped loose in you, like a valve finally turning.

"Oh what the actual Fuck? Those Bastards couldn't even hit the goal when it's shoved into their hairy asses! For fucks sake!"

By the time you finished, the table behind you had gone quiet.

Theo had frozen mid-reach for his beer.

He stared at you, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, like he had just watched a plot twist he was not emotionally prepared for.

You turned to him, calm as ever, and lifted your empty bottle. “Do you want another beer?”

He blinked once. Then twice.

Then he chuckled, low and surprised, shaking his head as he leaned back against the booth. “Wow,” he said. “Okay. Where did all that filth come from?”

You laughed, shoulders relaxing now that it was out. “Years of watching bad games.”

Theo kept smiling, still processing. “You know,” he said slowly, “you’ve never talked like that in front of me. Not even once.”

You nodded. “I know.”

He tilted his head, studying you, curiosity bright in his eyes. “Why not?”

You shrugged, easy. “I wanted to see if you could manage me being myself.”

That did it.

Theo’s grin spread slow and genuine, like sunrise after a long night game. “Is that what this is?” he asked. “The unfiltered edition?”

“Pretty much,” you said. You glanced at him, suddenly a little more aware. “Is that a problem?”

Theo laughed, a real laugh, warm and full. He reached for his beer and took a long sip, eyes never leaving you. “A problem?” he repeated. “No. Not even close.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to feel personal despite the noise around you. “I actually think it’s pretty hot.”

You laughed, surprised, heat creeping up your neck. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “I like that you care. I like that you’re passionate. And honestly? Hearing you go off like that made the game way more entertaining.”

On screen, the crowd roared again. Theo’s team finally scored.

He pumped his fist, then looked back at you, eyes sparkling. “See? Maybe they just needed your energy.”

You clinked your new beers together, smiling wide. “Anytime.”

The game went on, louder, messier, more fun than before. And for the first time, you didn’t hold anything back. Neither did he.

✫Jiung✫

You had already decided the world was not getting you today.

Your cramps were cruel, your patience was gone, and you had dressed accordingly. A huge shirt that might once have belonged to someone else hung off your shoulders. Your pants were equally oversized, soft and forgiving. Your hair did whatever it wanted, which was mostly defy gravity. You stood in your living room chewing on a snack you did not remember opening, eyes half-focused on a reality show playing on the TV.

Then the doorbell rang.

You froze.

No. Absolutely not.

It rang again.

Muttering curses under your breath, you shuffled to the door and yanked it open without thinking.

Jiung stood there with two bags of food in his hands and the softest smile on his face. The smile lasted exactly one second.

He froze.

His eyes flicked over you. The clothes. The hair. The chewing. The unmistakable aura of someone who was not prepared to be perceived.

You scowled at him. “What the fuck, Jiung? You can’t just show up like that.”

He blinked, then laughed quietly, clearly trying not to. “Well hello to you too.”

“I look like a dumpster fire,” you snapped, taking another aggressive bite of your snack. “You were supposed to text.”

“I did,” he said gently. “You didn’t answer.”

You groaned and stepped aside anyway. “Whatever. You’re already here. Come in before I change my mind.”

He stepped inside, eyes still warm, still amused, like none of this scared him off. He set the food bags down on the table carefully, like an offering, and you immediately felt a little less hostile.

Your reality show continued blaring in the background. Someone was dramatically accusing someone else of betrayal.

Jiung glanced at the screen, then back at you, grin widening. “Wow,” he said. “So this is your true self.”

You scoffed. “Absolutely not. This is my period self. Very important distinction.”

He laughed, shoulders shaking as he kicked his shoes off. “Ah. That explains the vibe.”

“The vibe?” you repeated. “I’m in pain, I’m bloated, and I will bite if provoked.”

“Noted,” he said, still smiling. “I brought food as a peace offering.”

You eyed the bags. “Good choice.”

He watched you shuffle back to the couch, curl up with zero grace, and immediately resume chewing like he had never interrupted you. Instead of judging, he sat beside you, close but not crowding, like he instinctively knew.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “I kind of like this.”

You paused mid-chew and looked at him. “You like… this?” You gestured vaguely at yourself. “Be specific.”

He nodded. “Yeah. This.”

You frowned. “That’s weird.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s real. You’re not trying. You’re just existing.”

You looked away, suddenly shy. “I didn’t exactly plan for you to see me like this.”

He leaned closer, voice soft. “I know.”

Before you could respond, he cupped your face gently and kissed you. It was slow, careful, like he was grounding you instead of taking anything from you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “It’s different,” he said honestly. “But you’re still the most beautiful person I know.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re serious?”

He smiled. “Completely.”

You huffed, leaning into him despite yourself. “You’re lucky you brought food.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around you. “I came prepared.”

The reality show kept playing, the world stayed outside, and for the rest of the day, you let yourself be exactly as you were.

✫Intak✫

Intak was already in bed when you finished up in the bathroom, propped against the pillows with his phone discarded somewhere near his hip. The lamp cast a warm, lazy glow across the room. He kept glancing toward the door, anticipation written all over his face. You always wore something cute to bed. Soft pastel pajamas, matching sets, sometimes lingerie that made his brain short-circuit. He was fully expecting another one of those nights.

The door opened.

You shuffled in slowly, one hand holding your stomach, the other pushing the door closed behind you.

You wore one of his shirts, old and stretched and hanging almost to your thighs. Under it were a pair of clearly ancient boxer shorts, faded and soft and very loved. Your hair was loose and messy, your face relaxed in a way that said you had stopped performing for the day.

Intak blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“…Huh?” he said.

You groaned softly and rubbed your stomach. “My stomach is protesting against dinner,” you said. “Violently.”

He sat up a little, eyes flicking over you again like he needed to reprocess the image. “Where did you get those clothes?”

You shrugged and padded toward the bed. “Your drawer. I always wear this stuff to bed.”

He frowned, confused. “Always?”

You nodded like it was obvious and carefully climbed onto the mattress. “Yeah.”

He glanced at the shirt, then the boxers, then back at you. “But… what about your cute pajamas? And the lingerie?”

You chuckled, easing yourself down on your side. “Intak,” you said gently, “do you really think all women get dolled up just to sleep?”

He hesitated, then laughed a little, embarrassed. “I mean… kind of?”

You shook your head, smiling. “You're cute.”

You settled in beside him, tugging the blanket up. He shifted closer almost immediately, instincts winning, and wrapped an arm around you. His body relaxed against yours, like he fit there naturally no matter what you wore.

“You’re still pretty,” he said quietly, almost like he needed to say it out loud.

You glanced at him. “That was fast.”

“I mean it,” he insisted. “Just… different.”

You hummed, not arguing, and rested your head against his chest. After a moment, his hand started moving, gentle and warm, rubbing small circles over your stomach like he was trying to soothe it away.

You stiffened slightly. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

He froze instantly. “Oh. Sorry. Did it hurt?”

“No,” you said quickly. “It just makes things worse....like way worse”

He pulled his hand back immediately, a grin flashing across his face. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“You're very welcome,” you said with a smirk, relaxing again.

He adjusted his arm so it rested safely around your waist instead, careful now. “I guess I had this image in my head,” he admitted. “Like… you always being cute and put together.”

You snorted softly. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling into your hair. “This looks way more comfortable.”

“It is.”

He squeezed you gently, cheek resting against the top of your head. “I kind of like knowing this version of you,” he said. “Feels… real.”

You closed your eyes, stomach still aching but heart warm. “Good,” you murmured. “Because this version shows up a lot.”

He laughed quietly. “Then I’ll be ready.”

The room settled into silence, soft and safe, the excitement replaced by something steadier. You fell asleep like that, wrapped in old clothes, gentle honesty, and the kind of closeness that did not need to impress.

✫Soul✫

Soul sat on the couch with one leg tucked under the other, the TV on but clearly not holding his attention. The room was quiet, lights low, the kind of evening that felt like it was waiting for something to settle into place. He glanced at the door every so often, calm but expectant.

When you finally joined him, you did not make a big entrance. You wore shorts and a tank top, simple and soft, skin warm from the day. Without saying much, you stepped closer and immediately cuddled up to him, curling against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He adjusted easily, slipping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. His presence was steady, grounding. You rested your head against his chest, listening to his breathing slow as the moment softened.

After a while, his hand slid down from your arm and across your bare legs, absentminded at first. Then he paused.

His fingers brushed again, slower this time, and he let out a quiet chuckle.

You looked up at him. “What?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes thoughtful but amused. “Your legs are fuzzy,” he said, not accusing, just observant.

You blinked once, then shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t feel like shaving tonight.”

He smiled. Not wide. Just a small, genuine curve of his lips. He nodded like that explanation made perfect sense. “Okay.”

There was no awkwardness. No hesitation. He brushed his hand over your legs again, deliberately this time, like he was confirming something rather than avoiding it.

“I like it,” he said simply. “You feel good.”

The words landed softly but firmly, without exaggeration or teasing. Just truth, offered as it was.

Your chest warmed at his response, a quiet happiness blooming where insecurity could have been. You smiled, shifting closer, legs tangling with his without a second thought.

“Really?” you asked, even though his tone had already answered.

He nodded again. “Yeah.”

You leaned up and kissed him, gentle and unhurried. He met you halfway, lips warm, familiar. It was not rushed or intense. Just affectionate, like punctuation at the end of a comfortable sentence.

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment, eyes half-lidded. His hand stayed where it was, relaxed and certain, like nothing about you needed adjusting.

You settled back into him, body loose, content. The TV continued playing something neither of you were really watching. Outside, the world moved on, loud and demanding, but in the quiet of the living room, you felt entirely at ease.

Soul’s arm tightened slightly around you, protective without being possessive. His thumb traced slow, thoughtless patterns against your skin, no judgment, no expectation.

You realized then how rare that feeling was. To be touched without needing to be polished. To be wanted without conditions.

You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up together, fuzzy legs and all, the kind of closeness that did not need to announce itself. Just real, quiet, and good.

✫Jongseob✫

The doorbell rang just as Jongseob finished clearing space on the table. He glanced at the clock, then at you. “That was fast,” he said, standing up to grab the delivery.

When he came back, his steps slowed.

There were bags. A lot of bags.

He set them down one by one, eyes widening slightly as containers kept appearing. “Wait,” he said carefully. “I think they made a mistake.”

You leaned over from the couch, peeking inside, then shook your head proudly. “Nope. That’s on purpose.”

He looked at you again, eyebrows lifting. “You ordered all of this?”

You nodded. “I added a few things.”

“A few?” He gestured at the table, now fully covered. “This looks like food for four people.”

You smiled, completely unbothered. “I was hungry.”

Jongseob sat down slowly, still staring at the spread. “I can’t imagine you eating all of that.”

Something sparked in your eyes. “You can’t?”

He hesitated. “I mean… not really.”

You laughed, clearly amused. “Then I guess it’s a challenge.”

He watched as you opened containers with determination, arranging them like you had a plan. Rice, noodles, fried sides, extra sauces. You grabbed your chopsticks and started without ceremony.

At first, he ate normally, still glancing over at you every few seconds. Then he slowed. Then he stopped entirely.

You were focused. Comfortable. You ate quickly but not messily, clearly enjoying yourself, reaching for seconds without hesitation. The food disappeared at a steady, impressive pace.

Jongseob leaned back slightly, eyes wide now, mouth parted just a bit. He did not interrupt. He just watched.

By the time you finished the last container, he was in full disbelief.

You leaned back, satisfied, and let out a small laugh. “Okay. That was good.”

He stared at the empty table. Then at you.

“…I’m impressed,” he said honestly.

You laughed, wiping your hands. “You should be.”

He shook his head, still processing. “I’ve never seen you eat like that before.”

You nodded easily. “I know.”

He looked at you, curious rather than judgmental. “Why not?”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek, quick and affectionate. “Because I feel comfortable around you.”

The words settled between you, warm and sincere.

Jongseob smiled, something soft and pleased lighting his expression. “I’m glad,” he said. Then he paused, glanced at the cleared table, and added, “But I think I need to be more careful with my own food now.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Too late. You saw the real thing.”

He chuckled, reaching for his drink. “Yeah,” he said. “And I kind of like it.”

You leaned closer, content, the room quiet again after the feast. There was no pressure to explain yourself further. No need to shrink or pretend.

He sat beside you, comfortable in the honesty, already adjusting to this new detail about you like it was always meant to fit.