#bfissues

HEESEUNG ✹

The ramen smelled obscene. The smell crawled into your head and refused to leave ,, sharp chili oil, garlic, something fermented and sinful simmering together until your mouth watered despite yourself. You had already finished your bowl, slurped down to the last drop of broth, but the craving hadn’t eased. If anything, it had sharpened, your lower stomach aching dully in that familiar, miserable way that made everything feel louder and brighter and more unfair.

Across the small kitchen island, Heeseung was still eating. Unfair.

He leaned back against the counter, one hip cocked, sleeves rolled up like he always did when he cooked. His hair was slightly damp from the steam, glasses perched low on his nose as he scrolled through something on his phone between bites. Completely unbothered. Completely unaware of the hormonal storm waging inside you.

You hovered closer, chopsticks still in your hand out of habit. “That looks really good,” you said casually, eyes fixed on his bowl. He hummed, distracted. “Mm...It is.”

You waited with a pout hoping he will somehow know what you wanted but he didn’t offer.

You leaned in and, without asking, dipped your chopsticks into his ramen, fishing for a tangle of noodles slick with red oil. Heeseung reacted instantly. He lifted his bowl out of reach, eyebrows knitting together. “Hey!— What are you doing?”

You blinked up at him. “Eating?”

“You already ate yours.”

“I know.” You smiled cheekily. “But yours looks spicier.”

“It’s the same ramen.”

“It tastes different,” you insisted. “Can I just have a bite?” He shook his head, half amused, half firm. “Nope. I’m hungry.”

You scoffed. “So am I.”

“You literally just finished an entire bowl !”

“And yet,” you said, trying again to reach for it, “I’m still hungry.”

He turned his body away, shielding the bowl with his arm. “No. Go make more if you want.”

Something sharp twisted in your chest. You froze, chopsticks lowering slowly. “You won’t even give me a bite?”

Heeseung sighed, that low, patient sound he made when he thought you were being unreasonable. “Baby, I cooked this for myself too. You always do this.”

The word always landed wrong and you straightened. “Do what?”

“Eat your food and then steal mine.”

You laughed once, humorless. “I’m not stealing. I’m asking.”

“And I’m saying no.”

There was a pause. A small, dangerous one. You stared at the bowl in his hands, then at his face. He still looked calm, mildly defensive, like this was a silly domestic squabble he could win with logic. He didn’t see your fingers trembling slightly, the way your throat tightened for no good reason at all.

“It’s just ramen,” you said quietly.

“I know. That’s why you can make more.”

“Why are you being so stingy?”

His jaw tightened. “Why are you being so dramatic?”

The word slipped out too easily.You felt it immediately, the burn behind your eyes, hot and sudden. You swallowed hard, blinking, but it was already too late. Your lips pressed together as you turned away from him, placing your chopsticks down with exaggerated care.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” you muttered.

Heeseung frowned. “You just said—”

“I said I’m not hungry.” Your voice wobbled despite your effort to keep it steady. You folded your arms, shoulders curling inward as you moved toward the couch, putting distance between you and the kitchen, between you and the stupid bowl of ramen.

Behind you, he exhaled in frustration. “Why are you like this?”

That was it. The tears spilled over, silent at first, blurring the room as you sat down and stared at nothing. You hated crying over something so small. You hated that your chest hurt like you’d been rejected over something much bigger than noodles.

A few seconds passed. Then you heard footsteps. Heeseung stopped in front of you. “Hey,” he said, softer now.

“You’re really mad over ramen?” You didn’t answer. He leaned down slightly, trying to catch your eye. “Come on. Look at me.” You shook your head, lips trembling as a tear slipped down your cheek.

The change in him was immediate. “Oh...No no...” His voice dropped. “Hey—hey, no.” He set the bowl aside hastily, forgotten, and crouched in front of you. His hands came up, hesitant at first, then cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing away tears. “Why are you crying?”

You sniffed. “Because you’re mean.” His eyebrows drew together, guilt flashing across his face. “I wasn’t mean.”

“You were,” you whispered. “You didn’t want to share. You called me dramatic.” He closed his eyes briefly, like he was replaying the moment in his head and hating what he saw. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You never do,” you said, voice breaking. “But it still hurts.”

Heeseung sighed, long and heavy, then leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. “Baby… are you okay?”

You shook your head again, fresh tears welling. “I just wanted it. I’ve been craving spicy food all day. Everything hurts and I feel gross and you wouldn’t even give me a bite.”

His hands stilled “…Everything hurts?” he repeated slowly. Oh shit.

You sniffled. “I’m on my period.”

The realization hit him like a slap. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh my god.” His face softened instantly, regret flooding his expression. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I shouldn’t have to,” you muttered.

“You’re right,” he said quickly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He leaned in, kissing your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, each touch gentle and apologetic. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was being an idiot.”

You hiccupped softly, tears still falling. He stood up suddenly. “Stay here.”

You barely registered him moving before he was back in the kitchen, already reheating broth, adding more chili paste, more oil, more of everything he knew you liked. Within minutes, he was back, holding a fresh bowl of ramen, steam curling upward. He sat beside you and held it out. “Extra spicy. Just how you like it.” You looked at it, then at him. “I’ll share,” he added quietly. “Always.”

Your lip wobbled again, but this time he was ready. He pulled you into his chest, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other steadying the bowl on the table. He pressed a kiss into your hair and held you there, rocking slightly. “I’m sorry baby,” he murmured. “I forget sometimes that I’m older and I should be more patient. Especially when you’re hurting.”

You sniffed, voice muffled against his shirt. “You’re still annoying.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. But I’m yours.” He lifted a bite of noodles with his chopsticks and held it to your lips. “Eat, baby.”

JAY ✹

He really had been trying.

You could tell from the way Jay chose his words carefully, like he was stepping around glass, slower, gentler than usual. From the way he kept glancing at you whenever you spoke, checking your reactions like he was still learning the rules of something fragile.

Dating someone younger than him had clearly rewired parts of his brain. He was softer. More mindful. Almost overly considerate. Which made it worse when he slipped.

The car hummed softly beneath you, late afternoon traffic crawling by as sunlight spilled through the windshield. Jay drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh, thumb drawing absent-minded circles through the fabric of your jeans. The playlist had switched automatically, your playlist, something upbeat and loud and very much yours.

You sang along under your breath, tapping your fingers against the door, feeling oddly happy. Safe.

Jay glanced at the screen, then chuckled. “Soda Pop?...That’s… interesting,” he said.

You paused. “What?”

He hesitated, already backpedaling a little. “I mean—it’s catchy. But it's for kids” There it was.

You turned your head slowly. “Wow. Okay.” Jay winced almost immediately. “That’s not what I meant.”

You leaned back in your seat, crossed your arms, and stared out the window, silent treatment activated already. Your jaw tightened as you focused on anything but him, the passing shops, the red light ahead, the faint reflection of your own expression in the glass. Jay noticed the shift instantly. “Hey,” he said carefully. “Baby?”

Nothing.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean young like… bad. Just different. From what I usually listen to.” You swallowed. Your chest felt tight, irrationally so, but emotions didn’t care about logic. You were already spiraling, replaying his tone, the way it had sounded like a judgment even if he hadn’t intended it to be. “So it’s stupid,” you muttered.

Jay frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The light turned green, but he didn’t move right away. He drove a little slower now, grip tightening on the wheel. “I’m not saying your music is stupid. I was joking.”

“It didn’t sound like a joke.”

Silence settled between you again, heavier this time. You stared straight ahead, blinking rapidly, refusing to let your eyes sting any more than they already did. You hated how easily things got to you. Hated that a throwaway comment could unravel your mood so quickly.

Jay exhaled, long and quiet. “Okay,” he said. “I messed up.”

You didn’t respond. A minute later, he pulled the car over into an empty side street. The engine idled softly as he shifted into park. You looked at him then, startled.

“What are you—”

He turned toward you fully, expression stripped of teasing now, all warmth and concern. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I wasn’t thinking.” You shrugged, still guarded. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he replied gently. “You wouldn’t be this quiet if it was.” That did it. Your lip trembled, just barely. You looked away again, and Jay caught the movement instantly. His heart sank. “Hey,” he murmured, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come here.”

“I’m okay,” you insisted weakly. He didn’t argue. He just reached over, unbuckled you too, and gently pulled you toward him. You resisted for half a second before giving in, letting him guide you across the center console until you were half in his lap, sideways, his arms wrapping around you securely. Jay cradled you like it was instinct, one hand splayed warm and steady against your back, the other cupping the back of your head. He pressed a kiss into your hair, lingering there. “I’m really trying,” he admitted softly. “I know I sound like an asshole sometimes. I don’t mean to.”

You sniffed. “You made me feel dumb.” His arms tightened. “God, no. Never.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing under your eye. “I like that you’re different. I like that you show me things I wouldn’t find on my own.”

Your voice came out small. “Then why say it like that?” He sighed, forehead resting against yours. “Because I forget how things land sometimes. I’m older, not wiser.” A faint, self-deprecating smile. “And I hate that I hurt you.”

Your shoulders relaxed a little. He reached forward and tapped the screen, bringing your playlist back up. “You can play whatever you want,” he said. “As loud as you want. Teach me what you like.”

You looked at him, searching his face. He was sincere—open, apologetic, a little undone. “…Really?”

“Really.”

You nodded and leaned back slightly, fingers hovering before selecting a song. Music filled the car again, brighter this time. Jay listened, actually listened, head bobbing faintly after a few seconds. “It’s not bad,” he admitted. “I get why you like it.”

You huffed softly. “That’s not what you said earlier.” He smiled. “I’m correcting myself.”

The tension eased, warmth creeping back in. Jay’s hand slid to your waist, thumb pressing gently as he leaned in. His voice dropped. “We okay?” You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he murmured, and then he kissed you, slow, soft, reassuring. You leaned into him, fingers curling into his jacket as his mouth moved against yours with growing confidence. He kissed like he meant it, deepening it just enough to make your head spin, just enough to make you forget why you’d been upset in the first place. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against your left cheek, breath warm, smile lazy. “Still mad at me?”

You smiled back, small but genuine. “Maybe a little.” He kissed you again, quick and sweet this time. “I’ll survive.”

JAKE ✹

You had warned him, with small, half-joking comments as you walked beside him through the crowded street. About how his legs were stupidly long. About how he walked like he had somewhere important to be even when he didn’t.

About how you were, objectively, much shorter and definitely not built to keep up with his stride.

Jake laughed, squeezed your hand once, promised he’d slow down. He forgot.

It happened gradually. One second his fingers were loosely laced with yours, warm and familiar, and the next he was a step ahead, distracted by something, a storefront, a passing thought, the way crowds parted for him without effort. You tried to match his pace, took quicker steps, almost jogged for a moment.

Still, the distance grew.

“Jake,” you called once, but your voice dissolved into the noise of the city. Cars honking. People talking. Music spilling out of an open café door. He didn’t hear you.You slowed, chest tightening, watching his broad back move further and further away. He looked so sure, so comfortable navigating the world at his speed, while you were left weaving through elbows and shoulders, nearly bumped by strangers who didn’t notice you at all.

It stung more than it should have. So you stopped.

You stepped out of the flow of people and sat down hard on a bench near a bus stop, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the pavement. Your feet dangled slightly above the ground when you swung them, the motion restless and small.

You told yourself you weren’t upset. Just annoyed. Just tired. But the longer Jake didn’t turn around, the more your throat burned. Minutes passed. Maybe less. Maybe more. Time warped when you were stewing.

Then Jake turned.

At first, it was casual. A quick glance over his shoulder, probably expecting to see you right there, rolling your eyes at him. His steps slowed. Then stopped.

You saw it from across the street, the way his posture stiffened, the way his head snapped around more urgently. He scanned the crowd once. Twice. His hand lifted, palm open, like he could just reach out and grab you back into existence. “Hey—?” he called, voice rising.

You didn’t answer. Panic hit him visibly. He spun in a full circle, eyes wide now, searching faces, ducking around taller people, checking behind him like you might have slipped into a crack in the sidewalk. He jogged back the way he’d come, breath already uneven.

“Baby?” His voice cracked on the word.

Your chest squeezed painfully when you saw his face as he finally spotted you, sitting small and alone on the bench, looking every bit like a lost kid waiting to be claimed.

Relief crashed into him so hard it nearly took his knees out. “Oh my god.”

He crossed the street without looking, nearly getting honked at, and skidded to a stop in front of you. His hands hovered for half a second, unsure, before he cupped your face like he needed to confirm you were real.

“I—I thought I lost you,” he breathed. “I thought—”

His voice broke. Your anger faltered instantly.

Jake swallowed hard, eyes glassy, chest rising too fast. “I didn’t see you and I—fuck, what would I even tell your mom?” he said, half-laughing, half-panicking. “Hi, ma’am, sorry, I walked too fast and misplaced your daughter?”

Tears welled up despite yourself. “I called you,” you muttered. “You didn’t hear.”

His expression crumpled completely. “I’m so sorry,” he said, words tumbling over each other. “I wasn’t thinking. I swear I wasn’t doing it on purpose. I just—God, you’re so much smaller than me, I should’ve been paying attention.”

Your lip trembled, and you looked down, blinking rapidly. “You always forget,” you said quietly. “You walk like I’m not even there.”

Jake made a broken sound in his throat and dropped down in front of you without caring who was watching. His knees hit the pavement as he pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you tight, desperate. “No,” he said fiercely. “Never that. I just messed up. I messed up so bad.”

He pressed kiss after kiss into your hair, your forehead, your cheeks, too many, clumsy and frantic, like he was afraid you might disappear again if he stopped. His hands trembled as they slid over your back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmured, over and over. “Please don’t cry. I’ll slow down. I swear I will. I’ll match you. I’ll count my steps if I have to.”

You sniffed, fists curling into his jacket. “You scared me.”

“I scared myself,” he admitted hoarsely. He pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing under your eye. “I turned around and you weren’t there and my brain just—went to the worst place.”

Your tears spilled then, quiet and embarrassed. Jake immediately tugged off his jacket and wrapped it around you, cocooning you in warmth until you were bundled against his chest like a human burrito.

“There,” he said softly. “Now you’re not going anywhere.” He stood carefully, keeping you tucked against him, one arm firm around your shoulders, the other threading your fingers through his. This time, he adjusted his pace immediately, shorter steps, deliberate, attentive.

Every few seconds, he glanced down at you.

“You okay?”

“Still here?”

“Tell me if I’m walking too fast.”

You huffed a watery laugh. “You’re being crazy.”

“I almost lost my girlfriend in a crowd,” he said seriously. “I earned this.” He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles, lingering. “Tell me when I mess up,” he added quietly. “I don’t want to be the reason you feel small.”

Your heart ached in the best way. You squeezed his hand back. “Okay.”

Jake smiled, soft, relieved, still a little shaken and slowed even more, matching you perfectly as you walked on together, wrapped in his jacket, safely at his side.

SUNGHOON ✹

You hadn’t expected to be nervous. It was just a birthday party, Sunghoon’s birthday party, but standing at the threshold of his family’s house, smoothing your outfit for the third time, you felt suddenly hyperaware of everything.

Of how young you probably looked beside him. Of how composed he was, as always, hand warm and steady at the small of your back as he guided you inside. “You’re okay,” he murmured, leaning down slightly. His kiss brushed your temple, careful and chaste, like most of his kisses were in public. “They’ll love you.”

That was Sunghoon. Serious. Thoughtful. Sometimes so restrained he felt more like a guardian than a boyfriend, always checking if you’d eaten, if you were cold, if you were tired. You loved him for it. Truly.

But sometimes, you wanted him to forget himself. The house was loud with laughter and music, relatives moving around easily, greeting Sunghoon with fond exclamations and affectionate scolding. He relaxed here, shoulders loosening just a fraction, polite smiles coming easier. You stayed close, fingers curled around his sleeve, letting him introduce you again and again.

Then his cousins arrived. They were friendly—well too friendly, smiling wide, asking you questions, leaning a little too close when they laughed. One of them complimented your outfit. Another teased you about how quiet Sunghoon was, joking that you must be the fun one between the two of you. You laughed awkwardly, glancing at Sunghoon.

He was still smiling. Still polite. But his jaw had tightened.

His hand found yours, grip firm. Possessive in a way he rarely let himself be. You felt it immediately.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of cake and candles, of people pulling Sunghoon aside for conversations while you hovered near, sipping a drink you barely tasted. Every time his cousins drifted near you again, Sunghoon’s eyes followed. Darker now. Watchful.

When someone brushed past you and laughed too close to your ear, Sunghoon’s patience snapped. “Excuse us,” he said curtly, already tugging you away.

You barely had time to protest before he was steering you down the hallway, past closed doors, up the stairs. He opened his bedroom door and pulled you inside, closing it with more force than necessary.

The silence was sudden. You turned to him, heart racing. “Sunghoon?”

He stood there for a second, breathing hard, hair slightly mussed, eyes fixed on you like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. “You,” he said quietly, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it. “Do you know what you do to me?”

You swallowed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s the problem.” He stepped closer, hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, tender, then his mouth crashed into yours. The kiss stole your breath. This wasn’t the careful, measured Sunghoon you knew. This was hunger. Frustration. Weeks of restraint unraveling all at once. He kissed you deeply, desperately, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long. You clutched his shirt, startled and thrilled, melting into him as he backed you toward the bed. His lips left yours only to trail along your jaw, down your neck, lingering there as he kissed you again and again, murmuring your name like a promise. “Mine,” he whispered against your skin. “You’re mine.”

Your pulse raced. “Sunghoon—”

He shushed you with another kiss, softer this time but no less intense, hands sliding to your waist, holding you close. His mouth moved everywhere, your neck, your shoulder, the place just below your collarbone, reverent and possessive all at once.

“I hated it,” he admitted quietly, voice muffled against you. “The way they looked at you. The way they talked to you like I wasn’t standing right there.”

A small, almost sulky sound left him as he rested his forehead against your chest. “I don’t like sharing your attention.”

You laughed softly, fingers threading through his hair. “ayee were you jealous...?”

“I was,” he said without hesitation. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes shining, lips slightly swollen. “And I didn’t like it. I wanted to drag you away. I wanted you alone.”

You smiled, heart fluttering. “You act like a grandpa half the time.” He huffed, pouting faintly. “Only because I don’t want to scare you.”

Your hand slid to his cheek. “You don’t.” Something in him broke then, softened, deepened. He leaned into your touch, kissing your palm, then your wrist, then pulling you back down onto the bed with him. The world outside his room faded. Time blurred into warmth and whispered reassurances, into the quiet creak of the mattress and the way his arms held you like you were something precious. He kissed you slower now, deeper, every touch full of intention. When he finally rested his forehead against yours again, breathing steadying, his thumb traced gentle patterns against your side.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough,” he murmured. You shook your head, smiling. “I wanted you to unravel.”

His lips curved, shy but satisfied. “Then… happy birthday to me.”

Later, when the noise of the party felt impossibly distant, he pulled you closer, tucking you into his chest, all seriousness gone. “You’re my only,” he whispered again, softer this time.